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

by Charles Cranston Jett

  Bess rode into New England and discovered that the boarding house where she spent the night on the trip from Dickinson to Haley had burned down. The town appeared to be flourishing, but the Northern Pacific and Milwaukee railroads bypassed the town, which had stunted its growth, as Bess had suspected would happen. There was a new boarding house that had been built along the charred remains of the old place, and Bess was able to secure a private room for the night and have a decent supper. When going to bed, she thought about Dickinson, and memories of her time there with Linda when she first arrived in the West seemed fresh—almost alive.

  What will it be like, she thought, to go back to that town and retrace my steps from a time when I was so happy? During the night, the dream of the failed meeting with Linda in Bowman returned.

  The next morning, the road from New England to Dickinson was better than that from Haley, as it was dry and hadn’t seen much rain. Annabel seemed energized and wanted to move at a trot, so the journey to Dickinson was not as tedious or long. As Dickinson appeared on the horizon, Bess could clearly see that there had been substantial growth. New buildings had emerged near the east end of town, and several new grain elevators had been constructed, which signaled the prosperity of this growing town.

  Bess thought about Doc. What’s going to happen? Just how bad is it? she wondered. I’ll have to summon some courage and show real concern. Maybe he will be apologetic. She hadn’t seen Doc since he slapped her, insulted her, and she ordered him out of the house. There would be some tension, of course, but she knew she must appear to be understanding, knowing that good things might come despite a cost to herself. She felt the apprehension. I’m not afraid, she told herself.

  Bess passed the train depot where she had said her final goodbye to Linda, then rode silently up the street a short distance to the same small hotel where she and Linda had stayed. She wanted to check in at the hotel and stable Annabel before going to the hospital to see Doc. The clerk gave her the same second-floor room she had shared with Linda.

  She went upstairs to the room and with shaky hands and a sigh, she turned the doorknob. Her memories had been accurate—the clean room was painted a pale blue, with two windows in front overlooking the main street in the town. She stared at the single bed, with the beautiful dark wood posts at each corner, recollecting the happiness she had felt when she and Linda had stayed there together. But now it was time to see Doc. She wanted to bottle these memories of Linda and save them for later.

  The hospital looked old and dirty as Bess climbed the broad staircase leading to the front entrance. The waiting room must have been the former dining room in the old house. The nurse at the desk told her that Dr. Phelps would be back shortly and that she should talk with him before visiting Mr. Stewart, who was in the main ward. Bess settled into an uncomfortable sofa and waited.

  After quite some time, Dr. Phelps walked over and extended his hand. “Mrs. Stewart?”

  He reminded Bess of Papa. He was about the same height and had a pleasant voice. His attractive mustache was in much the same style as Papa’s, although his hair was almost white. He was neatly dressed in a black suit and a white shirt with crisp collars that bound his black bowtie. His hands were soft, not rough and ruddy like Papa’s were. Bess stood and shook his hand.

  “Please sit down,” said Dr. Phelps as he motioned her to sit down, taking a seat in a wooden chair next to the sofa. “Your husband has a serious injury,” he said. “The gunshot wound shattered his right femur—the hip bone.” He pointed to his right hip. “We need to let the gunshot wound heal and then we will put him in a cast while the bone sets. I’m afraid that he will not be quite the same after the bone is healed,” the doctor continued. “His right leg will be a bit shorter than the left, and he will definitely walk with a significant limp. He may even need a crutch, but most certainly a cane.”

  Bess listened patiently as the doctor continued. “What we’re worried most about now is the chance that the wound will become infected. We don’t see any signs of that as yet, but we need to watch it carefully.”

  “How long do you think he will need to remain in the hospital?” Bess asked.

  “Hard to tell,” said Dr. Phelps. “Most likely two or three weeks. Maybe more. The wound needs to heal and we have to make sure that the bone sets properly.”

  “May I see him?”

  “Certainly.” Dr. Phelps rose from his chair. “This way.” He extended his hand and pointed toward the door to the main ward. “He’s in the main ward. We can go right in.”

  They walked into the ward, which was very crowded. There were eight beds, all occupied. The ward was noisy, with the sound of someone crying near a bed on the right just after the entrance. Several people—most likely family—were huddled around the bed. Dr. Phelps pointed to the last bed on the left.

  Doc was lying on his back with a sheet covering most of his body with the exception of his right leg, which was securely wrapped in a double splint with bandages covering the wound. Doc’s head was propped up on two pillows and he was staring at the ceiling. He didn’t even glance at Bess or the doctor as they approached the bed.

  “Mr. Stewart,” Dr. Phelps said, “your wife is here to see you.”

  Doc said nothing and continued to stare at the ceiling. He had somewhat of a frown on his face, but he didn’t appear to be in any pain.

  “I’ll leave you to visit,” said the doctor. “If you need me, I’ll be in my office—just outside the ward.” He pointed to the office entrance near the opposite end of the room.

  Bess sat down on the small wooden chair that Dr. Phelps moved from against the wall to the left side of the bed. She didn’t say anything for a few moments as Doc continued to stare blankly at the ceiling, not acknowledging her presence. “How are you feeling, Chris?” she asked.

  Doc said nothing. Bess reached out and touched his right hand. Doc moved it quickly away.

  “I heard what happened,” she said. “I’m so sorry that you got hurt. Are you in much pain?”

  “Nothin’ I can’t handle,” Doc said, still staring at the ceiling.

  “The kids and I have been worried about you,” she said quietly.

  Doc was silent for a moment, then he looked at Bess. “The kids. How are the kids?”

  “They’re fine, Doc.” Bess said quietly. “Just fine.”

  Doc looked back at the ceiling and said nothing.

  “Dr. Phelps says you will need time to heal,” Bess said. “Then you can come home.”

  Doc remained silent. Doc’s lack of response angered Bess. He seemed not to care that she was there to see him and that she had concern for him. She reached out and touched his hand once more, and Doc quickly pulled it away.

  “I’ll be fine,” he huffed. “Just fine. Go home.”

  Bess couldn’t think of anything to say. It was difficult for her to continue to hide her anger. It wasn’t that Doc had foolishly been injured, but that he was so totally unresponsive to her and seemed not to appreciate that she was concerned about him.

  She sat in silence at Doc’s bedside for half an hour, stewing in her own anger. Every word that came to mind stung and only fueled the fire that burned inside her. Trying to say something and getting no response was only enraging her further. Her fists clenched and her jaw tightened. Nothing. He said nothing. The anger continued to grow. Something was wrong with Doc. Dreadfully wrong. It was not only the injury; it was something else. Whatever it was, it had been slowly but steadily growing worse for at least a year.

  “Well,” she said, “I guess I’ll be going.” She looked at him and waited for a response, but there was none. Just silence with a hint of anger on his face.

  Bess rose from her chair and walked through the noisy ward through the main door without saying goodbye. She asked the nurse in the waiting room if she could talk briefly with Dr. Phelps. The doctor came out of his office.

  Bess tried to smile, but it was difficult. “Please take good care of him, Dr. Phelps,” Bess
said quietly. “He’s obviously upset about his injury and what might be in store for him when he heals.”

  “Certainly, Mrs. Stewart,” said the doctor. “I’m sorry.” He shook her hand, and Bess left the hospital without a second glance.

  While she was glad that the doctor would be caring for Doc as well as possible, her anger grew as she walked slowly back to the hotel. A burning rage hissed through her body, like a slow and deadly poison begging her for a release in some form of unwanted violence. It was all-consuming, engulfing her sense of morality and destroying any boundary of loyalty that might have existed. It’s over, she thought. But what can I do?

  Bess arrived back at the hotel as they were beginning to serve supper, so she went to her room, then to the washroom, and returned to join the other guests in silence. After supper, she returned to her room and sat down in the chair, looking out the window at a beautiful sunset in the red sky to the west. Memories of her time in this room rushed over her like a warm wave of soft water. She thought about those memories. So vivid. Then she thought about the present.

  Then she bowed her head and cried.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Bess wasted no time leaving Dickinson the next morning. The day was cool but not cold, the blue sky was virtually cloudless, and Annabel seemed eager to get home. She thought about not stopping in New England, but riding in the dark on the poor road from New England through Scranton to Haley was too much of a challenge for her to undertake. Besides, she was tired and needed some rest.

  Bess’s tried to ignore the feelings that consumed her. Her thoughts were a combination of nostalgia for the sweet memories of her first time in Dickinson and the unpleasant reality of Doc. He seemed unwilling even to communicate with her, and her recollection of his slapping her at home in front of the children further stoked her anger. What about the future? she wondered.

  As she spent a quiet night in the boarding house in New England, she began to sort out her priorities. I have to be strong and remember why I came out here in the first place, she thought. First, the children. Second, success for the homestead and security for me and the children. Third, I have a duty as a wife to try to help Doc heal and get back on his feet the way we were before he started his drinking. For that last, she had little hope, but she was determined to at least give it a try.

  Bess returned to Haley from New England in mid-afternoon the next day. The children seemed happy to see her. Mrs. Collins was feeding them a fresh stew, and the aroma made Bess realize that she was hungry. She greeted the children and reassured them that their father was fine.

  October was a cold month with frost starting during the first week. Jim Edgar was helping much more with the cattle, and the sheep were healthy and fat. Bess would go into Haley on Mondays and use the telephone at the Currie Store to talk to Dr. Phelps in Dickinson. Doc’s progress was slow, but thankfully, the wound was healing significantly without any infection. Dr. Phelps said he would be putting on the plaster cast around the first part of November and that she would be able to bring Doc home around the end of the month. Doc would have to remain in bed for at least a couple of months to let the leg heal properly before the cast would come off. That was good news regarding Doc’s health, but Bess was dreading having him bedridden in the house for such a long time. Maybe things would change. She hoped so.

  The first winter storm came early during the last week in November. Dr. Phelps had hoped that Bess could bring Doc back to Haley, but with the storm, she would have to wait until things cleared and it was safe to make the two-day wagon trip from Dickinson to Haley.

  The storm was fierce when it arrived, blowing snow and freezing rain directly from the west. The house was warm but the wind was howling. Bess donned her coat, heavy wool scarf, and stocking cap to go to the well for some water. The icy air forced its way into her lungs as she leaned into the western wind and the icy crystals stung her face. She quickly wrapped her scarf around her neck and tried to cover her face. When she had filled the water bucket and was laboring to walk back to the house, the wind blew the scarf away from her face and the blowing ice crystals felt like tiny bullets hitting her face. She had to squint in order to be able to see—thankful that she had only a few yards to the house.

  The storm raged on through the night and didn’t let up until just after dawn. The wind died down after the sun came up, and when Bess looked out of the front window, she could see the prairie fields glistening with ice like a frozen lake.

  It was cold during the next few days, and Ken Fisher came to the house with a message from Dickinson. Dr. Phelps felt that Doc should remain at the hospital for a few more weeks, at least until the weather was clear enough to risk a wagon trip from Dickinson to Haley. The extra time would be helpful toward healing the broken bone. Bess was grateful to hear that, not only because Doc’s leg would be better and the wagon trip might be safer, but also because she was dreading his coming back to be confined to the house.

  “Horses are fine,” said Ken. Bess looked at him for a moment, not connecting with what he had said. Horses? Oh, Doc’s horses, she remembered.

  “Good, Ken,” Bess said as she tried to express some relief. She hadn’t even thought about Doc’s horses over the past few weeks. Need to sell them, she thought. A few more weeks until Doc comes back—maybe after the first of the year.

  Surprisingly, after the early winter storm, the weather through the new year was unusually mild. There was no snow throughout the month of December and only mild flurries at the start of the new year. During a phone call to Dr. Phelps from the Currie store in mid-January, Bess learned that they were planning to transport Doc to Haley during the last week of January, weather permitting. Dr. Phelps told her that Doc was in a heavy cast around his waist and down his right leg all the way to his foot. That cast would need to remain in place until the end of February. That would give the thighbone nearly five months to heal from the time it was set following the injury. Removal of the cast would mean that Doc could start walking again--or at least practice walking.

  During a very mild week in early February, a wagon driven by Mr. Currie and accompanied by Ken Fisher brought Doc back to Haley. Since he was still in a cast that made him unable to stand, he had to ride in the back of the wagon on a mattress covered with a pile of blankets. The journey was slow and took two full days, with an overnight stay in New England, but they arrived in the early evening of the second day. It took three men—Mr. Currie, Ken Fisher, and Jim Edgar—to bring Doc into the house and put him on the bed, which Bess had prepared for him.

  Doc didn’t say much when he arrived and was interested mostly in making himself comfortable on the bed. With his cast, there was room only for him. They would have to give him enough room so he could swing to the side and be at the edge of the bed when he needed to relieve himself. Bess had put a small table beside the head of the bed so that he would have access to water and food.

  The children came into his room and stood beside the bed, anxious to see him. Doc smiled, something that Bess hadn’t seen for a long time. “I’m okay,” he said. Both Marion and Helen held out their hands, and he took them and smiled but said nothing more. Then he released their hands and said, “Daddy’s gotta get some sleep.” Doc didn’t even look at Bess nor acknowledge her presence. He turned his head away and shut his eyes as the children and Bess left the room.

  Taking care of Doc for the next two months was quite easy because all he seemed to need was food and water. He said little, but when he did, he asked how long it would be before he could “get the damn cast off.” Bess told him that Dr. Phelps had said that Dr. Poppe would come and remove it when the time was right.

  The right time came in mid-March, and Bess was relieved. Dr. Poppe came to the house and carefully removed the cast. Doc’s leg was white and clammy, and it looked as though he had suffered some considerable muscle loss and would probably be very weak. Dr. Poppe encouraged him to stand and, while shaky, Doc was successful. “I don’t want a crutch,” Doc
said with a slight tone of anger. “Gimme the cane.”

  Dr. Poppe handed him the cane and held on to Doc’s arm as he started to take a few steps. He was unsteady to begin with as he walked into the living room and back several times. “You can walk, Chris!” Bess said with enthusiasm.

  “Barely,” growled Doc. “Gotta use a cane. Need to practice. Gimme my coat.”

  “Think it’s okay to go outside?” Bess asked Dr. Poppe.

  “If he’s up to it,” said Dr. Poppe. He turned to Doc. “You gotta take it easy, Doc.”

  Doc was determined to walk and put on his coat. He walked carefully to the door as Bess leaned forward to open it for him. “I kin do it myself,” Doc said angrily. “Don’t need any help.” Doc opened the door and both he and Dr. Poppe walked outside.

  Bess watched from the window as Doc limped down the slight hill toward with the well, securely holding onto the cane. He spent the next hour walking back and forth between the well and the house, apparently gaining confidence with each careful step.

  “Feels good,” he said as he returned into the house. “Gonna do that a lot. Then ride my horse. Get Ken to bring Tony over here, will ya?” he asked. Tony was Doc’s favorite horse—a black stallion that he liked to ride. Tony was a gentle saddle horse, and while Bess felt that it might be dangerous for Doc to ride so soon, she knew she would have no chance of talking him out of it. Maybe, she hoped, his being able to walk might change things.

  For the next few days, Doc would walk back and forth from the house to the well. He used his cane, but when he tried walking without it, he would nearly lose his balance. That clearly frustrated him, and while Bess would offer encouragement, he generally said nothing.

  The next week, Ken Fisher brought Doc’s horse, Tony, to the house. Doc was clearly excited and wasted no time mounting him. “Easy to mount,” Doc said. “Use my left leg and just swing the right one over the saddle.” Doc spent nearly two hours riding Tony around the pasture, most of the time at a walk, but occasionally he would have Tony trot. Bess didn’t see him gallop and felt that while being on the horse might be dangerous, it was making Doc happy to at least be able to ride despite the difficulty he had when walking.