Riddle of the Prairie Bride Read online

  10th November 1877

  Dear Sir,

  My name is Caroline Fairchild, and I am writing in response to your advertisement.

  I am a widow from North Carolina, where I grew up the daughter of a planter. Alas, my circumstances changed for the worse during the War, and now I live in Lynn, Massachusetts, where I work in Sorenson’s Shoe and Boot Factory. It is employment which I hope very much to leave soon. I am interested in learning more about you and your daughter, and would hope also to learn more about your home in Kansas. I had never traveled far from North Carolina until moving north to Massachusetts last year, and I confess to being somewhat ignorant about the western territories and states. I imagine mountains and deserts and many buffalo!

  Since the death of my husband, Clivedon Fairchild, over a year ago, I have lived a lonesome and desolate life, trying to care for our little son born six months after the death of his father. It saddens me that my son has never known a father’s care and companionship. In you, perhaps, he and I will both find what we so sorely miss. Likewise, your daughter may know once again a mother’s love. I should very much enjoy having a daughter.

  I look forward to your response and remain yours truly,

  Mrs. Caroline Fairchild

  “I suppose she was a wealthy southern belle once,” Papa had mused, reading the letter again, “whose family lost their fortune. It’s a fairly common story, I’m sure. And circumstances forced her to move north and look for work in the factory towns. Poor thing—I hear such work is grueling. And she’s widowed, with a baby! Now that’s hardship, Ida Kate. I think we might prove to be as much a godsend for her as she will prove for us. Let us write back to this lady and let her get to know us. We must take things slowly—we don’t want to rush her … but it could be I’ve found my bride!”

  Henry Deming had entered into a lively correspondence with Caroline Fairchild. He would ride into Hays City each week to meet the train, and more often than not there was a letter. Then he and Ida Kate would sit at the table in the evening, reading and rereading. Caroline Fairchild’s letters made the long prairie winter seem shorter. Papa and Ida Kate were learning a lot about Caroline—and soon she felt like a familiar friend. She and Papa shared a love of music—though neither could carry a tune. Both came from wealthy families (although Papa was quick to point out that his father had opposed the move to Kansas and threatened to disinherit him), and both desired a good education for their children. Papa wrote: I need the companionship of a good woman who will take charge of our home. It is built of sod and wood—not fancy, but strong—and has four rooms. I would be honored to have you and your son call it your own.

  Caroline wrote back, fretting that they would not find her a very accomplished cook: We had servants in the house while I was growing up, she wrote, so I never had to learn cooking or housekeeping until after the War, but then there was not much money for anything fancy. I hope you will be patient, for I am willing to do my best. I am a hard worker and a loving mother, and I would rather be working for my own home and family than for the factory owners. It will be quieter on the prairie than in the factory, too, I daresay!

  Papa replied, promising to be patient. He revealed a weakness of his own: in inclement weather his war wound sometimes caused him to limp. But it doesn’t keep me from dancing at the Grand Ball at nearby Fort Hays, the highlight of our social season! he wrote.

  Once it was clear that Caroline would come to them, Ida Kate wrote a letter too:

  1st February 1878

  Dear Mrs. Fairchild,

  We are so happy. We got your letter saying you are really coming to us. Papa has read it a dozen times, always with a big smile. I am glad you have a baby. My mama’s babies died, and the doctor said she mustn’t have more. But she died anyway two winters ago of a foul sickness, nothing to do with babies.

  But my own health is good, and so is Papa’s. When you come to us in the spring, our garden will just be starting to grow. Sunflowers grow wild all over the prairie, but I like to plant them in our vegetable garden, too. Don’t worry about the housework and cooking, because I am used to doing it, and I will help you. When I am not at school. We will come to meet you at the depot. Soon! Soon!

  Please accept my good wishes for a safe journey for you and your baby.

  Yours very truly,

  Ida Kate Deming

  P.S. There are no more buffalo in Kansas. But the prairie is home to prairie dogs, jackrabbits, coyote, deer, rattlesnakes, badgers, and antelope. There are bluegills, bass, and catfish in Big Creek, some miles from our home. And meadowlarks sing outside my window every morning.

  Now Ida Kate poured water from the jug into the big bowl on the storeroom table. After she washed, she slipped on her everyday calico that she wore for housework and stepped out of the storeroom, hairbrush and ribbons in hand. There was a small mirror on the shelf by the stove. Ida Kate stood before it to tame her tangles.

  “Here, dear, let me braid your hair for you.” Caroline laid down the knife she’d been using to slice thick slabs of the hot bread. “Give me the hairbrush.”

  Since Mama’s death, Ida Kate had gotten used to struggling with her own long hair, trying to get the part straight and all the wisps captured neatly. Papa sometimes tried to help, but he was hopeless. She smiled at Caroline now and handed her the brush—and Caroline had Ida Kate’s shiny brown hair neatly braided in less than a minute! Caroline tied the ends of the two thick braids with the faded yellow ribbons and gave them a tug.

  “There you go,” she said. “But I do think some new ribbons are in order.” She rummaged in the reticule she’d left in the corner and handed Ida Kate a small paper packet. “Here you go, dear. A friend from my boardinghouse makes ribbons all day. She gave me some for you.”

  “Thank you kindly!” Ida Kate sat at the table and tore open the packet, exclaiming over the assortment of ribbons—pink striped, yellow, cornflower blue, and white satin. “These are the most beautiful I’ve ever had!” Millie leaped up onto the table to bat at them, but Ida Kate gently pushed her away.

  “Let’s put the blue ones in your hair today to match your dress,” said Caroline. “And save the old ones for Millie. But now eat your breakfast while I finish washing up the dishes—”

  A cry from Caroline’s bedroom interrupted her. “Oh—the baby!” she exclaimed.

  “May I go to him?” Ida Kate asked, her mouth still full of warm bread.

  “Yes indeed,” replied Caroline.

  Ida Kate hurried into the bedroom. It looked so different with Caroline’s belongings spread about and Hanky chortling at her from the crib. He held his arms out.

  “Mama?” he asked.

  “Your mama is washing dishes,” Ida Kate told him, lifting him over the bars. “My oh my, you’re soaking wet, poor little one.” She had very little experience with babies. “Let’s go find your mama.”

  “Oh, dear,” moaned Caroline when she saw Hanky. “What a messy little fellow you’ve turned out to be. Well, I suppose we must wash you … Ida Kate, be a dear and put some water on the stove to heat for his bath. And we must soak these garments …”

  Ida Kate stripped the wet clothing off the baby and wrapped him in one of Papa’s flannel shirts. She held him and fed him egg and mush while the water heated for his bath. He was a soft, warm bundle in her lap, and she nuzzled the back of his neck, thinking of the two tiny babies—one a sister, one a brother—that had lived only a few days each. If only they’d lived … If only Mama had lived …

  But then she pushed those thoughts away. Caroline and Hanky were here now, and they were going to be a family! You’re glad too, aren’t you, Mama?

  And she felt the answer throb in the air: Oh, yes, my darling.

  Ida Kate and Caroline worked at home together all morning, tending to the baby and preparing a vegetable pie for the midday meal. Ida Kate showed Caroline where all the dishes and cutlery were kept, how the pump outside worked to draw fresh, cold water, and what she’d planted out
in the vegetable garden.

  “You’re a very accomplished housekeeper,” Caroline told Ida Kate, looking over the fresh green shoots in the garden. “You seem to have things well in hand here—all by yourself.”

  “Well, Mama taught me to help because she was very frail,” replied Ida Kate.

  “You must miss your mama,” Caroline said, her blue eyes meeting Ida Kate’s gray ones.

  “Oh, yes, I do,” said Ida Kate. “But she’s an angel now, and I think she’s still with me. I … I sense her sometimes, I really do. Like a nice, loving presence. I believe Mama can see every single thing that happens here. I feel quite sure she’s watching over us right now.”

  “Oh, my,” said Caroline, sounding a bit startled. “Indeed!”

  The day was fresh and warm, still springlike, and Ida Kate hoped it really was spring—not the false spring her father had predicted. It made Ida Kate want to ride over to Martha’s and visit—but, of course, Martha would be in school this morning. Soon! Soon! sang Ida Kate to herself. She would go back next week.

  The morning was so warm that Caroline decided to wash her dusty traveling clothes and Hanky’s soiled flannel diapers, even though wash day was usually Monday. Ida Kate lugged the heavy iron kettle out of the storeroom and set it over the circle of stones in the yard. Caroline built the fire while Ida Kate carried buckets of water from the pump to fill the kettle, water sloshing out at her feet as the heavy pails bumped against her thighs. Together she and Caroline lifted and tipped the buckets to pour the water into the kettle. Together they sorted the clothing into whites and colors while the water heated. Then they took turns stirring the boiling brew of soft soap, water, and clothing in the huge vat. Laundry day was usually Ida Kate’s very worst day—with the fire either burning too hot or going out altogether, with ash blowing all over the yard in the wind and dirtying the clean clothes—but the job wasn’t nearly so terrible with two people working together. Ida Kate had forgotten.

  At midday Papa came in from the fields, grinning to see Ida Kate and Hanky playing with the kitten on the front step and Caroline pegging the last of the baby’s diapers onto the clothesline. She greeted him with a welcoming smile. He hugged Ida Kate and swept the baby up in the air.

  “This is what I’ve been missing,” he said to Caroline as they all went inside the house. “Wife and children waiting with the meal on the table—and Ida Kate outdoors playing!” He shook his head, setting Hanky down again. “You don’t know how it has pained me to come home and see my little daughter toiling over her chores, with never a moment to play.”

  “All children need time to play,” agreed Caroline. “Big and little ones alike.”

  “Adults, too,” said Papa, and a look passed between them—a look that seemed full of words. Caroline smiled gently and put her hand on his arm. “I think we’ve both been through some very hard times, Henry,” she murmured. “But I like to think they’re over now … and that there will be time to play. For all of us.”

  He stared down at her hand on his arm, then slowly clasped it with his other hand. Her hand was so much smaller, his covered it completely. They didn’t say anything at all, but Ida Kate, watching, felt a current of understanding pulse between them. It made her feel warm inside.

  They sat at the table and ate the vegetable pie and stewed apples, laughing and talking together as if they had known each other longer than only a day. Caroline entertained them with hilarious tales of her fellow passengers on the long train journey—the woman who had traveled as far as St. Louis with a noisy green parrot on her shoulder, and the man with a gray beard so long it practically needed a seat of its own. Her hearty laughter was loud and infectious, and Ida Kate, giggling, decided Caroline must not have been a very proper southern belle after all.

  After the meal it was time for Hanky’s nap. “Would you give the baby his milk first, then put him to bed, Ida Kate?” asked Caroline as Papa clapped on his hat and prepared to return to the fields for the afternoon. “I would like to walk out with your father for a short time.”

  “Well, I’ll try,” said Ida Kate agreeably, and Papa laid his big hand on his daughter’s head for a moment before stepping out the door with Caroline. Ida Kate watched from the window as the two of them headed out the gate and toward the barn. They looked so natural side by side, as if they belonged together. Ida Kate had not seen her father with many women other than Mama, although in the two years since Mama’s death, all the single women in the area had presented themselves to him at one time or another: the two elderly seamstresses in Hays City who confessed to Papa one day at the general store that they found him a sinfully handsome man; Jennie Tate, the daughter of the saddlemaker, urged by her worried father to marry instead of running off to New York to try her luck as an opera singer; and then, of course, Miss Artemia Butler, the schoolmarm.

  Thank goodness none of these ladies had won Papa’s heart!

  Ida Kate went over to pour a dipperful of milk from the pail into Hanky’s cup. Then she carried the baby into her bedroom and changed his wet garments. Caroline had pinned the diaper so loosely, Ida Kate saw, it was no wonder the poor lad was soaking. She folded a clean diaper and fastened it securely, the way she had seen Martha diaper the Ruppenthal baby, then settled into the rocking chair with Hanky on her lap. He snuggled against her, his soft red curls tickling her chin as she bent over him. She hummed as she rocked, liking the sweet weight of him against her. She closed her eyes and almost hummed herself to sleep right along with Hanky—until she felt a hand on her shoulder. Her eyes flew open.

  “I’ll take him now,” Caroline whispered, and lifted Hanky into her arms. “Seems you have the magic touch.”

  Ida Kate smiled. “I wasn’t sure I could get him to sleep, but he nodded right off,” she said, pleased with Caroline’s praise.

  “I think he’s happy to be away from the boarding-house,” Caroline murmured. “He had to stay with a baby minder all day while … while I worked in the factory.” Her face clouded. “I know I’m glad to be away, myself.”

  She tucked Hanky into the crib. Then she and Ida Kate tiptoed out of the room.

  They spent the rest of the afternoon together, doing the chores in the house and in the barn. Ida Kate had thought she would need to show Caroline how to take care of the animals, because wealthy southern belles couldn’t be expected to know how to feed the pigs or curry the horses or milk the cows. But Caroline made friends with the animals quickly and seemed to know just what to do. They got the work done in half the usual time, and Ida Kate glowed with the happy feeling that life was going to be easier now that Caroline had come. As the sun began to set, Ida Kate brought in the laundry from the line, folding it loosely as she placed it in the wicker baskets. No doubt the next day’s ironing would be easier, too, with Caroline to help. One of them could heat some of the irons while the other pressed wrinkles out of the garments. On her own, Ida Kate lost a lot of time because she had to heat and carry the irons all by herself.

  Lugging the wicker baskets inside, she found Caroline at the stove, stirring a pot of fragrant soup and singing as she worked. Her voice was lovely! Ida Kate listened with pleasure from the doorway, thinking how homey the house felt with someone else inside during the long afternoon before Papa came in from work.

  “You sing like an angel,” Ida Kate said when Caroline turned and saw her. “I don’t know why you wrote that you couldn’t keep a tune—you have a perfect voice! I think you’re far too modest!”

  A flush started up Caroline’s neck, and she turned back to her soup pot. “I do like to sing,” she replied. “But I surely wouldn’t say I’m especially tuneful, and I’m certainly far from … angelic.” She set a bowl of potatoes on the table and handed Ida Kate the paring knife.

  Ida Kate peeled the potatoes, diced them, and added them to the pot of soup. Then she looked up to ask Caroline what else she’d like done—but Caroline had left the room. She must have gone to check on Hanky. The soup was bubbling, the bread was slic
ed; everything was nearly ready for their meal. Ida Kate drew in a happy breath and headed for Papa’s room. One of her favorite things to do when she had free time was to look through Mama’s books on the shelf next to the big double bed. But she hadn’t had free time in a long while.

  Mama had been a schoolteacher back in Philadelphia before she’d married Papa, and she was an avid reader. Even when she was very weak from her illness, she would pat the bed and invite Ida Kate to sit with her. Then Mama would read aloud from her books. Stories from the Bible. Stories of adventure—like tales of King Arthur and his knights of the Round Table, or Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin. And poetry. Ida Kate’s favorite poem had been Whittier’s “Snow-Bound”—until Mama died during the snowstorm. She and Mama had been able to recite the opening verses together. Last spring Papa had bought Mark Twain’s new Adventures of Tom Sawyer for Ida Kate, but it still sat unread on Mama’s little shelf. Maybe there would be time for reading again, now that Caroline had arrived.

  Ida Kate lifted the latch of Papa’s bedroom door and swung it open. “Oh!” she cried out in surprise.

  Caroline Fairchild turned with a start. She was standing in front of Papa’s dresser, and in her hands she held the packet of letters she’d sent to Papa over the months of their correspondence. “Oh!” she echoed Ida Kate. “I was just … dusting in here, and I found these letters. How sweet that Henry has kept them all.”

  “Well, of course he would keep them!” said Ida Kate with a smile, coming into the room. “We both read them over and over during the winter. We couldn’t wait for you to arrive. And now you’re really here!”

  “Yes, now I’m really here,” murmured Caroline. She retied the letters with the faded ribbon and replaced the packet in the wooden box atop the dresser. She closed the lid.

  “I should get back to work,” she said, picking up her dust cloth.

  “The room surely mustn’t be too dusty,” Ida Kate told her earnestly. “I mean, I cleaned the house very carefully so it would be ready for you …”