Rustling Cottonwoods

By Maxine Isackson

She was wed too soon, and far too soon widowed.In only a few months, Jenny Lindstrom, is left with a homestead after her new husband is deputized and killed. Determined to hang on the homestead through conflicts, harsh weather and a threatening bank loan, Jenny has no time for romance though two valley men vie for her attention.
Light-haired, thick-chested Brett Endicott with his infectious grin and eyes as blue as a prairie lake, and Royce Halloway, lean-bodied, square-jawed, with disturbing cloudy gray eyes.
In years past, it was Royce's father who, in his attempt to keep control of the valley, hung the first man who filed on the Lindstrom land. Are the greedy Halloways behind the mysterious troubles plaguing Jenny?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Maxine Isackson
• Release date: Oct 16, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466147294

Maxine Isackson

Maxine Isackson is a retired farm/ranch/wife/grandmother who lives with her husband in Nebraska. Always enthrolled by the stories passed down by those who settled the Sandhills of Nebraska and created their own unique way of life, she has turned their histories into exciting and vivid fiction.

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RUSTLING COTTONWOODS

by

Maxine Isackson

Copyright 2011 Maxine Isackson

Published on Smashwords

Cover art by Delle Jacobs. All rights reserved.

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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Chapter One

1890

The young, red-headed woman on the seat of the jouncing wagon sent a speculative glance from beneath the brim of her modestly decorated hat. Her glance was directed at the short, stocky, slightly plump man sharing the seat—a man she had married not an hour ago. A man she had met that morning.

Ivan Lindstrom was certainly not a romantic figure, but in all truth, he had not misrepresented himself in their letter exchange. He’d made it clear in his cramped hand writing that he was not handsome—just a plain, regular sort. His words had stated that his neighbors could testify to his honesty and that he was a hard worker. Due to his father’s untimely death, he had completed only eight years of schooling. He did not drink nor chew though he did like a pipe if she had no objections. His mother had not liked tobacco smoke. He had proved up on his homestead in addition to a tree claim quarter. His house was of sod, but it had four rooms with double-sash windows. He had both a spring and a well on his land. His mother had passed away the past fall leaving him her homestead quarter to add to his own giving him a total of 480 acres of valley land.

Ivan’s newspaper advertisement had appeared in an early February issue of the Chicago Times to which surprisingly, Esther Bloom, Jenny’s tight-fisted sister-in-law subscribed. It so happened that the former Jenny Bloom, the young woman on the wagon seat, with the blazing red hair and pert nose lightly sprinkled with freckles, had ran across his advertisement. Her angry eyes had darted down the help wanted column of the paper spread on the table of the Illinois kitchen.

Housemaid.

Woman to do ironing.

Dishwasher.

She’d known such jobs paid barely enough to keep body and soul together, if that. Her eyes had jumped to the next column.

Live-in housekeeper for widower with seven children. Could lead to matrimony.

She’d wondered how many answers there would be to that particular advertisement. Not many, she’d bet. Her eyes had continued to scan the page until they fell on a simply stated advertisement.

Christian man needs helpmate on Nebraska farm.

Age 36. Good-tempered, non-drinker.

Would like woman with similar traits.

Jenny had read such advertisements in the past always wondering what type of people resorted to this method of finding a mate. What kind of man had to advertise for a wife? What kind of woman would reply to a stranger living off in Timbuktu? Perhaps one that felt trapped and desperate.

Well, Jenny, my girl, she had muttered to herself. That describes you to a T.

But, all that had taken place some time ago, leading to today, her wedding day.

Ivan Lindstrom, wearing a dark blue serge suit and a worn felt hat, must have caught her looking at him from the corner of his eye. I’m not much to look at.

Flustered, Jenny answered quickly. You look fine, Mr. Lindstrom…Ivan. It just seems strange to find myself married to someone I don’t know.

That’s understandable. Can’t hardly take it in myself. He grinned at her. He had a pleasant smile and not bad teeth, Jenny noted. We don’t know one another much. His round cheeks shaved clean except for a heavy fringe of beard that edged his jaw line, turned a bright pink. I figure we should get to know each other some before… he stammered a bit. Before we start married life. I figured you could use Ma’s room for awhile.

Relief swept over Jenny. Thank heaven! This man did not expect the marriage to be consummated right away. She simply could not have agreed to any such thing, but what if he had insisted?

I believe that sounds like a good plan.

Ivan nodded and clucked to the horses, seemingly as relieved as Jenny to have dealt with that matter.

Jenny settled herself more comfortably on the wagon seat, attempting to ease the tightness of the corset pinching her already narrow waist, and looked around at the miles of waving brown grass covering the rolling hills on either side of the trail. This country was certainly different than the area of Illinois where she had grown up though spring grass had not arrived there either. It looked like a lonely place to live. Even the town named, Far Home, seemed to indicate that others had had similar sentiments.

* * *

Ivan had met the train at the tiny wooden depot when she’d arrived earlier that day. Right off, it was evident he was shy but a decent sort. He’d introduced himself, and seen to her two trunks. He’d suggested they leave them at the depot until they’d eaten. Her prospective husband had then taken Jenny to the hotel dining room though there was a café not far from the depot.

Ivan had indicated the café with its battered sign hanging crookedly over its door with a nod of his head. Mostly railroad men and cowpunchers eat there, he’d explained as he’d escorted her across the wide, dirt street, his hand lightly cupped beneath her elbow. They’d then proceeded along the boardwalk with Ivan pointing out the different business that lined the east-west main street of Far Home.

They’d passed a barbershop with striped pole out front. It was one of several small, false-fronted shops along the main street. There were a few two-story buildings that housed offices on their second floor, other businesses below. There were two saloons and a livery barn, a post office next to a small, brick building that was the new courthouse. Jenny had glimpsed a large square clapboard building in the background with a flag flapping on a pole in what she assumed was a schoolyard.

The hotel was two-story, it’s siding in need of a fresh coat of paint. The brick steps to its entrance however, were swept clean. The dining room where the aroma of food prevailed was just to the left as you entered. It, too, was neat and clean. A dozen small tables covered with checkered oilcloth sat around the room each centered by salt and peppershakers with a spoon holder and sugar bowl.

A noon special was served each day, Jenny had been informed, but in the evening patrons could order steaks and chops from a menu. A frowsy, middle-aged woman wearing a clean, but well-worn apron marred by only one obvious spot had appeared. Jenny, adjudging the spot to be a dab of lemon pie, had smiled at the waitress as Ivan chose and seated Jenny at one of the tables.

Howdy, Ivan, the waitress had greeted. Who’s your company? Curious eyes as round and large as an owl’s, had studied Jenny in her navy blue suit and matching hat. Saw you come past earlier and park over by the depot. This relation? She don’t look none like you or your mama.

No, Mert, Ivan had explained. This is a friend of mine from back east. What’s your special today?

Friend, huh? Got baked beans seasoned with ham. Lemon pie.

Sound all right to you, Jenny? Ivan had inquired.

Jenny had nodded.

Two specials coming up, the woman with the odd name of, Mert, said as she’d limped off, bumps on the sides of her shoes testifying to swollen bunions. Poor woman. Jenny had thought, observing this. It must be difficult waiting on tables with sore feet.

They’d been a little early for the noon meal, but shortly after they’d been served with fragrant plates of beans liberally seasoned with chunks of ham, other customers began to trickle in from the street. Jenny had sensed that Ivan Lindstrom was nervous over the attention the two of them were attracting. She’d felt ill at ease herself. What would people think of her when they discovered she was a ‘mail order bride’?

Jenny need not have worried for Ivan had already worked out a story. When a couple, a Mr. and Mrs. Steller, stopped by their table, Ivan had pushed back his chair and stood up to make the introductions.

Jenny, this here is Mr. and Mrs. Steller. They run the mercantile here in Far Home. Mr. and Mrs. Steller, this is Miss Jenny Bloom. Her family and mine been friends going way back. Always been sort of understood us two would get married some day. And by golly, this just might be the day!

Why, isn’t that exciting! The tall, spare-framed wife had declared while her short, tubby little husband whose balding head barely reaching his spouse’s shoulder, peered through his glasses and had said how nice it was to meet Miss Bloom.

The pair had moved on, but it was evident the attention of others in the room had turned their way. Unbeknownst to Jenny, no one had ever seen Ivan Lindstrom with a woman other than his mother much less a pretty, little, redheaded stranger.

Ivan had sat back down and in a low voice had asked, Was that all right, what I said? I don’t figure it’s anybody’s business but ours, how long we’ve known one another.

Jenny had smiled. You did just right, Mr. Lindstrom. We’ll stick to that story.

Seeing as how we’re such old friends, it might be good if you was to call me, Ivan. Ivan had suggested with a grin and Jenny had said he should call her Jenny in return.

It was understood by the time they’d finished eating that they would go over to the judge’s chamber in the courthouse to be married. Ivan had made arrangements in hopeful anticipation they would marry that day.

It wouldn’t look good you staying with me, otherwise, he’d explained, though I reckon we could take you a room here at the hotel. Jenny, reassured by Ivan’s demeanor, had replied that there was no need of that. They could keep the appointment at the courthouse.

It was not the wedding of a young girl’s dreams. The judge’s chamber was a small, ill-organized room. The skinny judge was blunt-spoken with grizzled tufts of hair growing from wide nostrils and from huge ears. Wiry tufts of hair also grew above those big ears and from the end of a pointed jaw. He had made Jenny think of some ill-fed rodent as his hairy hands motioned them in to stand in front of a desk piled with books and tangled papers.

Goin’ ta get hitched, are ya? Poor-fitting dentures had clattered when he’d spoken. He’d scurried around them to the open door and yelled down the hall. Posy, they’re here!

Jenny, gazing about the room had felt a bit weak in the knees. What in heaven’s name am I doing?

But, before she could wonder any further, a little woman, apparently to serve as a witness, appeared tucking at straggling gray hair, two pencils riding above an ear flushed with excitement.

Papers were signed as those hairy hands made scraping sounds as they rubbed together before accepting the two dollars from Ivan. The judge beckoned for the bridal pair and Posy to move closer then said, I reckon we just as well put you through your paces.

‘The paces’ had been conducted by memory with a clacking of teeth. The ‘I do’s’ given by voices that had revealed the nervousness of the bride and groom. They had been declared man and wife.

Well, I reckon that knot’ll hold, the judge had pronounced. He’d offered one of his hairy paws to shake hands with the couple with Jenny barely refraining from wiping her hand on her skirt afterwards.

Posy had gripped thin hands before her flat chest and chirped, Congratulations, I’m sure. Do be happy.

Mr. and Mrs. Lindstrom had taken their leave.

* * *

A brisk wind teased the feathers on Jenny’s hat as the wagon traveled a trail west. Red curls began to escape their pins to fly willy-nilly in the wind. Jenny pushed a curl beneath her hat and took a deep breath of the chilly air causing her tightly laced corset to pinch.

Jenny disliked wearing a corset and with her slender waist, dispensed with one except for special occasions. She shifted her body to ease the pinching and thought back to all that had transpired leading her to this vast, seemingly empty land.

In her wildest dreams, she had never imagined herself marrying a stranger, moving so far from home. Jenny had lived all her life on the old Bloom farm near the town of Danesburg, Illinois, a community with groves of trees and carefully painted farmsteads.

Even after her father died, she and her mother had continued sharing the large, comfortable farmhouse with her brother, Leland and his wife, Esther. When Leland had inherited the farm it was stipulated that he should provide a home for his mother and sister. Jenny had been eighteen at the time, and all set to attend teacher’s college. Her father had left her a thousand dollars to see her through school or however she chose to use it.

This had all seemed well and good, until Esther put her oar in. Mrs. Bloom was not well and unable to do any large amount of housework. Esther was pregnant at the time and playing the invalid herself despite having the stamina and build of a horse.

I cannot be expected to care for your mother while you go traipsing off to school, she’d informed Jenny when Leland was not present. The least you can do is stay home and take care of her. She’s your mother!

Jenny, realizing her mother, always a rather timid person, would be miserable if left to Esther’s tender mercies, had capitulated. Jenny had considered taking her mother with her to live in an apartment in the city, but knew she would never be content there. Effie Bloom had lived in the farmhouse all her married life. Despite her disagreeable daughter-in-law, it was home.

The years had passed. Two children had been born to the young Blooms both as unlovable as their mother. Along with the crying and whining of the children, there had been Esther’s complaints of how costly the groceries were, so many to feed, so much work with so many in the household.

These complaints were groundless because Jenny had done the major part of the laundry and ironing. She had raised a large garden each summer that kept the table supplied with vegetables. As for the housework, Jenny had done most of that as well.

When she or her mother had needed a new garment or a pair of shoes, Jenny had dipped into her shrinking bank account for there had been doctor bills as her mother’s health worsened. Leland had told the doctor to send the bills to him, but he’d never seemed to notice when or if they came.

Leland, a lanky fellow with a slight stoop to his shoulders as though weighted down by life, had never been the aggressive type. After his marriage, he became even more prone to taking the route of least resistance. Jenny had told the doctor privately to send the bills to her after several cutting remarks by Esther about expenses. By the time Effie Bloom died and Jenny had paid half of the funeral expenses, her money was nearly depleted.

The day Jenny had searched the advertisements in the paper and ran across Ivan Lindstrom’s, was the day Esther had suggested that Jenny should start paying board and room.

With what? Jenny had demanded unclenching the hand of a whining child from her skirt.

Why, with that thousand dollars you’ve hoarded all these years. That’s what. Esther had said.

That did it! Jenny had not bothered to reply. She had grabbed the newspaper and left the room. There were few jobs in the tiny town of Danesburg unless you wanted to be someone’s

hired girl. Jenny had been saddled with the work of a hired girl for years without the two dollars a week compensation such work earned. She was determined to find something elsewhere. But as she read the advertisements, she’d realized she had few options. Her eyes had returned to that of the man from Nebraska. It sparked her sense of adventure—a sense that had had little opportunity to be sparked since her father’s death. Why not? She had enough money left to buy a ticket and meals if she was careful. She wanted a husband and family of her own. This man sounded nice enough. If she changed her mind when she met him, she could. At least she’d be out west. Wasn’t that where people went to make a new beginning?

And by mid-March, Jenny Bloom had gone west.

Chapter Two

They had followed the sandy wagon trail for over an hour when Ivan pulled the team, a pair of blaze-faced sorrel Belgians, to a stop. A wide valley that stretched north and south several miles was spread below them. Its, more or less, flat bottom was divided into fields, areas of grassland, and dotted with a scattering of small homestead buildings. This created a pattern on the valley floor like a drab-colored crazy quilt. The clusters of bare bushes seen, here and there, appeared to be tufts of frayed yarn tying it all together.

Ivan beamed as he informed Jenny that she was looking down on Swede Valley.

That place down there near to the water pond with the cottonwood trees in the yard, that’s mine.

Ivan’s farm was easy to pick out for few if any of the other homesteads had trees, or if they did, they were small, young ones.

Yes, I see it. Jenny, searching for more to say, asked. Why do they call it Swede Valley? Do mostly Swedish people live here?

"Some of us are Swedish, but we’re pretty much a duke’s mixture. The name comes from the first homesteader that settled here. He was a Swede. A mighty determined man so they say. He was bound to keep his claim despite all the trouble dealt him by the cowmen who were just as determined to discourage homesteading in these parts. The Swede’s name was Peter Ostrom. Worked by himself. Built a one room soddy about where mine stands now and a three-sided sod barn for his team and milk cow.

His wife, who was sort of sickly, was staying with relatives in Omaha while Ostrom got things ready up here. He’d have known he had a good thing, water and shade trees for the house. Water is hard to come by out here until you can put down a well. There’s a few springs but not many. Lots of folks can’t afford to put a well down for some years. I’m lucky. That pond is spring fed.

Old Angus Halloway, one of the big ranchers, biggest one, I’d say, valued that spring. He for one was dead set on getting Ostrom to give up and leave before others followed him into the valley. Halloway tried buying the homestead rights. Tried scaring him out in underhanded ways. Ostrom’s milk cow got shot. His horses was run off in the night. Had to walk for miles to locate them. Nothing worked."

Well, what happened to Ostrom if nothing worked? Jenny asked.

Nothing worked until they hung him.

HUNG HIM!

Yep. Ivan pointed downward. Right there from a branch of that cottonwood standing behind the house.

For heaven’s sake! And you and your mother came there to live? What kept them from hanging you?

Well, you see, when word got out about that hanging, the government men got mighty interested. They couldn’t prove who done it, but they let it be known that they had a good idea. If there was any more violence, in this here valley there was going to be some legal neck stretching. More settlers were moving in, plowing ground, planting and a building. The word is that Halloway has bragged that we’ll all starve out and sell cheap to him in a few year anyway.

How in the world did you end up with Ostrom’s land?

It was just one of those things, Ivan replied as he slapped a line against the rump of the left-hand sorrel. It so happened that a neighbor of ours, back home in Illinois, was a cousin of Mrs. Ostrom. Ivan chuckled and interrupted his story to remark, Sort of strange we both started out in the same state. That and you being raised on a farm made me think we’d make a good pair.

Jenny nodded. Yes. I thought that myself.

"Well, anyway, as I was saying, Mrs. Ostrom was traveling back to her folks after her husband was killed, and she stopped off at her cousin’s to spend a few days. Her cousin knew Mother had talked about how homesteading was a way to gain more land for folks. Our farm was only eighty acres. Mother came from a family better fixed than my father’s.

Mother hated all the penny-pinching and having to charge groceries at the store till the crop came in, if it did. To top it off, my father died when I was only fourteen. There was nothing for it, but I quit school to work the farm. When I turned twenty-one and was old enough to file on homestead land, Mother started talking about us selling out and gaining more land out west. She figured we could both file on a quarter of land. That would make three hundred and twenty acres plus we could file on a tree claim, too! We could prove up in five years, sell and come back to Illinois to live decently, according to her plans, anyway. So when Mrs. Ostrom showed up with hopes of selling the Nebraska homestead rights, her cousin thought of us. He came over and explained how the land had water, a house and nice trees. He neglected to tell us how Mr. Ostrom had met his end."

Ivan chuckled. Mother mightn’t have been so eager had she known the particulars. I wasn’t sure about leaving. I had a girl I was seeing and might have married if I could have worked it out. Ivan shook his head and drew back on the harness lines to slow the team at a steep part of the ridge trail. There were two reasons I decided to agree with Mother. One was that our little farm couldn’t support any additions to our household. And two, no other female could have shared a house with Mother. Ivan paused with a sideways glance at Jenny. "It was hard enough for me to share a house with her, but Mother was my responsibility. My grandfather was still living in the old house in town, but he and my mother had never been close. He had a housekeeper so didn’t rely on my mother who he thought had been very foolish in marrying a poor farmer.

I thought it over and figured homesteading was a good idea. After