By now, maybe the worthless young men who dogged her had gone. She opened the door slowly and peeked out. No sign of those lazy Jensens or Winfields. They’d probably gone drinking in the woods.
She hitched their pony, Sunny, to the cart and drove to Widow Abbot’s. With the two large trunks she purchased, there was no room for her to ride. She balanced the valise on the larger pieces and walked her pony home.
Near the cabin the Jensen and Winfield boys surrounded her. She dared not show fear with these sorry excuses for humans or they’d taunt her relentlessly. They might even do her harm.
Otto Jensen nudged her. The overpowering odor of liquor surrounding his sweating, unwashed body almost gagged her. “What you got in them trunks?”
She stepped away to give herself some air. “Not that it’s any of your business, Otto, but they’re empty.”
Rufe Winfield danced a little jig beside her. “I bet you’re gonna load your granny’s gold in ’em.”
Rufe’s brother Dexter rubbed his hands together. “Whoee, think how much gold there must be to fill these.”
Prudence had tolerated these idiotic louts long enough. “Dexter, when Granny took care of your pa’s hurt shoulder, what did he pay her?”
Dexter puffed up his chest. “Pa gave her his best hen.”
“Otto, when Granny helped deliver your baby brother, what was she paid?” That had been child number fourteen for the Jensen family, who seemed better at producing children than income.
Otto scratched his head and scrunched up his porcine face. “As I ’member, Pa give her a bushel o’ turnips.”
Prudence kept hold of Sunny’s reins but she fisted her hands at her hips. “Since everyone around here except the McGees and Frasers pay in food, how can you think Granny accumulated gold? The few coins we get go to buy flour and meal and coffee.”
The four young men stared at her as if she’d spoken a foreign language. Indeed, common sense was foreign to them. She set Sunny walking toward home again.
Otto persisted, his face screwed into a frown. “Then why does she need them trunks?”
“She wants me to pack away our family’s good quilts. Some are old and mean a lot to Granny and me. My mama made two of them and we don’t want them getting dirty or mouse-eaten.”
Dexter leaned over the seat. “You can’t get a quilt in that there valise.”
“But Granny or I can carry healing herbs and such when we go see a body that’s ailing.”
She needed to distract them before they recalled she already had a valise for herbs. “Say, why aren’t you four working? There’s things need doing around the cabin if you’re out of work.”
Work was the magic word. Nothing put fear in the four worthless young men like being asked to do honest labor. They hemmed and hawed as they backed up then turned to speed into the woods where they had a still.
After wrestling the luggage into the cabin, she unhitched Sunny. Prudence took special care to give him a good rubdown before turning him loose in the small pasture behind the cabin. Inside her home, she dragged the trunks and left scuff marks on the hard-packed dirt floor.
She’d sweep again later. “What do you want in these, Granny?”
Her first time out of bed in a week except to use the chamber pot, Granny hobbled into the room moving as if each step pained her entire body. She lowered herself slowly to the rocker and pointed with her cane. “Start with the best quilts. Roll them as tight as you can so they don’t take up too much room.”
Prudence thought at least she hadn’t lied to the men who’d stopped her. Over the years, her family had used up most of their bedding. There were six special quilts they’d saved. She divided them between the two trunks.
“Now what shall I pack, Granny?”
“Everything that was your mama’s.” She used her cane to point to the shelf over the fireplace. “Add the little portraits of your grandfather and me that we had painted when we were courting and the ones of your mama and pa. Don’t forget the family Bible.”
“I wouldn’t leave it. I like to look back at the names recorded of births and deaths and marriages.”
“Now, Pru, don’t you forget to read the Scriptures and not just those family names.”
“I won’t and I’ll go to church every Sunday, too.”
“Put in anything you don’t want torn up when I’m dead and you’ve gone. Add all the herbs we’ve dried. In the valise, put what you’ll need on a trip so you don’t have to open the trunks. Get the cash in the bean pot and store some of it in a trunk and the rest in your purse.”
Prudence longed to sit with her head on Granny’s lap—or curl into a ball on her own pallet and weep. How could she leave her sweet grandmother and the only home she’d ever known? Yet, the thought of living here for the rest of her life was too depressing to consider. Without Granny, she couldn’t bear this place.
She forced herself to add one thing after another to the trunks until they were filled. To the valise, she added her other two dresses, spare petticoat, unmentionables, and her toiletries. When she’d packed her herbs and tinctures into the trunk, she’d saved out a couple of herbs for her trip. In the event she had a headache or upset stomach, she included those in the valise.
“What shall I do now?”
“Nothing. Now we wait. I can tell it won’t be long, Pru. I felt this terrible thing growing inside me for a while.” Bent almost double, Granny shuffled back to the other room.
Prudence followed her and helped her into bed then covered her gently. “I won’t know what to do without you to guide me. In Richmond, they might not need another midwife and healer.”
“You’re smart. You’ll find a place where you fit in and maybe a good man also. That’s what I hope for you, that you marry a man who will love you as much as you deserve.”
Doubt shrouded Prudence. Was there such a man? Would she ever find a place where she belonged?
Lorraine Page 13
