All She Left Behind

by Jane Kirkpatrick

  22

  Weaving New Fabric

  Jennie started to tell Ariyah and Peleg that she and Josiah planned to marry in the new decade, but Ariyah stopped her. “We both wondered how long it might be.”

  “How did you even think that? We didn’t know ourselves until earlier today.”

  “The way you spoke about him. And Peleg ran into Josiah a few days ago, and all you could talk about was how helpful Jennie was being.” She shook her finger at Josiah. He started to speak, but she interrupted him. “Perhaps you didn’t know. Men are blind, aren’t they, Peleg?”

  Her husband shook his head and smiled. “Blind. Sí. And deaf, as you tell me. But we pay attention.” He said the last word like a good Spaniard, atención. “I could interest you in a cigar, to cel-e-brate?” Josiah declined and Ariyah took over the conversation again, speaking now of children, of her wanting Jennie to come stay with them when her time got closer. “The bebé is to arrive in abril,” Peleg told them. “After, we will move to new casa. I have convinced her.”

  Ariyah blushed. “He wants our own household, but I like my parents close.”

  “Your parents, they can visit us any time. You like the house I pick for us, sí?” She nodded and he bent to kiss her forehead, brushed the blonde braids with his lips before turning back to Jennie and Josiah wishing them “mucho happiness and many niños.”

  The talk turned to politics and whether Oregon would ratify the Fifteenth Amendment. Oregon citizens had failed to ratify the Fourteenth, giving Negroes citizenship. Oregon had not been kind to people of color. Jennie wondered about Peleg, with his darker Spanish complexion, but it wasn’t something to discuss even with friends. Josiah supported ratification, as did Jennie’s father. Both even said women ought to vote, but Jennie suspected that was decades away. She might not live to see it.

  It was a companionable evening and Jennie realized how pleasurable the interactions were between men and women speaking together where there was no fear of someone overimbibing in liquor or the worry over how to make amends for unintended hurts. She would like being part of this kind of couple.

  On the return walk home, snowflakes danced on her fingertip cape, melted on Josiah’s hat brim. “Let’s do speak of children now,” Jennie said.

  “Good.” Josiah squeezed her arm linked in his. With the other hand he carried a lantern, and the light reflected off her taffeta skirt. A night owl hooted.

  “Would you really want another family? I mean—”

  “At my age?”

  “No, given that you have a family already, and so do I. There are orphans we could help if we wish to hear the sounds of gurgling or manage wet napkins.”

  “I’ll do what you would like. But as for me, I would love to have children with you, hold them in my arms, watch them grow up, with you.” He swung the lantern, spreading a sparkle of light against the boardwalk and a shrub of mountain holly, as Lewis and Clark called it. Waxy green, purple berries, it usually grew beside creeks or in the mountains. Someone had transplanted it perhaps for the yellow dye that came from its bark. She wondered how it would fare come spring. Transplants didn’t always take.

  “It was the very best part of marriage for me, raising a family,” Josiah continued.

  Jennie thought about the death of his firstborn; of her own loss. With great love of wanting a child came the risk of losing. But that would be so loving an orphan too. Blending a family, like a transplant, didn’t always work either and they’d be doing that if they took in an orphan or tried for their own. She did long for another child, had left that wish behind—like so many others—until now.

  “And there is that possibility of a girl.”

  “Let’s see what happens,” Jennie said. “Let nature take its course. After you’ve spoken to your children and after I’ve had time to prepare Douglas for his newest family member, you. Then we’ll decide if it’s worth the risk.”

  “Every step forward is.”

  Jennie nodded. “My father once told me, a carriage is safest in the livery stable, but a carriage isn’t built for that sedentary place. It’s built to roll upon the roads to unknown places.”

  “And on to unknown trails, making new ones.”

  Jennie planned to work at the millinery through Epiphany, staying with Ariyah and Peleg until her parents moved to Salem. Miss Priscilla never came by again and Millie never raised the issue, apparently happy with Jennie’s ability to match her clients’ interests to accessories in her shop. Jennie was glad for both the money and the work to keep her mind from missing Josiah. Now that she’d opened up this place inside her heart, she worried something might happen to him before they wed. Would he eat well without her there? Yes, Chen would see to that. Josiah was older than Jennie; sixty-three if she calculated correctly. Was he as healthy as he looked, as he acted? Then she’d chastise herself: she wasn’t his caretaker. She was his fiancée. She pondered about separating those roles out but let herself live with the uncertainty. They had each other to talk things through when they met together again. She wasn’t alone.

  Being among Millie’s embroidered handkerchiefs with their delicate flowers, the Irish linens, the Belgium lace, were all lovely distractions. New Year’s came and went and they did not see each other. She’d forgotten that she could long for someone so much; she was embarrassed that she did. She was a schoolgirl who sent perfumed letters to him to arrive on his birthday, January 14, singing in the rain beneath her umbrella as she walked to the post.

  She stayed on longer with Ariyah, her parents delaying their move to a month with “less rain, more sunshine breaks.” Their new home had an orchard and a field that needed stumps burned out where her father could work out his frustrations from his legislative time. A large porch with a railing surrounded the board house on three sides. Four large bedrooms, big enough for a family to reside in, marked the second floor on either side of a stairwell. “We’ll let Douglas choose which bedroom will be yours,” her mother said when the appointed time arrived.

  Douglas chose a room that looked out over the orchard. They viewed the apple trees through one of the long windows on either side of the fireplace that harbored a crackling fire.

  “This is a good choice.”

  “I like it, Mother,” Douglas said. He sounded so formal. Then, “Did you bring me a candy?”

  “I did.” She gave him a paper cone he unwrapped and popped the mint into his mouth. Jennie decided to broach the subject of her heart. “Soon I won’t be bringing you a candy every time I see you because I’ll be seeing you every day. Come, sit beside me.” She patted the bed, wondering for the one hundredth time how to tell him. She hadn’t yet told her parents, but somehow it seemed best to let Douglas know first of all. “I have news for you. In a little while, we will live in a different house, in Salem, the capital city, where Grandpa does his work in the legislature so you’ll still see him from time to time.”

  “We lived there before.”

  “We did!” She was surprised he remembered Salem.

  “When Papa was with us. Will he be there?”

  “In Salem? Maybe, but not in our house.”

  “Why not?” Douglas was six years old already and full of questions. He lifted those big green eyes to hers.

  “Your father decided we would be better off without him living with us. You remember he sometimes consumed alcohol too much?” Douglas nodded. She could smell the peppermint from his candy on his breath. A tiny piece of white had flaked onto his lip. She reached to wipe it with her finger, but he moved his head back so she couldn’t. Her finger kissed the air.

  “I remember.”

  “Yes. And when he did that, drank too much, he didn’t always make good decisions. He did things he later regretted.” Is that a lie, about his regrets? “But someone else will be living in that house with us. Do you remember Mr. Parrish?”

  Douglas frowned.

  “He calls you Mr. Pickett and shakes your hand. It’s where I’ve worked.”

&
nbsp; “He has a white beard like St. Nicholas?”

  “I suppose it is a bit like that. But his hair is dark brown.” Why did I say that?

  “Why will he live in our house?”

  “Because he will be my husband and your stepfather.”

  Douglas pooched his lower lip out. “God won’t like it.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “God likes me living with Paw-Paw.”

  “Mr. Parrish is a good man, a pastor, like Grandpa.”

  “He’s Paw-Paw’s friend?”

  “Yes. And mine. And in a few months, he will be my husband and you will get to know him better. He has three sons.”

  “Do they bob for apples?”

  “I’m sure they did once.” She hugged him and he allowed it. “They’re older now, as you’ll be one day. For now, it will be the three of us.”

  “Will you have a baby?”

  “Really, Douglas, you ask so many questions! Let’s wait until you meet Mr. Parrish again. I think you’ll like him as a stepfather.”

  “I like Paw-Paw and Grandma.”

  “Let’s go tell them the good news, shall we?”

  He shook his head. “I want to stay here.”

  And then she made the mistake she’d repeat until she saw what it could do; but by then it would be too late. “I’ll give you another candy if you come downstairs with me now.”

  “All right.”

  And so their world began to change.

  Her parents took the news in silence, then, “Josiah is . . . older,” her mother said.

  “I know. And capable and vibrant and active. He chops wood, tends to the sheep, even holds the rams during shearing.”

  “I don’t doubt his constitution,” her mother said. “But you’ll end up taking care of him in a few years, a very few years likely. Or widowed. What is he?”

  “Sixty-four. Just. In January.”

  “Was this going on while—?” Her father cleared his throat.

  “No, nothing like that. It was in the winnowing, my helping close up the house, write down the stories of his life with Elizabeth, that he realized. And I realized it too. We immediately made steps for me to go to Ariyah’s and for him to go to Portland, to give us time.”

  “It’s not settled then.” Her mother sounded relieved. She started stirring the soup she’d put on to cook. The onion scent breathed “homey.” Jennie looked forward to cooking for Douglas and for Josiah. Will Chen remain as cook?

  “It’s settled. We’ll marry in June.”

  “Why rush? You can stay here for as long as you like. Let the romance take its course.” Her father motioned Douglas to come sit beside him. He smelled the peppermint. “Oh, candy before supper? What did I tell you about that?”

  “The sugar monsters will eat my teeth.” He giggled. “Mommy gave it to me. Two of them.” Her father frowned at her. She’d broken a rule.

  “You’ve been so preoccupied with caring for Elizabeth, cooped up in that big house, and haven’t gotten out and about to meet other young people.” Her mother spoke, hoping to dissuade.

  “If I were seventeen as I was when I married Charles, and he was fifty-four, would you be as worried about age?”

  “You have so much life ahead of you,” her father said. “I hate to see you—”

  “I want to spend that life with him. We’re both adults, we understand the risks.”

  “I suppose that’s true enough. What do you say, Douglas?” He patted Douglas’s head.

  “I’ll stay here with you.”

  “We’ll have it that way for a while, indeed. A June marriage you say?”

  Jennie nodded, weighing mixed emotions of Douglas’s answer.

  “That gives us time to get used to the idea. Lord knows I admire the man, have great respect for him. And you, of course. But I never imagined our family would be intertwined with his.”

  “Neither did I.”

  “I don’t want to move again,” Douglas said. “I like my room. I like my grandpa. I like my daddy.”

  Her father patted his shoulder.

  She hadn’t realized how difficult weaving Douglas and Josiah into a new fabric was going to be.

  23

  For Better or For Worse

  Josiah’s looping yet precise penmanship put Jennie’s to shame. At least he knew of her difficulties with reading and writing, but she still thought of asking Ariyah to script her short missives. Once she moved in to assist with the baby, she’d ask her. But for now she persisted in her own writing of her love of music, reading with delight his expression of the same. In one letter, she asked the all-important question: how had his children taken the news?

  They like you, Jennie, he wrote. Charles was grateful we made other living arrangements as soon as we knew of our changed affections. But I do not want to wait until June. How have your parents responded? Should I speak with your father? Could we move the date up?

  They corresponded about where to marry, who could officiate, if they’d take a “honeymoon,” as some called that time away after nuptials, and if Douglas would go with them. Always the worry had Douglas’s name in it.

  She was visiting Ariyah one February day when a knock came at the door. Jennie expected the delivery of groceries Ariyah had ordered for the week. Instead, there stood Josiah. She thought her heart would burst through the sheath that kept it in her breast.

  “I’ve missed you, Jennie.”

  “And I you.”

  He picked her up, kissed her, then swirled her around before setting her down light as a hawk’s feather drifting to the floor. Doubt of whether this love and marriage was right or warranted disappeared.

  “I’m opening up the Salem house. I’m here to spend time with you and Douglas and make this happen come June.”

  Van barked from the carriage and he was freed to join the reunion.

  Josiah’s entry into Douglas’s life brought new chords to the music of her days. Her parents worked to see Josiah as a potential son-in-law and not only a revered pastor they had known for years. Douglas kept his distance, but he didn’t kick or scream when the three of them took a picnic to a stream, nor did he ask Josiah for presents or candy as he did with Jennie.

  One day, they had him pick out his room at Josiah’s house. He chose the bedroom across from the indoor bathroom. He had a dozen questions about the various washing tubs: the foot bath, the hip bath, plunge bath, the sink and shower bath Josiah told him was called a douche bath too.

  “Will I have to take a bath in every one every day?”

  “It depends on how dirty you get,” Jennie said and was pleased to see him smile.

  Douglas and Josiah worked in the barns together, Van hopping up on Douglas’s legs until he picked him up and carried him around. She wondered if he still thought of Quilton, but she didn’t ask, grateful he’d found a friend.

  “It is time.” Peleg knocked on Jennie’s guest-room door in early April. “The bebé, she comes.”

  Jennie had moved in with Ariyah and Peleg as her time grew near. She rose and met Ariyah’s mother in the hallway. “It’ll be fine.” She patted her arm. “Let’s boil the water. Peleg, you’ll go for the doctor?”

  “Yes, sí, rápidamente!” He rushed to the door, returned, grabbed his coat, left, came back for his walking cane, turned about once, came back to Ariyah’s side.

  “Go!” she ordered. “Take the carriage.” He was out the door.

  Their maid had already started the water. Earlier, Jennie had prepared soft bandages that were folded and stacked for later use. She was ready.

  “It’s perfect. Everything is perfect.” Ariyah repeated those words when Peleg brought the doctor back and then again when Peleg insisted he remain despite the doctor’s telling him he should leave.

  Peleg paced, stopped to hold his wife’s hand, grimaced when she cried out with the contractions. The joy when a perfect boy arrived eased the worry from Peleg’s face the way a rainstorm drives away insipid heat. Jennie thoug
ht then that fathers ought to be allowed to be present when their children were born, if they were capable of seeing their wives in pain while being powerless to stop it.

  The happy couple beamed as grandparents fluttered about and the doctor washed his hands and then Jennie walked him to the door.

  “I will take you back, Doctor.” Peleg stood from his chair beside the bed where Jennie had placed Alexandro into his arms. “It will be difficult to leave.” He gazed at his son. “He has long fingers. He will play the piano, Ari.”

  “Just send the carriage,” Ariyah ordered.

  “No, no. I must see to this man who brought my son into the world.” He handed the baby to his mother-in-law. “Let me get my coat.”

  The doctor nodded his thanks and told Jennie, “You are a good nurse, anticipating my needs, bringing comfort. Well done, Miss—?”

  “Mrs. Pickett,” she said. “But soon to be Mrs. Parrish.”

  “Ah, the widowed marrying the widower.” She didn’t correct him. “The drink you gave her, when the pains were extreme, what was that again?”

  “From beans, Coffea. Her husband had them and said they could be made into a brew like coffee. Real coffee, not that grain potion we drink here.”

  He chuckled.

  “Ariyah drank it often when her ankles swelled and I thought it might assist with pain. And so it did.”

  “Inventive.”

  Peleg returned, coat over his arm. He waved to Ariyah, who waved back. “You are perfect, my sweet Ariyah,” he said and without embarrassment blew her a kiss. They heard the carriage leave.

  Ariyah put her baby to her breast, though her milk had not yet come in. The child’s eyes were open and alert, taking in this new world to which he’d been so recently introduced. Jennie watched the grandparents both hold the child. Jennie’s thoughts turned to a wish that she might nuzzle another infant in her arms, her child, and if God willed it, that it might be a girl.

  She brought out a new nightdress for Ariyah, bathed her first.