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ARKANSAS TO COLORADO 1921
by Kara Synhorst The Kansas City Star ran the ad — A farmer looking for a wife. She wrote him two letters before she hopped on the train. Tessie-who-she-thought-she'd-marry had died in the war. She wasn't getting any younger. She wouldn't be the first woman to do it. She was an old maid in a town full of ghosts. He met her at the station and he looked itchy in his Sunday clothes. They went directly to the courthouse and got married. The stranger, her husband — he seemed all right. Kinda gawky. Bertha stashed her cardboard suitcase in the corner of the dugout and thought about writing home. |
MAKING TRACKS THROUGH VAN HORN, TEXAS by Lynn Crounse |
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COLORADO 1921
by Kara Synhorst Charitably, Bertha had never counted backward from the births of her friends' first babies. But she was not as naive as all that. She had heard tell of what happened between a man and a woman, and she had lived on a farm, so the mechanics weren't exactly shrouded in mystery. Still, it was surprising, and it hurt, and then it didn't so much. The real surprise lay in the hairs on his clavicle, the smell of his skin and sweat, the entirely unfamiliar plywood roof, and the way her name still hesitated on the way out of his mouth. |
SEWING ROOM by Brent Wiggans |
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ARKANSAS/CALIFORNIA 1936
by Kara Synhorst Bertha thought they would have to leave everything behind. But Charles was a practical man. The bed frame, sure, and the big equipment, those they'd give to someone who was staying. But the clothing, linens, Vida's clothes, the silverware and kitchen tools, her set of bowls, Their quilts, pillows, her Bible, the quilting frame Charles had made her for Christmas, now disassembled into a bundle of sticks, her sewing box, Vida's doll, a bundle of letters, the bars of soap she'd made in the last batch, a hamper of cold foods, the rocking chair she'd rocked Vida in, their mattress, dishes, a cast iron skillet, and a few other pots and pans. Things hung off the sides and teetered on top. Bertha was sure if they took a corner hard the weight on top would tip them over. But Charles believed in slow and steady, and over some weeks, they made it safely, if not without incident, to California. The streets were not paved with gold, and there were also no oranges in sight. There was also no dust, and there was a clear blue sky, so that was promising. When it rained, Bertha cried. |
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