Chapter eleven
Caroline’s Letter
Becky had already gone to sleep when Ben began getting ready for bed.
The letter he had been carrying around all day fell to the floor when he removed his shirt. He picked it up, and looked at it and was hit with a wave of guilt. I have no business doing this. He went to the fireplace with the intention of burning it. He threw it onto the already banked fire. He had second thoughts and grabbed it before it fully caught fire and burned his hand in the process. He remembered his mother had treated burns with honey, so he scooped some from the jar and applied it to the burn. So far no blisters, but he wrapped it with a clean bandana. He sat in the chair in front of the fireplace to read the letter.
* * *
Dear Ben,
What a treat it was for me to receive mail from my old school seatmate! Life has really thrown a lot at us since those long ago days. I remember standing on the corner watching the wagons passing through on their way to Oregon. Little did we realize you would leave on one of them.
I do have a son. His name is Philip, after his father, Philip Simpson. Philip was a captain of infantry in General Grant’s Army of the Tennessee. He is buried at Chattanooga, along with the thousands more killed along the Tennessee River. We did not have a long marriage, as he entered the Army close to a year after we married. Philip was the principal at New Concord Elementary School where I taught and still teach. Our Miss Klein is the principal now.
I was saddened to hear about your loss. In war, death isn’t a surprise, but to lose someone otherwise healthy has to be traumatic.
I would love to hear about your daughter, Becky. Is her name Becky or Rebecca? Philip will be starting school next year. I can’t decide whether it would be a benefit or detriment to have him in my class.
Tell me about Oregon, the faraway place we dreamed of as nine year olds. You have seen a lot of our country. I have been to Cleveland several times, where Philip’s parents live. They are also teachers. I have never been out of the state of Ohio.
It would be interesting to hear about your farm. It must be gratifying to own your own land and have relatives living close by. Mom told me that you live near a town called Roseburg. I have been unable to find it on our maps in school. What is it like in Oregon? Are the winters as harsh as the Ohio winters? There is so much I don’t know and am curious about. Mother always said I asked too many questions about everything and nothing too. Miss Klein has told me the two of us drove her to exhaustion with our questions.
I have reached my full height of five feet six inches and weigh somewhere around one hundred twenty-five pounds. My hair is still the same blonde color.
Hearing from you has given me a boost from the humdrum everyday life as a teacher. I love it, but there is a sameness. Now I have something to look forward to. Your next letter.
When you spoke of Seth, you mentioned a shortage of unmarried ladies. We have the exact opposite. The war has caused a shortage of unmarried men. It seems as if I will be relegated to the life of a spinster. At least I have my memories.
I await your next letter.
Your friend,
Caroline Simpson
She dropped the letter at the post office the next morning on her way to school.
“Mama, I had a letter from Ben Palmer.”
“I saw it on the parlor table. Alice and I exchange letters occasionally. What did he have to say?”
“He has a little girl just past three years old. His wife died when she was a year old. Her name is Becky, by the way. He’s trying to raise her himself with the help of the grandmothers.”
Are you going to answer?”
“I put one in the mail this morning,” Caroline said, smiling.
“Wouldn’t it be great if you two could…?”
“Mama, that’s one letter each direction, and mine may not even be out of town.”
“I’m just saying. He was a nice boy.”
“You’re just trying to get rid of us.”
“Don’t even joke about that, Caroline.”
Caroline got one of her geography books out. “Look Mama.” She drew a circle around the mouth of the Columbia River. “Ben is somewhere inside the circle.” She drew another around their part of Ohio. “We’re here. See how far apart that is? Over half way across the country.”
“And your point of that lesson is?”
“My point is we’re a long way apart. We were fifteen the last time we saw each other. Don’t count your chickens before they hatch.”
“I’m not counting chickens. I’m looking for a rooster for you.”
Caroline nearly spilled her coffee. “Mother!”
“I’m just saying.”
Three weeks later…
“Caroline, you have a letter. Mm, it smells like Oregon.”
“I’ll look at it later. I want to do something with Philip.”
“Caroline Andrews, you open that letter right now before I have a heart attack.”
* * *
Dear Caroline,
I was so pleased you decided to write. I didn’t know if you would, it has been so long since the night we were at your farm.
I will try to answer your questions without boring you to death. Locate where the Columbia River empties into the Pacific. We’re about one hundred seventy miles south of it. We’re about fifty miles from the ocean. I’ve never seen it of course. We lived in Oregon City for over a year before Papa decided to move south to Roseburg. It’s a nice small community. We get a good bit of rain here and the crops do well. The winters are nowhere nearly as bad as Ohio.
I finished school in Oregon City before we moved here.
Becky’s name is Rebecca, but she’s always been Becky. She has long dark hair and blue eyes. Her mother says she looks just like Jenny at the same age. She is a papa’s girl. I’m adding a room to our house so she can have her own room. I take her to church every Sunday, weather permitting. When I’m planting or plowing, she stays with one of the grandmothers, but I’m always anxious to bring her home. I wish there was something to bring her to besides an empty house, but we’ll make do.
I was happy to hear Miss Klein is doing well. I always liked her.
I guess your father is still farming. Tell him there’s still a lot of good land here. He should pack all of you up and move to Oregon. Now that the train is all the way to Sacramento, you could make it six months quicker than we did, and crossing the rivers and mountains would be a lot easier. We’re about a day’s train ride from there. Tell your parents hello for me.
My hair is still the same dull color it was. I reckon I’m nearly six feet tall, and probably weigh around one hundred fifty pounds. You can’t get fat eating beans and walking behind a mule all day.
I wish you could see Becky. Her smile melts my heart. Her Grandmother Stevens asked her if she was her little girl. Becky told her no, she was Papa’s girl. I’m proud of that. She’s in bed and asleep already and it’s time for me to do the same.
I’m already looking forward to your next letter.
Your friend,
Ben
Chapter twelve
More Letters
“Well?” her mother asked.
“Well what?”
“What did he say?”
“You don’t want to know, Mother.”
“Come on, Caroline. What did he say?”
“I’ll read it to you. It says, ‘Dear Caroline, it was a surprise to hear from you. A welcome surprise. I would like to make a special request. Would you please keep these correspondences between us? I especially don’t want your nosey mother to know I’m writing.’”
“The nerve of him. I’m not nosey. Just curious.”
“He didn’t say that. Ben was always too polite to say something like that. If he did, Alice would beat him about the head, neck and shoulders if she found out.”
Carolyn could not contain her laughter. “Here, you can read it yourself.” She handed the letter over.
“This is a nice letter. His daughter sounds adorable. Look at the paragraph where he says tell your father to pack up and move out here. He wants to see you. I knew it. I just knew it. This is going to work.”
“What is going to work?”
“You two together.”
“You’re sure reading a lot in that’s not said.”
“He’s six feet tall and only weighs one hundred fifty pounds. That’s practically skin and bones. He needs a wife, and that child needs a mother.”
“You’ve convinced me. I’m going to pack and we’ll catch the next train to Oregon. I’ll feed him, throw myself in his bed and let him have his way with me.”
“You could do worse.”
“I don’t believe this conversation,” Caroline said.
Her father came in. “How was your day?” he asked Caroline.
“It was good. Papa, how much do you weigh?”
“I don’t know, about one fifty why?”
“I’m doing some research. How tall?”
“Five feet eleven.”
“I rest my case, Mother.”
“Someone please let me in on what this is all about,” he said.
“Caroline got a letter from Ben Palmer today. It’s the second one. He wants her to come to Oregon.”
“He what?”
“She’s exaggerating, Papa. Here’s the letter. You can read it for yourself.”
“That’s Ike’s boy isn’t it? We might be better off if we had gone with them,” he said.
“If we had, we wouldn’t have Philip,” Caroline said.
“We didn’t go, and here we are. What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to answer his letter, just like I did the first one.”
“Tell him I said to tell Ike hello, and I’m glad he’s doing well.”
“I will.”
* * *
Dear Ben,
I received your most welcome letter today. I have read it through several times. Each time I think of what you and the others endured on the Oregon Trail, I find myself wondering what kind of person has so much courage to set out on a journey that would cover three-fourths of our country. I cannot imagine the dangers you encountered.
I would like to hear about the journey itself. What was it like? What kind of animals did you see? Were there wild Indians? Did you have any trouble with them? How did you cross the rivers?
I imagine the wagons were pretty uncomfortable by the time you got there. With two older brothers, I would imagine your father fared better than most.
My mother is filled with curiosity about your letters, wanting to know what you said. I was afraid she might die of her curiosity so I let her read the one I received today. You might find it humorous that she practically has us married already.
I let Papa read it too. He said to tell your father hello and is glad he’s doing well. It may have been a slip of the tongue, but he said we might be better off had we gone along on the train, too.
Do you remember what we said right before you left? I shan’t tell you, but think back and maybe you’ll recall.
I will close for now, and put this in the mail tomorrow morning.
Your friend,
Caroline
* * *
Ben laughed at parts of the letter. Remembering the graves recalled the sobering reality of how many did not survive. What did we say that night? I don’t remember. Something about missing each other. Oh yes, she asked me not to go. Said I could stay with them.
Dear Caroline,
Your letter made it a good day, even though most of mine was spent in the field. I took Becky to her grandmother’s for a couple of days since I planned to be outside all day. It’s always a sad time for me, leaving her and coming back home. She cried when I left.
The winter wheat is up and seems to be good. Things are going pretty well for me now. Knock on wood.
We did see plenty of Indians, but had no trouble with them. We did some bartering with them.
Most of the large river crossing was done on ferries. Some that weren’t too wild, we floated or swam the animals across. On one occasion we had a ferry tilt and overturn and the wagon was swept away, taking the family with it. The hard times were proven by the many graves we saw along the side of the trail, in particular after we left Fort Laramie.
I didn’t get tired of the wagon for the simple reason that I didn’t ride. I walked. We all walked. Mama rode the wagon some, but we had to keep the load light, especially in the mountains. All of us slept on the ground except for Mama. Her place was in the wagon at night. We followed a trail others had taken before us. You could see the wheel ruts. It pretty well followed the rivers. I can’t tell you how many times we crossed the Platte River, but it was several.
I’ve been trying to remember what we might have said. The best I can come up with is you asked me not to go, offering to let me stay on your farm. If that isn’t it, then perhaps you can remind me in your next letter. There will be a next letter, won’t there? I hope so.
Your friend,
Ben
* * *
Seven days later…
The Transcontinental Train service had sped up the mail delivery. Caroline was surprised to find the letter on the table when she came home from school.
She read the letter. Her eyes became moist when she read about the wagon being swept away, and the trailside graves. So many dreams not ending well. I remember telling him not to go. That was a spur of the moment thing for me. I knew he couldn’t stay. He didn’t remember what we said. I wonder if I should remind him.
Her mother was standing in the doorway when she looked up. “You can read it, Mama.” She handed her the letter.
“That boy needs a nudge. Maybe I’ll write Alice and give her a nudge she can pass on. The Bible says, ‘The Lord helps those that help themselves,’” her mother told her, and returned the letter.
Chapter thirteen
A Nudge
Do I want to go down this path? I heard that a few ladies have advertised for husbands. I wonder if it worked out for them, or did they go off somewhere never to be heard from again? That takes more courage than I have. What about Ben. I know him. Or I did at one time. I liked him too. I wonder what he’s like now. He seems to be a devoted father. How would he be with Philip? I wish he would come back here, so I could make a judgement without all of the risk. Problem is, his busy time is in the summer and that’s when I have free time.
“Mama, have you ever heard of people advertising for a husband?”
“I heard tell of a woman over at Parson’s Creek that did. Seems she married a man in Montana or Wyoming. Some place like that, why?”
“I’ve been wondering about it, that’s all.”
“You’re not considering something like that, are you? Not with Ben out there, unattached?”
“I couldn’t do something like that.”
“I should hope not. I still think he just needs a little nudge. I’m going to write Alice and get her to push a little from that end.”
“Mama, I’d be very upset if you did that, so please don’t. Let me worry about it. Maybe I shouldn’t even have answered the first letter.”
“Nonsense. I won’t write if you feel that strongly about it.”
“Thank you, Mama.”
* * *
Dear Ben,
I hope this finds you and Becky well. We are all hale and hardy here in New Concord.
I read with interest, and a sense of shock, the things you wrote about the dangers of the Oregon Trail. I guess I thought it was just a long romantic adventure.
Mama told me about a lady from Parson’s Creek who advertised for a husband and married a man from Montana or Wyoming. No one has heard back from her since she left so we don’t know how it worked out. I might look into that myself, although it sounds like a big risk. It would bother me taking such a chance involving Philip.
I mentioned you to Miss Klein the other day. She sends her best wishes and hopes fo
r your future.
I see few wagons on the road when I go to work. I don’t know whether the interest is fading, or there just aren’t many people interested in taking on the challenge. It might be the railroad; that would be a lot quicker. I think the war beat most of the people down around here, and they are struggling to recover. I have no idea of the cost of such a venture, but people in this area barely existed while the menfolk were away at war. Very few farms have had full crops in recent years. I’m glad Papa didn’t go. He would probably have been in the same unit as Philip and we might have lost him too.
Have you ever thought about coming back to Ohio for a visit? I can’t remember whether you had kin around here or not. It would be nice to see you again.
I have to close now and get Philip ready for bed.
Your friend,
Caroline
After sealing and addressing the envelope, she had second thoughts about saying she might be thinking about advertising for a husband. She didn’t like to think of herself as deceitful or conniving. She slept fitfully that night, but the next day she put the letter in the mail.
* * *
Roseburg…
With the help of his brothers, Ben had completed the addition of a room. During the non-growing seasons, he had begun using lath and plaster on the inside of the walls for a better surface. The outside walls had all been chinked and daubed.
“Thanks to you two again,” he said to his brothers.
“You helped us, so no thanks necessary. All you need now is a wife,” Leroy said.
“You sound like Ma,” Ben said. “There was no way I was going to bring anyone to this drafty place after what happened to Jenny.”
“You still blaming yourself for that?” Leroy asked.
“Who else is there?”
“I guess it wouldn’t do any good to point out how many others around here live in houses and places not as good as yours. You’ve done a good job here. You can be proud of it.”
“We did a good job and I am proud of it.”
Rekindled Love Page 5
