Instead, she took a couple sheets of paper and wrote down what she was feeling, intending to keep that for herself. Writing her feelings down was helpful, because it felt as though she were actually talking to her someone. Somebody to talk to, she thought. She decided to write more—a journal perhaps--expressing her intimate thoughts and feelings. She would keep that to herself.
She must have spent at least three hours writing, because it was dark outside when she finished. She put on her coat and walked down to the well to refill the bucket of water she always kept by the stove. She paused for a moment to look up at the stars. The sky had cleared and the temperature had actually risen—it was warmer in the late evening than it had been all day and a steady, warm breeze was blowing in from the west. The wind must be the Chinooks I’ve heard about, Bess thought. Warm winds blowing from the west could actually create rapid temperature rises even during the coldest days of the winter. She had never experienced Chinooks in Cando before, but the warmth of the wind compared to how cold and damp it had been during the morning was most welcome.
The stars were out in all their glory and Bess could clearly see the broad band of the Milky Way. Papa had shown her how to find the North Star. It was easy to find the Big Dipper constellation in the north sky; the two stars at the end of the dipper cup pointed directly to the North Star. The North Star was the last star in the Little Dipper, which was always situated in an opposite direction from the Big Dipper. “The constellations revolve around the North Star during the night,” Papa had said. “That’s because the earth is rotating and the poles of the earth point directly at the North Star.” Bess felt pleased that she remembered what Papa had taught her.
Bess made a quick wish on the North Star. That was comforting, and tears came to her eyes.
The Chinook winds were blowing steadily from the west and were drying out the land. It was quite warm; the temperature must have gone up into the low seventies. High in the sky, there were a few detached clouds in the form of white, delicate filaments, mostly white patches or narrow bands. The cirrus clouds had a white hair-like appearance and silky sheen and were thought to be mainly ice crystals.
Bess rode slowly into Haley, enjoying the ride. When she reached town, she talked to Mr. Feist at the lumberyard. He agreed to send Ken Fisher out to her place the next day with the posts and lumber he would need to build the shed extension. She also went to the Currie Store with a faint hope that there might be a letter from Linda or her aunt saying that the whole thing had been a mistake. Of course there was no letter or mail of any kind. When she walked out of the store, Bess saw some blue cloth sitting on the shelf next to the door, the same blue that Linda had worn when she boarded the train in Dickinson. Tears came to her eyes as a wave of grief washed over her, and she rode back to the homestead with sorrow as her only companion.
The next morning, Ken arrived with a wagon loaded with posts and lumber. He measured out the spot on the south side of the shed where he could extend what she already had by about forty feet to give her enough room for the sheep. Over the next three days, he built the small shed and was actually very pleasant to have around because she had someone to talk to. She didn’t tell him about Linda or Martha, but she thought he could sense that she was sad about something. They talked mostly about what winters in Haley were like, and Ken told her that she should have a way to keep the coal dry during the winter. He said that it wouldn’t take much time to build a little coal bin, and after a little thought, Bess told him to go ahead.
Residents of Haley and homesteaders in the surrounding area were fortunate because there was an abundance of coal mines. The coal was lignite—a soft coal but ideal to use in the cooking ranges, and it left only a small amount of light-gray ash. Bess had been taking a small bucket into Haley from time to time and bringing it back full of coal. She needed to make sure that she a good supply at home before the winter came so she wouldn’t have to worry about riding the short mile into town during a blizzard or bitter cold.
Ken built the wooden bin on the south side of the house between the front of the house and the window. The bin was about eight feet long, four feet wide, and four feet tall, and the lid had heavy hinges on the back. The bottom of the bin was about four inches off the ground so that ground water, if any, wouldn’t seep in. Ken seemed very satisfied with his work. “That’ll keep your coal dry, Miss Parker. Won’t have to go diggin’ in the snow. Will hold at least half a ton.”
Bess smiled when she thought of Ken’s suggesting the coal bin, because Mr. Feist also sold lignite coal. Ken is a good salesman, she thought. It would be cheaper to buy a larger amount of coal than by the bucket; a small bucket cost ten cents, but a ton of coal cost $1.50. Bess realized that it was the first time she had smiled broadly since learning of Linda’s death.
Trying to sound innocent, Bess said, “Do you think I can get some coal from the yard?”
“Sure, Miss Parker,” Ken said. “I’ll bring it to you tomorrow and fill up the bin!” He seemed genuinely pleased. Bess smiled again as she walked back to the house. It actually felt good to smile.
The following Sunday, Bess went to church in Haley again. There had been six days of consistent Chinook winds and the temperature was quite warm. The winds had quickly dried out the prairie and there was a significant amount of dust in the air.
The small church sanctuary was full when Bess walked in. Martha and Don were sitting together in the second pew on the left toward the front. Bess took her seat in a pew toward the back of the sanctuary for the service. It was quite warm in the sanctuary despite two of the side windows being open. The service was long and the sermon seemed rather boring, although Bess only partially listened to what the minister was saying. Instead, she was anxious to talk to Martha and see if everything was all right.
Outside the church, a group of ladies had set up a table with an attractive selection of pastries, cookies, and cake for a reception after the service. Bess waited outside for Martha and Don to appear. The minister always stood on the porch at the top of the stairs just outside the front door of the church to shake hands and greet the departing members of the congregation. He would usually spend a couple of minutes chatting with everyone. Martha and Don were second from the last to emerge. They stood and talked with the minister for a few minutes—longer than the others, which seemed like an eternity to Bess—before coming down the stairs.
Suddenly, Martha looked over and she and Bess made eye contact; Bess’s heart hitched. She looked beautiful. Vibrant. Happy. Martha gave Bess a slight wave, then motioned to Don, and they both walked over.
Bess smiled broadly and held out her hand, trying to remain calm, but her insides were dancing with nerves.
“Hello, Bess,” Martha said. “How are you?”
Don shook Bess’s hand. “Good afternoon, Miss Parker,” he said formally but with a hint of friendliness.
Bess shook their hands and said, “Good afternoon.” She noticed that Martha was smiling and showed no hint of any bruises on her face, an encouraging sign. “How have you been?”
Don was talkative. Unusual, Bess thought. Most often he was either wordless or completely disengaged.
He explained how he and Martha had spent the past two weeks firming up their decision to abandon their homestead. The decision to leave southwestern North Dakota and the homestead had seemed to lift a massive burden off Don’s shoulders and he was visibly enthusiastic about returning. Several times he told Martha, “We gave it a try, honey.”
Martha smiled at Bess and said, “I’ve been well, Bess. Don and I have made a decision, and going to Wisconsin seems like the best thing for the both of us.”
“Wisconsin?” Bess said, shocked. “When?”
Don smiled. “This coming week.”
Bess was stunned, but tried her best not to show it. Leaving for Wisconsin? She paused for a moment, then said, “I see. Well, that’s wonderful. But I’ll miss you. This week?” Bess felt dizzy. What did that mean? What about their homes
tead?
“Yes,” said Don. “On Thursday. We’re taking the train back to Madison. We’ve told no one but the minister and now you. Please keep this to yourself, all right?”
Bess looked up and stared at Martha, trying to read her thoughts, trying to read any lingering feelings Martha might have had for her. But Martha looked very happy. Even relieved. Bess didn’t want to pry into any details about their departure—that was their own business—but she had a sinking feeling in her heart. She would be losing another friend.
Trying to keep a stiff upper lip, Bess tried to hide her disappointment. She was happy for them, in one way, but disheartened in another. Martha had been intimate with her. She had said that she and Don lacked such intimacy. What happened? Did I do something wrong? Is there something wrong with me? she wondered. Bess felt a tinge of anger. Maybe I was used. Maybe I was misled.
“I’m happy for you,” she managed to choke out. She stepped forward and gave Martha a warm hug. She smiled at Don and shook his hand. “I wish the very best for you. Will you please write to me?”
“Of course I will,” Martha said. She looked so beautiful in the same blue dress that she had been wearing when Bess first met her. This time, however, her eyes had a sparkle in them and she seemed genuinely happy. Bess noticed that Martha was holding Don’s hand. Don was very pleasant and occasionally looked at Martha and smiled.
After their chat, they said their goodbyes, then Bess watched them as they walked away, wondering if she would ever see Martha again. The loss of another friend, she thought. I should get a dog!
Chapter Twenty
The October days passed by quickly, and, according to some of the people in Haley, it had been unusually warm for this time of year because of the early Chinooks. The countryside was unusually dry and the open prairie was golden-brown, flush with the lush prairie grass that waved in the brisk hot wind that had been blowing steadily for the past few days. If you shut your eyes and listened carefully as the Chinooks were blowing, you could hear a distant hush—almost as if an invisible spirit were trying to speak or trying to soothe your soul.
Each day brought a feeling of emptiness to Bess. The loss of Linda. The loss of Martha. Why? Bess wondered. Why did Linda have to die? Why did Martha have to leave, although I understand that much better. Why do I feel so empty? So forlorn? I need someone to talk to. Why can’t something good happen to me?
Bess tried to think positively. Something good did happen—I’ve been successful getting my homestead and beginning my life as a rancher. But I didn’t plan for the emotional side of my life. How do I control that, anyway? Can I control it? The thoughts seemed endless.
The Grand River was flowing but was nearly at a trickle just west of the Haley bridge. Tumbleweeds rolling across the open range would pile up near fences and stretch the fence wires—sometimes to the breaking point. There were many haystacks on parts of the prairie where homesteaders had mowed the hay and stacked the grass into large round or sometimes oblong stacks for feed for the upcoming winter.
Bess was in the Currie Store on a late-October Thursday morning talking to Mr. Currie when she heard a rustle outside. Someone was shouting, and the shouting grew closer. Suddenly, a man stopped near the store and shouted at the top of his lungs the words that ranchers dreaded: “Prairie fire!”
Everyone in the store rushed outside as the man dismounted from his horse just in front of the saloon across the street. He shouted the words again and pointed toward the west. “Prairie fire!”
It was an unmistakable sight. Far to the west on the Teepee Buttes there were billows of smoke rising from the plains and the yellow-orange line of fire that was moving slowly down the eastern part of the central buttes.
Prairie fires were monsters of destruction, consuming everything in their paths. The bone-dry grass had been cured by the ceaseless winds and provided perfect fuel for an inferno. When prairie fires got out of control, they seemed to create their own winds that further drove their fury. They were known to jump rivers and follow paths created solely by the prevailing winds, as well as the winds they themselves created. When they were intense, they would suck air toward the line of fire, sometimes called a “headfire,” and this flow of air further intensified the blaze. Prairie fires were very dangerous and entirely unpredictable.
The fire was several miles to the west, but that didn’t mean that Haley itself was safe. The man who sounded the alarm had been successful, because men were rushing from nearly every building in town to saddle their horses and go west to fight the fire.
Bess could smell the acrid smoke, and her stomach lurched at the sight of the billowing clouds in the distance and the thin jagged lines of red-orange flames as she headed back to her homestead with Annabel at a full gallop. Bess was worried. Even though the fire was many miles to the west, her homestead was in danger as well.
Bess remembered that during the summer, the Harland family who had homesteaded west of her place and the Teepees had plowed up about fifty acres of virgin land in preparation for planting grain crops the following year. Those fifty acres consisted of a long strip of plowed ground and bare soil approximately nine hundred feet wide and half a mile long, stretching from the Grand River to the south. Hopefully it would serve as a fire barrier for Bess. She had no experience with what prairie fires could do.
The primary weapon to fight the fire was with barrels of water that came from the Grand River fording area in front of the town, and from the crossing area near the Lee homestead about a mile in front of the headfire.
Pouring water on the fire wasn’t the way to fight it, because there wasn’t enough water to do that. Instead, the people had to use blankets soaked with water, or gunny sacks made out of burlap. The men and women, and even some children, would take the soaked blankets or burlap and beat on the fire if it wasn’t too intense, and, even more important, beat the grass ahead of the fire where sparks had flown, to prevent the fire from spreading. There must have been at least two hundred men, women, and children beating the fire.
The blaze spread rapidly eastward off the eastern buttes and into the open prairie grass on the gently rolling hills and level plain between the Teepee Buttes and Haley. From her place Bess could almost sense the irresistible movement of the fire—almost like watching a small avalanche from a great distance. Where there were haystacks, Bess could see what looked like pyramids of orange flame with towering streams of black smoke.
Where the hay had been mowed and stacked proved the best places to fight the fire because the grass had been cut nearly to the ground and the fire simply did not have the fuel to either burn rapidly or spread. Plowed ground where the grass had been turned over also proved to be an effective barrier, and Bess was relieved that near midnight the eastward movement of the fire had virtually come to a halt.
Fighting the fire went on into the night, and looking at the Teepee Buttes from well over five miles to the east, Bess could still see some of the jagged lines of yellow-orange flames that were still burning areas of tall grass, but fortunately the wind had died down, the jagged lines were not so long, and the fire was not spreading so fast. But the embers of residual pockets of burning grass gave the western sky an eerie warm orange glow.
Many of the men spent the entire night fighting the spread of the fire and most of the following day carefully combing the area that had not already burned in front of the fire and all over the charred landscape of what were now the blackened Teepee Buttes. In the afternoon of the second day, when the fire had been brought under control and had basically been put out all across the front, Bess could see in the distance many groups of people who had been fighting the fire either riding back to Haley or on foot. She saw one figure break away from a group near the river and ride toward her and up to the house. The rider was Doc, the driver of the freight wagon from Dickinson to Haley who had hauled Bess’s trunks when she arrived. He remembered Bess.
He rode up to Bess and dismounted. “All settled in, huh?” Doc said.
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“Doc,” Bess said. “Yes, getting settled. First prairie fire I’ve seen. I hope it’s the last one, too. You still driving the freight?”
“Now and then,” he said. “Mainly I’m raising horses on my spread east of Haley. Got about eighty of them. Two-year-olds.”
“Bad fire,” said Bess.
“Lucky we stopped it. Hagens weren’t so lucky. Too bad. Whole place burned to the ground.”
Doc took a sooty rag from his pocket and wiped his face. “Dirty business, fightin’ a fire. Mind if I wash up at the well?”
“Oh, of course,” said Bess. “I’ll get you some rags.” Bess walked quickly into her house and found two towels and a washcloth and brought them to Doc. Doc went to the well and lowered the bucket for some water.
“I can heat some up,” said Bess.
“Nah,” said Doc. “Cold will do.”
After Doc had washed up, Bess offered him some string beans and ham that she had fixed earlier in the day. Doc ate the food quickly as he sat on a small log near the shed.
When he was finished they talked as the sun set in the west over the black Teepee Buttes and the wind had died down to the point where the air seemed perfectly still. We have something in common, thought Bess as she visited with Doc. Horses. I’ve always loved horses—Patches first and now Annabel. And Doc raises horses. He must love them, too.
Bess learned that Doc had come to the Haley area about ten years ago from Galesburg, Illinois. His name was Chris Stewart and he seemed quite interesting--handsome, very well-educated, and could carry on a meaningful conversation. He was obviously exhausted by almost thirty-six straight hours of firefighting and asked if Bess wouldn’t mind if he got some sleep in the shed. “I can just sleep in the hay,” he said. “Just too tuckered out to ride the eight miles to my place.”
Bess: A Pioneer Woman's Journey of Courage, Grit and Love Page 16
