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

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

“Are you tired?”

  “I haven’t slept well while you were gone—especially since the bear started worrying us. Since we shot him… my goodness, was that only yesterday? It’s been a busy two days.”

  “Are you happy?”

  “Yes,” said Tildie. “It wasn’t the wedding I dreamed of, but it sure is chock-full of good memories.”

  He ran a finger down the edge of the material that formed the neckline of her toga. “I thought my bride was beautiful. Your gown is beautiful.” He buried his face in her hair. “Your hair is beautiful. Your eyes are beautiful. Your smile is…”

  “I know,” said Tildie, “beautiful.”

  “No,” said Jan. “I mean, it’s beautiful, but I thought of another word. Your smile is charming.”

  Tildie giggled and rested her head against his uninjured shoulder. “You look tired, Jan.”

  “I am,” he admitted. “Henderson said I was foolish to travel, but he didn’t know what was waiting for me here.” He kissed her.

  “Jan, when we get back to a settlement with a preacher, would you mind if we got married again?”

  “You don’t feel married.”

  “I don’t know,” admitted Tildie. “It’s so different from what I imagined.” Another giggle escaped her. “You know, I actually think our wedding was better.”

  Jan nuzzled her neck and she squirmed. “That tickles,” she objected.

  “Tildie, I’d like to pick you up and carry you to our bed, but I don’t think I can.”

  “Are you too tired?” she asked with real concern. She had gotten a glimpse over the half wall of the ugly red scar high on his chest when he’d stood up in the stable. She touched the scar on his forehead where the bullet had just missed ending his life.

  “I admit my shoulder is aching something fierce, but I’m not too tired to love you.”

  She didn’t speak.

  “What about you, Tildie?” he asked softly. “Are you recovered enough to be my wife?”

  She tensed, her back straightening as she unconsciously pulled away from his embrace. She took a deep breath and made herself relax. Purposefully she nestled down in his arms. “I’m a little nervous.”

  He put his lips against her ear. “So am I,” he whispered.

  “Let’s go to bed,” she suggested and stood. He came up right after her and wrapped her in his arms. After kissing her one more time, he lost the nervousness. Now she smiled at him with no shyness at all, and they walked over to the little niche that contained the pine needle mattress. Jan had hung a blanket across the opening to give Tildie the privacy she needed for her bath. He pushed an edge aside and led his bride through.

  “Get up, get up.” An insistent voice roused the sleeping adults. “You promised to make fried bread.”

  Tildie opened her eyes to find Mari and Evie standing on one side of the bed and Boister on the other. She blushed at the three pairs of eyes staring at her intently and burrowed down further in the covers.

  Jan sat up and looked groggily at the invaders.

  “Rule Number One for the Borjesson family: The mother and father are to be left alone in their bed until they wake up. You children get on the other side of that blanket.”

  His voice of authority sent them scurrying around the edge of the blanket.

  “Now,” said Jan. “One of you call to wake us up. We’re now asleep again.” He lay back down and took Tildie in his arms.

  There was some giggling and whispered consultation from the other side. Mari’s voice piped up. “Mama, Pa, can we have breakfast now?”

  Jan turned a grinning face to Tildie’s. “Yes, daughter,” he answered. “Put some wood on the fire, and I’ll be out as soon as I’m dressed.”

  “We already put the wood on,” said Boister. “We’ve been waiting an awful long time.”

  “Mama?” Evie’s voice sounded plaintive.

  “I’ll be out in a minute, Evie,” answered Tildie past the lump in her throat. “Sit in Mama’s chair and wait patiently.”

  Jan leaned over to kiss her as he got out of bed.

  “No need to hurry, honey. I’ll take care of them.”

  “She called me mama,” Tildie whispered.

  “Well, don’t cry about it,” he admonished her with a laugh. “Pretty soon they’ll be mama-ing you to death.”

  Tildie smiled at the prospect.

  While Jan and Boister took care of the chores, Tildie, Evie, and Mari made the fried bread. First, they took out a starter from their crock of sourdough to set aside for the next batch of dough. Then the girls pinched off dime-sized pieces, and Tildie dropped them into a deep kettle of smoking-hot fat. When the pieces rose to the surface, Tildie turned them with a long, forked stick. When they glistened golden brown on all sides and smelled heavenly, she lifted them out, and the girls waited until they drained and cooled a bit before rolling them in sugar. The little puffs of sweet dough were a treat. They’d not had enough sugar to lavish on these delicacies for quite a while.

  There was plenty of work to do that first morning. The bear meat and skin must be taken care of without delay. With Jan to help, the whole procedure took less time. Soon the skin was staked and scraped. The meat hung in strips in a smokehouse, and they put big hunks away in the cave. Jan and Boister worked to make the storage cave more secure.

  “Black bears don’t hibernate as the grizzly does,” explained Jan. “They sleep most of the winter away, but they can wake up two or three times or maybe more and wander away from their den. This one just didn’t see any reason to settle down when he had such interesting folk to investigate every night. Perhaps later in the winter he would have settled in for longer naps.

  “This bear will make our winter more luxurious,” he continued. “Why, we’ll have grease to waterproof our boots and use on our hands when they get chapped by the cold, dry air. It makes a good throat rub and hair oil. Mighty good thing Tildie shot this bear.” Jan grinned at Boister. They both knew it was only the hand of God that directed the bullet to the right place. Tildie really didn’t deserve much credit when it came to slaying the beast. She’d been brave to stand before the charging bear, but it was a blessing her shot hit the target.

  Inside, Tildie and the girls rendered the fat in preparation for making candles. They’d save some of the fat for cooking and making soap. Tildie encouraged the girls to be speedy with their chores.

  “As soon as we’re finished with this old bear, I can make you some dresses,” she explained.

  The girls wanted new dresses, so they swept and washed dishes. Even little Evie helped as best she could with all the little chores that would have kept Tildie away from her hot kettle. Their new mama guarded the boiling grease and wouldn’t let them near.

  The days that followed brought the new family closer together. Through the cold November, they played games, heard stories, sang songs, and did lessons with both Tildie and Jan. Jan began teaching Boister to shoot his rifle, but held off telling the boy that the gun was his until Christmas. Tildie sewed new dresses and shirts. The material that had been her wedding gown made a beautiful dress and her favorite to wear. She made shirts for both Jan and Boister out of the more somber blue, and the little girls had three dresses apiece plus new petticoats and aprons.

  For a Christmas surprise, she stitched matching dresses out of the scraps for the little girls’ dolls, and hemmed handkerchiefs for the whole family. Boister and Jan worked on a secret in the stable. It was easy to tell that their project involved wood, but the ladies of the household refrained from snooping.

  The isolated family had no idea what the date was on the calendar, so when the projects were near completion, Jan announced that Christmas would be celebrated in exactly seven days. That sent the little cabin’s occupants into a flurry of last-minute preparations including decorating, baking, and finishing their gifts.

  “Why didn’t you just say that tomorrow would be Christmas?” asked Tildie.

  “What, Tildie?” he exclaimed. “Were yo
u never a child? Part of the fun of Christmas is waiting and it seeming like it’ll never come.”

  Their Christmas morning was simple, but filled with the kind of things that make memories sweet. Even Evie, with Jan’s help, had made a trivet for Tildie so she could put the hot kettle on the table. Jan’s gifts from the fort were exclaimed over. They donned the clothes quickly and paraded before the others. Jan told story after story, some from the Bible, and some that were sentimental Christmas happenings from his own past.

  In the evening after all the gaiety had wound down and there was a cozy atmosphere in the cabin, Boister read the Christmas story from Luke with some help from Jan. He’d been practicing all week, but he still tripped over some words.

  “A very satisfying Christmas,” Jan murmured to Tildie that night as they lay in bed. “Last year, I was all alone except for Gladys. Somehow, having a family to share the celebration with makes the whole thing more beautiful.”

  “I suppose that’s because God’s intention in having His Son come to earth was to share the Good News with all people.”

  “A lonely vigil is just not in keeping with the spirit of Christmas,” agreed Jan.

  “When you think that the shepherds shouted for joy, and the skies filled with angels praising His Name….”

  “It just seems impossible to make it a sober, quiet occasion, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, impossible,” agreed Tildie.

  CHAPTER 20

  In February, Tildie was sure that there would be an additional member of their family. A few mornings of nausea confirmed her suspicions, and Jan seemed pleased with the news.

  “Remember a long time ago when you asked if my babies would be your sisters, Mari?” Tildie introduced the subject one morning as they did lessons.

  Mari frowned for a minute in contemplation, then smiled as she recalled. “You said they’d be my cousins.”

  “Yes, I said that then, but now—because we’ve decided to be a family with Jan—it’s different. Next fall, you’ll have a baby brother or a baby sister.”

  “You’re going to have a baby?” asked Boister.

  Tildie smiled at them all. “Yes.”

  Boister looked at Jan and grinned. “I hope it’s a boy, Pa. We’re already outnumbered.”

  Jan looked astonished. In the three months since the wedding, Boister had always avoided calling Jan anything. When he had to relay a message to someone in the house he would say, your Pa wants you, or he says to… Now Jan had finally been called Pa and he wanted to shout with joy. Instead he grinned back at Boister and said, “Yep, but if God gives us another girl to take care of, we’ll just have to figure it’s because we’ve been doing such a good job with the ones we’ve already got.”

  Jan did take good care of his new family. Tildie had mostly recovered from her accident. She still limped noticeably but only occasionally became overtired and ached in her bones. She joked that she would be one of those people who would be able to predict a spell of bad weather by the pain in her legs. Tildie felt confident that God had ordained this marriage, that her life was just as it should be, and God was pleased.

  Tildie and Jan sat out in the yard of their cabin, enjoying the cool night air and watching for shooting stars. They sat on a blanket on the ground with their backs against a pile of logs. With Jan’s arm around her, Tildie felt comfortable and secure.

  “As I see it, Mrs. Borjesson,” said Jan, “we have numerous options as to where to live and raise our family.”

  Tildie tilted up her head where it rested on his shoulder so she could see his face.

  “Pray tell.” She grinned.

  “We can live here, go back and live with the Arapaho, take over the children’s ranch, or go back to Ohio, where my family would welcome you with open arms.”

  “Which do you prefer?” she asked, trying not to be anxious. She had her own desires but realized she’d never be happy if Jan went where she preferred and then wasn’t happy, himself.

  “I’m a little tired of wilderness living to tell the truth,” Jan explained. “I’d like to settle where there are some other people.”

  Tildie held her breath. The Arapaho Indians were “other people,” and as much as she’d grown to like and respect Older One, she did not regard living the nomadic and difficult life of the Indians as a pleasant future. Still, if God had called Jan to be a missionary to the Indians, she must comply.

  She slowly let out the breath she had been holding. As the air left her lungs, she tried to mentally let go of her will to dictate the future.

  “The passion I had to tell the Indians of our Lord,” continued her husband, “seems to have transferred to another area of service.”

  “What’s that, Jan?”

  “Part of it’s raising the children,” he said seriously. “I haven’t completely come to understand, but it seems to revolve around preparing the next generation of Christians. I feel the need to be a part of a community, to preach regularly, to be in a church every week.”

  Tildie merely nodded, not wanting to interrupt his thoughts as he strove to share them with her.

  “The ranch is waiting for the children to return, and you said there was a settlement close by. I think I would like to go to the children’s ranch, keep it going so Boister would have that as his heritage from his parents, and serve as pastor in that community. Do they have a church?”

  “No,” admitted Tildie. The homestead held no fond memories for her. The little prairie house had been a home of unhappiness. She wasn’t sure this was the best plan, but she held her peace. Jan would change the atmosphere of the run-down ranch. Under his guidance, it would again prosper and be a new place, different from what it had been. She had confidence in Jan.

  It wasn’t until the next day while she was busy with some mundane chore that the little voice of doubt crept in. John Masters had married her aunt merely to have possession of a prime piece of land, but that had nothing to do with Jan.

  As more of the snow thawed, Jan took Boister out a couple of times each week to check the passes they’d need to traverse to get down out of the mountains. The woolly worms had been right and the footage of snow collected in shaded spots was remarkable. In April, Jan finally announced they would be leaving as soon as Tildie said they were packed up.

  “No need to take everything, Tildie,” Jan informed her. “We’ll leave the cabin so that if somebody stumbles on to it, they can use it. Dishes and blankets can all be replaced easier than we can tote them with us. Leave whatever staples that will keep, too. It might save somebody’s life.” They also left wood cut and stacked, candles, and a flint box, some heavy pans, and of course, all the furniture.

  “The ranch has all we’ll need,” said Jan and left the cabin to see about the meat in the cave that would not keep.

  “How does he know the ranch has all we need?” Tildie asked herself.

  “Mama, Mama,” Mari’s voice called urgently from far away. Tildie dropped the blanket she’d folded and ran to the door, her heart in her throat. The last time a child had called like that, a bear had been right at his heels.

  She stood in the doorway of the cabin and looked directly at the place Boister had broken through the brush on the run. Sure enough, Mari stumbled out of the woods in almost exactly the same spot, but she wasn’t running, and she held a golden, furry bundle in her arms. Tildie took several steps out of the cabin.

  Following Mari, several clumsy pups bounced through the short weeds. The last out of the thicket was Gladys. Gladys! Tildie began to run in her awkward gait. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jan and Boister descending the hill from the cave, hurrying to meet the lost dog.

  Gladys barked joyously and ran from one member to the next, licking faces. When the greetings subsided, Tildie asked, “Mari, where did you find her?”

  “She found me!” exclaimed the happy child. “Look, she has puppies.” She did, indeed. Puppies surrounded Jan as if they recognized their mother’s master.

  “F
ive,” shouted Boister. “Five puppies!”

  Jan roughed the fur around Gladys’s neck. “Well, old girl, who’d have thought you’d be a mother again at this late date? Let’s look at these puppies and see if we can distinguish what kind of dog you’ve been friendly with.”

  He sat down on the grass amidst the dogs and kids. Evie promptly plopped in his lap, and Boister captured a puppy for him to inspect.

  Jan examined the fluffy fur, rounded ears, squarish muzzle, and short body. “I don’t see any wolf in these pups,” he announced.

  “Where did she find a father for them, then?” asked Tildie.

  “Remember, the Indians keep dogs.”

  Tildie did remember that the Arapaho kept dogs for eating, among other things. The thought had bothered her.

  “Are there Indians close by?” asked Tildie who had thought they were rather remote from any other humans.

  “Some,” said Jan, vaguely. “There’s a winter camp near Manitou Springs. That’s pretty far for Gladys to have gone visiting. Well, if she spoke English, she might tell us, but we’ll probably never know.”

  He rose from the ground easily and hoisted Evie up to his shoulder. “I suppose you want to take the dogs with us on our journey.”

  Tildie gasped. How could he even think of leaving them behind?

  The children began to clamor their insistence, and Tildie looked at Jan closely. A twinkle in his eye as he looked down at the mass of kids and dogs at his feet gave him away. He intended all along to take the pups. He was enjoying Boister’s and Mari’s claims that the dogs would be no trouble, that they would each personally take care of them, and make sure the pups weren’t in the way.

  At last Jan took pity on them and gracefully acquiesced to their request. Gladys and her brood would travel with them.

  In the morning they set out. Evie and the pups rode on the travois when they were tired. Mari preferred to ride on Charlie. Boister walked more than he had on their previous trip, and Tildie was struck with how mature he was becoming. He’s almost seven, she thought. Yet, he marched alongside Jan as if he were twice that age. Tildie walked some too, but her back and legs began to ache and Jan insisted she ride, so she stretched out on the travois.