Iris carefully recorded the details in Fergus’ record book needed to identify the photo. She’d even drawn a quick sketch of the smallest boy’s face. He had the dimple in his left cheek and a stubborn front cowlick in his hair.
"Mrs. Piper enjoyed your visit. The first thing she asked this morning was if we couldn't stay another day."
“I can’t imagine how lonely she must be. You wonder how often they go to town since they are hours away from it.”
“Only when necessary, I imagine. And I bet Mr. Piper goes by himself and she stays home with the boys most of the time.”
Iris scanned the gray sky as they traveled. This was the first time she’d ridden on the wagon seat with Fergus instead of in the back. Dapper kept up a brisk pace since it was cold this morning.
“What’s today? How many days will it take us to travel to your hometown? Will we see more people along the way?”
“It’s Friday, November fifth. We’ll stop as often as we can to get the business but we need to arrive home by the twelfth.”
So, a week to pretend she was married to Fergus, and to decide what she should do next with her life. Iris no longer felt the need to permanently escape from the world, thanks to Fergus’ care and catching up on her sleep.
Chapter 6
Fergus knocked on the hand-hewn wooden door, but no one answered the knock or his "hello the house" shout when they drove into the homestead yard.
"Maybe they aren't home?" Iris asked as she looked around the sparse homestead. There wasn’t any smoke coming from the chimney on the roof.
The sod-block walls of the small barn looked as if they were built this summer. The dugout, built into a natural swell of land, had a sod wall for its fourth side where the door was. Its roof was a thick layer of golden grass left from the past growing season, so their home may have been here a few years already.
"Two horses are in the corral and the wagon is parked beside it, so I think they’re home."
Iris wrapped her cloak tighter around her body as she moved behind Fergus. The morning was pretty with sun burning the frost off the dead prairie grass, but it was still cold. He should have suggested Iris stayed in the wagon until they knew the homesteader was home.
Both turned to the door as a tortured wail came from inside the house. It sounded like a man's voice.
Fergus tried to peer into the tiny window beside the door but a makeshift curtain blocked his view of the interior.
"Hello? Anyone need help?"
"No... No! Don't leave me, Anna!" The man’s voice raised to a fevered pitch.
Fergus closed his eyes and said a quick prayer, guessing what was happening inside this humble home.
"Should we go?" Iris asked, looking uncomfortable since they could hear young children crying besides an adult now.
"No. We'll wait until someone comes to the door. Go back into the wagon to get out of this cold wind." Fergus settled against the sod wall, knowing it could be a while before the family inside acknowledged them. He pulled his coat collar up to keep the wind from blowing on his neck.
"Maybe they want to be left alone?" Iris countered again.
"Maybe, but I need to stay and talk with them first to be sure."
Iris nodded before climbing the back steps of the wagon and going inside it, leaving Fergus to wonder what was going on inside the little dugout.
Fergus' chest tightened with the dreaded fear the family was about to lose a family member, if it hadn't happened already. If the worst had happened to the family, as he feared, they would be in shock and could use a hand to help with the burial and service.
He and his brothers started digging graves in the Clear Creek cemetery as soon as they could handle the task, unless the ground was frozen. When they were still young boys, if they couldn't dig through the winter ground, the blacksmith came out with his pickax and broke through the frozen topsoil for them. After a few years, the four older Reagan boys worked as a team to dig the six-foot hole they needed for a casket. Between Angus' precise details of width, depth, and square corners and Mack's brute strength, they always had the grave dug in time for the service, no matter the time or season.
Mack was still in charge of the cemetery at home, building simple caskets if needed, besides digging the graves.
If need be, Fergus could conduct a graveside service since he'd heard it repeated so many times by his father. The homestead was isolated, a long ways from a town, so Fergus bet any deceased would be buried on the property.
Fergus stomped his feet and swung his arms around trying to warm up. He turned toward the wagon, thinking he should go inside for a while; when the heavy plank door creaked open an inch.
He looked through the open crack, expecting to see a man, then had to trail his sight down to find a young boy, probably not even five or six years old, staring up at him.
"I'm Fergus Reagan, a photographer going through the area. Does your father need any help? I'm also the son of a preacher." Fergus added the last bit of information so the family knew he could be of help in their hour of need.
"Let him in, Jeb," a hoarse voice croaked from the back of the dugout.
Fergus opened the door wider so he could slip in without letting too much cold air into their home. He pulled his hat off his head while searching the depths of the interior.
The privacy blanket was pulled away from the bed in the corner. A woman lay motionless in the middle of the bed, a swaddled baby, also stock still, laid on the woman's stomach.
The grief-stricken man held a tow-headed toddler, squirming to get down on the bed beside his mother.
"I'm sorry for your loss, sir. If I can be of any assistance, please let me know. I can dig the grave and conduct a burial service for your departed."
"Who are you?" the man asked, and Fergus realized he hadn't heard his introduction at the door.
"I'm Fergus Reagan, a photographer from Kansas. My wife and I were driving home from working in Nebraska. I stopped to see if we could buy some grain and hay for our horse."
Fergus wasn't sure if the man heard him since he turned back to stare at his wife and infant.
"Pa, I hungry. When’s Ma gonna feed us?" The lad who answered the door whined while he tugged on his father's pant leg. Fergus guessed the children hadn't eaten for a while with the woman in labor, then her sudden death.
"Sir, we're traveling in a sheepherder's wagon. It has a stove in it so we can keep warm and cook our meals. If you'd like, I can take your children out to the wagon and my wife can feed them. Give you time alone with your wife..."
The man nodded, but he still stood by the bed, clutching the toddler against his chest.
Fergus bent over to talk to the older boy. "It's cold outside. Where's your coats?"
"By the door," the boy pointed to the tiny coats hanging on a hook on the wall.
Fergus retrieved them, and then held out the larger coat to the boy to put on. "Let's get these on and we'll go get some food. What's your names?"
"I'm Jeb, and my little brother is James."
"What's your last name?"
"Arnold."
"Well, nice to meet you Jeb Arnold." Fergus held out the toddler's coat as he talked, helping the father put the coat on his child.
Fergus met the man's eyes and asked, "Want me to take the boy, or do you want to walk the children out to the wagon so you know where they are?"
Mr. Arnold looked down at his wife a second before answering. "I'll take them outside so I know they’re safe."
Fergus opened the dugout's door and ushered the shocked family out into the cold wind and over to the nearby wagon.
"Missy, we have company coming in," Fergus called as he reached for the door handle and opened it to hustle the children out of the cold.
Iris moved back by the stove when Fergus lifted Jeb into the wagon, then motioned for Mr. Arnold to step in with his other child. It was close quarters when Fergus shut the door behind him.
"Missy, this is Mr. Arnold and his so
ns Jeb and James. Can you heat up some stew for the boys and feed them...while Mr. Arnold and I are occupied?"
Iris' eyes widened when she glanced at the grieving man, but she nodded she'd take care of the boys.
“Thank you, Missy,” Fergus acknowledged her help while opening the door outside again. “Mr. Arnold, want to come back to your home now so we can talk?”
The man hesitated a few long seconds before following him back to the dugout. They needed to discuss what to do next and there was no use doing it out in the cold, or in front of the boys.
Fergus guided the man to sit on a chair at the table away from the view of the bed. It would help the dreaded conversation if he didn't have to look at his lost loved ones.
"Mr. Arnold, do you have family or neighbors nearby? I'd be glad to ride out and bring them back here."
"No one around to notify. We just moved here last summer."
He looked for a coffee pot on the stove but there was none. Fergus didn't know if the man would drink coffee right now, but it would help take the chill off their bodies.
"Where's your coffee beans, sir? I'll grind them and make a fresh pot of coffee for us."
Arnold pointed at a metal canister on the shelf next to the grinder and Fergus started the process of making coffee.
He worked in silence as the man buried his face in his hands and wept. He thought of the advice his parents had instilled in him when consoling a family after a death. Be there to listen. Be a shoulder to cry on. Carry the burden of decisions for them if you can.
"Do you want the burial to be here or the nearest church cemetery?"
"Here. Nearest town is hours away."
"I can dig the grave so you can spend time with your wife. Do you have a preference where I dig?" Hopefully there weren't already other graves on their homestead.
"I don't know...I can't believe Anna's gone!"
"I'll figure out a nice spot, sir." Fergus patted his shoulder before turning back to fill hot water from the stove's reservoir into the coffee pot.
Hopefully Iris was coping with the boy's supper and questions. They didn't have time to talk about what had happened with their mother, but the little boys would ask enough questions that Iris would figure it out.
"Could you take a photograph of my wife and baby before we bury them?"
Fergus had his back to the man when he asked the question and he tried not to react in a negative way. So far, being a new photographer, he'd only done two death photos, but there would be more in his future. It was part of the business.
"Of course. I'd be honored, Mr. Arnold."
"I don't have much money, but I..."
"We could trade for hay and oats if you have it."
Mr. Arnold nodded; relieved he could afford an exchange.
"I'd have to mail the photograph back to you later. I don't have my developing supplies along this trip."
"Could your wife fix Anna’s hair and clothing? She doesn't look like herself..."
Fergus prayed Iris could and assured the man his wife would do it.
"Do you have any lumber I could use to build a coffin?"
"In the barn..." The man's voice broke again with emotion.
Fergus wished the coffee were ready to have a cup before he went back out in the cold, but he had several tasks to do while they still had daylight.
"I'll talk to my wife so she knows we'll be...taking a family portrait. When you're ready, go over to our wagon and stay with your boys and she can come in here and take care of your wife."
Fergus squeezed the man's shoulder again to give him comfort. How many times had he seen his father do the same thing? His father had given countless shoulder pats to grieving men and his mother had given countless comforting hugs to sobbing women.
Fergus took a deep breath when he stepped back out in the cold wind. He was so glad loving adults had raised him. So many children weren't as lucky, thinking of Iris' background, and the two boys who just lost their mother.
***
Iris turned toward the door when she heard three soft raps on the door. She glanced at the sleeping boys on the bed, but they hadn't wakened at the sound.
She was stunned when the boys were ushered into the tight quarters of the wagon with the men, and then at a loss of what to do with them when the men left.
The oldest boy was crying, knowing that something was wrong with his mother, and the toddler chimed in with his own tears, even though he had no clue.
Why won't Mama wake up? What do you say when a sobbing child asks you that question?
Iris sat down on the bed and the children crawled up on her lap, clinging to her while soaking her dress front with their tears and runny noses.
Apparently, it didn't matter that Iris was a stranger to the boys as long as she gave them comfort.
The promise of crackers smeared with butter distracted them long enough so Iris could wipe their faces with a damp washcloth and feed both of them a few spoonful’s of stew. Iris then tucked them under the covers in the bed, not knowing how long they'd be staying with her.
Fergus stepped into the wagon and softly closed the door, mindful of the sleeping boys.
He motioned her to come to the back end of the wagon to talk, and then leaned over to talk directly in her left ear.
"Mrs. Arnold died giving birth. Her baby girl was stillborn," Fergus whispered words sent a chill down her back.
"Oh no," she whispered back, feeling terrible for the man and his young sons.
"He has no family to help him, so I'll build the casket and dig the grave."
She wasn't surprised Fergus offered to help the family, because he was an honorable and sincere man. He'd already proved that by helping her.
"Mr. Arnold would like me to take their portrait before the two are buried though. He requested you prepare the bodies." Fergus' face was inches from hers, staring into her eyes. "Can you do that?"
Prepare a body for burial? Iris swallowed hard thinking of moving a limp dead body around. She'd never been involved with preparing a body for burial. The undertaker in their town had always done it.
"What...what would I need to do?"
"Put on Mrs. Arnold's best dress, fix her hair. Make her look loved one last time so the family remembers her at her best."
Iris had never met this woman but felt so sorry for the ones she was leaving behind. Death never discriminated. Why was she spared from her fall, and the mother of these two little boys taken instead?
Chapter 7
"You've been blessed with a real talent, Iris. You eased the man's grief today and you gave the boys a wonderful memory of their mother."
Iris blushed as Fergus helped her climb up to the wagon's seat. She'd always been able to draw so she didn't think anything of it.
After tending to the woman's body and keeping the boys in the wagon while the men dug the grave, she'd pulled out paper and ink from one of the wagon's drawers. Iris had studied the woman's face, then blank of any expression, but she thought how happy the mother must have been at times with her attentive husband and adorable boys. If the woman hadn't died giving birth, what would the family look like in the future?
Iris drew the woman with a radiant smile, dressed in her best dress, sitting in a chair, holding her smiling baby upright on her lap. She made the baby look about six months old to give the family a glimpse of their future if the child had lived.
The husband was behind the chair, looking over his wife's shoulder, proud of his family. Iris drew one of his hands on his wife's shoulder so he could feel the connection when he studied the drawing. The boys in profile, the older kneeling, and the toddler standing on either side their mother's chair, each reverently in awe as their baby sister grasped one of each of their hands.
The idea of her portrait was to give them a feeling of being connected forever, even though death had robbed them of it.
It was dusk before Mr. Arnold was ready to let go of his wife. Fergus wrapped the woman in their wedding quilt, and g
ently laid her in the coffin. Iris had dressed the baby in a soft gown and wrapped it in the little blanket the mother had recently made for it. After Mr. Arnold kissed his daughter goodbye, Fergus tucked the baby beside her mother, pulling her arm around the baby so she would embrace and protect their child forever.
Fergus solemnly spoke a moving burial service, compassionate even though he had never met the woman and child alive. He also sang “Amazing Grace” at the end of the service.
Light snow was starting to dance in the sky as the men covered the grave with earth. It wasn't falling straight down, just taking its time to float.
"Boys, your mother is already in heaven sprinkling her angel love on you. Whenever there's dancing snowflakes, you know she's thinking of you," Fergus had told Jeb and James.
She and Mr. Arnold had stared stock still, surprised by Fergus' announcement, but it put immediate smiles on the boys faces as they jumped around, faces up and arms outstretched to catch the flakes of their mother's love.
They had spent the evening in the dugout with the family. Iris preparing a meal, then tucking the boys into their bed, telling them a bedtime story about her favorite horse growing up until they fell asleep. She stayed behind the blanket partition as Fergus and Mr. Arnold quietly talked over an hour. Fergus listened, gave advice, just as she imagined his father would have done for the grieving man.
"I hope my drawing gave them some comfort, but you're the one who helped Mr. Arnold get through last night," Iris shyly complimented Fergus as he climbed onto the wagon seat beside her. Fergus tucked the heavy wool blanket around their laps before picking up the reins to leave the Arnold homestead.
"Just doing what I was taught and what needed to be done."
But it delayed their journey, setting them back two days, and now it was lightly snowing as the horse pulled the wagon away from the rough dwelling.
"I couldn't leave Mr. Arnold until he was able to take care of his boys. It will be rough on all of them, but the burial and final goodbyes are always the hardest."
"You think he'll stay out there by himself?" Iris looked back at the home, seeing the oldest boy waving from the single window by the dugout's door.
Grooms with Honor Series, Books 1-3 Page 19
