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

by Charles Cranston Jett

  Doc didn’t arrive home until nearly midnight that evening and told Bess that the boarding house had burned to the ground. “Nobody hurt,” he said, “but it’s gone.”

  Doc’s clothes were covered with soot and grime and smelled of smoke. Bess thought that she also detected the odor of beer. “I was coming through town and saw the flames coming out of an upstairs window,” he said. “I helped Brian and Ken fight it, but that old wooden building burned like a hot campfire. Bunch of others helped, too. Must’ve been at least a dozen of us.”

  “No one hurt, though?” Bess said. “None of those who were fighting it?”

  “Nope. We all went to Kiley’s afterwards,” he said with a smile.

  Kiley’s, thought Bess. The local pool hall.

  Fires were always a big danger in the early small towns. Not only were the buildings made mostly of wood, they generally were built close together, especially in the larger towns such as Dickinson, as Bess remembered. If a fire got out of control, it could burn an entire city block before it burned itself out.

  “Again?” Bess exclaimed in disbelief. Dr. Poppe stood up and smiled.

  “Yes. You’re pregnant, Bess. Again.”

  Bess was stunned. For the most part of the summer she had enjoyed being back in a work routine—she had felt particularly energetic after lambing season and felt physically vigorous when planting the garden.

  The summer was hotter than usual and particularly bothersome were the grasshoppers. “Worst I ever seen,” Mr. Currie said when Bess was in the store. “They eat up the crops.” Marion and Helen enjoyed chasing the grasshoppers around the front of the house and down near the well. Bess explained to them that while they might be fun to chase and catch, they were not something good to eat. Bess wasn’t sure, but she thought both of the girls had sampled the grasshopper taste.

  During the early evenings in the month of July whenever the heat of the day would subside, Bess would sometimes take the children for a walk down near the Grand River where the water was very shallow so they could wade. Just downstream from the shallow area, the river became rather wide and occasionally you could see a small bump on the clear water. Bess explained to Marion and Helen that those were the snouts of turtles.

  “There are two different kinds of turtles in the river,” Bess tried to explain to the children. “Mud turtles and snapping turtles. You don’t want to get near them because the snapping turtles can grab your fingers. They’ll hurt you!” The girls enjoyed standing by the river and searching for “turtle snouts,” as they called them. And each of them reminded the other not to get too near lest they lose a fingertip.

  Doc joined Bess and the girls from time to time during their visits down to the Grand River. He would take small flat stones and throw them across the water so they would skip along the surface of the water. “Gotta use small flat rocks,” Doc said. He helped them find the small rocks and showed them how to hold the rock and throw it in a sidearm manner so it would hit the water on the flat side. Each of the girls would try to throw stones to make them skip and sometimes they would be successful. Whenever that happened, there would be whoops of joy.

  Bess always discouraged the children from walking in the tall grass because of the danger of rattlesnakes and bugs. “There are ticks,” she said. “They are crawly bugs that will bite you and bury their heads in your skin.” Bess always checked the children for ticks, not only when they would go down to the river, but every evening. There was only one time when she found a tick crawling on Helen’s back. Luckily it had not bitten her and buried its head, but just finding the dreadful little creature made both Marion and Helen conscious of their presence. The girls started saying, “Check me for ticks,” in the evening. Eventually, checking for ticks became something of a game when each of the girls would check the other.

  In early August, Doc took thirty of the horses to St. Louis on the train to sell them. The weather was pleasant during the two weeks he was gone and when he came back he was glad to have money in his pocket, but overall he seemed out of sorts. “I’m not going to be raising any more of the Percherons,” he announced. “I’m going to take twenty more of them to St. Louis in September.”

  Bess wanted to ask whether he realized that the saddle horses would fall by the wayside eventually as well, but instead she said, “Tractor’s changing everything, I know. But we have enough to do with the cattle to keep us busy.”

  “Work horses have always been in my life. Hard to give them up,” Doc said.

  Bess knew she should be sympathetic, but it was difficult, when she thought of everything she’d had to give up for their family. At the same time, deep down, she understood that Doc was saying goodbye to someone he thought he’d always be—a man who raised the best work horses around. She knew what that was like. She’d said goodbye to the focused, capable girl who could do it all on her own.

  “Time changes things,” she said. “We have to change with it.”

  He shrugged, and she gave up on trying to talk to him about it.

  Doc had also been spending more time with his friends in Haley in the late afternoons at Kiley’s, a local bar and pool hall. He began to come home later and later, so it seemed to Bess. And he had begun drinking to the point where he would come home a bit drunk. “Havin’ a good time, Bess,” he said.

  The children began to notice too, and when he walked in one evening, Marion said innocently, “You smell, Daddy.” It’s the beer, Bess thought, but now and then she would sense that he had been drinking whiskey. She noticed that he spent less time with the children when he came home and sometimes would even walk into the house and go straight to bed with little more than a nod to Bess and the children.

  In September, Bess awoke one morning and discovered a considerable amount of blood on her nightgown and in the bed. She had felt pelvic pains the night before but thought little of it at the time. But this was the first time that she had experienced bleeding and it caused her some worry.

  The bleeding had stopped and she felt no pain. Doc had gone to St. Louis with twenty of the Percherons—his last of the gentle giants--so she wasn’t able to tell him what had happened. Should see the doctor, she thought. But then she got busy taking care of the children and decided to wait until Doc returned.

  Marion and Helen loved to help Bess and especially Bismarck whenever they would herd the sheep from the lower pasture up to the corral and shed near the house. Later in the day—a cool afternoon—she bundled up Billy and took the girls down the pasture on foot to round up the sheep.

  Marion and Helen were running back and forth behind the sheep, their little legs pounding the cut grass, when an old ewe stopped in her tracks and stared at the girls—not moving, as though to challenge them. Bismarck watched carefully but politely stood silently nearby as though to see what the girls would do. While Helen stopped and stood silently, Marion bent down, stared at the sheep, and barked “Woof! Woof!” as she jumped toward the animal. That startled the old ewe and she bolted around and ran back into the small herd. The girls giggled with delight, then made sounds like a dog as they all proceeded up to the corral. Bismarck walked slowly behind them with what appeared to Bess to be a puzzled look on his face.

  As they approached the shed, and while the girls were skipping back and forth, Marion noticed a small pile of sheep manure that had perhaps ten to fifteen of the small, round black-colored sheep droppings, like small black marbles. She picked one up, turned to Helen and Bess, and exclaimed, “Look, Helen! Berries!” She plunged the small object into her mouth, then spit it out with a wretched sound. Her face was all puckered up. “Ickkk!” she yelled as she immediately spit out the sheep berry.

  Bess couldn’t help chuckling to herself, but she didn’t want Marion to think she was laughing at her. “Don’t eat those, Marion,” she said. “They’re not berries!” Marion didn’t cry, but she was definitely not happy. Bess went quickly into the house, put the sleeping Billy into his cradle, then brought out a glass of water to the un
happy little girl. “Wash your mouth out, Marion,” she said. “Wash it out three times.”

  Marion took the glass of water and spit out three quick mouthfuls. “Ickkk!” she yelled.

  Bess then took her into the house and gave her a spoonful of chokecherry jam. “Spit it out, Marion,” Bess said.

  After three spoons of jam, which she’d spit out, Marion took another drink of water and finally calmed down. The awful taste was gone. “Not berries,” she said. Helen stood by with a puzzled look on her face. Marion went over to Helen and said, “Don’t eat berries, Helen!”

  That Saturday Bess again woke up with blood as her companion and felt pain in her pelvic area. This is worrisome. Better see Dr. Poppe, she thought. He told me to come see him if I had any problems.

  Bess asked Jim Edgar if he would mind watching the children while she went into Haley. “I’ll take Billy with me,” she said. Jim agreed—He’s always good with the children and they like him, she thought.

  Bess saddled up Annabel, bundled up Billy, and set off to Haley to see Dr. Poppe. He was always easy to see—even without an appointment—and Bess felt that what she was experiencing should be discussed with him. What’s wrong? she wondered.

  “You better take it easy, Bess,” said the doctor after examining her. “No hard physical activity for you. I don’t know exactly what the problem is, but whenever I see this sort of thing, I recommend bed rest.”

  Bed rest? thought Bess. With three little children and with Doc away, I can’t afford bed rest. “Do you think it’s serious?” she asked.

  “Don’t know for sure, but it’s not good. Bed rest, Bess. Can’t take any chances.”

  On the way back to the homestead, Bess thought about how she could handle what Dr. Poppe had said. Can’t restrict myself to just the bed, she thought. The children. Have to take care of them. Wish Doc was here.

  Over the next three days, Bess tried to restrict her physical activities and asked Jim Edgar if he wouldn’t mind feeding the horses and helping now and then getting water from the well. She had no more bleeding and only occasional pain, and thought that cutting down on the physical work was helping. Doc will be home any day now, she thought.

  Three days later she heard Doc ride up very late in the evening, but he didn’t come inside the house right away. Bess felt good that he had arrived and waited to tell him about the problems she had been experiencing. She also thought Doc would get a good laugh about Marion’s “berry incident.” When he did come into the house, he was quite drunk and appeared to be in no mood to talk about the family, his trip to St. Louis, or the problems that Bess was having with her bleeding and pain. He was upset about something, but didn’t want to communicate. Instead, he simply went to bed without comment.

  Damn! Bess thought. Then she sat down at the table and lit a cigarette.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  During the middle of the night, Bess awoke early to the sound of sharp cracks of thunder and a driving rain. Doc was fast asleep and didn’t stir as Bess got out of the bed, dressed, and went outside to check on the sheep in the corral. Rain was coming down in sheets. In the distance toward the West over the Teepee Buttes, Bess could see long streaks of lightning almost every minute. Late fall thunderstorm for sure. Strong, too, Bess thought. The violence of the rainstorm made the rain appear as though it was moving horizontally across the landscape. When the lightning would brighten up the sky, Bess could see the dark, wispy, and swirling clouds moving swiftly toward the northeast. This storm was fierce and Bess wondered if there might be the possibility of a tornado.

  Water was pouring off the roof of the shed but fortunately wasn’t accumulating yet on the ground, because of the downward slope toward the lower pasture beyond the corral. In the corral, the sheep were huddled safely near the western fence, and the fence gate was securely closed.

  A sharp flash of light and an immediate loud crack of thunder startled Bess as lightning apparently struck the top of the hill to the east of the house, making her wonder whether the stone Johnnie had been hit. With the frequent light flashes, Bess could see the angry swirling clouds, which had an almost blackish-green appearance and were moving even more swiftly. She quickly ran back into the house to wake Doc and the children. If a tornado was coming, they had best be in the root cellar. And quick!

  “Doc,” she cried out. “Get the kids! Root cellar! Might be a tornado coming.” Doc stirred and rolled over without saying anything. “Doc,” Bess cried out again as she scurried to wake the children. “Get up!” Again, Doc just stirred a bit and seemed to grunt.

  Bess didn’t have time to get Doc out of bed and was concerned mostly about the children. The girls quickly put on their wraps and Bess bundled Billy up in a blanket. Together they dashed outside and down the fifty feet to the root cellar. She led them down the small stairs. The girls were squealing, obviously terrified of the flashing lightning and thunder crashes. She seated the girls on one of the small benches toward the rear of the cellar. “Marion—hold Billy,” Bess said in almost a shout. I’m going to get the lantern.”

  A jagged bolt of lightning ripped across the sky as she left the root cellar. Bess could see the churning and angry clouds before the mighty crash of thunder reverberated across the frightened prairie landscape like the roar of an angry god. She fetched the lamp and hustled back to the root cellar where the girls were huddled with Billy near the back. The cold, icy rain felt like it was piercing her skin as she scrambled down the stairs into the shelter. Fortunately, the cellar was dry and no water had leaked in through the ceiling or down the stairs. Bess shut the door and waited with the kids. “We’ll be all right,” said Bess to the wide-eyed and frightened children.

  “Where’s Daddy?” shouted Marion.

  “He’s in the house. He’s safe.” Bess didn’t really know what Doc was doing, and by this time wondered if she even cared.

  Bess could hear the crashing of the thunder and the howling wind and thought about Doc still inside the house. She knew the house was very sturdy, but worried about the shed and the horses inside. The sheep would be secure so long as the fence held up against the fierce wind.

  The fury of the storm lasted another thirty minutes and the sound of the thunder became distant in the east until all that remained was the soft pitter-patter of a gentle rain. Bess and the children remained in the root cellar for another half hour until she felt that it was safe to emerge. Thank heaven for the root cellar, she thought as they went into the house. There she found Doc still sound asleep; he had missed all of the excitement. Damn you, Doc, she thought.

  Bess went outside briefly to see if there had been any damage to the house or to the shed and corral. Fortunately, everything seemed intact—nothing blown over--and the sheep were all safe. The rain had stopped, and the sky was clearing to the west. The clouds high up were moving swiftly toward the east and bright rays of the early morning sun were beginning to shoot through and bathe the prairie grass in bright and welcomed light. The sky was an encouraging blue. It will be a beautiful day, she hoped.

  When Bess went back inside the house, she found the children in their beds. Billy had awakened when they came inside from the root cellar but was now fast asleep in his cradle.

  She could hear a rustle from the bedroom as Doc was apparently awake and putting on his clothes. He came out of the bedroom looking a bit disheveled. “Mornin’,” he mumbled as he sat down at the table. Bess was upset with him but said nothing as she began to prepare breakfast. “Gonna go back over east,” he said. Bess did not reply as she began to fry some eggs and ham.

  They sat in silence as Doc quickly ate his eggs and fried ham. “Heard from Pearle,” said Doc. “Got a letter from her. Says she’s coming out here on the train. Going to Oregon and wants to stop in.”

  “Pearle?” asked Bess.

  “Niece,” said Doc. “Pearle Swanson. Older sister’s daughter. Lives in Chicago.”

  Pearl, thought Bess. I remember him mentioning her once before. “Niece?
” asked Bess.

  “Sister’s daughter,” said Doc. “My older sister—twenty-five years older than me. Pearle is my age.”

  “When?” Bess asked.

  “Couple of weeks, so she says. Says she’s gonna write with the exact time. Gonna come to Scranton on the train and then ride down here. Stay at the new boarding house.”

  Bess stared at Doc. “Well I suppose that’s fine.”

  When Doc was finished, he grabbed his coat and hat and headed out the door. “Must have rained last night,” he said casually as the door closed behind him.

  Bess sat down at the kitchen table and lit a cigarette. So his niece is going to visit, she thought. Bess didn’t tell him about the problems she had with bleeding, the pain, and her visit to Dr. Poppe as well as his advice about bed rest. She then began to feel an aching pain in her stomach; she got up and went into the bedroom, where she found that she was again bleeding slightly.

  Damn you, Chris, she thought. Damn you!

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Bess was apprehensive. Doc learned in a letter from Pearle that she and her husband, Frank Swanson, were going to stop in Scranton on their way to Oregon on the Milwaukee Road Railroad to spend the Christmas and New Year’s holidays with Pearle’s aunt. They planned to come to Haley and stay for two days in a boarding house—the new one that had been built after the boarding house fire. Hopefully we won’t have any snow while they’re here, thought Bess.

  Bess felt a little uncomfortable having a well-to-do relative from a large city like Chicago visit her ranch home, part of which was the remains of a sod house on the prairie attached to a much larger wooden structure. But she was proud of what she had accomplished and totally unapologetic. This homestead is my home, she thought. I don’t live in Chicago.