Bess: A Pioneer Woman's Journey of Courage, Grit and Love

by Charles Cranston Jett

  They walked slowly through the brush toward the creek and it didn’t take long before Bess heard a rustle directly ahead of her when two pheasants quickly rose up toward the right. She was very excited, but when she pulled the shotgun up to fire she’d taken too much time to aim, and by the time she pulled the trigger, the birds were too far away. She had missed and wasted a shot. “Dammit,” she said, frustrated.

  “That’s all right, my Bessie,” Papa said with a broad grin. “You’ll get used to it. Just keep trying.”

  They turned left and slowly walked through the brush. Within a few minutes, they heard another rustle and a single pheasant flew to their left. Bess pulled the shotgun up to her shoulder, aimed quickly, and fired. Again, she missed, and Papa chuckled.

  “It takes practice, my Bessie. Here, I’ll show you.” Papa took the shotgun, reloaded it, and they circled around to the right. Moments later, they heard another rustle and two pheasants rose up, flying into the sky. Papa raised the shotgun and quickly fired; one of the birds dropped. It looked so easy. Eventually Papa let Bess hunt the pheasants on her own and she learned to be an excellent shot. He was right. Shooting took practice.

  The memories of the times Papa taught how to shoot were fresh in Bess’s mind as she put on her jacket and loaded the double-barreled shotgun. As she walked out the door, Mama said, “Remember … two birds are enough.”

  The walk down to her favorite pheasant-hunting ground filled Bess with energy as she continued to think about making a plan to homestead. So many things to know, she thought. So many things to find out. The ground down at the far southern edge of the pasture where the creek flowed near the small lake was not so muddy as she expected, and the bright morning sun and clear blue sky made it quite easy to focus on the three pheasants that she flushed out. While she missed the second pheasant, she was successful in hitting the first and third. In less than an hour, she had the two birds Mama needed.

  Mama cooked pheasants in her own unique way. “Cook ’em slow and they’ll be tender, Bess,” she always said. “If you use too much heat and cook ’em too fast, they’ll be too tough. Papa doesn’t like ’em tough.” She made a mixture of flour, salt, pepper, and paprika which she kept in a large tin near the stove, rolled the parts in the mixture, and fried them very slowly in bacon grease. They were always delicious, tender, and one of Bess’s favorite meals. She particularly liked the white meat—breast—and Papa said he liked the legs. Bess never did believe him, though, and thought that he was just saying that to give her what she wanted. The drumsticks were full of long, tiny, and sharp little bones.

  Part of Bess’s daily routine after breakfast was to check on the sheep. While she could easily do that on foot along with Buck, who always was ready for the task, Bess liked to saddle Patches and do it on horseback—mainly because she just enjoyed riding and it gave her horse some exercise.

  Papa’s teaching didn’t stop with hunting. Along with teaching Bess how to shoot, Papa gave her tips on how to ride a horse and she found Patches pretty easy to ride if she did what he said. Bess didn’t want to ride side-saddle—the way women usually rode horses. She preferred riding astride—like a man, she thought—because it was easier and enabled her to feel more comfortable and in control of the horse.

  “Sit on your sit bones,” Papa would say. “Keep your back straight and your shoulders even and straight. Keep the stirrup on the ball of your foot and keep your toes up. Keep your hands straight, always ahead of the saddle horn, and hold the reins lightly with your pinky on the outside.” He told her those things so many times that they became automatic. Bess eventually became a very good rider and felt confident all the time.

  Patches was a gentle horse. She obeyed commands and liked to run around the pasture. It was good exercise for Patches and Bess. It was not difficult for Bess to get her to run; just a slight nudge with her feet and off Patches would go, sometimes in a trot, but most of the time in a full gallop.

  In the lower pasture, there was an old log that wasn’t very large but presented a slight barrier that Patches always met with confidence. She could jump easily, but Bess wisely never tried to have her jump anything higher than that old log.

  Patches seemed to know how to herd sheep and easily obeyed commands to walk slowly from side to side. If an old ewe became frisky and started to bolt, it was easy to get Patches to gallop around her and slowly bring her back to the small herd. Bess imagined what it would be like to have a very large herd--Patches would be ideal.

  From the time Bess was eight years old, she had been helping Papa on the farm and from the start, she worked hard--not only to gain his approval, but because she simply enjoyed the work. She loved hearing Papa say one day that he didn’t need a hired man because Bess was so helpful to him and did such good work. He proved that to her when he eventually started to pay her to help him. He didn’t pay her much, but it made Bess work harder to accomplish her tasks. She always saved whatever she was paid, and Papa taught her how to put her money in the bank to keep it safe. “Saving your money early is important, my Bessie,” he said. “You’ll need it someday.” Papa understood that she wanted to do something on her own and always told her to be prepared if she decided to venture out.

  Mama didn’t pay Bess for the chores she gave to her to do around the house. She wants me to become a housewife, Bess thought. In contrast to Papa who seemed to understand fully what Bess wanted to do with her life, Mama focused on the domestic role of women. She thinks they belong in the house—raising children, cooking, house cleaning, doing dishes, Bess thought with a distinct lack of interest. Mama knows I’m not interested in that. And I think she may be a little disappointed that I don’t feel that way. But Bess was determined to find her own role in her life—doing what she wanted to do, rather than what was traditionally expected of a woman.

  Chapter Four

  Bess’s last year of high school started in mid-September. She liked school—she was an excellent student and particularly enjoyed history, but there was no course in geography and Bess wanted to learn as much as possible about the western part of North Dakota, so her solution was to spend time in the Cando public library.

  The library was small—a wooden-frame house with two large rooms on either side of the librarian’s desk, which was facing the entrance. There was a small section with geography books—mainly world geography—but during her many visits to the library, Bess found a small collection of land survey maps as well as three promotional pamphlets produced by various land companies and, in particular, the railroads. She was thrilled to have made such a discovery and plunged into the collection with eagerness and the intent to learn all she could.

  Mrs. Arnett, the librarian, was one of Mama’s best friends and whenever Mama came into town, she would always stop at the library for a visit. Mrs. Arnett was an elderly woman who had lived in the area even before Cando had been founded. She was a rich source of information, along with having a solid knowledge of the resources in the library relevant to the history of the state and its geography. She had been a school teacher—elementary school—and had a lifelong urge to learn and to teach—a perfect combination for a librarian, Bess thought. She was rather plump and was always attractively dressed in a long skirt with blouses that had puffy sleeves. She had rosy cheeks and soft white hair that was always pulled back and tied neatly in a colorful bow behind her head. She wore rimless reading glasses perched on her rounded nose and would always peer over her glasses when speaking to people. Bess enjoyed the fact that Mrs. Arnett always seemed to speak in a whisper—even when not in the library. A librarian’s habit, thought Bess.

  Mama said that she was a widow who was loved by everyone in town and had dedicated her life to maintaining the library for the benefit of all. Bess always enjoyed seeing her either in the library or whenever she would occasionally see her walking through the town.

  Mrs. Arnett greeted Bess warmly when she walked into the library and asked about maps of Western North Dakota.


  “Western North Dakota is ranch land,” she whispered as Bess listened intently. “President Roosevelt had a ranch there, and lived on it for a few years in the early 1880s.”

  “President Roosevelt lived there?” asked Bess.

  “Yes. For a couple of years, I think. But he sold the ranch in 1898.”

  “He raised cattle and sheep?”

  “Just cattle as far as I know,” said Mrs. Arnett. “Here is where his ranch was.” She pointed to an area west of the town of Dickinson in what was called the North Dakota Badlands. “His ranch was on both the east and west side of the Little Missouri River,” she said as she pointed to the map. “The nearest ranches to him were about ten miles to the north and ten miles to the south. Lonely country, but he loved it. He was a tough guy!”

  Bess was impressed. The President of the United States ranched in Western North Dakota! And a tough guy, too! That’s a good sign, she thought. I’d like to be like him!

  “The land out there isn’t too good,” said Mrs. Arnett. “Better land to the south toward South Dakota. And further north, too, but of course the winters up there are very harsh. It’s near Canada, you know.”

  Bess knew from Papa that the Hansons talked about homesteading out in that area, but she didn’t know exactly where. That was something she would have to discuss directly with them.

  The railroad maps were helpful in that they projected where new rail lines might go, as well as showing the lines that were already in use. The Northern Pacific Railroad went directly through the town of Dickinson and westward, while the Milwaukee Road was building lines further south from Dickinson. The brochures from the various land companies showed that there was a considerable amount of activity in the southwestern part of the state near the little towns of Bowman and Haley on the North Dakota/South Dakota state line.

  “That area is more suitable for farming,” said Mrs. Arnett quietly. “Wheat, flax, oats, and those sorts of crops. Good for ranching, too. Excellent prairie grass, so I’m told.”

  Bess made frequent trips to the Cando library throughout the fall and winter, and through her discussions with Mrs. Arnett began to form in her mind that somewhere in the southwestern part of the state would most likely be the place she wanted to go. The little town of Haley seemed particularly attractive to her--it was growing and was on the Grand River. Bowman was farther north and slightly to the west, with no river. Haley, she thought. Haley.

  The winter of 1904-1905 was mild compared to the previous year. Bess’s routine consisted of doing her chores—feeding the horses and milking the cow in the mornings, and tending the sheep after school. Sometimes she would go to the library, but those times were not so frequent as before because she had nearly exhausted its resources about Western North Dakota.

  The major social event during Bess’s senior year was the spring dance. It was one of very few high school dances held during the year and Mama wanted Bess to “dress up in her best,” as she said. Mama took Bess to Grimes’ retail store in Cando to purchase the pretty blue dress that Papa had seen and said matched her eyes. This was a dance where nobody came with a designated partner, but Bess knew that the students would be expecting to have fun, filling out their dance cards, and dancing with everyone in sight.

  Bess wasn’t very excited about it, but her friends had a different attitude. To them it was very important—the social event--and it seemed that for three weeks before the dance, that’s all they could talk about. Who’s going to ask me to dance, will my dance card get filled out, will the boys think I’m pretty … those were the kinds of questions they kept asking Bess and themselves.

  Bess knew Mama understood that she wasn’t the typical girl who was seeking some sort of quiet family life. And she knew that Bess was not keen on boys. Mama had asked her on several occasions why she wasn’t interested in some of the boys who lived around Cando and Bess could never supply a satisfactory answer. Boys would stop by frequently with some sort of excuse for being there, but Bess knew they really wanted to see her. If Bess heard them coming down the lane, she would sometimes sneak away to her secret place in the straw pile so she wouldn’t be found. “Bess is tending the sheep and is busy,” Mama would tell them, and they would usually go away. Bess never told her mother how she actually felt about boys because she thought it might upset her. In fact, Bess didn’t understand why she wasn’t attracted to boys—she just didn’t fancy boys at all; they never did interest her and she didn’t know why. Maybe they would later. Maybe not. She didn’t know and she didn’t care. For as long as she could remember, she preferred being around girls--and besides, she had too many other things to think about.

  The boys at school called Bess a “tomboy” because she was tall, and stronger than most of them. They knew she did a lot of chores on the farm and they relentlessly teased her about it. She didn’t feel comfortable wearing dresses and never did when she was doing work around the barn, shed, and pastures.

  She had only two girlfriends, Annabel and Margie. They liked to sew and do needlework—things that never interested Bess. They also talked about boys. Annabel and Margie lived in town and didn’t do the kind of work that Bess enjoyed—because, as they said, “they were girls.” Bess thought that was silly and was proud that could do things just like the boys. In fact, she could do things better than the boys.

  “The Fisher boys will be there,” said Mama with a smile as she brushed Bess’s hair in preparation for the dance. The Fisher boys were twins and were the sons of Isador and Irma Fisher who lived on a farm only about three miles away. One of the boys, Jake, which was the sound of his initials--”J.K.” (his full name was John Keith Fisher), was a tall boy, Bess’s age and in the same grade. He had steely blue eyes, and his dark-brown hair was always neatly combed. Bess’s girl friends thought he was quite handsome, and each seemed to go out of her way all too often, Bess thought, to flirt with him. Bess didn’t. She simply wasn’t interested.

  His brother was Tom, but Bess didn’t know his middle name. Just Tom. He was a very sweet boy and looked a lot like Jake, but was smarter in school and very quiet, unlike his brother. Tom and Bess were friends in the sense that they felt comfortable talking with one another and sometimes would help each other in math at school. Most of the other girls avoided him because he seemed to ignore them or otherwise demonstrate that he simply had no interest in them.

  The dance was held in the large auditorium at the school where they often held assemblies and where they could play basketball. The auditorium wasn’t large enough to fit a real basketball court, but that didn’t matter because the high school didn’t have a team. There wasn’t any theme for the dance, but a student committee had been formed to decorate the auditorium the best they could in order to make it look fancy.

  Dances were chaperoned in that parents of the students would attend and many would bring cookies and cake as well as punch for refreshments. They wanted to make the dance as fun as possible and create a real social occasion for all of the students. Mr. Sherman and three of his friends formed the band that had two fiddles (Mr. Sherman never called them “fiddles”), a piano, and drums. The music wasn’t very pretty, but they could play ragtime and, of course, they always included a cakewalk. Bess had occasionally played piano with them, but that wasn’t in her plans for this evening.

  Mama helped Bess get all fixed up in her new dress and when Papa saw her he said, “Oh my, Bess! You’re so pretty!” Bess loved getting compliments from Papa and she knew that this time he really meant it. Bess wasn’t trying to look pretty so much for the boys as to fit in with her friends who were taking this dance a lot more seriously. Bess just didn’t want to look different tonight—sometimes she got tired of looking like the “tomboy” they called her from time to time.

  It was a warm night for the middle of March and the moon was full and a beautiful yellow orange color as it was rising in the east. Bess didn’t need a coat, but wore a white sweater. Papa drove Mama and Bess to the dance in the horse and buggy, and had
to go slowly because the heavy rain the day before had made the road into town very muddy. He wanted to be careful so the buggy wheels wouldn’t splatter mud on Bess’s dress before the dance.

  The auditorium was filling up with students and their parents as they arrived about fifteen minutes before the dance was supposed to start. The ground beside the road leading into the school was quite muddy and they had to wait for about ten minutes so to be on the gravel patch in front of the building so they wouldn’t have to get out of the buggy in the mud.

  Bess went into the building and saw that most of her friends had already arrived--the girls over on the right side of the auditorium and the boys on the left. Mama and Papa went to the back of the room where other parents had gathered and were setting up the tables where the refreshments were neatly placed.

  The auditorium had been nicely decorated by a group of parents and some of the students who volunteered to serve on a decorating committee. Bess didn’t enjoy participating in such activities—a waste of time, she thought. But her two best friends, Mary Ann and Annabel, enjoyed that sort of group activity. They had decorated with crêpe paper with nice bows tied to each table, streamers on the walls, and chairs that also had bows. The colors were green and white—Bess supposed because last Thursday was St. Patrick’s Day and the color of that day is always green.

  Bess joined her friends. Mary Ann Gunderson and Annabel Paulson, looked pretty – Mary Ann wearing a long white dress trimmed in green and Annabel wearing a yellow dress trimmed in a burnt orange. “Hi!” Bess said to them as she walked up to where they were standing.

  Each of them smiled and said, “Hi!” They looked very excited and Annabel was literally jumping up and down with her blonde curls bouncing from side to side. Mary Ann, Bess’s best friend, was more subdued and just smiled broadly. She’s a pretty girl, Bess thought--and with sandy brown hair and beautiful brown eyes to complement her softer personality. They had been friends since Mary Ann had moved to Cando when she and Bess were entering the third grade. Most of the time she was quiet—not like Annabel, who always seemed to be in perpetual motion, flirting with all the boys. Mary Ann was going to come home with Bess and her family to stay with them for a couple of days because her parents were going to Fargo for what Mary Ann said was business.