Riddle of the Prairie Bride Read online

  The road out of Hays abruptly became prairie. Caroline gasped at the expanse of open grassland. “It’s so—so huge,” she said. “It looks even bigger out here in the open than it did from the train. A true marvel!”

  Although to Ida Kate the prairie was as familiar as the sky above, she looked out at the vista now with fresh appreciation. New green grass rippled in the wind like waves in every direction—all the way to the horizon, where the line of green met the sky. There was almost nothing to see but the rise and swell of land and grass, and then more grass. Only occasionally a little stand of bent trees, or a squat sod house and barn, or the rise of a low hill interrupted the otherwise unbroken view of the endless prairie.

  “Yes, it is a marvel,” agreed Papa. “Grass, grass—as far as the eye can see.”

  “Why, it’s like an ocean!” exclaimed Caroline, and Papa chuckled. It was a good sign that Caroline could make Papa laugh, Ida Kate reflected. He hadn’t laughed much since Mama died.

  It was strange seeing a woman up on the seat next to Papa again. Caroline took off her traveling hat when the wind threatened to blow it away. “I’ll have to get a bonnet like yours, Ida Kate,” she said. “I can see now that this little hat is too impractical for the prairie.” Her hair, really more of a light brown than the auburn she’d mentioned in her letter, was pulled back into a neat bun. She wore a blue serge traveling dress and neat black boots—somehow managing to look elegant even though the dress was creased and rumpled from days of travel and there was a stain on one shoulder where the baby must have drooled on her. Her eyes were wide and bright, looking more blue than green, perhaps reflecting the blue of the serge traveling suit. A faint flowery scent enveloped her.

  “It’s such a lovely day,” Caroline said brightly to Papa, and Ida Kate leaned forward to hear. “I’d thought it would be colder here on the prairie so early in spring. But this is perfect weather!”

  “Don’t be fooled,” Papa replied. “Kansas weather is fickle. We’re bound to have more snow before the real spring is here.”

  “Oh, dear,” said Caroline. “But I suppose life must hold its hardships …”

  “There are plenty of hardships in Kansas,” boasted Ida Kate. “Why, last year there was a tornado that came out of nowhere in the spring, and it tore down part of the Ruppenthals’ fence! And a few years before that,” she continued eagerly, “there was a plague of grasshoppers, wasn’t there, Papa? They blew in like black clouds on the winds and landed everywhere—oh, and they were hungry! They completely ruined everybody’s crops and frightened the cattle into stampeding—”

  “Whoa, girl, whoa!” cried Papa, and he wasn’t talking to either of the horses. “Ida Kate, my girl, you’ll be terrifying our special guest before she’s even set foot on our property. Let’s tell Caroline the good parts of life on the prairie before we scare her away!”

  Ida Kate sat back, abashed. She wasn’t usually so talkative—it must be the excitement of the day. She resolved to be the best hostess to Caroline. You’ll help me, won’t you, Mama? After all, we want Caroline to be happy here.

  But Caroline was shaking her head. “You’ll find that I don’t scare very easily.” Ida Kate smiled at the look that passed between her father and his intended bride.

  At last they were turning in at the entrance to their property. Old Hickory, their shaggy black and white sheepdog, raced in circles around the wagon, barking his greeting. Ida Kate was eager to show Caroline around. She led Caroline into the sod house, pointing out that although it was fairly dark inside due to the thick sod walls and the low ceilings, they did have more light than many other homesteaders, because when Papa framed in the sod walls with wood just before Mama died, he’d also cut three more windows into the side walls. And all four windows had glass—something many homesteaders did without, covering the window openings with oilcloth or paper instead. Caroline nodded and made little murmurs of approval, but Ida Kate wondered how she really felt. She must have been used to much grander places, growing up in a wealthy North Carolina family.

  The main room of the Demings’ home had a large stove set into the wall between the two windows. When they’d first moved to the prairie, Mama had cooked the family’s meals in pots suspended over an open fire outdoors. After their first successful crop, though, Papa had ordered a big black iron stove, and it had arrived on the train. The stove did a fine job of cooking their meals and warming the house as well. There were three small rooms leading off the main room: two bedrooms and a window-less storeroom. Ida Kate had turned her bedroom over to Caroline Fairchild and little Hanky. She would be sleeping in the storeroom until her father and Caroline married.

  Papa dragged the heavy trunk into Caroline’s bedroom and set it on the floor by the bed. Ida Kate looked around the room, trying to see it through Caroline’s eyes. It was a pleasant room, with wide plank floorboards and one small window. The walls had been freshly whitewashed last year and gleamed now in the late-afternoon light. Ida Kate had picked some early cornflowers and put them into a jar of water on the windowsill. The simple spool bed was covered with Mama’s best quilt—hearts, flowers, and birds in soft shades of blue on a white background. The baby was to sleep in Ida Kate’s own baby bed, a crib with intricately carved, slatted sides that had been in the Deming family for generations already and had come with them to Kansas from Philadelphia.

  Caroline set the baby down in the crib with relief. “Whew,” she said. “Nap time, little one.” She rubbed her arms and smiled at Ida Kate and Papa. “For one so little, he surely is a heavy lad!” But baby Hanky didn’t want to take a nap. He sat up in the crib and raised his arms.

  “Mama?” he cried. “Mama?”

  “He’s probably hungry,” said Papa. “Ida Kate has a pot of stew ready. Would you like her to feed him while I show you the barn and the rest of the property?”

  “Oh, yes,” Caroline said quickly. “That is, if Ida Kate doesn’t mind!”

  “I don’t mind trying,” said Ida Kate. She held her arms out to Hanky. “Come on, Hanky. Do you like rabbit stew?”

  He clung to her like a little monkey, and she carried him back to the main room, where the kettle of stew was keeping warm inside the black oven. While her father took Caroline out to see the barn and animals, the outhouse, and the fields—just planted with the hardy new strain of wheat called Turkey Red that Papa hoped would turn them a fine profit—Ida Kate set the baby on her lap and mashed up some carrots and potatoes with gravy. She tried to feed Hanky small bites on the little silver spoon that had been her own baby spoon, but he preferred to grab the mash with his hands and smear it into his mouth. It was messy, but fast.

  “Can you talk?” she asked him. “Are you going to like having me for your big sister?”

  “Mama?” asked the baby.

  “She’ll be along soon,” Ida Kate told him—and then came the sound of hoofbeats outside, and laughing voices. Ida Kate hoisted the baby onto her hip and went to the door.

  Two riders on horseback had entered their yard. Papa and Caroline were just walking back from the barn. “Greetings!” called William Ruppenthal, their neighbor from the next claim over, dismounting with a flourish. His daughter Martha grinned at Ida Kate from astride her dappled horse. In front of her she held a wicker basket covered by a white cloth.

  “We couldn’t wait to meet your guests,” Martha called to Ida Kate.

  Martha’s fair braids were tied back with a big blue bow, and she was wearing her best Sunday dress, even though this was Thursday. She handed down the basket to Ida Kate, who had to take it with one hand since she was still holding Hanky with the other. Then Martha slid off her horse and tethered his reins to the fence. “So, tell me everything,” she whispered to Ida Kate. “What’s she like? Is she as nice as her letters? Can I hold the baby?”

  Ida Kate passed Hanky to her friend. Martha was always talking a mile a minute, always eager for news or gossip. She was always the first to raise her hand at school, even though it was Ida Ka
te who more often had the correct answer. Martha was always coming up with games and projects, though it fell to Ida Kate to clean up afterward. The girls were a happy pair, with Martha usually the leader and Ida Kate the follower. The long prairie winters would seem much longer, Ida Kate suspected, if she didn’t have Martha to play with. She would be so pleased to go back to school and see her friend more often, now that Caroline was here.

  “We know you must be tired from your journey, and we don’t mean to stay,” said Mr. Ruppenthal after Papa introduced Caroline, “but my wife wanted me to bring you some bread and jam, and one of her dried-apple pies. She plans to come in person to welcome you soon.”

  “Why, thank you kindly,” said Caroline with a friendly smile. “How delightful to have such good neighbors just down the road.”

  Martha whispered to Ida Kate, “She surely is pretty. But I thought you said she was tall with red hair!”

  “Auburn—at least that’s what she wrote. Maybe her hair takes on red highlights in the summer sun.”

  “Well, at least the baby has red hair! He’s a lovely little lad.”

  The girls stood near the horses with the baby while the adults talked in cheerful voices.

  “This is the man I have to thank for the idea of writing to the newspapers in search of a bride,” Papa was telling Caroline. “He had such good luck himself that way, I thought I would try my own luck.”

  “And looks like your own luck runs pretty strong,” said Mr. Ruppenthal. “Because here she is, and with a fine boy, too, to be a son to you, Henry. Couldn’t ask for more, now could you?”

  “No,” said Ida Kate’s father in his quiet, deep voice. “We’re just hoping she’ll be happy here.” He rested his gaze on Caroline.

  “Well, we won’t keep you now,” said Mr. Ruppenthal, mounting his horse. “Ma’am, please accept our heartiest wishes for your happiness here. We’ll be seeing you again soon.”

  “Are you coming to school tomorrow?” asked Martha, handing the baby back to Ida Kate and untying her horse’s reins. She stepped up on the rung of the fence, then threw her leg over her horse.

  “Not till Monday. I’ll help Caroline settle in first,” said Ida Kate.

  “Then—good-bye, housework! Hello, lessons!” laughed Martha. “I hope you think it’s a fair trade.”

  “I know it is,” said Ida Kate earnestly. “You know I’ve missed school.”

  “Even Miss Butler?” Martha raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips in a parody of the schoolmistress’s usual expression.

  Ida Kate smiled. “Even Miss Butler!”

  Martha waved and trotted off after her father, and then Ida Kate carried Hanky into the house.

  “Mama?” asked the baby, looking all around him.

  “Mrs. Fairchild—I mean, Caroline—I think he wants you,” said Ida Kate.

  “Oh—yes, of course. Come here, my lamb. Are you thirsty?” When Caroline took the baby, he patted the front of her dress in a gesture Ida Kate recognized. Martha’s baby sister patted Mrs. Ruppenthal’s dress in the same way when she was ready to nurse. But Caroline looked over at Ida Kate. “Do you have some fresh milk I can give him?”

  “Yes,” Ida Kate said, rather perplexed, and went to the pail of milk in the storeroom. She used the dipper to fill a cup for the baby.

  Hanky slurped the milk eagerly while Caroline held him in her lap in the big rocking chair. Papa poked up the fire in the stove, and the two of them sat chatting together quietly while Ida Kate ladled out the stew for supper.

  Darkness was falling outside—the early dusk of spring—and the evening was growing colder. Caroline trimmed the wick of the kerosene lamp on the sideboard and then lit it. It cast a warm glow around the room. She lit another lamp and set it on the shelf near the stove, then stooped to build up the fire in the oven. The flames sputtered and sent out a shower of sparks that flickered like little stars. Ida Kate looked around the room and thought how peaceful the scene was. It felt right having Caroline there. Doesn’t it, Mama? She believed Mama agreed.

  They sat at the table together, just as if they were already a family. Ida Kate served the stew, and Papa cut the bread. Hanky gnawed on a crust while everyone else ate. Caroline exclaimed over how delicious the meal was. “You’re a fine cook, my girl,” she said. “Your mother taught you well.”

  “Yes, she did,” Ida Kate replied, “but I know how to make only a few dishes.”

  “Well, I’ll be happy to take over as head cook from now on, Ida Kate,” Caroline said, “if you’d like some help.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” said Ida Kate.

  “Now, you two can cook together,” said Papa. “As I recall from your letters, Caroline, you haven’t much experience with cookery. Your servants did that sort of work when you were a girl.”

  “Oh—of course,” said Caroline. “But even though I’m not all that good at cooking, I do enjoy turning my hand to it. One learns by doing, isn’t that right? Look how well Ida Kate has learned, simply by having to do the job.”

  After the meal had ended, Ida Kate served Margaretha Ruppenthal’s delicious dried-apple pie. The fire in the stove crackled. Hanky dozed on Papa’s lap as if he’d already claimed Ida Kate’s father for his own. Caroline sat eating her pie with a dreamy expression on her face.

  And then Ida Kate’s little tabby kitten, Millie, jumped into Caroline’s lap. Caroline reached out her hand and stroked her. The kitten mewed. She turned around three times before settling down onto Caroline’s knee, purring.

  “Gracious, I’m sorry!” said Ida Kate, putting down her fork and reaching for the kitten. “I’ve told her she’s got to stay outdoors now that you’re here.”

  “Whatever for?” asked Caroline, her hand still stroking the kitten’s back. “She’s a dear little thing.”

  “But cats make you sneeze—”

  “Oh?” Caroline blinked. “Indeed they do, usually. But this little one doesn’t seem to be having that effect on me. Could it be that Kansas kittens are different? Let’s let her stay and see how we get on. If I start sneezing, out to the barn she’ll go.”

  This suited Ida Kate very well. But there was a strange little tickle in the back of her mind as she watched her soon-to-be stepmother cuddle the kitten. A tickle that was trying to tell her something—but she brushed it firmly away.

  CHAPTER 3

  SNOOP!

  In the morning Ida Kate awoke to birdsong. She lay in bed, eyes closed, listening. She was trying to remember her dream—something about baking bread with Mama—when she realized she really was smelling the warm, yeasty fragrance of fresh bread. Her eyes popped open.

  The bride! Caroline!

  Ida Kate had meant to get up even earlier than usual to show their special visitor where all the baking supplies and crockery were kept, and how to make porridge and eggs for breakfast. She shoved back her quilt now and jumped out of the narrow bed. The storeroom was nearly dark, but light showed between the cracks in the plank door. Still in her nightdress, she opened the storeroom door and peeked into the big room. There was Caroline Fairchild, sliding loaves of hot bread out of the oven. She seemed to be coping just fine on her own. A pot of mush was warming on the stove top, and slices of meat were already set out on the table. Caroline must have been up before dawn to have prepared this breakfast. There was no sign of baby Hanky yet; he must still be asleep. No sign of Papa either, but he usually left early for the fields.

  “Good morning, dear,” Caroline said brightly, catching sight of Ida Kate in the doorway. “I thought you might like to sleep in for once. Your papa said you wouldn’t be returning to school until Monday. And now that I’m here, you won’t need to be up at the crack of dawn anymore. After all, a growing girl needs her rest.”

  Ida Kate stammered her thanks and ducked back into the dim storeroom. She felt flustered, unsure what to do. Since Mama had died, the cooking and baking had been her responsibility. She felt embarrassed and pleased at the same time to have this bride turn out to be
so accomplished. It was a relief to have someone else take some of the burden from her. But, of course, that had been Papa’s intention when he first wrote to the eastern newspapers advertising for a bride.

  Ida Kate had helped him compose the piece. Every word of that letter was etched into her memory; they had both struggled hard to get the wording just right:

  GOOD WOMAN WANTED. Widowed Gentleman, 38 years, with Daughter of 12, seeks a Kind Lady of good heart and even temperament to travel to Kansas. We make our home on 160 acres of prairie land, six miles from the growing city of Hays. Object: Matrimony.

  The letter to the newspapers resulted in five responses. The first was from a widowed lady in Pennsylvania with six sons, two daughters, and an old grandmother. She wanted to know how big the house in Kansas was, and how many servants there were. Papa had frowned at that one. “Only four rooms,” he had said, “and one serving girl who needs to return to school!” The second was from a girl in New York City, not much older than Ida Kate, who wrote that she was bored with society and longing for adventure. The third and fourth were from spinster sisters in Boston, both older than Papa’s own mother. They wrote that he would be welcome to choose one of them and that the other would come along to help out in the house. And they hoped he would not mind building an aviary for all their pet songbirds—seventeen in total. Papa had laughed over that letter and asked Ida Kate which one she’d prefer for a stepmother—Josephine or Etta—and would she mind if they turned her bedroom into the aviary?

  But he’d been joking. He had replied politely to all the letters, thanking the ladies for writing but saying that his plans had changed. Then he tossed the letters into the fire and sighed.

  And then the fifth letter had arrived, and that was the one that thrilled them both. Ida Kate read it over and over. “This is the one,” she told Papa. “I don’t care who writes next! This is the lady for us. I just have a good feeling about her.”