The Brides of the Old West: Five Romantic Adventures from the American Frontier

by Peggy Darty, Darlene Franklin, Sally Laity, Nancy Lavo

  CHAPTER 17

  Jan would be eternally grateful to the trapper who picked him up, even if the smell that emanated from the old coot was enough to make Jan lose what little was still in his stomach. To be fair, the vomiting might have been due to the crease the bullet had laid across his head. The trapper also gave him a drink from his canteen. That was vastly appreciated. Even if the trapper was not precisely careful with his injuries, he did throw Jan up on the horse and let him ride.

  Jan thanked Henderson for not letting him die. The Englishman tended his wounds, dug out the bullet, and declared the bone not broken, only bruised. He fought the fever that threatened to overcome Jan’s resolve to live, forced water and broth down him, and prayed over him. He even pulled Jan’s Bible out during one of Jan’s lucid moments and read to him from Psalms as he was instructed.

  Nonetheless, Jan was not grateful for Henderson’s interference once he could sit up on the bales of hay serving as his sick bed. “What do you mean I can’t go yet?” Jan growled at his nurse. “My family’s up there without sufficient provisions. Winter’s here. I can’t stay down in Fort Reynald with them alone in the cabin.”

  “Neither can you travel safely,” insisted the Englishman. “Your wounds are not sufficiently healed. You haven’t regained your strength. The only thing I can say is you’ve been without fever for all of twenty-four hours. It would be suicide, sir, and what good would you be to your wife and children, dead on the trail?”

  Jan threw the tin cup he held across the room.

  “And there is the matter of the identity of who ambushed you,” continued Henderson, undaunted by Jan’s display of temper. “Your pack horse came back here with its full load. I know, I watched you fasten each item on with my own eyes, and I unloaded those same items with a foreboding in my heart.

  “It was because the horse showed up at the fort’s gate that I knew you were in trouble. I know you will forgive me for not setting out to search for you, myself, but I have not yet overcome my disability. Therefore, I sent one of the trappers I know to be a good man in my stead.”

  Jan lowered his head carefully back down to what was serving as his pillow. The Englishman’s rhetoric was making the headache worse, if that were possible.

  “Your bay is missing, it’s true,” continued Henderson, ignoring the groan from his patient. “I can’t believe someone shot you and left you for dead for one horse and didn’t take the one loaded with supplies.”

  “He just didn’t catch Horse,” muttered Jan.

  “Couldn’t catch Horse? Which was the steadier of the two when you stayed with me before? Gert or Horse? Horse! She’s the more domesticated of the two. It was Horse who turned around and headed for the nearest stable when she found herself loose.”

  “Go away, Henderson,” groaned Jan. “I bow to your superior judgment for today.”

  He had to bow to the Englishman’s judgment for more than one day. When he did rise from the bed, he swayed. Henderson told him it was loss of blood. His vision blurred. Henderson said it was due to a concussion. His knees buckled. Henderson said it was weakness from the fever. Jan threw a boot at him. Henderson said he was getting better.

  Few of the trappers were in the habit of visiting with the stuffy ex-butler. Instead, they congregated around the potbellied stove of the main mercantile building. Most of these men would spend the entire winter in the relative comfort of the fort, gambling, drinking, and occasionally having what they called fandangos where the men got liquored up enough to dance wildly to the Mexican guitars even without female partners. In early spring, those men would disperse into the mountains to trap the furs at their peak of splendor.

  Jan and Henderson had plenty of time to talk and, since he was good for little else, Jan began telling stories as he was in the habit of doing with the children. Henderson found them amusing and eventually asked another man to join them. By the end of the second week, Jan entertained a room full of men. It was one form of entertainment available at the fort.

  Most mountain men practiced telling tall tales. They enjoyed having someone with stories they hadn’t heard before—someone who also appreciated the telling of their outlandish yarns. When Jan began to end the evening storytelling sessions with preaching, they stayed to listen.

  Predicted heavy snowfall was a topic of much speculation. Determining whether or not it would be an especially hard winter depended upon woolly worms and how high off the ground the hornets had nested that year. Jan listened to all these conjectures with growing alarm. Although skeptical of the old sayings, he wanted to return to Tildie and the children with all possible speed. One night, he announced to Henderson that he was leaving the next day. In the morning there was two feet of snow on the ground.

  “It’ll melt quick,” advised one of the trappers. “First snow never stays.”

  Jan was frustrated, but knew the foolishness of starting off in uncertain weather. Two gray cold days followed, spitting snow out of the clouds in frequent flurries. On the third day, a burst of sunshine and a quick thaw surprised the fort. Jan made plans to borrow a riding horse from Henderson and repack Horse. He was determined to set out before yet another spell of bad weather delayed him.

  “I don’t want you brought back across a saddle, sir,” said Henderson.

  “Then we won’t make it known that I’m leaving”, answered Jan. “I’ll slip out at first light tomorrow morning.”

  The only difference in their nightly routine was that when Jan presented the gospel that night to the trappers, he made a more obvious push for the men to make a decision for accepting Christ.

  In the morning, he left before most of the fort’s populace awoke.

  CHAPTER 18

  Boister and Mari struggled under the weight of the huge skin. They’d cleared a place in the snow where they intended to stretch and peg the hide, hair side down. Scraps of fat and tissue still adhered to the hide, and their next job was to remove them by scraping the inner surface with smooth rocks. But for now, they were having a time of it trying to drag the heavy skin over to the prepared spot.

  “Need some help?”

  “Jan!” squealed Mari. She dropped her end of the bearskin, and ran through the snow.

  “Tildie, Tildie!” yelled Boister, abandoning the skin. “Jan’s back.”

  Evie and Tildie rushed out of the cabin, running to throw their arms around Jan. He kissed them all around, even Boister, then kissed Tildie once more for good measure.

  “Oh Jan,” exclaimed Tildie. “You’re so thin and pale. What happened?”

  “Where’s Gert?” asked Boister. Boister looked with disdain upon the borrowed horse and then beyond, to the trees expecting his Gert to come through the thicket.

  “Gert’s probably running with some Indians’ herd by now,” explained Jan.

  “You lost Gert?” Boister sounded hurt. His face began to crumple. “We lost Gladys, too. She just went off one day and didn’t come back. I looked for her, Jan. I tried to follow her tracks, but I lost them in a thick wood.”

  “She’s an old dog, Boister,” Jan began.

  “She never would’ve run off,” Boister said through a sniffle.

  “No, son, you’re right,” agreed Jan. “She knew a lot about taking care of herself, but sometimes things happen even to those who are good at taking care of themselves. She may be dead, and if she never returns, we have to remember what a happy life she led.”

  “Let’s take Jan inside and have his story,” suggested Tildie. “It looks to me like we almost lost him.”

  They led Jan into the cabin, where Tildie’d been slicing thin strips of bear meat to dip in boiling salt water in preparation for drying.

  Jan gladly sat and rested while Boister took the horses into the stable and unloaded them.

  “Don’t you be looking too closely at those bundles, Boister,” instructed Jan. “I’ve got surprises in there that’ll have to keep ‘til Christmas.”

  “Presents, Evie,” Mari explained.


  The little girls’ eyes perked up as they turned to carefully watch their brother, hoping something would accidentally fall open. They even rushed to help carry the different bundles when Jan began directing Boister as to where to put them. Tildie sat on Jan’s lap, where he’d pulled her when he first sat in the chair by the table.

  “Here,” Jan said as he shifted her from one side to the other. “Sit facing this way and lean against the other shoulder.”

  “Why?” asked Tildie, looking closely at his face. She didn’t like the lines of pain she saw around his mouth. She tried to get up, but he held her.

  “No, Tildie, be still.” He firmly gripped her. “I’ve waited over a month to hold you again, and as long as you don’t squirm, I’m okay.”

  “Jan,” she spoke softly. “Tell me what happened.”

  Before he could begin Boister and Mari launched into the tale of the bear, starting with his marauding around the cabin and stealing their meat.

  “I’m glad you’re back, Jan,” said Boister with a big grin. “Now I don’t have to do all the work around here anymore.”

  “Shame!” exclaimed Tildie in mock indignation. “As if that were the only reason we’re glad he’s back.”

  “Stories!” Evie clapped her hands together.

  Mari was silent. She came to stand beside Jan and put her little hand on his big arm. “I’m glad you’re back ’cause I love you. You don’t have to tell stories if you don’t want to.” Big tears welled up in her eyes. “You don’t have to do work. Just, please, never go away again. I missed you.”

  Jan wrapped his free arm around her little shoulders and kissed her on the top of her head. “I don’t ever want to go away again, Mari,” he said. “But I can’t promise that. I may need to go for supplies. But I want you to know that I missed you, too. I tried my best to get back here as soon as I could.”

  Evie moved closer and gave Tildie a push as she had often done before. “Tildie, move. Evie’s turn.”

  Tildie relinquished her spot on Jan’s lap. As soon as Tildie sat in her chair next to him, Boister surprised her by coming to stand close. He leaned against her leg, moving it aside, and then sat on the edge of her chair with her. Mari crawled into Jan’s lap to sit with her little sister.

  “Now tell us,” Mari commanded.

  Jan laughed, happy to be with his adopted family. He told of his uneventful trip to the fort, then listed some of the things he had purchased. He left out his unpleasant encounter with des Reaux, but detailed an account of his friendship with Henderson. He told how Henderson feared open spaces and mimicked his English accent making them all laugh as he relayed how often Henderson had served him tea. Then he told how he’d been shot and minimized the painful trip back to the fort and the days of being weak and helpless.

  “But all the time I was away from you, I wanted very much to hurry back. And while I was sick, I thought of a plan. It’s really an extension of a plan I already had, but I want to put it before you and see if it meets with your approval.”

  Three little heads bobbed up and down. Tildie tilted hers with a look of inquiry.

  “I’ve asked Tildie to marry me,” continued Jan. “That means she’d be my wife and the mother of my children.”

  Mari clapped her hands. Boister cheered.

  “But I feel like you three are already my children. I love you and want us to be a family. If we would agree to be a family, then I’d be your pa and Tildie’d be your mama. We’d live together until you’re all grown up and want homes of your own. When I go away on a trip, Mari, you’ll know that I’ll come back because I’d be your pa, and a pa would do anything possible to get back to his children.”

  Mari had no second thoughts. She put her arms around Jan’s neck, making him wince a bit as she hugged tightly against his sore shoulder.

  “Yes,” she pronounced enthusiastically. “Can I call you Pa?”

  Jan smiled and nodded.

  Mari released him and jumped off his lap to climb into Tildie’s and hug her. “You can be my mama,” she said.

  Evie looked at the grown-ups with a puzzled frown between her eyes.

  Jan spoke to her carefully, looking into her trusting eyes. “Evie, can I be your pa?”

  She still looked unsure as to what was going on. “Pa,” she tried the word. Then she looked at Tildie, and a smile grew on her face. “Tildie-ma.” She laughed.

  That seemed to settle that vote. Jan, Tildie, and Mari turned to look at Boister. He pulled away from Tildie and stood straight, a wary look on his face.

  Mari watched him anxiously, then turned with a question for Jan. “Jan,” she asked. “Will my real mama and pa be mad because we got a new mama and a new pa?”

  “No, Mari,” said Jan with confidence. “They’d be happy because families are a good thing, and God likes families.”

  She turned to Tildie with the same question in her eyes.

  “Your mama would be pleased,” said Tildie. “She was my very special aunt, and she helped take care of me when I was your age. She taught me how to love children, and she would be happy to know I was taking care of you as your mama.”

  Mari’s face relaxed with relief, and she slid down to go to her brother. Cautiously, she took his hand in her own.

  “It’s okay, Boister,” she spoke quietly. “We don’t have to say Mama and Pa unless we want to. But will you please say it’s okay? I want to be a family and we can’t without you. There’s nobody else to be the brother. You have to say yes.”

  Boister didn’t jerk away from her or reply quickly with a harsh answer. He looked first at her, then at the others in the room, waiting. He nodded solemnly. “It’s okay,” he said.

  “Hallelujah!” shouted Jan. He plopped Evie on the floor next to her sister and stood. “Let’s have a wedding.”

  Everyone laughed. Mari grabbed her sister’s hands and began her own wild version of a polka with her willing partner. Jan pulled Tildie to her feet. He looked down at her with such ardent eyes that Tildie blushed. She ducked her head.

  “Jan Borjesson, you said we wouldn’t wed until I could stand at the ceremony,” she objected with teasing in her voice.

  Boister surprised them by answering, “Tildie, you were walking around the cabin without your crutches until the gun knocked you over yesterday. You can’t use that as an excuse. The real problem is the cake. You gotta have cake at a wedding.”

  “How do you know that?” asked Mari.

  “’Cause Mama told me about her cake and the dancing and the party at her wedding.”

  “It’s too late to bake a cake tonight,” explained Tildie. “And I don’t know how tasty a cake would be without any eggs. We could wait until tomorrow to have the wedding.”

  “No, we can’t.” Jan vetoed that idea.

  “I could set the dough tonight, and we could have fried bread with sugar coating for breakfast,” suggested Tildie.

  “Hurray!” cried Mari and Boister together.

  “Jan, what am I going to wear?” asked Tildie.

  “I brought you a whole bunch of material,” he answered.

  “Jan, I cannot make a dress in an hour,” she objected.

  “Don’t make a dress out of it,” he declared. “Just kinda wrap it around.”

  “A toga, a toga,” squealed Mari happily.

  “I’m going to get married in a toga, without a cake or a preacher, with a half-skinned bear on the table.”

  “Not half-skinned, Tildie,” said Boister indignantly. “His whole skin is outside.”

  “I’ll clean up the mess while you wash and fashion some kind of wedding dress,” promised Jan. “The girls and Boister will help me, and we’ll have bear steak for dinner. I’ll cook.”

  “You really want to get married tonight, don’t you?” she asked.

  He looked in her eyes and nodded slowly. She blushed.

  “All right,” she said in a voice of resignation. “If this family is going to insist, I guess my only choice is to comply.”
She stole a look at Jan, who was still watching her, and blushed again. “Where’s the material for my wedding dress, Jan Borjesson?”

  CHAPTER 19

  As a religious ceremony of proper decorum and solemnity, the wedding failed completely. As a joyous celebration, it excelled everyone’s expectations.

  Of the three pieces of material, Tildie chose the golden calico over the red or the more somber blue. She suddenly insisted that she wash her hair, and the bath took longer than pleased Jan. He and Boister finished what they could of the bear meat and cleaned up the remnants of that messy business. Then the little girls giggled as Jan took a bath in the stable with Boister carrying the pots of warm water to him.

  The sun set before they stood together in front of the fireplace. Jan read words from his Bible, and they exchanged their vows quietly, looking into each other’s faces and perfectly content with what they saw there. The silver ring was just a little loose, but Tildie and the children exclaimed over its beauty.

  Afterward, they danced to Jan’s loud renditions of old Swedish folk songs. Tildie sang several of the songs she’d learned from her father. The children sang along when they knew the words. Mari insisted that they sing the sums song that they’d made up to learn their addition facts. Finally, they sat down to the wedding feast, which included pieces of hard candy Jan had brought up from the fort.

  The overexcited children resisted going to their beds. Jan insisted they go. In his rich baritone, Jan sang a lullaby his grandmother and mother had sung to him while Tildie sat on his lap in the deerskin-covered chair. When the children were still restless, he and Tildie harmonized melodious hymns. Finally, the children finished their squirming and slept. The newlyweds watched the flickering light of the fireplace.

  “Our voices sound good together,” commented Jan.

  “Uh-huh,” Tildie responded dreamily.