Dwadlo, North Dakota, 1893
“The winter of ’93 will go down as one of the worst Dwadlo’s ever seen.” Hal Murphy dumped a sack of flour on the store counter and then turned to address Mae Wilkey, the petite postmistress stuffing mail in wooded boxes.
“Spring can’t come soon enough for me,” she said, stepping back and straightening the row of letters and flyers. “I’d rather perspire than struggle to keep warm any day of the week.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Hal gestured to the store owner. “Add a couple of those dill pickles, will you, Dale?”
Nodding, the short, balding man known for his quietness on most days walked over to the pickle barrel and fished around inside, coming up with two fat ones.
“That’ll fix me up.” Hal glanced again at the lovely sight by the mail cage. “Can’t understand why you’re still single, Mae,” he teased. “You’re as pretty as a blooming lilac bush in summer.” He sniffed the air. “And you smell as good.”
Smiling, Mae moved to the cash box and began the daily count. Icy weather made the train late today, which was a good thing as she still had to count money and record the day’s inventory. “Oh, Hal. You know I’d marry you in a minute if you weren’t all ready taken.” Hal and Cara Lea had been married more than fifty years, but Mae’s usual comeback never failed to put a sparkle in his eye.
“I know. All the good ones are taken, aren’t they?”
Mae nodded. “Every single one. Especially in Dwadlo.”
The little town was formed when the C&NW railroad came though. Before that, only a few lone homesteads had dotted the rugged Dakota Territory: Mae’s family’s, Hal and Cara Lea’s, and Pauline Wilson’s. But in 1879 the railroad came though, and the formerly platted sites became towns. Pine Grove and Branch Springs followed, and Dwadlo suddenly thrived with immigrants and folks staking claims. The train delivered opportunists, supplies, fuel, mail, and food. A new world opened when the Dakota Boom started.
Hal’s gaze focused on Mae’s left hand. “Jake still hasn’t popped the question?”
Hal was a pleasant sort, but Mae really wished the townsfolk would occupy their thoughts with something other than her and Jake’s pending engagement. True, they had been courting for six years and Jake still hadn’t proposed, but Mae knew he would. He’d said he would—every Christmas and birthday when a ring would have been appropriate instead of a locket. She had more lockets than any one woman could wear, but Jake apparently thought she could always use another one. What she could really use was his hand in marriage. The bloom was swiftly fading from her youth, and it would be nice if her brother, Jeremy, had a man’s presence in his life.
“Be patient, Hal. Jake is busy trying to establish a business.”
“Good lands. How long does it take a man to open a law office?”
“Apparently six years and counting.” She didn’t like Jake’s hesitancy to take on a family, but she understood it even if the town’s population didn’t. And she had a good life filled with work, church, and town socials. Jake accompanied her to all events, came over twice a week, and never failed to extend a hand when she needed something. It was almost as though they were married.
“The man’s a fool,” Hal declared. “He’d better slap a ring on that finger before someone else comes along and does it for him.”
“Not likely in Dwadlo,” Mae mused. The town itself was made up of fewer than a hundred residents. Others lived in surrounding areas but did their banking and shopping here. The general store, Smith’s Grain and Feed, the livery, the mortuary, an empty store that once housed a saloon and town hall, Doc Swede’s office, and Belle’s Café were the entire sum of businesses in Dwadlo, North Dakota. She hadn’t spotted a sign yet that advertised “husbands.” Patience would eventually win out. Her birthday was coming up in August, and Jake would surely offer his hand this year.
Hal eventually moved off to pay for his goods, and Mae put the money box in the safe. A stiff January wind snapped the red canvas awning sheltering the general store porch. Across the square, a large, empty gazebo was in mourning under a gray sky. During summer nights, music and the smell of popped corn and roasting peanuts filled the air. Today the structure looked as though it braced for another approaching storm. Sighing, she realized how much she longed for spring flowers, green grass, and sweet breezes.
Hal left and Mae finished up the last of the chores before reaching for her warm wool cape. She usually enjoyed the short walk home from work, but today she was tired—and her feet hurt from the new boots she’d purchased from a Montgomery Ward catalog. On the page they had looked comfortable with their high tops and polished leather, but on her feet they felt like cattle guards.
Slipping the cape’s hood over her hair, she smiled a goodbye to Dale and then paused when her hand touched the doorknob. “I almost forgot. Pauline needs a few things today.”
“How’s she doing?” Dale paused and leaned on his broom. “I noticed she hasn’t been in church recently.”
How was she doing? Mae worried the question over in her mind. Pauline lived alone, and she shouldn’t. The elderly woman was her neighbor and Mae checked on her frequently, but she was losing ground more and more.
“Dale, have you ever heard Pauline speak of kin?”
He didn’t even have to ponder the question. “Never heard her mention a word about any kind of relative.”
“Hmm…neither have I. She surely has someone.” Someone who should be here, in Dwadlo, looking after the frail soul. Mae didn’t resent the extra work, but the post office and her brother kept her busy, and she didn’t have the right to make decisions in light of the elderly woman’s failing health.
Striding to the bread rack, she picked up a fresh loaf. Dale lived in the back of the store, and before dawn he was up baking bread, pies, and cakes for the community. Most folks baked their own goods, but a few widowers depended on Dale’s culinary skills. By this hour the bread and desserts were usually gone, but fortunately a few items still remained. The approaching storm had slowed the morning’s activity in the store. Adding a cherry pie to her basket, Mae called, “Put these on my account, will you?”
Nodding, Dale merely continued sweeping.
A numbing wind hit Mae full force when she stepped off the porch. Her hood flew off and an icy gust of air snatched her breath. Putting down her basket, she retied the hood, straightened, and then set off for the short walk home. Halfway there, snowflakes began swirling in the air. Huddling deeper into her wrap, she concentrated on the path as the flakes grew bigger.
Her boots quickly covered the short distance, and Pauline’s small cottage came into sight. The dwelling was little more than a front room, a miniscule kitchen, and a bedroom, but Pauline was a tiny woman. Mae often thought of her as a fragile butterfly. Pauline pinned her white-blond hair in a tight knot, and she didn’t have a tooth left in her head. She chewed snuff, which she freely admitted was a bad habit, but Mae had never heard her speak of giving it up. Her faded blue eyes were as round as buttons, and no matter what kind of day she was having it was always a new one to her, filled with wonders. Dementia had set in years back and stolen her independence. She had good and bad days, mostly days when her moods changed as swiftly as lighting. If they were talking about tomatoes in the garden patch, suddenly Pauline would be telling about acorns that fell in the winter.
Mae noted the soft wisp of smoke curing from the chimney and smiled. Her friend had remembered to feed the fire this morning, so this was a good day.
Unlatching the gate, she followed the path to the front porch. In summertime the white railings hung heavy with red roses and the scent of honeysuckle filled the air. This afternoon the wind howled across Pauline’s barren flower beds. Often she planted okra where petunias should be, but she loved to putter in the soil and the earth loved her. She brought fresh tomatoes, corn, and beans to the general store during the spring and summer, and pumpkins and squash lined the railings in the fall. Pauline was known for her quilts as much for her flowers and vegetables. She and her quilting group had made quite a name for themselves when Dwadlo first became a town. Four women in the area excelled in quilting. One had lived in Pine Grove, and two others came from as far away as Branch Springs once a month to break bread together and stitch quilts. But one by one the women had died off, leaving Pauline and her narrowing world.
Stepping onto the shelter of the porch, Mae said under her breath, “Thank You, Lord.” It was a relief to be out of the wind. Tapping lightly, she called, “Pauline?”
She moved back a little and waited to hear the shuffle of feet. Pauline used to answer the door in less than twenty seconds. It took longer now. A minute and then two passed. Mae made a fist with her gloved hand and banged a little harder. Wind howled around the corners of the eaves. She closed her eyes and prayed that Jeremy had remembered to stoke the fire and bring in a new load of wood from the covered pile.
Another full minute passed. Mae frowned and then tried the door handle. Pauline could be asleep, and she didn’t hear well anymore. The door opened easily, and Mae peeked inside, her eyes glancing around the small living quarters. A fire burned low in the woodstove. Pauline’s chair sat empty.
Stepping inside, she closed the door and called again. “Pauline? It’s Mae!”
The ticking of the mantle clock was the only sound that met her ears.
“Pauline?” Mae lowered her hood and walked through the living room and paused in the kitchen doorway. “Pauline!” She rushed to the older woman, who was lying on the floor in front of her sink. Kneeling, she felt for a pulse and found a thready one. “Oh, you poor dear.” How long had she been there? All day? Mae had stopped by on her way to work early that morning, and she’d been fine—preparing to piece quilting scraps. She turned toward Pauline’s chair and saw a large box of squares. Perhaps she’d only just fallen. “Pauline?” When she still received no response, she stood and dampened a washrag and then pressed it to the elderly woman’s face. When the cold cloth touched her skin, Pauline’s eyes flew open.
“Oh, my! Did I faint again?”
“You did,” Mae soothed. She slowly sat her friend upright.
Pauline brought both hands to her temples. “My head’s spinning like a top.”
Checking briefly for broken bones, Mae sighed. “This is the third time this week, Pauline.”
“Goodness’ sake.” The elderly woman brushed Mae’s hand aside and struggled to stand up. “Anyone can fall. Why, I trip over my feet all the time.”
“Not three times a week.” Mae assisted her up and then helped the weaving woman to her chair. “How long have you been lying there?”
Pauline looked up. “Where?”
“On the floor?”
“I don’t know. Was I on the floor again?”
“You were. Do you hurt anywhere?”
She shook her head. “I never hurt anywhere.”
Giving up for the moment, Mae fixed the woman a cup of hot tea and liberally laced it with honey. Kneeling beside Pauline’s chair, Mae knew the moment had come that she had been dreading. Someone—some kin—must step up and take care of this woman. Mae couldn’t make decisions or assume roles that weren’t hers to take on. She racked her brain trying to recall if Pauline had ever mentioned anyone. Brother? Sister? Cousin?
“Pauline?”
“Yes, dear?” Pauline calmly blew on her tea.
“Do you have anyone close…?” Mae paused. Pauline must be in her nineties. It was unlikely she’d have close kin, but there could be distant nieces and nephews. She was as poor as a church mouse. Her house would bring nothing, but the land was valuable. Years ago when Mae was small, she recalled some kind of ruckus over Pauline’s property. The railroad was just beginning to plot land in North Dakota, and if her memory served her, an official had offered to purchase the property. Mae only recalled the incident because it had caused such a fuss when Pauline priced the land so high that even the official was astounded. Heated discussions ended abruptly when the official walked away from the uncompromising Pauline. Mae remembered her father’s disgust, saying that Pauline should be stung up like a thief. At that time the area had missed a big opportunity to have the railroad come through, though it had all worked out later.
Her thoughts switched back to present. “Do you have any nieces or nephews?”
Pauline shook her head. “I did once, but they’re all dead now.”
“Cousins?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “I had cousins.”
“Are any of them still alive?”
She took a sip of tea, thoughtful. “At least I think I did.”
Mae noted that she was fairly clear at the moment. “Think hard, Pauline. Are any of your cousins alive?”
Pauline thought. After a while she said. “Tom.”
“Tom. You have a cousin named Tom? Is he still alive?”
Pauline gave her a curt look. “Why, I suppose he is. I haven’t heard the contrary.”
“Oh, thank goodness. Would you care if I wrote to Tom and told him that he needs to come and visit you?”
“He wouldn’t want to visit me.”
“Why not?”
She turned pensive. “Seems like we don’t get along. He’s a stubborn man.”
Mae didn’t care about his personality, but he was a thoughtless man if he knew Pauline was alive and not being cared for by family. “Do you have his address?”
Pauline turned blank. “Whose address?”
“Tom…your kin. Do you have an address where I can reach him?”
Shaking her head, Pauline took another sip of tea. “It’s all right, dear. They’ll take care of everything.”
“Who will take care of you, Pauline?”
“They will.” She smiled. “They come around every night and I feed them. If I don’t, they get in the biggest fight you’ve ever seen.”
Mae sat back. Pauline was gone again.
“They yell and scream until I come outside and feed them gravy.”
“Really.”
Pauline nodded. “I don’t think they are my kin, but they say they are.”
Mae settled a warm wrap around the woman’s thin frame and got up to put more wood on the fire. How was she going to find Pauline’s relatives? Her eyes focused on the small writing desk in the corner. It wasn’t her place to pilfer through Pauline’s private papers, but how else would she find a clue to the woman’s past? Pauline had lived in this house since before Mae was born, and the only thing Mae had ever heard about her elderly friend concerned the railroad ruckus. Pauline had never married and had no children.
Settling in a chair across from Pauline, Mae contemplated her options. Her gaze shifted back to the desk, where the late afternoon light highlighted a thick layer of dust. The house often smelled of pot roast or stew, but today it reeked of neglect.
Getting out of her chair, Mae moved toward the desk, lightly wiping dust with the hem of her dress. “Pauline?”
Dementia came and went swiftly. Now that Pauline had finished her cup of tea, perhaps her memory would be clearer.
“Yes, dear?”
“About Tom?”
The older woman smiled. “Yes?”
“Would you happen to have his address?”
Downing the last sip from her cup, Pauline gave her a dry look. “Cats don’t have addresses, dear.”
Cats? Cats. Tomcat. Mae’s eyes focused on the bundle of fur sitting beside the stove. Giving a wide yawn, the cat turned around and then settled back comfortably on the rug.
Tom Cat.
Well, he’d be of no help.