Arms of the Tamarack

By Roma Montgomery

Perfumed breezes from the whispering tamaracks hide secrets and carry only unanswered questions throughout the wide valley that was once filled with Cryus Wynter’s greatest hopes, dreams, and ambitions but now only with questions. How could such a skilled breeder, known to be prudent and cautious around the breed he loved, have been gored by his own prize bull? And what of the once prominent family heritage now apparently shaken and in such discord that the favored son has left?

It is in the midst of this perplexity that Lydee finds herself in an arranged marriage to the younger son and fearfully struggles to deal with the dismay of dark family secrets until finally she is driven to the far plains over Idaho’s wild Snake River for answers—and there’s a final vindication even for the noble bulls!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 9, 2021
• ISBN: 9781662425530

Book preview

Chapter 1

With cold streams, flourishing grasslands, and shielding hillsides, the scented valley had met all Cyrus Wynter’s dreams. And into it he had poured all his life’s ambitions.

It was not surprising, therefore, that by the time his children were old enough to share in that legacy, their breeding ranch had become known not only in Illinois but also in all neighboring states.

No wonder the amazement of all when the tragic event occurred! Who could have foreseen such a cautious and prudent man being gored by one of his own prize bulls? Eyebrows were raised throughout the industry. Neighboring ranchers shook their heads. It was so unlike the man who was well appraised in his understanding of the temperamental nature of the breed to ever turn his back, let alone be careless about a gate.

Then sadly, after the accident, the entire future of the ranch came in question when the older and more capable son, apparently overcome in grief, departed suddenly and without explanation to anyone.

Area ranchers, having grown dependent on that pure breeding stock, warily eyed the whole operation and breathed a sigh of relief when the younger son, though not as close to the daily rituals, actually stepped in and took charge. So in spite of the many questions raised, it looked like the coveted breeding bulls would continue to be for sale, and perhaps the Wynter family heritage would continue after all.

* * *

Splinters of wood from the old wagon box pressed cruelly against Lydee’s shoulders as she huddled against the bins, fighting for control of the stinging tears. One hand still clutched the awful newsprint, while her eyes stared straight ahead, her mouth pressed into a bitter line. Care of the borrowed green satin dress was forgotten now as she sagged deeper into the warped boards of the old wagon box.

Audrisa eyed her sister silently, numbed by her own torment. It was she who had presented Lydee with the awful headlines and blurred photoprint back at the marketplace—headlines that had brought an end to joy and purpose. And now in one terrible day, Lydee’s dream was gone!

Louis, the youngest of the Yarrow clan, still striving to prove himself capable of handling the heavy produce wagon and stout team, strained to hold the tired workhorses, as they sensed the lighter weight meant heading for home. From time to time, he glanced nervously back at his sisters. Something had changed. Lydee was hunched down at the back of the wagon box, her head against the rough bins, while Audrisa sat painfully erect, one hand on the shoulder of her sister.

The dreadful thing that had happened had something to do with the fire. He understood that much. The whole of the Chicago marketplace was abuzz about it. The skyline’s crimson sunrise had been hazed over with lingering smoke when they arrived early that morning to sell their produce. A large hotel, the Baron, frequented by notorious people, had been consumed by fire during the night. The gaudy clapboard structure, hastily built at the turn of the new century and famous for its tales of degeneracy, was considered by many as sure evidence of this lawless and wicked new generation. According to the paper, there could be no question. Its destruction was proof of the wages of sin!

Today’s babble in the marketplace was mostly speculation over the names of several important people who had died in that establishment of gaming and ladies of the night. However, since the fire was already out and there was no further danger to other buildings in the city, Louis and his sisters had ignored the gossip and gone about their work. He had bought one newsprint, as was the usual practice, and laid it carefully aside to take home. News of the market was always of interest to their father. Then they had gone about their usual routine unloading the family-grown vegetables and other root crops for the vendors. Lydee had seemed especially rushed, and though of late she was always a little overgroomed for a marketplace, today she had appeared prettier than ever in a borrowed green satin.

Lydeah—or Lydee, as she insisted on—was the bookkeeper for their father. She counted out the produce and balanced the remuneration, keeping careful marks in her ledger book. Then as had been her habit all summer, she disappeared down the long shady path leading back away from the busy market area and ending in an entirely different dimension—an established school for the education of women!

The buildings were almost hidden in a grove of oaks, jasmines, and stately maples as though the education of women should be discreet. The very nature of their hiding place, once she had stumbled across it, had irresistibly beckoned her to their vine-covered enchantment each market day.

Louis and Audrisa understood, in a sense, her attraction to the place, even knowing also that naught could come of it. For even though she had always been bright and eager to learn—even fancying herself as a teacher, such as their grandfather Henderson had been back in Denmark—Papa put little stock in education here in America. There was no money for such things—especially for girls! Hard work, housekeeping, and a good marriage were his aspirations for his three daughters.

Girls were difficult enough without education, especially here in this new country where rules were not as distinct. Fiona, the eldest of the three, had not attracted a single suitor, hardworking as she was. Lydeah, the beauty of the family, had totally ignored the obvious admiration of the most eligible bachelor in Northern Illinois—actually one of the wealthy Wynter family! And Audrisa, the youngest of the three, spent way too much time visiting with every lazy young farmer in the valley.

He should have been blessed with more sons. The two he had at least knew their place. Basil had married before they left Denmark and had brought his wife, Nedra, with him. Both he and she were hard workers and accepted the old ways. Nedra knew enough to keep her womanly trials to herself, finding what comfort she might need only in service to her husband. Like Fiona and Mother Delpha Yarrow, she was used to the old ways and uncomfortable with the confusing freedoms of the new land.

Fortunately, the fertile soil here in the Illinois Valley was all it had been reported to be, allowing a learned truck farmer tradesman as Hilman Yarrow to perform at his best. He was not sorry he had transported his family here. When his older brother, Clement, gave up his farm in the lowland near Ribe and stated he was going to America, Hilman had looked around at the small acreage he sharecropped; thought of the short seasons and the unsteady limited market, favorable mostly to wheat and dependent on English palates; and felt trapped himself. So when Clement invited him to come along, it had taken little encouragement to give up his own investment of hard work with little future and join the hopeful migration.

This older brother had long proven himself a levelheaded, hardworking leader of the Yarrow clan, one Hilman could follow with assurance in his level thinking—except, of course, for occasional strains of wanderlust, brought on undoubtedly by the constraints of years under the confining hands of rich overseers.

Tenant farming had been an acceptable way of life for years up to that time. But with new access to other parts of the world and transportation obtainable, it was difficult for families, such as the industrious Yarrows, to remain stagnant on their small allotments of space. Hilman had compared the few opportunities yet available for his growing family to spread out in Denmark, where land had become such a premium, with the tempting possibilities of wide open spaces in America and made the difficult decision to follow brother Clement.

It had not been an easy decision. Surely there were also undesirable areas even in the new county to which he might be subjecting his family—especially one eye-catching and strong-minded daughter whose grandfather had subjected her to aspirations far exceeding that of a wife and mother.

Clement had, as usual, been as good as his word. The migration had worked out well—even if both Clement and his wife persisted in carrying with them and curiously reading the odd Mormon book given to them back in Denmark. Hilman had never been a religious zealot himself, but he was willing to let others waste their time in that pursuit if they were foolish enough to do so. He could not be bothered with such uselessness. Hard work was the way to succeed, and a man needed only a strong constitution for that.

It had worked out well in Illinois. Now with their combined expertise in growing and storage of produce—potatoes in particular—they were respected throughout their new community, which was located just close enough to the large city of Chicago to have a direct route to market the items they raised. They were also free to choose what those items would be. Indeed, all was going well now, except for some trials with the feminine members of Hilman’s family.

Lydee was approaching eighteen, and if not married soon, he feared her courtship would soon become as barren as her older sister, Fiona. Girls in Denmark were generally married and well into family responsibilities by her age. True, she was easy to look at and seemed to catch many a fellow’s eye with her long auburn hair and teasing green eyes. Those admiring glances as she moved, willowlike, among the produce barns and potato cellars had not escaped her father’s awareness. But even such comely shape and fair features, he feared, would soon sour a marriage proposal once such a headstrong disposition was discovered.

Much of the girl’s foolish longing came, he was sure, from her maternal side of the family. Nords Henderson had been a school-taught man, and he filled too many of the young in Denmark with impossible dreams—his granddaughter in particular. The strong bond between the old man and his middle daughter also had not escaped her father’s awareness. In Hilman’s mind, his father-in-law was a dreamer, spinning tales of fairies and royalty and mermaids rather than practical values needed in the difficult toils of everyday life.

It was also unwise to have filled her mind with foolish and impossible ideas of education—bound only to trouble her—even suggesting the university in Copenhagen where many dangerous topics were accessible to young minds. His excuse for such meddling behavior was that the girl was exceptionally bright. Hilman’s own suspicion was that the man fancied himself better than most, having become a schoolteacher who had made great plans for his own daughter only to have her fallen in love with a common sharecropper. Understandably then, the old man had transferred those dreams to the prospect of a favorite granddaughter.

Hilman had held firmly to his own belief, however, that school learning should be kept to a minimum so as not to get in the way of the practical business of laboring for an honest living. He had, therefore, been prepared to fight his father-in-law all the way.

It had been an act of fate that eliminated such need. Nords Henderson had not lived to migrate to America with the family as he had planned to do. Still his middle daughter, with her spirit and strong-mindedness, retained much of his influence. She had even brought all her grandfather’s books to America and constantly read them, often forgetting her chores in the house and potato cellars. At times, Hilman envied his brother, Clement, who had fathered only two obedient sons.

It was no wonder, with all the book nonsense in her head, the girl had had no appreciation either of her good fortune when Luther Wynter had come calling. Wynter was a name known throughout Illinois and beyond for the fine strain of Hereford breeding bulls raised and marketed from a high meadow ranch in the northwest corner of Illinois.

Since it was a full day’s drive from that ranch down to the Yarrow produce and seed cellars near Chicago, Hilman had at first been flattered by the man’s frequent visits and requests for advice on crop blight and seedlings, along with his large purchases of produce. Soon, however, it became obvious there was another major purpose in these long trips. Hilman was not too old to recognize the way the man’s eyes lit up when they focused on the form of his lovely middle daughter seated on the stools in the cellar cutting seed potatoes or the length of his visit if she was not present, waiting for even a brief glimpse of her.

On occasion, as her father, he had tried to reason with the girl. Certainly, duty to marry and produce offspring would not sway such a high-minded daughter, so he had pointed out the expensive black-and-red barouche carriage pulled by a matched team of gleaming Arabians that sat in the yard during each of Mr. Wynter’s visits. There was also the stately mansion of a house much discussed and admired by any traveler to the northwest of the state and occupied solely by the man’s older sister and mother since the father had passed away, and his older brother, the first heir, had apparently chosen to give up the breeding business and find his fortune elsewhere. It certainly appeared Mr. Luther Wynter had a great deal to offer any so fortunate a young woman.

But what did the foolish girl say? She didn’t like his eyes! His eyes! True, they were of a paler hue than most blue-eyed people and overhung by almost white brows though he was still a young man. But this, in Hilman’s view, along with the long nose and bony frame, only served to make the man look even more shrewd and capable of providing. And it was obvious he was all but ready to make an honorable offer, if the stubborn girl would just provide the slightest encouragement.

As for Lydee’s feelings, she had squirmed under the penetrating stare of the pale eyes sunken beneath white brows. He reminds me of that mean old white bull we had, she told Audrisa. Remember how he looked when he put his horns down and chased poor Scudder under the fence? Poor little dog! Let the man court Fiona. She liked that old Brahman bull. She was sorry when he had to be sold because he wouldn’t stay in the fences.

And whatever her father’s ideas might be, Lydee had her own life to lead—her own plans. She still felt a camaraderie with her dear grandfather Henderson and The Little Mermaid, whose likeness had stood in the bay, or with her favorite of Shakespeare, Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. She did not intend to waste her own life as a simple ploy among men, as Ophelia had done. How she longed to share these plans with that dear grandfather. It seemed he alone had understood her need for self-expression—and he would have helped her attain the schooling she desired in comparison to the drudgery of a farmwife envisioned by her plotting father! For Lydeah had a secret!

How she wished now to still be able to call on that wise grandfather for the courage that would soon be needed to gain approval of that secret from her stern, unbending father. She longed so to be able to talk to Grandfather Henderson; to see his laughing, mischievous eyes; and to hear him praise her abilities and encourage her on. What a sorry day it was when they had to leave him behind in the Olden cemetery in Ribe.

He would never again enjoy the mysteries and beauty of all he had taught her and so many other young people. He would never again watch each spring as the storks come to build their nests on the tall chimneys of the village. How he had loved to watch their faithful rituals and then extract from such practice the many stories of diligence and virtue that he spun for his students.

Still, she would always have the memories of his faith and encouragement. You are one of the special ones, he often told her. You must use your beauty and talents to advantage. Do not waste such gifts!

Sometimes at night she would talk to Grandpa Henderson quietly in the dark of her small room here in America and tell him eagerly of her plans and of her real dream, which was now about to come true. How proud of her he would be! If only he had lived! He alone understood the needs she so often felt. And though he saw the good in her father, his hardworking son-in-law, he also had felt concern over the man’s narrow vision for his children. He knew there was even more richness to life than digging in the soil or hanging out the family wash. Yes, he would have been excited about this newest good fortune in her life, which she had found at the end of the long brick pathway behind the city markets.

Chapter 2

What Lydee had found was there in the high stone buildings with green ivy hugging their walls, as they presided magnificently beneath ancient maples and whispering of wisteria blossoms. For there, parading their paths were not men but young women in scholarly white blouses and dark skirts—a sight to inspire Shakespeare himself!

She’d watched at a distance at first, fascinated by their graceful movements and the bundles of books each had strapped on their shoulders or carried in their arms. It was another world, an actual school of higher learning for women! She traced the name engraved in the upright stone just past the open gateway. Her fingers, lovingly following the graceful lines of the stonecutter’s art, caused her heart to flutter. Someday—if she could continue to save the small allowance extended as wages by her father for her bookkeeping efforts—she herself would no longer come to bring produce to the market. The dream had built. She would enroll instead in this wonderland of learning. Here was where she would come! Flanders Women’s Academy would be her own!

These were the thoughts she’d harbored that morning, which seemed so long ago, in the early spring as she’d hesitated on the brick pathway watching the women come out of the smaller building on the west—obviously a dormitory—and enter the larger one. Was she intruding? Some of the women glanced her way, and she blushed at her own brightly flowered skirt and bonnet. It was obvious she did not belong here at this time. She’d hurried back toward the market. Louis would be through with the unloading and Audrisa with the purchases assigned by Mother and the other women at home.

It always took her brother and sister longer to fulfill their market assignments than did Lydee. She figured the weights and amounts each week when they first arrived. Then Louis distributed the produce among the merchants, and Audrisa shopped for family necessities. Each had their own responsibilities, though sometimes Lydee helped the others after she had finished hers. At times, however, while Audrisa wandered among the shops and Louis took his time with the distribution, she would carry whichever of her small collection of her grandfather’s precious books she had brought with her and find a quiet reading place.

She had read all the books many times, but it was a good exercise for the mind to go over the phrasing and sentencing. It strengthened her manner of speaking, so she did not fall back into the phrasing of her parents and sound like the old country. How she envied the girls at the women’s academy at these times—to be able to dress like that and have the books on a strap thrown over your shoulder. She remembered the way they walked—upright, very straight. She straightened her own frame and took several steps, holding her book on her shoulder with one hand.

When they arrived at home after that first trip, she had rifled through an old chest and found a long black skirt that used to be worn by Grandmother Delpha, her father’s mother, a widow who had made the journey with them.

Grandmother’s deep eyes twinkled with surprise. You want that old skirt? she’d asked. Of course, but we must take it up some to fit you. She thought maybe the girl had come to her senses after all. She was leaning to more sensible clothes like the women used to wear.

Lydee wore the skirt on the next market day. She finished her calculations on the produce as quickly as possible and walked down the brick pathway through the trees. Over her shoulder, she carried two of her best books hung together with a strap from the harness shed. This time she paused at the gate just briefly then went on through. Just inside was a wide stone bench. She seated herself, spreading her black skirt out over the warm rock and began to read.

Soon the procession of young women began again from the small buildings to the larger one. She watched each one closely as they hurried along seemingly unaware of her presence. Still she felt awkward. Her own blouse was white as was theirs, but hers was covered also with red, green, and blue rickrack running around the collar and sleeves down the front and over the bosom. Their blouses were stark white, crisply starched, and with only a black bow at the collar. And their hair—she studied it closely—was crimped and pinned in a most modern way. Lydee touched her own hair, braided to keep it from wind tangles.

* * *

The next time they came to the market, Audrisa stared in surprise when her sister removed her scarf and long woolen coat to step down from the wagon. How strange you look! What will Papa say of coming to town looking that way?

Lydee eyed her sister coolly. She was proud of the way she had stripped the blouse of its gaudy rickrack and attached a smart black bow at the collar. He’ll say nothing because he won’t know—unless someone tells him! She smiled meaningfully and patted her crimped hair.

Audrisa pursed her lips together and nodded compliance. Actually, she admired the spunk in this older sister. Lydee was always coming up with something new and fun. Of late, she had even invited certain wrath from the older members of the family by refusing to answer anymore to her given name of Lydeah, saying it sounded like the old country and insisting on always being called by the childhood, softer sound of Lydee, bestowed by Grandfather Henderson. And what could the others do? She simply pretended not to hear them if they used the old name. She even bestowed a more American name on her younger sister, calling her Audie instead of Audrisa—which greatly pleased the younger girl. Not having quite the spunk of her older sister, she was content to watch and participate in any gains.

* * *

It had been at that next market day that the dimension of her new character truly began to unfold for Lydee. She had hurriedly put her figures down in the ledger book and stowed it carefully in the wagon. Then returning the shy smile of her towheaded brother and giving a jaunty wave to Audie, she traversed that now familiar pathway through the maples. She carried the strap of books over her shoulder.

Soon, seated on her stone bench inside the gateway, she was rewarded when one of the hurrying young women paused and waved to her. A little startled but pleased, she lifted her own hand in a returning salute. Such a warm and comforting feeling filled her then that it almost seemed she was one of them and that she truly belonged in this wonderful secret place. Wouldn’t Grandfather Henderson be proud of her!

I believe you are being hailed as late for class! The voice, deep and masculine, startled her. She turned to see a young dark-haired and very handsome gentleman standing at the gate, observing her.

Oh, I’m sorry! Her face reddened, and she caught her breath quickly, humiliated at the discovery of her charade. I didn’t mean to… Her voice trailed off, grasping for more explanation.

Obviously, but you are going to be late anyway. He pulled a gold timepiece out of a satin vest and scrutinized it sternly. Classes begin promptly at ten o’clock. No excuses accepted! Then seeing her discomfort, the naturally upturning corners of his generous mouth beamed in a broad grin—even further tongue-tying her as she stared at the even white teeth above a firm chin line. The twinkle in those wide brown eyes beneath a shock of neatly groomed dark hair seemed to belie the scolding. Was he laughing at her instead? Before she could think more of a reply, he went on, My cousin, being acquainted with all the young women of this college and, of course, with many others, has asked me to return a book to one of you students—a Ms. Katherine Martel. Are you acquainted with her?

I, uh, no was all she could manage.

You must be new. He smiled broader. Allow me to introduce myself, Charles Corbell of the Chicago Law Institute.

Are you a professor? She was doing her best now to collect her wits and her usually glib tongue.

He laughed broadly, embarrassing her further. Just a lowly student such as yourself, albeit at last into my final year.

At that Lydee made a strong attempt to collect herself, sensing hope the charade had not been discovered. Perhaps some of her self-respect could be salvaged. Ah, you are correct. I…uh, have not been here long.

I thought not. He gazed at her—politely admiring. Otherwise, my notoriously gadabout cousin would have spotted you before me. He laughed again with a little less humor. I refer to the one who got away with the family name, while I had to do with another to keep us apart.

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