Chapter 4

TUESDAY, MAY 10, 1904—KALISPELL, MONTANA

Grant didn’t mind most things. But waitin’ on his brother when he wasn’t sure what was goin’ on in that fool’s head was one something he did mind. A lot. He had been sitting on a bench outside the railroad depot for a half hour now with no sign of his little brother.

The rest of the afternoon had gone just as bad as he’d imagined. Men were out of sorts. Arguing about anything and everything. Several went home early and said they weren’t coming back.

Then there was Alvin. Soon as he heard the whole story, he clamped his mouth shut and stormed off.

Never a good sign.

The whole situation was messed up. They didn’t have the whole story, which bothered a lot of the men who had families to feed. It’d be different if all the men were single and could just pick up and move to Whitefish. If there were homes and businesses already built and established.

But no. The railroad had been shady, saying they were just looking to establish a new route into Canada. Grant scoffed. He shoulda known as soon as the townsite in Whitefish was surveyed and dedicated in June of last year. Rail yards were already constructed. Why, he wouldn’t be surprised if the rail line wasn’t already half built to Eureka. They’d probably kept that a secret too.

He slapped his hat against his knee and looked around. Kalispell had become home.

He liked it here. Liked his job.

But that was already gone.

Hadta face facts ... he couldn’t do a single lickin’ thing to change it.

“Hey, Grant.” Gus called to him from the door. “Alvin left a while ago. Said to tell you that he wouldn’t be back for a couple days.”

“What?” He jumped to his feet. Alvin never went anywhere.

Gus shrugged. “Sorry, that’s all he said.” He closed the door to the depot.

What was his brother doin’ takin’ off like that? Grant flexed his fingers, fighting the black mood building in his chest.

Nothin’ he could do ’til Alvin got home. But when that happened ...

They’d be havin’ words.

Carter marched up the stairs to the Carnegie Library. Hopefully his friend Mark would have some time to talk some sense into him.

As he entered the beautiful building, the silence washed over him and calmed his racing heart. Between the meeting, the brawl, and the run-in with Miss Eleanor Briggs, his adrenaline was still pumping.

“Carter.” Mark walked around from behind the counter and greeted him. “What brings you to the library?” He winced as Carter got closer. “And good grief, what happened to you?”

As Carter relayed the story of the meeting and brawl, Mark cringed several times and covered his mirth with a hand.

“I know. Go ahead and laugh. Leave it to me to walk straight into a fight. But wait until I tell you what happened at the train depot.” He launched into the story of the part for the mill, his discussion with Gus, and the interruption of one Miss Eleanor Briggs. “I’ve never met anyone so high and mighty.” When he got to the part about him and Gus egging the woman on, he was smiling.

“You enjoyed it!” Mark laughed and smacked him on the back. “Not that I encourage that kind of behavior, but it sure is good to see you out of the mill and actually talking to a woman.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Carter crossed his arms over his chest.

His friend chuckled and grabbed a couple books. “It means that you say you want to settle down and have a family, but you sure don’t seem like you’re trying. You work long hours. You don’t speak to the women at church.” He walked over to a shelf and placed the books there.

“I’d rather it be me working the long hours than any of my men that have families. Since I’m single, it doesn’t take me away from a wife or children.”

“And that’s commendable. But Carter”—Mark gripped his shoulder—“we’ve known each other for a long time now. I’ve never known you to pursue a woman even though you’ve always wanted a family. I hate to say it, but if you’re expecting God to just plop one down in your lap one day, that’s not how He usually works.”

“It’d definitely be easier.”

Mark laughed and shook his head. “But not near as much fun. Just look at me and Rebecca.”

Carter studied his friend. He and his new wife were the perfect couple. Carter couldn’t compete with that. Besides, there weren’t any women in town who struck his fancy. Definitely not any in town who shared any common interests with him. “Yeah, but you two have books in common. You could probably discuss them the rest of your lives. Who wants to sit around and talk about milling wheat and”—he was hesitant to mention his one and only hobby—“fishing?”

“That’s it, then.” Mark’s face turned grim as he walked back behind the counter. “Guess I’m just going to have to tell Marvella to pray for a woman who loves fishing.”

“Don’t you dare.”

Eleanor dressed in the only gown she’d brought that was acceptable for a formal dinner. It wasn’t as fashionable as she would have preferred since it was several years old. Still, the lavender gown was good enough for a Montana affair. With its high neck and long sleeves, Eleanor felt amply covered and not at all showy. It was a far cry from the form-fitting fashions of the day. Her society friends back east would probably be amused by her modesty. Not that she had seen or heard from any of them in years.

And not that she cared about having a new wardrobe created each season. Goodness, at this point, she simply cared that everything she owned be practical and modest.

It wasn’t as if they didn’t have the funds to supply her a new wardrobe. Not only did her father come from family money, but Eleanor’s maternal grandfather had been a wealthy shipping magnate and had given his daughter a home in the most fashionable part of New York City as a wedding gift.

Eleanor grew up in society, was taught etiquette and rules, and participated in all the grand events and activities. All while her father traveled and spoke around the Eastern Seaboard about conservation.

That was, until Mother became ill.

She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. They’d always had money to buy whatever they wanted. Except the one thing they desired most.

A cure for her mother’s cancer.

Everything changed after Mother died.

Oh, every time they were back east, she slipped back into the role, but her so-called friends only spoke of money, the latest fashions, and who wore what to which party.

Losing Mother changed her perspective.

About money.

About God.

About what she wanted out of life.

Eleanor sighed. What did she want out of life? She had no one other than Father to talk to about her restlessness, but she couldn’t share it with him when she didn’t even know what was at the root of it.

She glanced at the mirror, smoothing out the wrinkles in her bodice. She’d wasted enough time dawdling over her appearance.

Even though her mood hadn’t lightened, she pasted on a pleasant expression and headed downstairs to the large parlor where everyone was gathered.

“There she is.” Father held out an arm to her and escorted her to the dining room.

“We are privileged to have you with us, Mr. Briggs, Miss Briggs.” Judge Ashbury dipped his chin at her. The stately older gentleman appeared at ease and not at all stuffy. His eyes even twinkled. “George has told us all about you, Mr. Briggs, and your charming daughter.”

Charming? Eleanor couldn’t remember the last time the word had been used to describe her. But the compliment seemed sincere. And the Judge was so hospitable and congenial it was easy to relax.

“Thank you for having us.” She curtseyed.

Father pulled out a chair for her. “Please call me Stewart. George and I go way back.”

The table was set with fine china, crystal, silver, and linen. Impressive. For a moment, she wanted to giggle to herself. To think that when Father first announced they were headed to Montana, she had imagined meals at hand-hewn tables with simple dishes. Wouldn’t Marvella be shocked to hear that?

Almost as shocked as Eleanor was to realize she was the one underdressed for the occasion. How presumptuous of her to assume that Montana would be filled with backwoods, uneducated, poor people.

The footmen served the main course as conversation filled the room. Rack of lamb with oven-roasted potatoes and carrots. A delicious sauce of cherries and currants was offered as well. Eleanor’s mouth watered. It smelled absolutely delicious.

“What about you, my dear?”

Eleanor glanced up. Uh oh. She hadn’t been paying attention. “Oh, please excuse me. I was captivated by this delicious lamb.”

“Our cook, Mr. Jefferies, has studied abroad.” Marvella’s pride at this made her cheeks glow. “He’s good, and I seldom have anything to say against his dishes, although there was that one time when the pork roast was tough. He blamed the pig, but we couldn’t be sure.” She speared a piece of roasted carrot. “We were speaking of the magnificent scenery you passed coming into and through our area. What was your impression?”

The change in subjects made her head swim. Eleanor sipped her water to give herself time to follow her hostess’s train of thought. “It was incredibly beautiful. Scene after scene of snowcapped mountains, crystal lakes, and a riot of colors in the moraines where wildflowers grew. It is a gorgeous section of the country.”

Marvella’s enthusiastic nod sent the hair on top of her head bobbing. “I agree. I agree. Such majesty. One can’t help but think of God and the radiance of His creation reflecting His beauty.”

She bit her tongue. She was not going to discuss God and matters of faith. Her hostess wouldn’t care at all for her opinion should she do so. She sliced off a piece of the lamb and took another bite, eager for the subject to change.

George Grinnell rescued her. “I’m sure that all of America is certain to see the value in preserving more and more land for public viewing and use. We must do this now and minimize westward expansion.”

“Once the battle cry of businessmen and politicians back east ...” Apparently it was her father’s turn to put in his two cents. Eleanor withheld a sigh. She’d heard this a hundred times. “‘Washington is not a place to live in. The rents are high, the food is bad, the dust is disgusting, and the morals are deplorable. Go West, young man, go West and grow up with the country.’ Horace Greeley said it, yet gave no consideration to the land grabs we would see because of it.”

Mr. Grinnell tapped the table. “It was wrong to encourage a nation of dreamers to take up vast tracts of land and fence them in to keep the world out.”

“Hear, hear.” Father added his hearty approval to Mr. Grinnell’s statement. “I will only add that massive tracts of farmland or ranches disrupt the natural terrain they take over. There should be designated spots for farming and ranching. The acreage could be predetermined by the government, setting up plots for anyone who wants to take on those enterprises. Land allotment then benefits both as intrusion upon the land is kept to a minimum, and what is not claimed is able to be preserved. It would also keep harmful incidents like the Land Rush of 1889 from happening again.”

Eleanor studied her father for a moment. His cheeks were red, and his eyes were sparkling. It was the most animated she had seen him in quite some time.

Judge Ashbury cleared his throat. “Yes, the Land Rush was quite the mess. But as I recall, it was a mess created by the federal government’s failure to create an orderly process by which people could claim their one hundred and sixty acres.”

Father dabbed at his lips with his linen napkin. Eleanor held her breath. It wasn’t often Father or Mr. Grinnell were challenged outright like this.

“The government did do a poor job in organizing the assigning of land,” Father finally said. “But the principle was sound. One hundred and sixty acres is more than enough to establish a flourishing farm and still preserve vast segments of our great nation for all to enjoy.”

“Land ownership is not the problem, as I see it.” The Judge cut into the lamb, his voice calm in contrast to the strident opinions of the men she knew and respected. “Land ownership and settlement has done wonders for isolated territories, where no one would venture if left untouched completely. There is no reason land ownership and nationally preserved lands cannot stand side by side.”

Oh dear. That went against everything her father had said for years. Eleanor had always agreed with him ... but she hadn’t considered what the Judge was suggesting.

Eleanor leaned forward. “Might I inquire why a single man needs hundreds if not thousands of acres of land?”

The Judge smiled at her and his mustache twitched. “Our world has a growing population. If men don’t own a great deal of land, they can’t produce the food that population requires.”

Even though she didn’t agree with his opinion, she liked him.

The Judge speared a piece of lamb. “Our own Jacob Brunswick owns twenty thousand acres of farmland.”

Marvella gave a firm nod. “Oh yes. The Brunswicks’ farmland simply ripples with the most impressive crops of wheat. And they are so generous. They sell their wheat at a fair price, and I know for a fact they have helped their fair share of down-on-their-luck families. I believe their farm alone supplies enough wheat for three counties. And they ship to Canada.” Marvella’s pride in her community shone through her prais—

Wait a minute. “Brunswick?” Eleanor frowned. “I met a man today named Carter Brunswick.”

“Why, my dear, that is Jacob’s son. His unmarried son.” Marvella raised a brow.

Oh, for heaven’s sake!

The Judge took a sip of water. “Carter owns the local flour mill and his father farms those twenty thousand acres I spoke of. Jacob plants it mostly in wheat, which Carter grinds to flour.” The Judge pointed his fork in Eleanor’s direction. “Why, that very dinner roll you have on your plate is made with Brunswick flour.”

“But twenty thousand acres owned by one man?” Father’s eyes widened. “That’s excessive.”

Marvella tipped her head. “Well ... he co-owns some of it with a partner.”

As if that made a difference. How could these intelligent people not understand? Eleanor shook her head. “It doesn’t seem to me that any one man should own that much land. The government could own it as a public farm and lease it out to be managed. That way it would be accessible to all. They could still arrange roads through the farm so that the public could make their way to the forest preserves and national parks. I just don’t see the need for one man to own so much.” And it wasn’t just because she’d had a run-in with the rude Mr. Carter Brunswick earlier.

“Well, we will simply have to open your eyes to the truth while you are here.” Marvella lifted a buttered half of roll to her lips and smiled.

The truth? Did she really believe she was in the right and they were in the wrong? How could she?

The Judge cleared his throat again as Father set his fork down. “My dear, there are families in the West who have tended the land since it was wild. They have worked generation after generation to clear it and cultivate it to grow this nation’s food. The government can’t be depended on for such things. There is far too much already for the government to manage.”

Father opened his mouth as though to say something, but the Judge went on.

“And without the farms this nation would suffer. Montana produces large numbers of cattle for beef, lambs for the meal you’re enjoying this evening, and pigs for the bacon and ham you will enjoy at breakfast. Animals require large acreage of grass to feed upon, not to mention the hay that must be planted and cultivated and baled for winter, when the snows are too deep for grazing. That is why farmers and ranchers need a great deal of land.”

Eleanor glanced at her father. Why was he so silent? She had heard him argue the same topic many times with great passion and vigor. Did he not wish to offend his hosts? She pushed ahead anyway. “But what happens when we start to run out of land? If only a small portion is set aside for parks, and the rest is ranched and farmed, we run the risk of citizens and future generations inheriting a sparser, less beautiful America than when it was first settled. Right, Father?”

He started a bit, as though he had been lost in his thoughts. “My daughter is correct ... If Mr. Brunswick owns all the land surrounding the area where we would like to see a national park preserved for the people of this great country and others as well, how would they gain access to it? There must be some compromises. Twenty thousand acres is too much.”

Eleanor nodded. Exactly so. The land must be preserved. But the look on the Judge’s face made her wonder. He wasn’t angry or upset. Simply ... contemplative.

“And how would you decide, my dear, how much land is needed to grow enough wheat for your dinner roll?” Marvella snatched up another dinner roll and held it up. She looked at each person at her table. “Without wheat there would be no dinner rolls at all, and what a pity that would be.” She sniffed the roll and put it on her plate. “Mr. Jefferies’s rolls are some of the lightest and most delicious in all of Montana—perhaps I could dare to say the entirety of America.”

Eleanor smiled in spite of herself. Marvella was a force to be reckoned with even if she was on the wrong side of the argument. Mr. Grinnell hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said their hostess was unafraid to argue her point of view.

“As I said earlier, vast private ownership is unnecessary. It is not only an issue that impacts us now, but our future as well. Vast holdings that are private are passed from generation to generation. Not only can the public not access them, but it gives a small group of individuals an excessive amount of control over land that could be preserved with all its beauty and natural resources for years to come. If it was given over to the government, it could be kept in public trust and leased out, along with the general population still maintaining access to the public lands. Or, as we discussed earlier, much smaller parcels of land given away by the government until none are left for that purpose.” Father’s emphatic words accompanied the dip in his brow.

The Judge studied Father. Eleanor could see why Mr. Grinnell extolled the older man’s virtues as a judge. His expression was impenetrable. “You’ve never owned a large piece of land, have you, Mr. Briggs?”

“No. I haven’t. I once owned a place much the size of this one in New York City. We had gardens and a stable just as you do. It was sufficient for all our needs.” Father jerked his knife through his slab of lamb and shoved a chunk of meat in his mouth.

Eleanor studied him. Was that a sheen of sweat on his brow? But why?

Judge Ashbury nodded. “And for us it more than meets our needs. But we also are blessed with the money to buy all of our produce, wheat, and meat. From people who own land. Did you grow your own food on your property in New York?”

Father did something she’d never seen him do. He sputtered! Could it be he’d never heard or considered what the Judge was saying?

Father lay his fork on his plate before speaking. “Well, no. We didn’t have room for anything other than my wife’s flowers. We were so seldom there after my wife died that Eleanor and I agreed to sell it and rent lodging as we had need. We own no property currently. And we manage just fine.”

“Yes, but because of your lifestyle, you have the ability to purchase food wherever you go.” Marvella smiled at her guests. “That means that those who farm do so not only to feed their families, but ours as well. I agree that land preservation is a necessity, but I think there should be careful consideration given to where and how much land is conserved and the impact of that conservation on those who work by the sweat of their brow to help provide food for us.”

The room fell silent. Knives and forks clinked against the fine china as they ate their meal. Eleanor’s shoulders were beginning to hurt. Her throat felt dry no matter how many sips of water she took. She had never considered that aspect of conservation before. Rationally she knew that food had to be grown somewhere. But never had she truly thought about the people who grew wheat and corn and vegetables. Eleanor chewed the corner of her lip. The conversation was moving so quickly, it was almost impossible to remember what her own argument was.

Or what she actually believed.

Eleanor glanced around the table. Only Marvella seemed to not mind the tension that had descended over them. She was smiling down at her little puffball of a dog, who was dancing for his fair share of meat.

Finally, the Judge wiped his mouth and looked over at Father. “I’m sure you find traveling the country with no permanent address a perfect way of life. But most people aren’t of a mind to move about all the time. Many came to this country because land ownership in their home countries wasn’t a possibility.”

Eleanor plucked a dinner roll from the basket in front of her and sliced it open. She spread a pad of butter over it, her thoughts jumbled. She’d never considered how other countries controlled the freedoms of their citizens to have a spot of their own. But America was so vast and wild. Couldn’t the Ashburys see the need to protect the precious resources of their country without allowing people to purchase absurd amounts of land?

Mr. Grinnell joined the discussion as the Judge paused to take a long drink of water. “Surely you are not suggesting that we parcel out land to everyone who enters our great country simply because they were refused that luxury at home.”

“That would be absurd.” The older man raised an eyebrow. “I’m saying that America has always attracted those who wanted to own their own farms, ranches, orchards, and vineyards. Those things require land and many acres of it. Some have managed the same acreage for generations and do so with great pride. In turn, we are the beneficiaries of their hard work.”

At least Mr. Grinnell had the fortitude to look a bit embarrassed at his ridiculous assertion. The Judge folded his hands on the table in front of him.

“As I’ve mentioned, I am supportive of making national parks and all that they have to offer. I support state lands and federal preserves that will see the beauty go on unspoiled. However”—he cleared his throat—“I am also in support of private land ownership and will remain so. I would be a hypocrite to say otherwise. Especially if it limited the number of dinner rolls served at my table.” He grabbed another roll.

“Well said, husband.” Marvella held up her glass, and the little dog dancing around her chair yipped. She pinched off a piece of a dinner roll and tossed it to the pup. “Sir Theophilus agrees as well.”

The men chuckled, and the tension eased as the discussion shifted to other topics.

But Eleanor kept thinking about what the Judge said. On a small scale, his points made sense. Yet she still couldn’t agree with large-scale land ownership and never would. The land belonged to everyone. Americans, no matter their social status, should be able to experience the awe of Yosemite, with its sharp mountains and lush pine trees. To see the beautiful Half Dome rock jutting into a sky painted with a pastel pink sunrise. Vivid memories of geysers gushing forth water from the ground and bighorned sheep prancing across rocks and streams filtered through her memory. It was as near a sin to fence it off solely for personal use as it would be to steal paintings from the great art museums and take them home for private adoration.

She pressed her lips together. No wonder that Carter Brunswick should be involved in such a thing.

Carter Brunswick.

Just one meeting with the infuriating man and he’d infiltrated her thoughts, no matter how hard she’d tried to keep him out of her mind. Her mouth tipped down as she recalled his reprimand of her manners—or lack thereof. She sniffed. If there was anyone in that argument who needed to learn manners it was him. His familiarity in using her nickname, his teasing her when they didn’t even know each other—unconscionable! And did the man think she hadn’t noticed how deliberately he’d signed his name and looked over his papers?

Some men would do anything to make a point.

She would consign all thought of him to the deep ... if only that smiling, handsome—albeit bruised—face would stop invading her thoughts!

Wait. Handsome? Oh good heavens! He was decidedly not handsome. And even if he was, she certainly wasn’t attracted to twinkling blue eyes framed by laugh lines, and light brown hair tousled by the wind—

Heat crept up her cheeks and she closed her eyes. Eleanor! Collect yourself!

She sipped her water, then lifted her fingers to smooth her furrowed brow. Such a line of thought simply wouldn’t do. Even if Carter Brunswick was handsome, he was on the wrong side. A ruffian to boot.

She lifted her chin. It was decided.

She simply would not tolerate him. Or further thoughts of him.

And that was final.

“Mother, that was a mighty fine supper.” Carter stood and walked over to where his mother was seated and kissed her cheek. “But I need to get back to town before it’s dark.”

“I wish you could stay longer. I do so enjoy hearing about all that’s happening.”

“Well, Dad can fill you in more about the meeting.”

“I wish those men would learn how to control themselves. There is no sense in brawling in the streets.” She laid down her napkin and crossed her arms over her chest. “Just look at your face.”

“Well, it’s a weighty subject.” How did he get himself out of this one? “Oh, I did meet some new folks today. The men are conservationists and there’s a young lady with them. The daughter of one of the men is a sassy little thing. Blond hair and blue eyes. Stands about yea tall”—he pointed to his shoulder—“and rides a bicycle.”

“A bicycle? How interesting.” His mother began to clear the table. “Sounds like she made an impression.”

Carter rested his elbows on the table. His change of subject could prove to be worse than the first. But Ellie was becoming the first thing that came to mind. He needed to tread carefully, or Mom would have them married with kids in no time. “I suppose she did. She was rude and a little on the obnoxious side of things. I was talking to Gus and trying to find out if my part came in and she just sashayed up and interrupted us. Thought her needs were more important and wasn’t afraid to say so.”

“And did this sassy young woman have a name?” The cheer in his mother’s voice as she scraped the plates was almost comical.

Carter groaned. His mother had been less than subtle in recent months about him settling down. It wasn’t as if he was avoiding marriage. But it hadn’t been a priority. Not with figuring out how to run his own mill. All his time and attention had been focused on making the mill successful. And with the railroad trouble now, he didn’t have time to seek out a wife. Mark’s assertion that he’d been waiting for God to plop the right woman in his lap probably wasn’t too far off the truth. Not that he would admit it.

“I’m heading out to take care of a few things before bed.” Dad headed for the kitchen door. “Good to have you here, son. See you tomorrow.”

“Good-night, Dad. Love you.”

Dad turned around and grinned. “Love you too. But you better escape while you still can.” His loud whisper from behind his hand gained him a swat from Mother’s kitchen towel.

“All right, all right.” Carter turned back to his mother. “Her name is Ellie—actually Eleanor—Briggs. Eleanor is rather stuffy though and her father called her Ellie. I like that better, don’t you?”

“Doesn’t much matter what I like. It does seem strange that you should have such an opinion on a first-time encounter.” Mother scrubbed at the skillet.

Carter shrugged. “Just saying I like the name Ellie better than Eleanor. Don’t go trying to marry me off to her.”

His mother made a face at him. “The thought never occurred to me! Just wondered why she made such an impression.”

He leaned against the counter. Why had this woman made the impression she had? It wasn’t as though he didn’t know a number of women in town, some almost as audacious as Ellie. But none of them had come to occupy his thoughts the way she had. Hmm ... “Probably because she didn’t back down.” Yes, that was it. “For such a little thing, she didn’t have a lick of restraint in stating her opinion.” His response to her came back to him and he cringed a little.

“What?” Mother put her hands on her hips. “Carter Brunswick, what did you do to that girl?”

He chuckled. “Nothing. It’s just that ... well, she stated her emphatic opinion right after I was punched. So I might have been a bit ... sarcastic with her.”

“Might?” She shook her head. “I do hope when you do decide to settle down with some girl that she will understand that side of you.”

“Well, if she doesn’t, then she won’t be right for me. My wife will need to be able to hold her own with me. Just like you do with Dad.” He kissed her cheek one more time and headed toward the door. “See you later.”

“Ride back carefully. I don’t want to hear that you were blazing down the road at a full gallop.”

“Only if there’s a grizzly—or my irate mother—chasing behind me.” He tossed the comment over his shoulder then skedaddled before she could respond.