Chapter Eighteen

Key City, Iowa Territory, July 10, 1834

It took several more weeks, but Mr. and Mrs. Butterman, Penny Cooper, Nate Tilden, and Aunt Sunday finally moved into their new houses. It was an early July Sunday afternoon when they finished moving in. The wedding was set for the following Sunday. Father Mazzuchelli, the priest, agreed to marry Nate and Penny. In one more week, they would be man and wife.

Penny and Nate went over to the Buttermans’ house for dinner. It was a hot evening, even when the sun disappeared behind the bluff.

“It never seems to get dark this time of year,” Mrs. Butterman said. “What a change from last November, when the days were so short!”

It was so different than being at the log cabin at Calder Creek. Here in Key City they could hear other people talking all the time. And there were so many more houses. Penny couldn’t believe it. There was even a new hotel just five minutes away. A lot of trees were cut down now. It was a big change from the first time Penny saw Key City. Last November it was just a collection of log cabins and buildings in a small clearing in an endless forest. Now there were large bare areas with houses and buildings on them. Penny could see almost all the way to the Mississippi River from where she stood.

She waved her hand at a few mosquitoes. She said to Ella Butterman, “We should go back to Calder Creek and see if any of our sweet potatoes are ready to dig up. With all these mosquitoes, mosquito fever will come. Eating sweet potatoes might help.”

Mrs. Butterman agreed. They planned to visit the Buttermans’ land on Calder Creek soon. “I’ve never cooked sweet potatoes,” she said. “I hope Aunt Sunday can show me how.”

“Where is she, anyway?” said Mr. Butterman. He looked up at the house behind them.

“She told me she has a toothache,” said Mrs. Butterman. “I think she’s resting in her new room.”

Mr. Butterman asked Nate, “How old do you think Aunt Sunday is?” Nate came from the same farm in Virginia. He might know.

“I’m not too sure,” said Nate. “She was old when I was born. If I’m twenty-five now, then she must be at least eighty years old?”

“Goodness,” said Mrs. Butterman. “That’s a good old age.” Aunt Sunday was in fact ninety-one years old. This was something Aunt Sunday herself didn’t know.

“You know,” said Jonathan Butterman, “There are so many people in Key City now. I think I might start a bank.”

“A bank!” said Mrs. Butterman.

“Yes, a bank,” Mr. Butterman answered. “Everyone still has to go back to Leadville to use the bank there. That means crossing the Mississippi River. Going all the way back to Illinois. The miners can sell their lead here. They can bank right here in Key City.”

“The Butterman Bank?” said Mrs. Butterman.

“Well, maybe another name,” said Mr. Butterman, laughing.