Naomi of the Arizona Territory

By Mary Katherine Arensberg

Arizona Daily Star, July 07,2008

J.C. Martin Southern Arizona Authors

"Naomi of the Arizona Territory" (Xlibris, $19.99 paperback, $30 hardcover) is Mary Katherine Arensbergs picture of life and love on the Southwest frontier at the close of the Civil War. Idomitable heroine Naomi Atkins Hart, wife of a sheepherder, battles illnes - its sobering to realize how many people suffered from tuberculosis before the mid-20th century - and hard times to make a home for herself and her baby daughter,

FAN MAIL I just finished reading Naomi and I really liked it. She is a survior; and that little girl of hers and the that dog, what a pair! Denise H. Hilltop, USA Naomi of the Arizona Territory wins First Place in the Readers Favorite 2010 Historical Fiction category and earned a Five Star Review. "This is one of the best books I read in a long time"

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 19, 2008
• ISBN: 9781462826353

Mary Katherine Arensberg

Mary Katherine Arensberg is a multiple award winning author of Historical Fiction, also earning Five Star reviews. Her love of American History and the women who shaped our country sparked her ten book Women of Character Series. She has always been an observer of life.

Book preview

Copyright © 2008 by Mary Katherine Arensberg.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

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Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Last

To Eileen and Wayne Beever, my sister and brother-in-law who shared their fifty years of adventures in the White Mountains, Roy and Sue Woods of Lakeside, Arizona for their colorful stories, Pauline Baca of Old Concho, Arizona for her wealth of historical knowledge, Mary Ann Applewhite, Director of the Butterfly Lodge Museum in Greer, Arizona and my husband, artist George Arensberg who continues to paint the sunshine in my life.

Chapter One

Benton County, Missouri 1861-1866

Calvert Hart leaned comfortably back in his chair and let his eyes drift around the small gathering of farm families who had come to celebrate the end of the harvest. He watched them with not so much a sense of boredom as with a casual indifference. The cider he sipped was too warm and he toyed with the idea of leaving. Daily chores that started well before dawn would soon demand his attention and he questioned again why he had even come tonight. At the ripe old age of thirty he was a condemned bachelor, fate and a lack of money, land or any resources he could call his own had decreed that he would remain wifeless. He nodded at a few acquaintances and then set the delicate glass cup on the table next to him, grabbed his hat from the back of his chair and stood to leave. His long legs had already begun the purposeful strides towards the door when he heard the laughter. A sound like cold water running fast over smooth river stones caught his attention and he stopped, turning back, seeking its source. His hungry brown eyes searched the milling crowd until they settled on a mass of wildly tangled red hair, descended over a rose colored dress and rested a moment on a pair of bare arms the color of ripe peaches; a girl, short of stature, slight of built but with a bosom of admirable and ample portions lifted her head and produced another such laugh. God, she’s lovely, he thought. Somewhere in the back of his mind the strains of the fiddler drawing his bow across the strings heralded the beginning of a country waltz and the tempting cadence sailed merrily out across the crisp night air. In that instant he knew he would no longer play the hand that fate had dealt him. Watching the smiling couples swirl by he realized he was lonely, so lonely; and then heedless to the fact that moments before he had been weary to the bone he changed his course and set his feet in motion towards the flame haired girl. She turned towards him as he neared presenting a pleasant face with a warm and welcoming smile to greet him.

Would you care to dance? He heard himself say.

Her head lowered but he saw the beginning of another smile that formed a dimple at the corner of her lips. I don’t usually dance with strangers.

What did he think he was doing anyway? This girl was far too young and pretty for him. Well, darlin’, I’m Calvert Hart. My friends call me Cal. I live on my folks’ farm just east of here.

Slowly she lifted her face to his. Howdy, Cal. I guess we’re friends now. She held out her hand. I’m Naomi Atkins and yes, I would like to dance with you.

She fixed him with a beaming smile and it was then that he noticed her eyes. Sparkling, laced with mischief and humor and they were blue or maybe they were green. No, they were a perfect blending of the two, not turquoise nor were they the color of a robin’s egg. What would a color like that be called he wondered. It didn’t matter for they were intently focused on him and taking her hand he led her onto the dance floor. Their eyes held and the world disappeared, but from the corner of the room another pair of eyes was focusing a disapproving stare in their direction.

He watched them warily; Willy Atkins never took his eyes off of his daughter or the man who held her in his arms. He gently prodded his wife. Oveda Atkins turned in the direction of his stare. Oh, dear. Willy nodded his agreement. Oh, dear. Oveda repeated. Just look at our girl, papa. Already she has that look about her. She’s daydreamin’ again. Before the dance is over she will have turned that worthless Hart into Sir Gally-had.

Willy jumped to his feet. I’m gonna put a stop to it right now, mama. That man’s danged near as old as me. It won’t do, mama, it won’t do at all. He mumbled as he pushed his way through the crowd.

Cal held Naomi tenderly but possessively in his arms, oblivious to the hard stares of her parents. Tonight he would defy fate, he had made up his mind; he would ask her to marry him before the dance ended.

Naomi rested happily in his arms, gazing openly into his face; her mind registering his tanned skin, hair as black as a crow’s wing and the deep longing in his peaceful brown eyes. Eyes that were fixed on her alone and she knew she had found her knight in shinning armor.

Cal felt the shove; Naomi heard her father’s angry words. Get away from my daughter, Hart. I would have thought you had better sense. The music stopped, curious faces turned towards the trio.

Please. Papa. Naomi begged softly. The neighbors are all a lookin’

Makes no never mind to me, girl. Go get in the wagon with your mama.

What are you going to do? She was suddenly afraid. Papa was a peaceful man, but he was riled for sure now and many times she’d watched him single handedly move the huge equipment on their farm. Would he start a fight?

Do as I say, girl. His words cut her sharply as he grabbed a handful of Cal’s shirt and backed him out the other door. To his credit, Cal did not resist, simply threw his hands up and back stepped against Willy’s force.

Naomi stole a last quick glance as her mother gently pulled her towards the wagon. Outside the back door Willy lit into Cal with all the fury of plain’s twister. Just what do you think you’re doin’ with my little girl, Hart? God, she’s only sixteen and what are you? Damned near as old as me, I’ll wager. Man, you’re old enough to be her papa. He stepped back and surveyed the man before him. You got nothing, Cal. Nothing to offer my little girl. I want better for her, a better life than what even her mama and I could give her. He skimmed a hand across Cal’s shoulder. Go home, Cal. Leave my little girl alone.

Cal nodded. He was not a fighter and he understood Willy’s concerns. Tonight was neither the place nor time to convince him otherwise, but he would for Naomi Atkins was the girl he would marry as certain as the sun would come up in the east tomorrow.

Naomi sat in the wagon, her mother’s arms wrapped around her in a protecting shield. Hush, now girl, you know your papa’s right. You’re young; you got time to choose your man. She nodded weakly. You’re just so full of them darned day dreams of yours. I fear for you.

Naomi nodded again, besides, she would rather day dream then face the barren realities of her life and up until tonight her dreaming had never caused any real harm. She held her words, tonight was not the night to try to reason with her mother, but she knew with a conviction that Calvert Hart was the man she would marry.

Almost a week had passed since the harvest festival and the relationship between Naomi and her parents remained strained. I don’t see why I can’t at least talk to Cal. She at first persisted and then begged of her father.

Naomi, girl, I’ll tell you again and again until you finally get it through your head. The man has nothing. He is not the knight in shinning armor you have made him out to be in your mind. Besides, he’s old enough to be your pa. What will folks around here think of me, letting him court you? Willy railed back. You talk some sense into the girl, mama. He threw up his hands in defeat.

Oveda twisted her apron in front of her. Naomi, you listen to your papa, he only wants what is best for you.

Naomi snorted rather inelegantly. Not best for me, mama, but best for him. He’s afraid of what people will think of him. She softened her words with a loving smile towards her father. He loves me. She sat silently waiting for their next barrage.

Willy eased himself into the chair opposite his only child and taking her hands in his offered his last argument. He ain’t got a pot to his name, girl. How will his love keep you in food and shelter?

She dropped to her knees in front of him, tears creeping from the corners of her eyes. Love did pretty well by you and mama. He nodded but kept silent. Besides, papa, if Cal hasn’t a pot or a window that’s all the more reason for me to be by his side. He needs me. She reached for her mother’s hand and joined it with his. Tell me truly, papa; where would you be in this life if it weren’t for mama?

Her parents held a loving gaze first on each other and then their daughter. She’s right mama. Lords know the consequences to come girl, but I’ll not stand in your way. She leaped to her feet, enfolding him in a smothering hug. Hold on. Not so fast, he’ll have to court you first, proper like and I hope to Heaven he shows me something in his character that will ease my fears.

Cal hadn’t fared much better with his parents. They opposed the union as strongly as the Atkins’ but for more selfish reasons. Son, your mother and I were counting on you to take care of us in our old age. You can’t desert us now. That gal is too young to be a help to your ma and she’ll surely take your time away from helping me on the farm. His pa had told him plainly.

Anger was a new emotion for Cal, but for the first time in his life he felt it rise up in his breast. Who were his parents to expect him to sacrifice his life for them? Weren’t parents supposed to raise their children to go forth in the world? His anger was quickly replaced by a deep hurt. He knew they meant him no harm; it was just the way of their world and he knew if he wanted a world of his own he would hurt them when he and Naomi moved to a place of their own. He had been stewing over his pangs of anger, guilt and disloyalty for days and then one afternoon as he toiled in the late autumn sun, mentally trying to bring some sense to his life he heard the creak of harness leather and fittings coming up the lane.

Willy Atkins drew along side him, pulled back on the reins bringing the horses to an abrupt stop and without getting down from the wagon called out in a none too friendly voice. You can court her, Hart, but remember to watch your step around me. He slapped the leather across the horses’ back and the wagon jolted forward leaving Cal just enough time to shout back that he would see them in church on Sunday.

The Sundays came and went, week after week until Naomi and Cal decided they could wait no longer. We’re going to get married they told their folks. They were ready for the rejection of their news but not deterred for they had a plan and on a cold moonless night two days before Christmas Cal hoisted a ladder up to Naomi’s bedroom window. Careful now, darlin.’ His breath turned the air in front of his mouth to steam. She climbed slowly down and upon reaching the ground leaped into his arms. Hush. You don’t want to wake up your folks. He cautioned. They catch us and we’ll have to wait another year. His smile eased her alarm.

She sat behind him in the saddle, grateful that his big body blocked the blowing wind as they rode hard towards the next county. They found a secluded parsonage on the outskirts of a small town and Cal nearly beat the door down in his efforts to wake the sleeping minister. He appeared in the doorway, lantern held high, his wife peering out from behind his voluminous sleeping gown. What do you want at this hour? He called into the darkness. Cal stepped forward, his arm cradling Naomi. Recognition set in immediately and he smiled hugely. It’s another couple, mother. Get the chapel ready.

He ushered them inside and herded them close to the pot bellied stove. His wife was busily lighting the candles in the next room. Popping her graying head into the room she informed her husband all was ready. Come this way my dear child. She mothered over Naomi. Oh dear, you don’t even have a bouquet to hold do you? And she disappeared into the blackness of the parlor. The minister had opened his bible and had Cal standing next to the simply built alter when his wife returned with a hastily tied bunch of waxy green holly leaves heavily interspersed with fiery red berries. Pressing them in Naomi’s hand and smiling her apology at the sad little offering she sat down at the organ and began to pick out the notes to the wedding march.

Naomi started as the minister’s deep voice boom out in the stillness of the empty church. Do you, Calvert Hart, take this woman, Naomi Atkins to be your lawfully wedded wife and do you solemnly promise to love and honor and care for her all the days of your life? She watched as the man she loved absorbed the words and held her breath until she heard him answer.

I do so promise, gladly and with all my heart.

She couldn’t contain her joy as the minister turned to her and required the same vow. He continued the ceremony with a reading from the Holy Bible and she ventured a look around. No family or friends filled the pews and suddenly the house of God seemed dark and lonely. The flames of the four pitifully short candles wavered in the drafts and turned to drifting smoke. This was not the wedding she had dreamed of but then Cal slipped a thin golden band on her finger and whispered close to her ear. I promise, darlin’ to love you ’til the day I die.

She favored him with a dazzling smile, they were man and wife; joined by God and surely their life together would be blessed.

The wedding over, she stood next to Cal pondering what she had just done. It wasn’t that she was regretful or even had second thoughts about marrying; it was, as truthful as she could be, not the wedding day she had dreamed of. Looking down at her damp and faded brown wool dress she sighed loudly; it was supposed to be made of purest white satin with yards and yards of lace. She smoothed back an errant red curl and squeezed her eyes tightly close; there was no veil of French lace either. The prickly holly should have been a magnificent bouquet of lilacs, peonies and pink flowering almonds. The minister’s wife had extinguished the candles and the chill air bit her cheeks reminding her that it was not a sunny spring day and she was not standing under the arching boughs in the apple orchard on the hill behind her home, for the acrid smell of burnt cotton wicks replaced the sweet fragrance of apple blossoms. Only one thing was exactly as she had dreamed, the man standing by her side loved her; and she loved him to the very depth of her soul.

If the wedding failed to live up to her expectations, the honeymoon was even more disappointing. Cal took her home and after a chaste kiss to her lips helped her climb back up the ladder to her room. She sat at the open window and stared after him, watching him ride into the gloomy predawn darkness. Where else had she thought they would go? He had no home to take her to. The glorious dream of standing in her own home, a loving husband at her side and beautiful blond haired children clinging to her skirts vanished as the night to the morn.

Cal was no less unhappy about the situation. It was not that he regretted marrying Naomi either, except now, just before dawn as he lie still fully clothed on his narrow cot, he question his sanity. Foolishness. He should have listened to her father. They should have waited; but waited for what? Nothing was ever going to change in his life.

Two days after Christmas a howling blizzard bore down across the plains. The North West winds brought snow and ice so heavy they blanked out the sun for days. Farm families across the county stoked their fires well and nestled under layers of blankets to wait it out and inside the rickety old farm house Cal laid another arm load of logs on the fire, and then filled a cup with steaming chicken broth and handed it to his mother.

Worst blizzard I’ve seen in near forty years. Proclaimed his father with a spasm of broken coughing

Cal took the empty cup from his mother’s trembling hands and silently cursed his penny pinching father. Every dollar they made went back into the soil and now, with winds ripping at the rotting clapboards, he watched as the woman who had given him life sat huddled, with teeth chattering uncontrollably before him. He grabbed a handful of feed sack and nailed them over two of the largest cracks. He thought of Naomi and knew she would be safe and warm in the well cared for house of Willy Atkins. Looking around the Spartan two rooms he sighed resignedly, his mother had drifted into a comforting sleep while his father whittled away at a small cherry branch.

Pa, how long do you reckon this storm will last? He hadn’t expected an answer; his father was a man of limited conversation skills.

Cain’t say, son; but I’ve seen ’em go on for days.

His mother stirred and he tried to get her to drink more hot broth. She pushed the cup away with a weary hand and smiled at him. Terror clutched at him. God don’t let me end up like this he silently prayed. He stroked her graying hair. When had she gotten so old? He knew he was born when many thought she would never have another child. She had lost four boys, all in their infancy and when he had come along rather than dote on him, she had provided only the necessities he needed to survive, never holding or hugging him, too fearful she would lose him also. Thoughts of Naomi filled his head as he turned his face towards the warmth of the fire. What would his life be like now that he had married her? He felt a moment’s dread. Why had she married him? The minutes ticked by as he pondered that question.

An uncomfortable coldness caused Cal to awaken with a jolt. He must have dozed off. The fire was reduced to glowing embers that gave no heat. His father had taken to his bed, his mother still sat in her rocker. I’m going outside for more wood. He told her, but she grasped his sleeve and shook her head, too weak to speak.

Don’t be a fool, boy. His father called from the bed. Many’s the man that lost his bearings trying to get from the house to the barn and ended up frozen to death on his own front porch.

I’m goin’ Pa. Ma’s gonna freeze to death if I don’t get some heat in here.

Bust up them chairs and throw ’em on the fire. I’ll say again don’t be a fool.

Cal turned his back on his father and headed for the door, lifted the latch and pushed against the heavy wood. It wouldn’t budge, frozen shut. He shoved again, but it didn’t move. He yanked open the inside shutters that covered the windows and saw snow packed against the glass. They were trapped inside and he stomped the chair nearest him, thankful for a way to release his anger. He broke apart the chairs and then demolished the table.

The blizzard lasted forty-eight hours; just long enough for his mother to catch lung fever. When the snows stopped Cal was able to break through the snow dam at the door and get outside to feed the animals and gather in more firewood, but he had to wait another two days before he could get out the lane and ride for town to fetch the doctor and by the time he returned, his mother was dead. His father pined for his wife of fifty-two years and refused to leave his bed or to eat.

Dr. Wheeler knew she was dead but as any doctor worth his shingle would do, he checked the woman again and then turned his attentions toward old man Hart. I’m sorry, Cal. There’s nothing I can do for him. He’s got lung fever too, he’s older then Methuselah and he’s lost the will to live. Pronouncing his diagnosis with regret, he patted Cal’s shoulder. "You want me to take your ma back to town with me? Her burial needs tending