Chapter Eighteen

A Trip to Town

The following morning Chad, Henry, and Frances were in the wagon, ready to leave for town. The day promised to be hot again, and they wanted to be on the way before the sun was any higher.

Manda turned her attention to Frances. “Are you sure that the list is in your reticule? Do you have your parasol? Just because you live out here on the plains doesn’t mean you can’t have a good complexion. Stay out of the sun as much as possible.”

Frances tied her broad-rimmed hat under her chin. “Yes, Mama.”

“And keep your gloves on. You don’t need to look as though you work in the fields.”

“Yes, Mama.”

Manda turned to Chad. “Please don’t forget to pick up our mail. And remember the upholstery tacks at the hardware store. Will you be home by dark?”

“Not if we don’t get started,” he replied. “Don’t fuss, Manda. We all know how to take care of ourselves, and we’re not likely to forget anything. You sure you don’t want to go along?”

Manda stepped back from the wagon and shook her head. “No, thank you. I’ll make the trip when the weather is cooler.”

The wagon rattled along the dry, rutted trail, and the three passengers rode in silence for some time.

Frances was busy with her visions of freedom. With luck, she thought, she could finish her shopping before the others did and have time to sit in the hotel lobby. She remembered with pleasure their arrival in Winner and the fascinating opportunity she’d had to observe the comings and goings of people who traveled through.

Chad was busy with his own thoughts. He felt he had struck a good bargain on the house. Many buildings, he was told, were moved from one homestead to another when their owners gave up the fight to tame the prairie. “Give up” wasn’t a phrase in Chad’s vocabulary. He hadn’t become successful by abandoning a project when it became too difficult. He was prepared to claim his land no matter what obstacles appeared in his path.

When the house was in place and Manda was able to direct the painting and papering, she would be satisfied. He should have told her of his plans sooner, but discussing his business, even with his wife, was still difficult for him.

Henry looked across the open space and was thankful to be living and breathing on this hot July day. His close brush with death had given him a new appreciation for all he had. The work was hard, but part of his reward would be in land in this new territory. Someday, perhaps, he would have his own home and family. The wagon wasn’t yet out of sight of the acres that he and Luke had planted. The wheat was growing well.

The words of a song that had been popular for about five years came to Henry, and he sang them to himself.

“O beautiful for spacious skies,

For amber waves of grain ...”

Surely the author must have been writing about South Dakota.

“We’re going to need rain right soon,” Chad said suddenly. “The prairie grass is so dry, there’s danger of fire. Sun is good for the wheat, though. We’re going to miss our threshing machine and baler this fall.”

Henry squinted at the sky. “Don’t look much like rain today. It could hold till we get our supplies back home, far as I reckon.”

“Papa, does the house have two floors?” Frances asked.

“Yes, four rooms upstairs and four down. I think we’ll build a summer kitchen so Polly will have a place to do her canning and baking.”

“What color will the house be?”

“Your mother favors white with a green trim. The roofing is green.”

“Mama wishes she had brought some roses or a lilac bush. Would they grow out here?”

“I’m sure they would,” Chad replied. “We’ll try to find something to surprise her.”

“I think she’ll like it better than the last surprise you gave her,” Frances said. “I can hardly wait to see that house move across the prairie.”

“There’s somethin’ else movin’ across the prairie right now. Look.” Henry pointed ahead of them. “Antelope. And they’re really travelin’.”

They watched the herd for as long as they could see it. It was the most exciting thing they’d encountered on the trail all morning, and Frances was glad to see signs of life as they approached the town of Winner. She had plans for her day.

When the wagon headed for town in the early-morning light, the remaining members of the household gathered for breakfast around the outdoor table.

“This is gonna be one hot day,” Luke said. “I don’t like the feel of it.”

“What does it feel like, Luke?” Simon asked.

“Don’t know. Somethin’s coming, though.”

Everyone looked at the sky.

“There isn’t a cloud in sight,” Manda said. “When the sun comes up, it will be just like yesterday—unbearable.”

“The air’s heavy,” Luke insisted. He nodded toward the washtub on the open fire. “You picked the wrong time to do clothes.”

“I don’t ‘pick’ a time to wash,” Polly snapped. “When there’s nothin’ clean to wear, that’s wash day. And with ten people muckin’ around in this dirt, that’s most every day.” She stomped off to stir the clothes in the boiling water.

Luke chuckled. “Weather don’t help her disposition none, either.”

Chad brought the wagon to a stop in front of the blacksmith shop, and Frances looked around with pleasure. Winner was a prairie town with very little to recommend it to the world. The main street was rutted and dusty, and the trails leading into it were nothing more than one-way wagon tracks. Its only claim to being a town was a railway station. There were three sets of tracks—two accommodated the twice-daily north- and southbound trains, and the third was siding that went nowhere.

Winner served a purpose, however. Located just one and a half counties east of the Missouri River on the isolated plains, it was the stopping-off place for goods ordered from mail-order houses and manufacturers in the east. It drew homesteaders from all around the territory to pick up equipment necessary for establishing their portion of the great state of South Dakota.

All of this meant little to Frances as she anticipated the day ahead of her. She had frequently shopped with her mother, but never alone. The list and the money in her handbag gave her a feeling of independence. After retying her hat ribbons and smoothing her gloves, she allowed herself to be helped from the wagon.

“Do you have your mother’s and Polly’s mail to post?”

“Yes, Papa.”

“You’re sure you can manage the shopping by yourself?”

“Yes, Papa.”

“You know where the hotel is. We’ll meet you there for lunch at one o’clock.”

“Yes, Papa.” Frances was impatient to get started on her adventure.

Finally her father strode across the street to the bank, and Henry disappeared into the hardware store. Frances picked her way slowly down the boardwalk fronted by the Mercantile, Jay’s Saloon, the Star Restaurant, and Maude’s Millinery. At the end of the block stood the Winner Hotel, where the family had stayed when they first arrived.

The Mercantile, where Frances would be shopping, would be the last stop. First she must look in every window on the street—except, of course, the saloon. For the first time in her life, there was no one to hurry her along, and Frances meant to take advantage of it.

One window of the restaurant revealed tables set and a few customers lingering over their coffee. The other window contained all manner of baked goods. Rolls, bread, cakes, and pies were displayed in tempting array. A large cake declared Happy Birthday, Sophia. A menu and price list on the window said that one could have ham, eggs, fried potatoes, and griddle cakes for twenty-five cents.

She continued on toward the milliner’s. Hats of every description were arrayed before her. Frances took in every detail, from the simple wide-rimmed one like she was wearing to ornate head coverings with every form of trimming imaginable. Oh, to be a grown lady with places to go that would require a hat like one of these!

For a moment Frances forgot that her station in life was more suited to a calico sunbonnet, which she would purchase at the Mercantile. She pictured herself in the gorgeous green velvet with an attractive feather falling gracefully over her face. After considering each hat in turn and noting that most of them sold for at least $2.75, Frances finally turned away from the window with a sigh and directed her attention to the Mercantile.

This was the store where one could obtain anything necessary for running a home and family. Choices were limited only by the amount of money one had to spend. Frances was aware that Mama had calculated the cost of her goods on her list to the last penny, but Frances decided it certainly wouldn’t hurt to look around and imagine that she might purchase one of everything she fancied.

Oilcloth, 3 yds @ 5¢—$0.15

Sunbonnets:

Large, 3 @ 22¢—$0.66

Small, 1 @ 12¢—$0.12

Dress goods:

24 yds @ 10¢—$2.40

18 yds @ 8 1/2¢—$1.53

Lace, 10 yds @ 2 1/2¢—$0.25

Thread, 4 spools @ 3¢—$0.12

Mama had sent six dollars with the list, and she would be sure to expect seventy-seven cents in change to be returned to her. Frances could hear her say, “Papa doesn’t prosper by having us waste his money.”

Frances made her purchases, dropped the change into her bag, and carried the package to the wagon. A trip to the post office, and she would be free to go to the hotel. The wagon already had a number of things in it that the men had bought and covered with a tarp, so Frances pushed her packages under the seat and crossed the street. She passed the bank and the land office and was about to enter the post office when she stopped in her tracks before a sign on the building:

Dr. Robert James, MD

Dr. Timothy Flynn, MD

Office Upstairs

The young man from the train! Did she dare go upstairs and greet him? What would Papa say? Frances stood, considering the impossible. She knew what Papa would say. A young lady wouldn’t be so bold as to be the first to speak to a gentleman.

Reluctantly she walked on. It was nearing time to meet Henry and Papa for lunch anyway, and she wouldn’t have very long to sit in the lobby and watch the people.

After stopping at the post office, she noted that among the letters from home was one from her friend Rebecca. Frances hurried to the hotel to read it. So interested was she in the news it contained, she didn’t notice how dark the sky had become. A sudden flash of lightning and a crash of thunder caused her to drop the letter and jump to her feet in alarm.

“Allow me,” a voice said. Then, “How do you do, Miss Rush?”

Frances stared at the young man who had stooped beside her to retrieve the letter. “The thunder startled me,” she began. “I wasn’t expecting to see you. We didn’t know you were a doctor.” Her face warmed as she realized she was babbling.

The young man appeared not to notice. “I guess I didn’t mention it. I came to Winner because my future wife lives here, and I was invited to go into practice with her father. Elaine and I will be married in August.” He looked around the lobby. “Have you come with your family?”

“Just my father and Henry. Here they come now.”

Frances introduced the young man to Mr. Rush and Henry, and they invited him to have lunch with them.

“I’m truly sorry that I must decline,” he said, “but I have office hours in just a few minutes. Will you be staying in town overnight?”

“No,” replied Mr. Rush, “we’ll leave as soon as the rain lets up. Perhaps next time we’re in town.” They all shook hands, and Dr. Flynn went out into the wet afternoon.

Frances watched him leave. She might have known that a young man like that would be spoken for. Oh well. He was probably ten years older than she anyway. She was dreaming to think that he would pay special attention to her.

“Frances? We’re going in to lunch. Are you going to stand there until we get back?”

Frances sighed and followed her father and Henry to the hotel dining room.