The Flowers of Graceton

By Vee Daniels

In this second book of the Graceton series, the homesteaders’ dream of their own village continues. It could be dashed by a tragic accident, but Myrtle Nesslebaum does her best to keep her vision alive.

The Petersen family still feels the lack of what the other homesteaders have: happy homes despite all other circumstances being similar. But there may be love for them in the future among their own.

A murder mystery is solved, but it leads to other questions about one family’s future.

Some Fargo townspeople believe that helping the homesteaders through their loss shows the potential importance of the territory for the rest of the country. A local editorial has reached the east, and a well-to-do person there also wants to help, but there might be strings attached.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 28, 2018
• ISBN: 9781984556196

Vee Daniels

Vee Daniels has had a passion for writing since very young. She has created short stories and memoire chapters for future books and wrote for a popular local newspaper for over fifteen years. Her first novel, ­ e Seeds of Graceton, was inspired by a family project for each to learn about a different state. She chose North Dakota and after receiving a centennial booklet from a small town in that state, she began imagining how such a place came about. Her story became a trilogy: ­ e Seeds of Graceton, ­ e Flowers of Graceton and Graceton. Vee remained in Northern Virginia after leaving the Army and working for private industry before starting her own home service company. She has lived in Nokesville, Virginia for almost 40 years.

Book preview

PART I

Chapter 1

K irk Petersen collapsed onto the bunk, exhausted from filling holes in the soddy, toting water, feeding the stock, milking the cow and being just plain cold. He wanted his grandson Charles to rest on this November day and wished he could do the same for his son.

From his own bunk in another corner of the room, Wilmer murmured, I’ll have supper in a little while, Pa.

It’s alright, son, Kirk replied. I’m too tired to eat right now.

He was already dozing off when Wilmer continued, Pa, may I ask you something?

Sure, son, what is it?

I know I shouldn’t ask but do you ever wonder if we can really make it without . . . without anybody helping?

Kirk stifled a groan before responding, for he’d often asked himself that very question, sometimes several times a day. Alice had made clear her intent to make them miserable as punishment for bringing her to the homestead. It was already a cold start to the winter, but they were managing despite her unwillingness to help.

Of course I do, he answered gruffly, then sighed. Wilmer, I think about that all the time, but we left once. We’re not going to leave again. I want you and Charles to have this land. If we keep running away, we’ll lose it. It took a long time and a lot of heartache to get here. He paused, reflecting on the long time and distance between Norway and Dakota Territory and on his losses including his wife Helga, his son Johann and his daughter-in-law Olga. He was raising their son Charles, now aged ten. "I know things will get better because one day, you’ll get married and bring a willing woman here to help."

Wilmer could almost hear his father spit out the last few words. He was sixteen and had been wondering how Emily Carlson was faring on the homestead to the south. He looked forward to seeing her and all the other families in the spring. In the meantime though . . .

What will we do until then, Pa? We’re working ourselves to death. If only she’d just help a little around the house, we’d—

Shut up, boy!

Wilmer gasped. His father rarely raised his voice or used harsh language but he knew he’d been utterly humiliated by his wife. She had cooperated for awhile after the reporter’s visit but that didn’t last. Kirk released a long-held breath.

I’m sorry, son. We’ll make it. We have to. And then someday, suddenly, things will get better. As long as we stay hopeful and strong, we’ll manage. You’ll see.

I sure hope you’re right, Pa.

Wilmer rose minutes later but the conversation weighed on his mind for most of the evening. He didn’t share his father’s hopefulness and wasn’t sure he even shared the desire to remain on the land. He was tired, lonely and angry at Alice for hurting the family.

His father was still strong but he was in his forties and was overburdened because of Alice, by whom he’d been taken in. Wilmer always wondered why she’d come to this godforsaken part of the world if or after she’d been living high and mighty back east and maybe even Europe. She had to be running from someone or something. He believed what the reporter told him and suspected Kirk no longer believed everything she’d said but it was too late. He had no control over his wife, who refused to do her duties.

He worried about Charles, who shouldn’t be working so hard. The boy had always enjoyed gardening and taking care of the animals, so he didn’t consider those chores hard work. He had his own flower garden in the spring and summer and often put flowers on the table in the event Alice joined them for a meal. He also loved the books he’d received from Hazel Swinton, his teacher in Fargo, and often recited lessons he’d learned there.

Wilmer wavered between admiration for his nephew’s desire to learn and contempt for the same. What would school knowledge gain him? Nothing. Arithmetic and that long-dead English playwright won’t help you grow a rich field of wheat, Wilmer thought. No, sir. That took strength, a good team and all the family members working together. A book had no place unless it was about homemaking and that was for women, anyway.

Wilmer spat at the thought of Alice reading a book about homemaking on the homestead. While he was putting the meal on the table, his thoughts drifted to a dream he’d had the previous night. He had tightly bound Alice to a lightning-fast horse which then sped toward the horizon. He laughed hysterically at the sight and sound of her as she flopped around and screamed away, never to be seen again. The fantastic image lingered as he awoke and he remained in a good mood for most of the day. He chuckled upon returning to the present.

What’s so funny, son? Kirk asked.

Er, nothing, Pa. I was just thinking.

Why don’t you share it? I could use something to laugh about too, you know.

I don’t think you’d find this at all funny. Anyway, you’d probably get mad at me. Wilmer set three bowls and spoons on the table.

Alice? Kirk stood up and stretched.

It was a dream I had, Pa, and it wasn’t very nice.

Well, you can’t help what you dream but you’re right. I probably don’t want to hear it. He looked toward Charles, who was snoring quietly, and shook his head sadly.

Better let him sleep. Poor boy works too hard for his age.

Chapter 2

K irk was angry, humiliated and paying dearly for his poor judgement in marrying Alice, then bringing her to the homestead against her will. As winter was underway, there was little to do outside beyond caring for the animals, making necessary repairs and sometimes clearing snow. Kirk had an unfortunate amount of time to ponder his disastrous marriage.

Alice had been a problem since they moved to the homestead in March 1876 because she refused to do any chores, which left the boys to do everything, including the cooking. She rarely left the separate room he’d built for his deceased son and his wife that was now his and Alice’s, but he seldom slept there. He strongly questioned his judgment after William Jones, the reporter from Washington, visited in June.

Kirk thought he knew her; after all, they’d courted for a long time even though he was much older. She’d had interesting things to talk about, especially her travels and famous people she’d met such as Vice President Johnson on a visit away from Washington and Matthew Brady, the famous photographer. He felt that, despite all her experiences, she must have felt an emptiness that could be filled only by her own marriage and household.

Upon seeing her photograph, Jones was certain he knew her but with a different past. Kirk sensed the reporter knew more but he had refused to hear it. Since then, however, questions bounced around his head.

An attractive, apparently well-to-do young lady—why was she in Fargo? Where did she really come from? What was her real complete name? How many former husbands had there really been? Two? Five? Was she a widow? Did she dispense with them and take their money or just leave them behind? Which were the truths and lies? Did the answers matter now? The present mattered; she was unhelpful and making life even more difficult.

For a long time after Jones’s visit, Alice’s behavior improved and he suspected Wilmer was involved. But he didn’t want to confront his son and didn’t want to hear what he might have learned from Jones or how the lock to her door got broken.

Over the summer and fall, Kirk occasionally found the will to force Alice to do some household chores and fulfill her conjugal obligation. He made sure he didn’t tire himself out on those days he planned to have his way with her. He’d feel her go stiff and hear her whimper each time he climbed into her bed and pulled at her nightgown. She’d cringe as he touched her hair, her shoulders, her thighs, and rolled her onto her back. If she tried to leave when he was done, he’d grab her hair and entwine it in his fingers. Sometimes, though, he had to allow her to vomit into the chamber pot.

He’d didn’t feel right when he treated her this way and often hated himself. But damn it, he had rights as the husband. If he couldn’t make her fulfill other obligations, this was one she’d be made to. But as his work was exhausting and he was feeling his age, Kirk was finding himself more often too tired to spend his remaining energy on her. If he went to her bed first, she claimed to have another chore before retiring, though she was doing fewer and fewer of those. By the time she stealthily climbed into bed, he was snoring. Sometimes in the morning, he’d mentally kick himself for the missed opportunity and not know what the last chore really was. The frustrating nights and lack of cooperation gradually returned. Kirk was further disappointed and humiliated because Alice didn’t even show signs of pregnancy.

Now it was cold and a man needed hot food and a warm wife to survive and lots of children to help out eventually. Alice provided none of these; the boys could take care of the food but only she could accommodate his physical needs.

He often found himself at a standstill, especially when working alone; even as he resumed his task, the frown that lingered would create a throbbing headache centered above his eyes. He’d become cross with the boys if they were nearby.

Kirk felt humiliated upon realizing that his son and grandson knew he couldn’t control his wife and didn’t know what to do about it. He’d always been a gentle man; certainly, his first wife Helga never gave him reason to be otherwise. While he didn’t want to do physical harm, he occasionally imagined violence. At these moments, he’d shake his head quickly to remove the thought, stare at his strong hands and ask forgiveness for his evil notion. He knew his anger was simmering deep within and would someday rise to the surface and explode.

Chapter 3

C harles was delighted to learn that his wonderful former teacher, Hazel Swinton, was moving to the little house and school the homesteaders had built in anticipation of someday having a teacher. Myrtle had promised the boy they’d resume their search in the spring after failing to lure a teacher on their last trip to Fargo. While he desperately wanted to attend school, she explained that winter was more dangerous on the homesteads than in town. A bright, calm day could suddenly turn deadly, so it was better that children remained home.

Charles knew she was right; even Kirk had told him about a young man who froze to death just a few hundred feet from his own home, apparently because he couldn’t see it through the sudden blinding snowstorm. Even just the knowledge that a teacher was nearby would have brought him some solace.

And then Wilmer had returned from a visit with Morris, bringing the startling news of Hazel’s imminent move to the homesteads, though he wouldn’t say why. Charles could barely contain his excitement. He found himself several times a day looking to the horizon toward the empty school for signs of rising smoke. Each day, he asked his grandpa or Wilmer if they’d heard anything yet, even though neither had gone visiting nor received any visitors since Wilmer’s return from the Nesslebaums.

Wilmer? Charles called gently from his bunk one night shortly after learning about Miss Swinton’s move. Kirk had gone to Alice’s room and wasn’t sure if Wilmer was still awake, though they had only been in bed a few minutes.

Hm? Wilmer murmured. In thirty more seconds, he would have been sound asleep.

I thought Miss Myrtle couldn’t find a teacher. She said she would try again in the spring.

No response.

Wilmer?

I hear you, Charles, Wilmer said, barely above a whisper. He had been afraid Charles might start asking why Miss Swinton suddenly agreed to come. The boy knew she was quite popular among mothers and students and the school was well provided for. If a teacher was to come so suddenly, it sure wouldn’t be Miss Swinton.

"I was just wondering why Miss Swinton is coming now. Miss Myrtle said it wasn’t a good idea to hold school in winter. Spring is better, I suppose. So she probably won’t be doing much teaching but I’d go every chance I got if she said it was alright."

Wilmer smiled and shook his head, marveling at the boy’s eagerness to learn.

Wilmer?

I’m awake. Wilmer yawned, rolled toward the wall and closed his eyes again.

Then why all of a sudden does she want to come way out here? Did Miss Myrtle tell you why?

Wilmer wasn’t sure how to respond. He didn’t want to lie to Charles but did he really need to know now?

Well did she? Charles persisted.

Charles. Wilmer rolled to the edge of his bunk and peered down at his nephew, though it was too dark to see him. Sometimes things happen that we can’t help. Like being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sometimes people have to leave their homes because of what other people say or do. Like when Johann left. He couldn’t help what happened. He was only trying to earn money and find a mother for you.

He decided to wait out a response from Charles, whom he guessed was probably more than a little confused by that obscure answer.

Are you saying something bad happened to Miss Swinton? asked Charles after a few moments.

Well, I don’t know that it’s so bad but people in town think so, I guess.

Wilmer, what the hell are you talking about?

Charles!

Sorry! Been listening to Grandpa. And you, too, by the way.

I’m a grown man.

You’re sixteen!

Well, almost a grown man and I can cuss if I want so long as Pa’s not around.

What about Miss Swinton? Charles continued after a brief giggle.

I suppose she can cuss anytime she wants if she’s by herself!

Wilmer!

Both enjoyed a rare occasion of laughter, causing Wilmer to become fully awake.

Alright, Charles. Wilmer finally conceded. Something real unpleasant happened and she thinks she should leave town right away. And what happened isn’t her fault. You’ll find out soon enough, I suppose. I know you’ll want to visit her soon as she gets to her house. So please, don’t ask me anymore questions ’cause I’m not sure I should say anything. Alright?

Charles reluctantly agreed, now thoroughly convinced that Wilmer knew exactly what the matter was.

Chapter 4

M yrtle Nesslebaum wanted her husband and son to be comfortable and happy in their little soddy even through the winter months by keeping it as cozy and bright as possible. She employed means as simple as changing the table cover with cheap remnants she’d discovered at Johnson’s Store and kept hidden until desired, boiling apple peels for their fragrance long after the mouthwatering aroma of her apple pies had dissipated, hanging dried wildflowers left over from the summer at a window, always keeping a small pot of fresh coffee—or its substitute—in the morning and a kettle of savory-smelling soup, stew or beans in the afternoon, constantly making cakes, bread, and doughnuts, attaching a brightly colored ribbon to the bonnet she wore when she had to go outside, and always offering a welcoming smile to her husband whenever he returned to the house. And she kept the clothes clean and the floors and furnishings swept and dusted as well as possible.

Myrtle considered herself blessed; she had a wonderful husband and a beautiful son and another child on the way. Her friends were delightful and she was grateful for their acceptance of her, especially Kirk and Wilmer Petersen, Mabel Porter and Jane Green, who helped her forget the heartbreak and shame of being thrown out by her father and forced to leave her mother and siblings because of the mistake she and Morris made.

Never, though, did she blame her husband for the loss of her own family. Since he had no particular reason for being in Fargo, he also could have abandoned her but he didn’t because he did indeed love her. And she loved him with all her heart and felt that she would eventually be reunited with her mother, brothers and sisters. Until then, however, her obligation was to care for her husband and child and the other homesteaders who made up her new community. She knew that some needed her more than others and she did her best to help.

Before the weather became too brutal to wander far from the house, Myrtle had helped Hazel Swinton settle into the soddy the homesteaders had built in the hopes a teacher would someday occupy it. Indeed, Hazel was a teacher but she didn’t come with the desire to lead a maidenly, selfless, lonely life among the homesteaders and their children. She arrived pale, frightened, embarrassed, carrying an infant that wasn’t hers.

Only shortly before Hazel’s arrival, Myrtle and Jane had traveled to Fargo to find a teacher. The homesteaders couldn’t offer much in salary but they had already built a house and school in anticipation that someone would eventually accept their modest offer. They really wanted Hazel, who was as popular as she was homely, but after seeing her classroom and learning about her newfound happiness, they gracefully accepted her refusal. Their attempt to find another teacher failed but they vowed to try again in the spring.

Then came an odd visit only several days later. Peter Kohler, the primary reason for Hazel’s choosing to remain in Fargo, rushed to the Nesslebaums. He wondered whether they’d yet hired a teacher, as Hazel was suddenly and immediately available.

In moments, Myrtle deduced that Hazel and Peter had a child on the way and she needed to leave before the town discovered their beloved teacher’s unfortunate circumstance. Myrtle was partially right. Indeed, Hazel had an infant but it wasn’t hers, though that fact wouldn’t matter once word got out. The townswomen would believe that Hazel and Peter had acted shamefully, no matter that the baby resembled neither of them. She’d never convince them that he was an Indian who’d been left at the school’s door.

Hazel’s future in Fargo was ruined; she knew she’d never be able to prove her innocence, no matter what she did. At any rate, if by some miracle she was finally believed, it would be too late to regain her good reputation. She had to leave immediately to spare herself crippling humiliation. As he wanted to remain in Fargo to earn more money, Peter vowed to follow and marry Hazel as soon as possible.

Myrtle did her best to help Hazel establish her lonely household before the weather would prevent further visits. With Hazel’s money, she and Morris had made a hasty trip to Fargo to buy goods she’d need until the next supply run. Other homesteaders lent what they could until Hazel and Peter could create a real home for themselves. Peter provided additional money and furnishings to take back to Hazel, along with a beautifully composed love letter Mrs. Richards wrote out for him as he dictated.

Myrtle visited her friend Jane Green and her family—husband Mitchell, toddler Little Sally and mother Sally Jacobs. The Greens to the south were one of the four who donated a corner of their land for the school. Jane revealed that she was positive there was another child on the way and felt fortunate in that it wouldn’t be due until next summer and her mother was there to help with the delivery.

She also visited the Porters. Besides Jane, Mabel was her closest and first friend. Isaac and Mabel were ex-slaves who’d left North Carolina and trekked north in search of real freedom; they then headed west in search of land. By the time they reached Fargo, they were in desperate need of a home. As Myrtle and Mabel were equally pregnant, Myrtle needed a woman’s help when her baby arrived and Mabel needed a place to have her fourth. Wilmer and Morris found a solution; the Porters and their children could live on the Nesslebaum land, with their own sod house and garden, in exchange for Isaac helping Morris farm his land. Through their impending deliveries, Myrtle and Mabel formed a strong bond. In fact, except during horrible weather, Frank and Alvin were constant companions and five-year-old Maybelle was like an older sister to Frank. Though the Porters still didn’t have their own land, they were accepted members of the little homestead community.

Chapter 5

M orris was always a gentleman to his wife and a good father to his son, playing with him and helping with his care. He told Myrtle interesting stories about his past, even if they sometimes meant shedding a tear or two. She could tell when he tried to pretend he didn’t miss his mother or sisters, whom he’d left behind in St. Paul.

Though she’d become quite strong, he never let her lift anything heavy or overexert herself when he was there. Sometimes he was too helpful—a nuisance, a hazard.

Morris, Myrtle gently chided one evening after his attempt to help resulted in a minor accident that could have been worse. She had bumped into him as they simultaneously turned at the stove. He was removing a kettle of boiling water from a burner for her and a good bit splashed out, scalding her foot through the thick woolen socks. She hobbled to the table while he rushed for salve to soothe it but she wasn’t so concerned about her injury. Only moments before, she’d shooed Frank away from her feet.

I’m so sorry, Myrtle. I didn’t know—

Myrtle put her hand up, shook her head and smiled at him as he crouched to apply salve. I’m fine darling. But listen to me, please. I appreciate your help. I’m grateful for it. But sometimes . . . sometimes . . . well . . .

I’m too helpful? Morris finished for her.

I’m sorry, Morris. But yes.

Oh, Myrtle. Sometimes I realize that but I love you so much and I know how hard you work. I don’t help much the rest of the year, so I guess I’m trying to make up for it.

I know, darling. Myrtle placed her hands on his cheeks and kissed his forehead. And I really do understand and I love you for it. But maybe it’s best if you go back to just lifting things for me and fetching what I can’t. When I ask.

He nodded his reluctant agreement and kissed her lips lightly. Neither could ever want a better spouse.

Chapter 6

H azel Swinton never ceased to be amazed by the homesteaders’ generosity and acceptance of her unusual situation. They and Peter Kohler had prepared her for the long winter, including providing dung and some coal for heating and cooking, a cow for milk and a few chickens for eggs. The school’s door was wide enough for the cow. They promised to build a barn later and remake the doorway.

Nowhere else could the teacher be a mother and unwed at that. And if there were such a place, the teacher most certainly couldn’t bring her baby to school with her. While she appreciated their understanding, she recognized the reasoning behind it. Simply, they desperately wanted a teacher in the community they hoped to grow. They had built a school and a sod house, prayed for a teacher and had come to Fargo in search of one. They specifically wanted her until they realized they couldn’t compete with the town’s attraction. They didn’t give up the search however. When their first attempt failed, they vowed to come back.

The sudden change was all new to her and she had to adjust rapidly for survival. She found herself constantly busy with cooking, laundering, sewing, milking, gathering eggs, tending to Joseph, maintaining heat. There were very few visits.

She rarely had time to think about her situation and when those thoughts arose, they were painful. Always the first to come was Peter. He had asked to marry her, even after seeing the baby, but she couldn’t fully believe that.

And why should I? she’d asked herself. She nearly always spoke aloud to keep herself and Joseph company but remembered to subdue a bitter tone.

She acknowledged her own shortcomings. She was a homely woman who