Riddle of the Prairie Bride Read online

  Riddle of the Prairie Bride

  Kathryn Reiss

  For my daughter, Isabel Strychacz,

  and my niece, India Reiss,

  two great-great granddaughters of a real Ida-Kate

  And special thanks to

  Lynn and Frank Deming,

  who shared family stories of Kansas

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1 Here Comes the Bride

  Chapter 2 Homecoming

  Chapter 3 Snoop!

  Chapter 4 A Killing at Castle Rock

  Chapter 5 Storm Clouds

  Chapter 6 School Daze

  Chapter 7 Tea Party Terror

  Chapter 8 Impostor!

  Chapter 9 The Battle for Truth

  Chapter 10 Murderess!

  Chapter 11 False Spring

  Chapter 12 Story Time

  Going Back in Time

  Geographical Note

  About the Author

  CHAPTER 1

  HERE COMES THE BRIDE

  Twelve-year-old Ida Kate Deming squinted down the tracks as far as she could see, but there was no train coming. The April afternoon was warm and it was heaven to be outdoors without her shawl, though Papa predicted the fine weather wouldn’t hold. A “false spring,” he called it. Still, it felt wonderful, and seemed a good omen. She hopped one foot to the next, then made herself stop and stand ladylike; it wouldn’t do to spoil a good first impression by acting like a baby with a grasshopper down its back. But she was so excited—and she and Papa had been waiting so long!

  People all around them were peering down the tracks. The arrival of the train was always a thrilling event in Hays City. Their little Kansas town, once just an outpost near Fort Hays along Big Creek, was now a bustling place. Settlers had been coming for more than a decade—first to the fort, which had been established back in 1867 to protect railway builders from Indian attacks, and then to the growing town nearby. The railway tracks now stretched all the way to California! The train brought goods and supplies to Hays City, as well as plenty of businessmen, farmers, and families from the eastern states. Some immigrants came from as far away as Europe. They stopped in Hays City, Kansas—and stayed.

  And soon—so soon!—there would be a new settler. Ida Kate, still looking anxiously down the empty tracks, reached out one arm and linked it through Papa’s. “Papa? Could it be that the train has derailed somewhere along the line—?”

  “Nonsense, Ida Kate. We’ve been waiting only twenty minutes.” Papa’s voice was calm, as it almost always was, but Ida Kate noticed how he kept stroking his dark beard—a sure sign he was agitated. It seemed they had been waiting for hours already, though when Papa reached into his vest, his pocket watch confirmed it had been only twenty minutes.

  Twenty minutes, and three days, and six months, and two years, thought Ida Kate, shoving her fists down deep into the pockets of her best dress. Twenty minutes since they’d been waiting here at the train depot. Three days since they’d received the telegram and gone into a whirlwind of preparations to get the house all ready. Six months since Papa first started looking for a new bride. And two years since the death of Ida Kate’s adored mother and Papa’s beloved wife—a tragic loss that had thrown their little family into a well of grief that neither father nor daughter thought they’d ever climb out of again.

  Ida Kate’s mother, Eleanor Deming, always frail, had died after a long winter of illness. She’d grown thin and couldn’t eat, and she slept all the time. Then, during a terrible blizzard, she developed a raging fever that left her delirious, but it had been impossible to fetch the doctor from Hays City. A ride that took less than an hour over the prairie in fine weather could take a full day—or longer—when swirling snow turned the path invisible. And so Mama had died with her husband and daughter by her side. They buried her later in the graveyard on the prairie where small headstones already marked the final resting places of the two babies, born after Ida Kate, who had not lived more than a few days. Adored Mother, Beloved Wife read the gravestone. Gone from their lives but not forgotten, Mama was now an angel watching over her—Ida Kate was sure of it. She often talked to Mama. She felt certain Mama could hear her.

  Ida Kate had learned—she’d had to learn—to do all the housekeeping herself. Papa’s long hours of work in the fields and barn left him no time to run the home. Ida Kate’s days, which had been so happily spent at the new one-room schoolhouse four miles from their farm, now were spent on chores: milking cows, churning butter, tending the garden, sewing clothing for herself and Papa from the fabric they bought at the general store, and doing laundry—now that was the job Ida Kate hated most of all. Even when Mama was alive, Ida Kate had hated it—boiling the endless vats of water and spending the day outdoors washing the clothes with homemade soap, wringing them out, stretching them across the line to dry, then spending the following day heating and reheating heavy irons to press out the wrinkles … Ugh. It was thankless and never-ending work because the clothes just got soiled again.

  All the housework meant that Ida Kate had to miss more and more school. Sometimes Martha Ruppenthal, Ida Kate’s friend who lived on the property adjoining the Demings’, would walk over to visit Ida Kate and keep her updated on what was happening at school. And for a while after Mama died, Miss Artemia Butler, the schoolteacher, rode over to Ida Kate’s house nearly every week, ostensibly to tutor Ida Kate in arithmetic or geography. She always brought gifts of jam or crocks of butter, and once even a length of calico cloth from the general store, which her father owned. But when it became clear that Miss Butler was more interested in winning Papa’s affection than in tutoring Ida Kate, Papa managed to be out in the fields whenever Miss Butler came to call, and soon the visits stopped.

  Ida Kate and her father had learned to muddle along without Mama, but life just wasn’t the same. They both missed Mama’s quiet presence, her stories in the evening around the fire, her cheerful touches of flowers in jugs to brighten the dark interior of the sod house.

  Yes, there were plenty of sad times on the prairie, but there had been good times, too. And now there would be many more good times, Ida Kate felt sure—not to mention the chance to go back to school!—once her father’s new bride, a widowed lady from Massachusetts, finally arrived.

  She’s coming, Mama! Today—on the train, IF it ever gets here!

  Ida Kate pulled the telegram out of her dress pocket and read the message over once more:

  REGRET LONG DELAY STOP WILL LEAVE FOR KANSAS TOMORROW STOP ARRIVING HAYS CITY APRIL 12 STOP EAGER TO MEET YOU AT LAST STOP BEST REGARDS CAROLINE FAIRCHILD

  “It’s so short, Papa,” Ida Kate had complained three days ago after the delivery rider galloped off and she and her father read the message. Papa had sent the train ticket a full two months earlier, but there had been no word from Mrs. Fairchild. “It doesn’t say anything at all about why she hasn’t written for so long.”

  “There could be many reasons,” her father had replied. “Maybe the baby took sick. Maybe she had second thoughts about journeying west to marry a man she doesn’t even know!” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t blame her if she did have reservations. It’s a very big step to take. I think she must be a brave woman.”

  “We’re going to like her, Papa, I just know it. Her letters sound so friendly and kind,” Ida Kate had said, and a thrill of excitement jumped in her belly now as she saw the first puff of smoke far down the tracks.

  “She’s coming! Papa!”

  Papa cleared his throat as if he were practicing to make a speech. “Ahem, ahem, ahem …” He stroked his black beard into place.

  Watching him, Ida Kate had to smile. He was more nervous even than she! But, of course, Mrs. Fairchild was coming to be
his bride, not his stepmother. Ida Kate reached up to straighten his collar. “Now you look the perfect gentleman, Papa,” she told him. “Do stop worrying!”

  “Who’s worrying?” he asked, peering down the tracks, his dark eyes anxious.

  Of course he was anxious. Ida Kate suspected that Mrs. Fairchild was feeling anxious herself. After all, Papa and Mrs. Fairchild, who had never met, planned to marry within weeks if all went well. Yet why shouldn’t it go well? Martha Ruppenthal’s father had also sent east for a “mail-order bride” and was very happy with Martha’s stepmother, a friendly German woman named Margaretha. And now Martha and the nine-year-old twins, Jimmy and Johnny, had two new little brothers and a baby sister.

  Now I’ll have a brother, too, Ida Kate thought as she watched the black speck in the distance turn into a real train, eating the miles across the prairie just as it had been chugging along for days and days now, all the way from Massachusetts. For Caroline Fairchild, a widow whose husband had been wounded in the War Between the States and never fully recovered, had a son. The baby boy was just a year old, she’d written. Ida Kate was eager to be a big sister. To have a mother in the house. To be a family again.

  Ida Kate was wearing her best going-to-church dress. She had washed her long brown hair and braided it as neatly as possible, frowning into the small spotty mirror over her bureau as she tied the ribbons into bows. Next year, Papa said, she would be old enough to put her hair up. But today she looked just as she always did—thin, freckled face, big gray eyes like Mama’s—only just a bit neater than usual. She wanted to look presentable for Caroline Fairchild. She wanted to look pretty.

  Ida Kate felt sure that her father’s new bride would be pretty, although Caroline Fairchild had described herself modestly as tall and thin, with auburn hair and greenish eyes in one of her letters. I have been told I have the look of a cat, she’d written, although I cannot be around cats without sneezing!

  That was the only bad thing about this new bride, Ida Kate reflected. Papa said all the cats would have to live in the barn once Mrs. Fairchild arrived—even Ida Kate’s favorite kitten, Millie. But Ida Kate told herself Millie wouldn’t mind too much. The barn was warm.

  The roaring train was now a presence no one could ignore. From that tiny black speck in the distance, the train had become a huge, looming monster. Roaring up the tracks, it chugged and puffed, clattering along the rails and sending up clouds of black smoke from its smokestack. The iron wheels screeched as the brakeman applied the brakes. People moved back on the platform. Other people came running out of shops and boardinghouses to meet the train. Hays City’s main street was only about a block long, with the train tracks right down the center. The Kansas and Union Pacific Railroad Station, just a little red station house with a long platform, was the town’s favorite meeting place when a train pulled in.

  The train shuddered to a stop, the smoke cleared, and Ida Kate found she was holding her breath as the passengers started pushing through the doors. Would she and Papa recognize Mrs. Fairchild from her description? What would she be wearing? They hadn’t thought to ask. Before the War, when I lived with my family in North Carolina, Mrs. Fairchild had written in one of her letters, I had an eye for fashion and style as much as any young girl. But in this decade since the War, times have been very hard indeed. I’ve had no money and little inclination to indulge in fripperies. I am afraid you will find me very plain.…

  Ida Kate didn’t care how plain Mrs. Fairchild’s dress was, so long as she had a smile on her face and a kind heart beating in her breast. Ida Kate scanned the passengers crowding off the train. Most were men. Some were soldiers. Some were cowboys. Some were farmers who meant to stake their claim to the hundred and sixty acres of prairie land granted by the government—just as Papa had done when he first came to Kansas. Their families would follow later.

  Some of the passengers were rough looking, rumpled and unshaven. They would find a place to stay, Ida Kate supposed, at one of the many boardinghouses in town. Other passengers looked as if they had places to go and people to meet immediately. Their eyes scanned the crowd even as the eyes of the crowd scanned them. And then there was a woman—a lady with a baby!

  “Is that Mrs. Fairchild?” asked Ida Kate, gripping Papa’s arm hard.

  “I don’t know,” Papa answered uncertainly. “She wrote she was tall—”

  “But there’s no other lady with a baby …”

  The woman wasn’t much taller than Ida Kate herself. Most of her hair was hidden by a stylish hat. With one arm she balanced the squirming baby on her hip, and with the other arm she struggled to carry a heavy reticule. The canvas bag bumped against her side with each step as she headed right toward Ida Kate and Papa.

  “Mr. Deming?” she asked softly, stopping directly in front of them. Her voice had the lilt of a southern accent only natural in a lady born and bred in North Carolina. “Mr. Henry Deming?” The squirmy baby in her arms laughed and held out his arms.

  “Indeed I am,” said Papa, stepping forward. “At your service.” He bowed, then reached out his hand to take the heavy bag she was carrying.

  “And this lovely girl must be Ida Kate?”

  “Yes,” Ida Kate said, and curtsied. “Yes, ma’am, Mrs. Fairchild.”

  The lady smiled. “As I am sure we will become fast friends,” she said, “I do hope you will call me Caroline.” She shifted the baby in her arms. “And this fine fellow is Hanky. Officially Henry, but always Hanky to his nearest and dearest.” The baby chortled. She brushed back a tendril of his reddish hair. Her eyes sparkled at Ida Kate and Papa. “I do declare,” she said, her eyes widening as she looked past them at the bustling station and the vast prairie stretching beyond to the horizon. “Hanky, my darlin’ boy, are we really here at last? I can scarcely believe this isn’t a dream.”

  Papa threw his head back and laughed. “Well, if it is, don’t wake me.”

  “Don’t wake me, either,” said Ida Kate.

  CHAPTER 2

  HOMECOMING

  So this little fellow is another Henry,” Papa said as they walked out of the station, followed by a porter wheeling Caroline’s big wooden trunk on a handcart. “In your letters you always called him ‘Hanky,’ and I’d just assumed that was his given name—perhaps a family name …”

  “No, it’s really Henry,” Caroline said. “But that sounds too grown up for such a tiny peanut. Of course, with some good prairie air in his lungs and some fresh farm food in his belly, he may well grow into his name.”

  “Papa’s name is Henry Clay,” Ida Kate piped up. She was walking along between Caroline and her father. “He’s Henry Clay Deming the Second, and my grandfather back in Philadelphia wanted me to be a boy so that I could be Henry Clay Deming the Third. Henry Clay was a great abolitionist, you know, and fought against slavery—” Ooops! Ida Kate broke off and pressed her lips together. Papa shot her a frown. She’d forgotten what they’d both agreed on: no talking about the evils of slavery or the War Between the States until they got to know Mrs. Fairchild better. She had grown up as the daughter of a wealthy southern planter, and no doubt her family had owned slaves. The Demings of Philadelphia, on the other hand, had been ardent abolitionists, fighting against slavery. Papa himself had fought against the South and had been injured in battle at Gettysburg.

  Papa was laughing now, trying to cover up Ida Kate’s tactless slip. “If my father knew I was about to add another Henry to the family, I might rise up in his estimation.”

  When Caroline looked puzzled, Papa added, “You remember I wrote to you about the trouble with my family back in Philadelphia?”

  “Oh, yes—yes of course,” said Caroline.

  “My grandfather wanted Papa to join the Deming law firm,” Ida Kate explained, because it looked as if Caroline had forgotten. “But he and Mama wanted to come to Kansas to stake their claim. And you did, didn’t you, Papa?” She grinned up at her father as they reached the horses and wagon outside the station. Papa grinned back.r />
  Papa had left Mama and Ida Kate—only two years old at the time—living back in Philadelphia with his stern parents while he traveled to Kansas to claim his one hundred and sixty acres of land. All people who wanted to be homesteaders received land, provided they would stay for at least five years to work it. Soon Papa sent for Mama and Ida Kate. They were happy to be homesteaders, living in the house Papa built out of sod bricks, farming the land and raising cattle—making a life for themselves far away from the stifling (Papa said) society back in Philadelphia.

  Now Papa helped the porter hoist the heavy trunk into the back of the wagon. Then he assisted Caroline up onto the high buckboard seat and settled baby Hanky in her lap. Ida Kate clambered into the back and made herself comfortable on top of Caroline’s trunk. Papa paid the porter, tossed a coin to the boy who had held the horses while they waited at the depot, and then they were off.

  Caroline Fairchild stared around her as the wagon jounced down the rutted main street of Hays City. Ida Kate tried to imagine that she, too, was seeing everything for the first time. There were cottonwood and willow trees growing along Big Creek, but hardly any grew along the hard-packed street, which was lined with a boardwalk to keep people out of the dirt and mud. The north side of the street was a huddle of boardinghouses, stores, saloons, and dance halls. There was the pharmacy where Papa bought medicines for the animals and for himself and Ida Kate—throat salve, ointment for burns, castor oil. There was the barbershop and the fancy York House Hotel. There was Sol Cohen’s clothing store and Butler’s General Merchandise. The south side of the street had even more saloons. You would never run out of spirits to drink in Hays City, that was for sure. Ida Kate pointed out the post office, the newspaper office, and the Leavenworth Restaurant, her voice giddy with excitement. She so hoped that Caroline Fairchild would like Hays City, that she would like the farm, and most of all that she would like the Demings. To Ida Kate, Hays City was an exciting place, and their house a cozy home—but she worried both might seem dumpy and rough to someone used to grand cities.