Owen Read online

  Ellie thought about it for a moment. As she looked back, perhaps the looks and whispers were more on her side. She lifted the corner of her mouth. “So,” she looked at Polly. “Who won the wager?”

  Polly laughed. “It was the butcher.”

  Ellie finally laughed. She wasn’t surprised. The butcher’s daughter was friends with both Ellie and Polly. “Good for him, I guess.” She pulled the cake over and cut another slice.

  “Ellie Beth,” her mother admonished. “Your dinner.”

  Ellie shrugged. “Maybe I need to celebrate,” she said, taking another bite of cake.

  “And celebrate we will,” Polly said, digging into her bag which was sitting next to the settee. She lifted a newspaper and waved it in the air.

  “What’s that?” Ellie asked.

  “Marriage ads.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve heard of those before,” Mrs. Brooks said. “Men from west of the Mississippi, place an advertisement for a wife.”

  “A wife?”

  Polly nodded. “And it’s not just men. Women do it as well. There are several advertisements from widows here. Once you see an advertisement you like, you write a letter. Then you continue to write letters back and forth to decide if a marriage can be made.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “It’s right here in the front of the paper. It even has suggestions for what to write.” Polly folded the paper over again and pointed to a small section. “Standard things, like age, height, weight, hair color, can you cook, read, clean?”

  “Sounds like they want a maid, not a wife.”

  Polly placed the newspaper on her lap and leaned back once more. “I understand that life is really hard. That’s probably why they want those skills. Imagine,” she sighed dreamily. “Marrying a complete stranger.”

  “I couldn’t imagine marrying someone I don’t know.” Ellie gave a sharp laugh and then looked sheepishly at the paper folded up on Polly’s lap. “In fact, I don’t know if I could ever marry someone. Maybe I’m destined to be an old maid, riddled to my bed for the rest of my days.”

  “You are so dramatic, Ellie Beth.” Her mother swished the teapot in a circle before pouring herself another cup of tea. “I always thought you’d be the next Gertrude Clair.” Gertrude was a performer on the stage. Ellie and her parents had seen her when her troupe came to Atlanta.

  “I’m not being dramatic,” Ellie said, rolling her eyes and then laughing.

  “Why don’t you read a few of them out loud?” Mrs. Brooks prodded. “Perhaps Ellie can find a husband.”

  “Momma,” Ellie said. “First, you wanted me to marry Arlo. Now you are suggesting I marry a man from the newspaper marriage advertisements?”

  “I was worried about what people might think. I am sorry, Ellie Beth. I didn’t realize what a terrible person Arlo truly was. You may have better luck away from here.”

  “You want me to leave?”

  “Not at all dear,” Mrs. Brooks said, sipping her tea. “I just want you to be happy, and I know you are not happy here in Atlanta.”

  Ellie looked out the window of the sitting room. The sun was high in the sky and she realized she didn’t have a clue what time it was.

  “It is just becoming so crowded,” she lamented. “Houses are popping up everywhere. There are more merchants. People moving into the city every day.” She turned back around and looked at the two women. “Don’t you want to be somewhere where you can actually smell the fresh air? Where you can’t see your neighbors. When you want a glass of milk, you go to the barn, not wait for the milkman to bring you bottles?”

  Her mother gave an awkward laugh. “I don’t think I’d want to go to a barn. I can understand the appeal of not having so many people around. Just yesterday the millinery had at least a dozen people in it. Took me nearly half an hour to get my ribbon cut.”

  Ellie filled her teacup with the last of the tea in the pot and took a sip. She lifted an eyebrow to Polly. “Well, aren’t you going to read them?”

  Polly gave a slight squeal. “Let’s see.” She bit her bottom lip as she scanned the paper. “Here’s one. I am 33 years of age, look just like anyone else. I seek a lady to make her my wife, as I am heartily tired of bachelor life. I desire a lady not over 28 or 30 years of age, not ugly, well-educated, and musical. I prefer not to have a lady of Irish birth. She must have at least $20,000.” Polly looked up and blinked several times. “He doesn’t want a lot, does he?”

  “Well, that leaves you out, Ellie Beth.”

  “He’s thirty-three, Momma. He’s too old for me. Read some more,” she said, urging Polly on.

  Polly continued to read from the advertisements. She was surprised at the sheer number of men looking for a wife. It shouldn’t be surprising since the Civil War ended just six years earlier, and many men moved out west. They must be very lonely. No wonder they put an ad in the newspaper to find a partner.

  Ellie sipped her tea and listened to Polly as she continued to read. Polly would make comments as she read, and Ellie could hear her mother giggle.

  As she lifted her cup to her mouth, she realized that the room had gone silent. Polly’s eyes were scanning across the paper and Ellie followed them as she read the words silently.

  “What it is?” Ellie asked.

  “Oh my, Ellie Beth,” Polly said, folding up the paper and flipping it around to show Ellie. “Look at this one here.” She pointed to a large box on the lower portion of the page.

  “That’s a long advertisement,” Ellie mused as she took the paper from her friend. She lifted it up and read the words on the page and realized that her life may have changed at that very moment.

  Wanted: A wife and companion. Someone to love, who will be true and sweet and truly a wise helpmate. Prvb 31. Must want children. I’d like at least four. I’m 25 years old, never married, have dark hair and stand more than six feet tall. Must be of strong countenance, as I have four brothers and a sister. You should like the outdoors and be a fine cook, no beans. Must like animals, especially horses. Respond to F. Hartman, Flat River, Nebraska.

  “P-R-V-B 31?” Polly asked.

  “Proverbs.”

  “Oh. I’ve never seen it written that way before.”

  “Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies,” Mrs. Brooks started reciting from memory. “She is prepared. She prepares her family. She makes her clothes, and they are fit for royalty. Her children rise up and call her blessed.” She looked at Ellie and Polly. “It means he truly wants a helpmate.”

  “But he’s all the way in Nebraska,” Ellie said.

  “You’ve always wanted to go west, Ellie. This might be your chance.”

  Ellie thought about what Polly said. “Do you think I should write to him?”

  “I would suggest that if you do, you correspond for at least a year before you even consider going out there.”

  “Your mother’s right,” Polly said. “Besides, if he has four brothers, perhaps you can mention your best friend.” She chuckled and wiggled her eyebrows.

  Ellie flipped the paper over, scanning the page for a date. The advertisement was already a month old. For all she knew, he had already started corresponding with someone.

  “I’ll need to bathe so we can go to town.” Ellie finished her cup of tea and placed it back on the tray.

  “I’ll make another pot of tea. Polly and I can chat while you get ready.”

  Ellie gave her mother a kiss on the cheek.

  She was headed into town to find her future.

  Chapter Two

  Flat River

  The Great Plains, Nebraska

  Spring 1872

  Owen Chapman’s eyes scanned the landscape. He thought by sitting on Winchester, his horse, he might be able to see further across the land. He saw nothing but grass, a bit of snow, and a lone tree.

  “Today should be the day, Tot,” he said looking at the old man standing next to his horse.

  Aristotle Wils
on held a cup of coffee in his hand. His weathered face was looking in the same direction as Owen.

  “That’s what Ollie said,” Tot responded slowly, taking a sip of coffee. Tot never did anything quickly. Owen realized that Tot accomplished more by slowing down than others did by hurrying up. Owen had great respect for the old man and let him move at his own pace.

  Tot’s mother named him after a philosopher she read about in a book. His name was fitting, as Tot was a source of wisdom to many of the ranch hands on the Chapman’s ranch. Alice gave him the name Tot, as she couldn’t say, Aristotle.

  When Tot claimed his one-hundred-sixty acres under the Homestead Act, he partnered with Weston Chapman to raise cattle. Tot had no desire to work the land, but he knew that in order to keep it, there was the condition the land had to be used for farming or raising livestock for five years.

  When he partnered with the Chapmans, Tot became the foreman until Caleb was old enough to take over the job. Now he still cooked for the hands anytime they were out in the fields and provided them a hot meal at dinnertime.

  The plan was that after five years, once the land was rightfully his, Tot would sell it to the Chapmans for a fair price and retire in a small home along the North Platte River.

  The Chapman ranch would consist of well over one thousand acres on the Nebraska plains, once all the plots were combined.

  They raised beef cattle, but that was about to change.

  Owen’s three brothers, along with several cowhands had left a week prior to round up a herd of wild horses. They had been tracking them all winter and now was the best time to round them up.

  Owen wished he were able to go with them. But he fell from his horse when Winchester was spooked by a snake. He still couldn’t sit in the saddle for long periods of time.

  He had been at every roundup since he returned from the war. This year was different. This year he was at home waiting. At least Oliver, his twin brother, was with them.

  He wondered if his brothers found the herd and how many they would be able to bring back. Regardless of how many horses they managed to catch, Oliver promised that they would be home again by the seventh day.

  Owen was the oldest of the Chapman siblings. In the family, there were eight siblings all together. Twins Owen and Oliver were followed by Caleb, Michael, and Everett. Michael was killed in a gunfight somewhere near Denver. Even though it had been nearly eight years, Owen didn’t think Caleb had recovered. They were thick as thieves.

  After the brothers came twins Marianne and Penelope. Unlike their siblings that had light hair, Marianne and Penelope had bright red hair. Their mother, whom they called Marmee, said it was from an Irish relative on their grandmother’s side.

  After the twin sisters, Baby Alice was born. She wasn’t a baby anymore, just turning nineteen. Owen remembered when she was born. He was thirteen and had no use for a new sister. Oliver named her Pint Jar, as she was the tiniest baby they had ever seen. No bigger than one of the jars Marmee used to can her famous jam.

  The name Pint Jar stuck. Now that she was older, Alice wasn’t happy with the nickname, but no amount of fussing would stop her siblings from using it.

  Owen gripped the leather reins in his hand. He tried to keep the excitement at bay until he knew that it was really going to happen. He took a deep breath and stood a little higher in the stirrups.

  Tot’s eyes crinkled as he grinned and pointed out over the plain. Owen shielded his eyes with his hand. A cloud of dust rose from the land as the herd of horses galloped towards them.

  “Better get movin’,Tot,” Owen said. “Wild horses have a mind of their own, and I don’t want you getting caught under a bunch of hooves.”

  Tot nodded and tossed the last bit of his coffee into the soil, before scrambling to the top of the cook wagon. Owen had already unharnessed the horses and sent them back to the ranch with Slim.

  The sound of the herd rose in the distance. Their hooves thundering as the herd moved closer. Owen could see his brothers riding alongside, with Scratch nipping at their heels.

  He was surprised the silly dog hadn’t been kicked. But Scratch was nimble as he moved out of the way of the horses. Scratch’s normal job on the ranch was rounding up calves and guiding them towards the corrals. It looked like he was doing a fine job working with the horses now.

  Owen gave a whistle and waved his hat in the air. He saw Caleb raise an arm in greeting before leaning low on the horse, increasing the gallop towards the ranch. Slapping his hat against his thigh, Owen let out a whoop! before putting the hat back on his head and turning Winchester towards the new barn and corral.

  This was his dream, from when he first saw the herd of horses thundering across the Plains. He remembered it like yesterday.

  He was on his way to Omaha with his father to auction off the spring calves. Oliver, accompanied them, along with several of the cowhands. It was a two-day journey that they looked forward to every year. The auction was three days filled with excitement, leather, and ranchers haggling for the best price.

  Many ranchers had buyers come directly to them to purchase cattle. Weston Chapman, however, enjoyed spending the time with his sons, taking the cattle to auction each spring.

  As they crossed the dry landscape, Owen caught his first glance of the majestic horse watching them. The beast was large. Much larger than any of the horses used at the Chapman ranch. He was black as night and had a long mane that lifted in the slight breeze.

  As it watched them, the horse slowly turned its head to follow their path. He let out a low snort and stamped his foot on the ground. They must be too close, Owen thought. He looked but didn’t see a harness or saddle on the horse. There didn’t appear to be anyone near it.

  “Pa! Look,” Owen said, pointing to the black horse in the distance. “Why doesn’t that horse have a rider?”

  “It’s wild, boy,” his father replied. “There are several large herds of them around.”

  “How come we’ve never seen them?” Oliver asked, riding up to join the conversation.

  “They are difficult to catch.”

  “They sure are beautiful,” Owen said. “I would love to ride one of those.” He had had a fascination with horses since he was a young boy.

  “You and every rancher for ten thousand miles,” Mr. Chapman laughed. “Sometimes they are called ghost horses because they disappear like the wind, and no one knows where they go.”

  “Don’t the Indians ride them?”

  Mr. Chapman looked at Oliver. “Yes. They take their horses from the wild herds. But from what I understand it can be difficult to break a wild horse.”

  Suddenly one of the calves cried as it was separated from his mother. Owen heard the neigh as the horse stamped its feet once more. Its muscles rippled as the horse stood on its hind legs, kicking the air as it let out a loud snort, followed by a whinny.

  Owen spied several other horses behind it. Their heads lifted from the tall grass and they turned. The black horse whinnied once more and turned to run through the grass, the other horses following close behind. More horses appeared until the group looked like a thundercloud rolling across the fields.

  It was the most beautiful sight that Owen had ever seen.

  “Jimmy,” Mr. Chapman called to the scout that was traveling with them. “Ride over and make sure that herd is moving away. I don’t want the cattle stampeding.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jimmy said, digging his heels into his horse, taking off after the herd.

  “Pa?”

  “What is it, Owen?”

  “If those horses would be good for the ranchers, why doesn’t anyone catch them and break them?”

  “Horses require a lot of space. A big barn. A large corral.” Mr. Chapman shrugged his shoulders. “Would make a good business for the right man.”

  “Pa, do you think we could do it?”

  Mr. Chapman laughed. “Horses?” Owen nodded. “We raise cattle, son. It’s in our blood. I don’t see the benefit of catching wi
ld horses. It is simply that many more animals to feed.”

  “Marmee always said that the how will come if you believe you can do something.”

  “She is a smart one, your momma,” Mr. Chapman said. He took a bandana from his pocket and wiped his face. “I recommend you pray on it. And if you can find a way to do it with all your chores, then you just might be the right man for the job.”

  “I want to do it too,” Oliver said.

  “I have no doubt if anyone could catch and train those horses it would be Owen and Oliver,” Caleb said.

  A few moments later Jimmy reappeared. “They are heading up towards the river,” he said. Mr. Chapman nodded.

  “Let’s keep going. We want to settle before nightfall.”

  Owen and Oliver fell back, planning on how they could make their new dream a reality.

  But the war broke out and their dreams were put on hold. It was 1866 when they could finally turn their attention back to the horses. The first order of business was building a corral and a barn for the horses. It took two years and every single penny of their Army pay to build the pen and building.

  Owen worked with Oliver and scoped out a large piece of land near the river, with a few shade trees. It was completely clear on either side, which made it easier to drive the horses into the corral. The area was also far enough away from where the cattle grazed, so as not to disturb them, yet still close to the main homestead.

  If Owen were to ever build a home, he would want it overlooking the river. He didn’t have any plans to build a home anytime soon.

  None of the brothers had their own homes yet. Marmee insisted that everyone stay in the original log homestead until they were married. Owen thought she secretly hoped that they would stay at the homestead after they married. The house was a large hodgepodge of rooms. Each time a baby was born, Mr. Chapman would get busy creating a new addition.

  Rooms were crammed down narrow corridors, branching off like fingers from a hand. If they needed more space, Mr. Chapman would simply add a new hallway. The house sprawled across the land. Some folks were building upwards, adding floors above the main living quarters, but Mr. Chapman said that a taller house would be rocked by some of the harsh winds.