Chapter One
A Note of Regret
A curtain moved aside, and two sad eyes peered through the opening. Isaiah Grant's luck had run dry.
"He's here," whispered Isaiah to no one in particular.
Captain Pichon's buckboard pulled into Calabash, Minnesota, on a sweltering August afternoon in 1876. Dust swirled as strong gusts of wind beat like an unwelcome visitor on the parched buildings of Main Street. As the buckboard clamored to a halt, the veteran debt collector stepped down, covered with dust. He looked neither left nor right but walked into the saloon as Isaiah emerged with his hat in his hands.
"Howdy, Captain Pichon," greeted Grant, offering him a timid smile.
"Bring your money and come with me."
Pichon grabbed him by the elbow and pushed him back into the wooden saloon doors without looking at him. Grant stumbled back into the empty saloon. The bartender stopped polishing glasses and quietly touched his revolver under the bar, just in case.
"Pay up," Pichon snarled at the sixty-three-year-old man."
"Well, it's like this, Captain. I need,"
"Pay up before I get mad."
The officer gave him a shove, and Isaiah Grant bumped into the table, unable to explain himself. Pichon whipped a barrel-shaped chair out of his way as he took several steps closer.
"Maybe, now you will remember what you owe me," Pichon growled under his breath as he followed with a fist of steel. Grant fell back and then scurried in total fear to the corner of the saloon.
"I ain't got the money. I needed food for my family," explained Isaiah, rubbing his face.
"You, drunken sot. You drank up the money. Don't lie to me, you, worthless piece of shit."
"Honest, Captain. Just give me a little more time. I promise I'll get you the
money."
"I'm tired of waiting for you. I ain't running no charity," shouted Captain Pichon.
Isaiah pulled himself to his feet. "Please, Captain. I need more time to get the money."
Even with Pichon's determination to squeeze every dollar out of this homesteader, he knew deep inside that Grant did not have shit for money.
"Say, you just might have something I want," remarked Pichon with a smile. "You got a daughter, don't you? She ought to be worth fifty dollars."
"No, Captain. Not that,"
"Is she a virgin?"
Isaiah became sick to his stomach as he looked at the Captain.
"Where is she?" barked Pichon.
"She's back at the homestead with her ma. It's a good day's ride from here."
"I know where it is at," snarled Pichon as he winced at the memory of Grant's homestead.
"I'll tell you what, Grant. Put her on the train next week to Redwood. That way, she'll arrive like one of those mail-order brides. If she doesn't meet my likin's, I'm sending her back, and the deal is off," he said.
Then, facing the bartender, "Bottle of whiskey and put that on Mr. Grant's tab." Pichon swaggered out of the saloon with a bottle of whiskey and a smile on his
face. He jumped on the buckboard and steered the wagon out of town.
Isaiah Grant slumped into the chair, realizing he now has to come up with a way to pay for the bottle of whiskey and a train ticket to Redwood, Minnesota.
"You owe me for a bottle of whiskey," said the bartender and shoved a broom at him.
* * *
"Please, Papa, No, Please don't make me leave. I don't want to get married. I want to stay here with Ma and Ben and you. Please don't make me get married."
Isabel stared at her Pa and blinked back tears at the thought of leaving Ben and her mother and the mountain and their home. She had traveled only a few times to Calabash and never any farther. Fears of never seeing her family or the valley loomed in the back of her mind.
"I don't want to live in town. I don't have any clothes for a town, and they will laugh at me. I can't read and write, and I wouldn't know how to be a wife to a soldier in the army. Please, Pa. Don't' make me."
Ever since Isaiah came home with the news that Isabel was to be a mail-order bride to Captain Pichon, Isabel had screamed and cried in protest. The ideas of running away and living in the cave with her Ma raced through her mind.
She even considered running away to live with her ma's friend Grandma Red Bear at the Sioux encampment to the north of their cabin.
"Don't you see this is your chance to start your own life," cajoled Pa. "I don't want you growing up and becoming afraid of people like your ma and never learning to read and write beyond what your ma can teach you. Besides, I can't afford to keep you. I'm taking Ben with me to the lumber camp next spring to work. 'Bout time that boy starts working like a man and earning his keep."
Ben overheard his dad's biting remarks. At age fifteen, he had always worked hard to provide the family with meat using his self-taught hunting and trapping skills; he chopped wood and took care of his chores every day. His dad's words stung. To have his dad think that he was not pulling his weight around the homestead left a sour taste in his mouth.
The tall, lanky, blond boy slipped out to the barn to escape the tension and fighting in the cabin. He didn't want Isabel to leave, and he did not like the idea of working at the lumber camp next spring. Pa never even asked him what he wanted.
"Why can't things stay the same? Our life is peaceful when papa goes and works for a season and comes back for a few days to bring supplies. I can take care of Isabel and Ma. I am going to make darn sure pa knows that before he takes off again. Why now? Why send Isabel away?"
Tears ran down Ben's cheeks as he stood in the silence of the barn, trying to understand his father.
Ellie Grant had spent the day foraging for herbs to dry. Walking had helped her clear her head, and she loved the quiet solitude of the woods. She knew Isabel would have supper started, and every day she thanked her lucky stars for the help and the comfort her children provided to her.
As Ellie approached the yard in front of the house, she overheard Isabel and her father fighting in the cabin. She pushed open the door in disbelief to what she was hearing.
"Why would you have her marry a soldier after what happen to this family?" spat Ellie Grant at her husband.
Isaiah looked at his wife with no answer. Then, he slammed his hands on the
table and said, "Enough. I am the head of this household, and Isabel will be getting on the train to be a mail-order bride to Captain Pichon, and that is final."
He shoved his hat on his head and grabbed his gun. Then, he checks his satchel for a bottle. He walked towards the woods without looking back to see the shock look on their faces from his anger. Isabel collapsed into her mother's arms, and sobs poured from her thin body as her mother tried to comfort her.
Tension remained high at the Grant household for the next week as the preparations for Isabel's departure continued. No one spoke of the details for the trip to Calabash and sadness prevailed over the homestead.
Ellie dug into her trunk to find old dresses she had worn long ago to alter for Isabel. Mending and sewing occupied her week, as everything needed washing and ironing before packing for the trip.
Ben took on a new project out in the barn. He became unresponsive to everyone's questions. Isabel was the only one who could comfort him.
Pa returned home three days later drunk but bearing skins for processing. He tossed a bundle of smoked fish and one of fresh meat at Ellie as a peace offering, and she acknowledged his contributions with nothing more than a grunt.
Isabel spent the week cleaning and cooking for her family hoping her Pa realized how much she contributed.
The day of departure arrived. The sun backlit the tree line as Pa steered the buckboard to the front of the cabin. Ben tried not to cry as he hugged Isabel goodbye. Her mother gave her some last-minute advice, hugged her and scurried off into the woods like a crazy woman.
On the daylong ride to Calabash, Isabel chose not to talk to her Pa. A flood of emotions filled her mind as she looked at the valley for the last time. She knew she was never going to see her home or Ben or her Ma ever again.
Isabel hated Pa for forcing her into this situation. She was afraid of soldiers. She remembered the attack on her Ma by the soldiers, and she decided that all soldiers were the same.
"Please Isabel, try to make the most of this opportunity. Lots of young women are mail-ordered brides. They even put ads in the papers and write back and forth. I know this isn't the ideal way to meet a husband."
Isabel's continued silence rubbed Isaiah's nerves raw.
"Please Isabel. Talk to me."
Silence. Isaiah continued for most of the afternoon to talk to Isabel, who remained vigilant in her silence. With every mile, her resolve intensified. By five o'clock, Isaiah and Isabel arrived at the livery on the edge of town. All alone, Isabel set up camp as Isaiah headed to the saloon.
"I should run away right now. I could take one of the horses and the few supplies in the wagon, and I could set out on my own, but where would I go by myself? I have never been on the other side of Calabash. What would I do? I can't go back home. Pa would make me get married to this Captain. I am mad at Pa for doing this to me. I hate him."
With tears falling down her cheeks, sleep eluded her throughout the night. Even when Pa stumbled into the campground, she turned her back and pretended to be asleep.
In the morning, Isabel made coffee and breakfast for her Pa one last time. She pumped a bucket of water from the horse trough at the livery. Isabel moved to the back of the wagon to prepare herself for the day.
Her ma had set her clean porcelain white hair into two tight braids. Isabel carefully watered down the flyways on top of her head with her fingers. She put on her mother's best dress. The small white flowers on the lavender background seem to match her hair. She smoothed out the front and tied the sash in the back. She remembered the disappointment in her mother's voice when packing.
"Isabel, I am sorry for not doing right by you. I should've been providing a dowry of goods . . . for when you left home.
I don't have so much as any fancy smelling stuff to give you. All I got is some homemade soap and these here bundles of dried herbs that will keep the bugs out of your clothes. I am sorry, Isabel."
"Don't be daydreaming, Isabel. The train is going to be pulling in for water any time now."
As Pa hitched the horses to the buckboard, Isabel broke camp. Silence remained as they both went about their chores. Climbing onto the wagon, Isabel felt funny all dressed up with her Ma's thin brown hat atop of her head.
"Dress looks nice on you, Isabel. Remember when your ma used to wear it," reminisced Pa as he steered the team toward the depot.
Her long brown lashes blinked back the tears that were stinging her eyes with pain. Isabel loved him so much, and she knew that deep down, he loved her, but she didn't understand why he was sending her away.
"Please, Pa. Please. Please don't make me go. I want to stay with you. Please."
He looked at her and heard the frightened panic in her voice. "Now hush up, Isabel. We have been all through this. It will be fine. You're just nervous."
Calabash was a water stop on the rail line. Local freighters lined up ready to receive goods from St. Paul and deliver them to the local businesses in town. Pa pulled up next to the depot and tied the team to the hitching post. Isabel sat in the wagon, staring at the activity. Pa grabbed her worn satchel and walked around the end gate of the buckboard towards Isabel.
"Isabel, let's not be making a scene now. Git down off that wagon."
Reluctantly, Isabel allowed her Pa to help her down off the wagon, so she would not tear her dress.
"Don't be getting any ideas of running away and coming back here. I won't stand for it."
"I hate you," said Isabel.
Isabel looked into her father's eyes with steel resilience, grabbed her satchel from his hand, and walked toward the depot. Sadness veiled his face as he followed her to buy her ticket.
At the depot, passengers, family members, and onlookers gathered to wait for the train. Her father clutched her elbow and steered her into the lobby of the depot. She stepped away from him quickly and moved over to the farthest wall to stare at a map showing the rail lines and the different types of stops.
"I'll take one ticket for Redwood."
"Is it for you or her?" asked the ticket master.
"It's for my daughter."
"Is she over twelve?"
"No . . . no sir" lied Isaiah.
"That will be half fare."
Isaiah fished in his pocket and produced the coins to pay the five-dollar fare. Then, he slowly walked over to Isabel, handed the ticket to her and led her out of the lobby.
"Why did you tell that man I was twelve? You know I am seventeen."
"Never mind," he muttered as he rushed her to the end of the platform.
"Let go of my arm," Isabel hissed at her father and said, "I never want to see you again, and I will never forgive you for what you have done to our family and me."
Isabel turned her back to her father; she felt the salty tears run down her cheeks. Slowly, Isaiah backed away, holding his hat in his hand. He shuffled through the crowd towards the buckboard.
Tears clouded Isabel's eyes as she blinked furiously. She found herself the center of attention with onlookers staring at her. The train rolled into sight, and suddenly every ounce of Isabel's courage flowed out of her body.