Lorcan, on the other hand, was having none of it. The man held still about as well as a feather in a windstorm. He kept pacing back and forth in front of the bunkhouse, hands clasped behind his back. It put Jachym in mind of an anxious man on guard duty, except there wasn't a thing for Lorcan to guard.
“You should sit down. You're going to be here for a while,” Doc Ritchie called to him.
The mayor shook his head. “I can't. What am I going to do sitting? Then I'll be anxious and still. Anxious and moving isn't that terrible, at least.”
“She's in good hands. Just try to relax.”
“I should be there with her. If something goes wrong...” Lorcan trailed off, a pained look on his face.
“It's indecent. I'm a doctor and I can hardly stand being in the room when it happens.” Ritchie rubbed a hand over his face. “Let women do what women do best. You'll only get in the way.”
“How do you think I'd get in the way? I'd only be there to hold her hand.”
The doctor hesitated, thinking, then made a vague gesture. “Men want to fix things when we see someone we love suffering, and that means fathers get in the way. It's traditional for a reason.”
“Tradition can hang,” Lorcan snapped, then stomped off toward the house.
Jachym watched him go, wondering if the women would throw him right back out. But he went in with no fanfare and the minutes ticked by in silence. When Pastor Whitney settled down next to him on the step, his toddler son now snoring quietly, Jachym finally took his eyes off of the house.
“The doctor is right. It's indecent for the father to be there,” he said.
“Is it?” Matthieu Whitney cocked his head. “Who do you think delivered Eve's children?”
“That's hardly the same thing.” Jachym rubbed his hands over his face with a sigh. All he'd wanted was a pleasant little party, to meet some of the influential people of the town and celebrate the success of his growing ranch. Instead he had a woman giving birth in his house. “As the doctor said, it's traditional for a reason.”
“There are good traditions and bad traditions. The trouble is figuring out which is which.”
Jachym shook his head. The pastor's words perfectly encapsulated what he'd been struggling with since coming to America, but especially since he'd brought Esther into his life. “How can you decide which is good and which is bad? They're traditions. To honor your history, to keep your culture alive, you follow tradition.”
“And what good is a culture?”
“What?” Jachym stared at the pastor in silence for a moment, struggling with the question. It hadn't been a particularly complex sentence, nor did it sound like idiom, so he was fairly certain he wasn't missing anything in it because of the language barrier. It simply made no sense to him. “Do you think culture is useless?”
“I didn't say that. In serving my flock, I try to help all of you grow and come to your own answers, so I ask questions at times. Tell me what you think culture is for.”
“It's not for anything, though. It's the life you have, the entire world you exist in. You might as well ask a fish what the sea is for.”
“Ah.” Matthieu grinned, eyes lighting up. “But the sea does something for the fish, doesn't it? A fish dies without it.”
“Of course, yes. And without your culture, without honoring tradition, you're like a fish not in the water.”
“A fish out of water,” the pastor said, as though he were correcting him.
Jachym frowned. “Yes, that's what I said.”
“A fish will die without the water, but have you seen what happens to the streams that get poisoned from mining?”
“The fish die in the water and no one can drink it,” Jachym agreed. “A very stupid thing to do.”
“So a smart fish, a fish who doesn't want to die, should ensure his water suits him.”
Finally, Jachym saw a glimmer of where the pastor was taking the bizarre conversation. “Culture should be to the benefit of the people within it, and not just existing to exist?”
“I think so, yes. If a tradition hurts people, what good is it? If a culture says it's all right to do something terrible, then that culture is wrong. It wasn't that long ago this country's culture turned a blind eye to slavery.”
He hadn't lived in America at the time, but it was clear that scars ran deeply from that time. It hadn't escaped Jachym that the people of Sweet Town had to work hard to push back against that painful history, to make a place of hope and tolerance that he'd rarely seen outside of brief glimmers. He looked down, digging up a loose rock from the soil with the toe of his boot. “I don't know that I could ever go against tradition as strongly as some of you.”
Matthieu chuckled and gave a little nod of his head toward the house. “Oh, I think you're far more revolutionary than you give yourself credit for.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Bridget had finally quit her infernal pacing and was laying on her side in Jack’s bed. Her eyes were closed but Esther could tell when another pain rolled over her friend’s belly because she breathed a little deeper, blowing out the air with force. Her forehead was damp with perspiration and her hair was becoming tangled where it had come loose. Esther crawled up onto the bed behind Bridget and slowly and gently combed out her hair and braided it. She ran a cool, damp, piece of toweling across the laboring woman’s face and held a cup of water to her lips.
Occasionally Esther looked at Mika’s face, searching her features for some sign of how things were going, but the midwife’s face looked serene, giving away nothing.
Beulah had dragged a rocking chair in from the sitting room and was slowly moving it back and forth, her hands resting on her own expanded middle. The silence was oppressive and Esther felt like she’d been in the room for hours, but a glance at the clock on the bedside table revealed it had been less than an hour.
Lore had been kneeling by the bed, holding both of his wife’s hands, his forehead resting against hers. He got up and stretched and pointed out the door. Esther assumed he had to visit the outhouse and watched him leave the room.
She wished she could be still and quiet like the other women. They seemed to have some inner fortitude that she herself lacked. Her legs were cramping up from being in the same position so long and while she didn’t want to disturb her friend, she had to get up and stretch before she went mad. Suddenly Bridget reached up and grabbed Esther’s hand where it was stroking her forehead.
“Esther,” she whispered, licking her dry lips.
Esther put the cup of water to her mouth and let her take a sip.
“Listen,” she said as soon as she had drunk. “If anything happens to me, promise me you’ll look after Lore and my babies.”
“What? Me? No, there are other women in town who have more experience, and who are more accepted.”
Bridget’s nails dug into Esther’s hand with a surprising force. “No, you. You have a good heart, and you’re smart and strong. Lore’s a handful, but he’s a decent man and he’ll need help.”
“Stop it,” Esther said hoarsely, leaning down until her face was right up next to Bridget’s. “Nothing is going to happen to you.”
“My mother almost died. I was there. They’d left me in charge but I was a child and I didn’t know what to do.”
“You mean while she was having a baby?”
Bridget nodded, pausing while she surrendered to a contraction. “Yes, I was the only one there and she nearly bled to death. It was terrifying.”
“You listen to me right now, if your mother bled like a stuck pig and you were the only one there, some poor kid trying her best but knowing nothing, and she lived, why would you think anything bad would happen to you while you’re here with a fine and experienced midwife and two grown women? Huh? Just stop talking like that. I’m not going to take care of your husband and children because you’ll be doing that.”
A small smile graced Bridget’s face and she seemed to relax. Esther didn’t know where she had found th
e courage to speak so boldly but it must have been the right thing to say.
Lore came back into the room and returned to his previous position of kneeling by the bed.
Suddenly Bridget’s eyes popped open wide and looking at no one she moaned, “I’m pushing!”
***
The room was tidy, Bridget was cleaned up and in a fresh nightgown of Esther’s, and Lore was laying next to his wife in the big bed. Between them nestled two tiny bundles, a boy and a girl, both sporting a rooster comb of red hair the same color as their mother’s.
Esther had never seen a grown man cry before. At least not a sober one. Watching Lore express his love for Bridget had been heartwarming but a little part of her just felt jealous.
Turning away from the tender scene, Esther gathered up the soiled linens and carried them into the kitchen where she would bag them and send them to town to be washed by one of the girls working in the laundry.
While watching her friend give birth she’d been struck with the sacredness of it. It was as though women had been given the holy job of being a doorway from heaven to this world. Certainly it looked hard, but usually things that were worth anything at all were difficult, otherwise no one would count their value and they would be trivialized. She hoped someday she would have the honor of being able to bring a child into this world.
While the babies were being born, the sun had set. She stepped out onto the back stoop and looked up at the stars. It was cold but instead of being uncomfortable, it was refreshing and she breathed deeply.
Beulah stepped out and stopped next to her for a moment. “Watching Bridget deliver her twins makes me excited to have my own baby.”
Esther was surprised. She would think watching someone give birth so close to when you had to do it yourself might be a little too real. “When will that be?” she asked politely.
“Next month, I think. My first baby was born under less than ideal circumstances. I was frightened and basically alone. This time will be so much better. Mika will be there as well as my husband.”
“If there is anything I can do for you, you let me know, will you? Jack has told me some of the stories of being a soldier and how the men formed close friendships after going through harrowing trials. I feel like now that we’ve been to a birth together we’re sisters, in somewhat the same way.”
Beulah smiled. “Yes, that’s it exactly, only not so scary. Lore has told me stories of the Civil war, too.” They stood that way, silent for a moment. “You know, I don’t judge you.”
Esther looked at her in surprise. “Well, then you are one of the very few.”
“I can’t speak as to what other folks are thinking, but in my case, I’m just concerned about the moral well being of our town. I’ve had my own trials, and had to do some things that maybe weren’t so good, but I did them to survive. I understand that. But now, you don’t have to do that any more.”
“You’re right, I don’t. I’m glad to have this job as a housekeeper. There’s nothing going on here that shouldn’t be. But I do think it’s interesting that I would be to blame if there were and not Jack.”
“Just because you haven’t overheard those conversations doesn’t mean my husband hasn’t said some of the same things to Jack.”
Esther could feel her hackles rising. She knew it wasn’t the same. There was a big difference between being a temptress and the one being led astray. “If I ever see some poor girl trying to survive but not knowing how, debased by injustice, I won’t just stand by and watch and judge. I’ll help her.”
“Do you feel like there was more the town could have done for you?”
Esther thought about it. “Mika helped me get the job at the laundry after I was attacked, but the other girls, they had no choice. That’s a good question you asked and I will think about an intelligent answer.” She stepped from the stoop edge onto the dusty farmyard path.
Beulah reached out and grasped Esther’s arm, stopping her. “One last thing. My husband is fond of saying that it’s not enough to not sin. We should avoid even the appearance of it as well. Your and Jack’s behavior looks...” she paused searching for a word. “Immoral.
At the bunkhouse Beulah’s husband, Matthieu and Mika’s husband, Doc were the only guests left. The men, guests and hands alike, were sitting around the table playing a game of cards. Jack stood as soon as Esther came in, his eyebrows raised in question.
“Everything went well. You fellows might as well make yourselves at home inside with your wives. The Whitneys can have my room, and Doc, if you don’t mind sleeping on the sofa in the sitting room I would guess Mika will be watching over Bridget for the night. But Jack you’ll have to continue staying out here. They took over your room.”
He nodded. “That’s fine. All my things are out here already. But where will you sleep?”
“I’ll make a pad in the kitchen. It will be fine.”
Beulah had come into the bunkhouse behind Esther and overheard the conversation. “You mean he really isn’t sleeping in the house with you?”
Esther whipped around. “Even after all we have both said on this subject you still didn’t believe us?” She shook her head and pushed past the pastor’s wife.
Matthieu stood and took a step toward her. “Esther, you have to understand…”
She waved her hand in the air as if his words were chalkdust she could erase. “Actually, I don’t have to understand. I just have to take care of me.” She turned around and walked out, her shoulders bowed under the weight of their censure, her heart heavy with the burden of their judgment.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Jachym was up before the sun, helping Froggy with the final touches on the chuck wagon. Moving cattle was long, slow work. A skilled man with access to fresh horses could cover seventy-five miles in a day, but moving cattle without leaving them half-starved might mean traveling no more than fifteen miles a day. If things went poorly, they could be out there driving cattle for close to two weeks. The thought made Jachym a little sick. Until they saw home again, their food would be from Froggy's wagon, consisting largely of beans and dried beef. The difficulty of getting live, healthy cattle up into the Dakota Territory without a good railhead meant that the beef would always go for a good price, but the effort involved was exhausting.
Cattle didn't do well in the frigid winters near the Black Hills, Jachym knew. Not trusting his own skills or those of his former foreman, he'd cut his herd down in size as much as possible going into winter, relying more on this purchase in the spring than keeping his own steady herd because of his limitations. It felt more like factory work than anything he truly enjoyed about the out of doors and caring for animals. He looked toward the still, quiet house, thinking of what Esther had said about his talents. What if he just sold it all? The government contract added a lot of value to the ranch. He could do something smaller, more enjoyable.
“All right, I'm a lot slower than you lot for this leg of it, so I'll meet you around suppertime,” Froggy said, tipping his hat to Jachym before he got the wagon moving.
The trip down to Nebraska would likely only take them a few days, assuming his hired men weren't terrible riders. Which, Jachym had to admit to himself, was always a possibility. He was starting to feel like a tightrope walker balancing plates on his head and, worst of all, he'd been the one to stack them up there. The government contract and all the possibilities of ranching where no one else had cattle had seemed like such a straightforward, simple investment, but it chafed like a shoe that didn't fit quite right.
Before the men were up, the Whitneys, those girls who worked for Mrs. O'Cuinn, and Doc Ritchie came out to the farmyard. He nodded a greeting to all of them. “Morning. Are you going back to town?”
Doc Ritchie pulled out his pocket watch to eye it with a frown. “Yes. I have appointments today I can't miss, and Mrs. O'Cuinn expressed concern about ensuring her hired girls knew to run the laundry without her.”
“What about your wife?”
�
�Mika's staying to keep an eye on Bridget and the babies,” Esther called from the doorway. He turned to watch her come across the yard with her basket for collecting eggs. Just that simple domestic sight sent an odd rush of warmth through him. She'd settled into the ranch so quickly, as though she'd always belonged there. Everything that didn't feel quite right about the place was better with her there.
“I'm glad you won't be alone, at least.”
She drew her brows together. “Why would I be alone?”
“Because I'm going on the cattle drive.”
Dismay slid across her face like a cloud passing before the sun. Egg collecting abandoned for the moment, she came over to his side. “I wish you wouldn't,” she confessed in a whisper.
“Why?” He started to reach out to lay a hand on her shoulder, but stopped himself. Doing that in front of the pastor and his wife likely wasn't wise. “It's not for long and it's good for me to be with them, to make these fools listen to me.”
“I don't want you to go. It's going to be strange here, without you.” She crossed her arms tightly, tugging her shawl in closer.
“I'll leave Ipp, so you won't be alone. I imagine Mayor O'Cuinn will be here most of the time until his wife and children are ready to be moved.”
“That's not what I mean, Jack,” she admonished, but with a gentle smile. “So long as I kept my place in the laundry, things seemed all right, but now that I've stepped out of it...” She trailed off, casting a guilty glance in the direction of Pastor Whitney and his family.
She didn't appear inclined to say more, not with witnesses around, but he could guess at where she was hinting. From what she'd said, he guessed that she was convinced she'd never fit in anywhere in the town, not if she wanted to be anything other than a ruined woman hidden in a dark and noisy shed full of machinery and dirty clothes. The wild notion of taking her with him on the drive hit him, but he quickly pushed it away as the idiocy it obviously was. However non-traditional Pastor Whitney thought he was, he wasn't that much of an anarchist.
Rancher's Woman Page 8
