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A Coffin To Lie On-Western Novella-First Chapter

A Coffin To Lie On started out as a short story. I entered this story in the Arkansas Writer's Conference at Little Rock, Arkansas in 2007 as a short story in the contest Westward Ho. A Coffin To Lie On was awarded second honorable mention.

In Chapters nine and ten, this part of the book was taken from a short story I entered in White County Creative Writers, Searcy, Arkansas in 2005 with the title The Lonesome Whippoorwill. The short story was awarded second place in the Western Short Story category. This short story was about a woman left alone in her covered wagon one night while her husband chased after their horses. She fought off wolves and managed to win.

This was a true story that took place in southern Missouri during homestead days. Historical histories of states and counties are great books to read to find stories to spark a fictional story.

First Chapter

Miranda Tollifson sat quietly as long as she could with her hands in her lap, watching Swedish Hildur Landers do the work in her kitchen. The heavy set, middle aged woman had been employed by Anselm, Miranda's husband, to do the housework and cook for her. That was nearly ten years ago.
Right now, Hildur was cleaning up the kitchen for the last time that day. Anselm was working on one of his carpenter projects in the barn. Miranda felt bored. She was the only one doing nothing.
Finally, she got up and left the room. When she returned from the parlor, she had her arms full with her whale bone swift and skeins of brown wool yarn. She attached the swift to the table and spread the swift out so the pegs were wide apart.
After she draped the yarn skein over the pegs, Miranda rolled the yarn end into a ball. She pulled on the yarn to loosen the string and kept rolling the ball as the swift turned.
Hildur stopped drying dishes to watch. “Dat iss easier dan making de Mister sit vit his arms out, holding de yarn. Ja? My mister would not do it. Dat iss vat I make my girl, Clara, do for me.”
Miranda laughed. “I know what you mean. I think by now you've noticed Anselm isn't the sit still type of husband. He won't help me. I had to resort to another way that didn't include him.”
Hildur gave a jiggling belly laugh. “Dat iss vat my Clara tells me, too. I should find another vay. She does not much like helping me when I am winding yarn. Vat are you going to do vit dat yarn?”
Miranda concentrated on rolling the yarn evenly on the ball while she talked. “Knit some warm socks for Anselm.”
Hildur shook her head in approval. “Dat brown iss a good color for socks. Did you use walnut hulls to stain de wool?”
“Yes, boiled walnut hull water works the best for me when I want a brown stain,” Miranda said.
“Ja, I agree.” Hildur put the stack of supper plates away before she asked? “Did you haf a good turn out for de meeting de other night?”
“Anselm seems to think he did. By the way, thank you again for making those good molasses cookies. Everyone liked them. Even Florence Swensen said the cookies were tolerable. I think that's as close to a compliment as she will ever get.”
“Even dat much from dat old vulture vas good. She dinks she iss a better cook dan anyone else,” Hildur said with a grin.
“Hildur, you shouldn't call Florence names,” scolded Miranda teasingly.
“Dat iss vat she reminds me of vit her long, beak like nose dat picks a body to de bone. You take a look at dose long fingers of hers. Dey look like vulture claws if I ever seen any,” Hildur declared.
“Very few women came to the meeting. Brunnhilde Fjelde, Prudence Sorenson, Birgit Bjornson, Gretchen Krebsbach and Florence. Those women pretty much stick together. They weren't thrilled by the conversation.
Now the men, on the other hand, were as excited as children at Christmas about going west to homestead,” Miranda shared in a dispirited tone.
“Dat homestead act may turn out to be pipe dream for most folks. Men are always looking over de horizon for something better or different. De government turning all dat free land loose for de taking vas just enough to put de men's wonder lust bones into motion. Dat free land iss not worth a hoot if de land does not live up to what de government made it out to be. I am glad my husband and me are too old for such nonsense as dis so I do not haf to vorry about picking up stakes,” Hildur stated.
“I understand. It was clear the women at the meeting wanted to live here until they died. This is their home. Too bad their husbands don't see it the same way. Or, that the women aren't given a say in the matter like Anselm did me,” Miranda surmised.
I think this year's drought played a factor in this urge to move. The poor wheat and corn crops means now farmers will not have enough food supply for their animals for the winter. If the farmers use their funds to buy feed for their animals, there won't be money to buy seed grain to put in crops next spring.”
“Dat is right,” Hildur agreed. “My husband vorries about dat, but he dinks ve vill make it through the winter if we sell some of de cows.
Vat vit railroad freight rates vat dey are and de poor economy in Minnesoota, de farmer does not have any profit left if he gets a poor crop. My husband iss an optimist. He says ve vill get by until times get better.”
Miranda stopped rolling to muse. “The war lasted too long. That's what put the economy in this slump. Hildur, it makes me wonder what men were thinking when they left their home and families for five years. They killed each other and destroyed half our country.”
Hildur rolled her eyes. “Dey were not tinking. Once dey started fighting, dey could not stop. Makes little sense at all. Ya?
Now here iss all dis talk about loading vat dey can carry on one of dose covered wagons. Which iss very little considering vat dey accumulated over the years. They vill uproot their families and take off for de wilderness. Dat does not make sense either. Wouldn't you tink men learned their lesson vit de war?”
“It's a lot clearer to us women than it is to men. At the meeting, Clarence Swensen prodded the farmers to head west. He did most of the talking as usual.
According to him, the men should sell all their stock except their horses in Redwing. That's only twenty five miles from here so it wouldn't take long to drive the stock to town.
Buyers from southern states are looking for horses and cattle to replace what they lost in the war. They're paying good prices. The men plan to hang on to what money they make from the stock sales until spring.
We'd book passage on a paddle boat down the Mississippi River to the Missouri River and get off at Independence, Missouri. There we'd hook up with a wagon train.
We'd buy a wagon and supplies when we got there. What we packed for the trip would be unloaded from the boat and on to our wagon.” Miranda paused while she collected her thoughts. “Clarence sounded like he knew what he was talking about. At least, the men thought so.”
Hildur harrumphed in disgust. “I haf known dat man to be wrong before. He might get all of you in a terrible yam vit his big ideas. Does Mr. Swensen haf a final destination point?”
Miranda nodded yes. “He's heard talk about a place called Willamette Valley in Oregon. Seems it lies smack dab in between three mountain ranges. The valley is supposed to be very fertile. Clarence says the climate is warm but a bit dry in the summer. Cool to chilly in the winter, but not frigid like here. No head high snows such as Goodhue County, Minnesota gets most winters.”
Hildur snorted softly. “Willamette Valley is a place I vould haf to see to believe. It sounds like a yoke someone has pulled on Mr. Swensen. It iss hard to believe he fell for it. Weather like dat vould be too nice.” Hildur frowned when she saw the worried expression on Miranda's face. “Your mister really dinking on moving west?”
Miranda nodded. “Yes, I'm afraid he is.”
Hildur shook her finger at Miranda. “You better haf your mister check to make sure Clarence Swensen has the right information about dat land.”
Miranda sighed deeply. “You're right. I suppose Anselm thinks it would be all right to live in Willamette Valley on Mr. Swensen's say so. I'll ask him to do some checking on Oregon to make sure Mr. Swensen has the right facts. I must admit Willamette Valley does sound like a good place to live if the getting there didn't kill us off first.”
“Dat iss another thing! Ve hear all the tales about how awful hard travel across the country iss. Are you sure a trip like dat iss going to be such a good idea for you, Miranda, vit your health vat it iss?”
Miranda let out a frustrated sigh. “That's a good question. One I don't have an answer for right now. Anselm has left it up to me to decide what we do, because he has the same worries as you do about my endurance.
I'm not sure I want that burden on my shoulders, and it bothers me. I can say we stay here if I want to, but what if we stay behind because of me? If we have another dry summer, it means we lose what little money this farm has made us. By then buyers for farm land might not be so interested. They might try to buy our property dirt cheap.”
Hildur teared up. “I understand. You know I vould vorry about you and your mister until you are settled in dat strange place. For sure, I vill miss helping you if you move.”
“Thank you so much. I've appreciated all the hard work you do around here on my be-half. I'm such a terrible cook. I know Anselm will miss your good cooking as much as me.
But don't start worrying about us leaving yet. We aren't going to decide until spring,” Miranda assured her.
“Dank you. Dat iss good to know.” Hildur slipped her black bonnet on. “I better start for home and see to my own family's supper.”
Miranda put her yarn ball against the swift so it wouldn't roll away. She got up and walked across to the wall pegs and helped Hildur get her arms in her black wool coat. “I'll be glad when the days get longer. You be careful going home in the dark.”
“I vill. Once you get to dis big valley, if you go, you please let me know you and de mister are safe. If I didn't hear from you, I vould always vorry about vat happened to you,” Hildur said.
“Of course, I promise. As soon as I could, I would write you and my folks a letter, but Hildur I don't know if we're going yet,” Miranda assured her.
Ignoring her statement, Hildur asked, “How long do you expect this trip to take?”
“I don't know. I hope it wouldn't take long,” Miranda said.
So much about this venture was unknown to her. The length of the trip was just one of her worries, but she doubted Anselm had the answers.