by Jan Watson
“Wonder if it’s legal to iron on Wednesday,” Darcy teased.
“I guess we’ll find out. I knew this day was too much fun. My mam always said, ‘Laugh today and you’ll cry tomorrow.’ Reckon I’ll be crying over that hot iron come morning.”
“Them dresses we stitched might be worth a few tears.”
Copper hugged Darcy. “I like your attitude, girl.”
Lilly Gray came up between them. “Me, me!” she cried.
“There are hugs enough to go round, Lilly,” Copper said, holding her daughter and Darcy. “The more love you give, the more God sends.”
“Miz Copper, did you see my fabric scraps?” Darcy asked from her bedroom door.
“Not since Tuesday. Where did you put them after you picked them up?”
Darcy frowned. “Right in the drawer of that little table by my bed. Pshaw, I wanted to show them to Mrs. Foster.”
“Don’t fret. There’s sure to be plenty of scraps to share today. Now hurry and get your bonnet. We don’t want to miss any of the quilting circle.”
Several ladies were already seated at the quilting frame, needles and thimbles flashing in the midmorning light, when Copper arrived with Darcy and Lilly.
Jean Foster rose to greet them. “I’m so glad you could come, Copper,” she said, her warm cheek pressing Copper’s own. “We’ve decided to finish this quilt for Kenny Wilson’s mother. Do you like the pattern?”
Overcome with emotion, Copper felt tears form. Graduating shades of yellow mixed with red and brown revealed an appealing Jacob’s ladder. “It’s beautiful. It’s sure to bring comfort to Kenny’s mother.”
Hezzy Krill snorted. “If Miranda Wilson made them boys mind, she wouldn’t have nothing to grieve about. Instead she leaves them run wild with no more manners than a pack of dogs. And what about that girl of hers? That Cara, dressing like a man!” She paused to pinch a bit of snuff from a small tin and worked it under her lip with a frayed-end stick. “Abomination, if ye ask me.”
At a loss, Copper just stared at the mean old woman. How could she say such a thing after what happened to Kenny? And Cara was as sweet as could be.
“Now, Hezzy,” Jean said, “I expect Miranda Wilson does the best she can, like we all hope to do. Copper, sit here beside me. Here’s a needle already threaded.”
Copper fished her mam’s thimble from her pocket and began taking the tiny even stitches that bound cotton batting to the quilt top.
The ladies spoke of their children and their gardens, shared sorrows and blessings. Copper found she enjoyed their companionship, and Lilly was in heaven, playing under the quilting frame with Jean’s five-year-old boy. Bubby stacked empty thread spools—he must have had twenty-five or more—then let Lilly knock them down, scattering the pieces all across the floor. Lilly laughed each time the little tower fell. Her joy was so contagious she soon had all the ladies laughing with her. All except Hezzy. It seemed as if her back was up since Jean’s admonishment. But she could quilt; Copper had to give her that. There was music in her flying fingers.
All too soon, the party was over and the ladies began gathering up their things and making their way out. Copper was invited to join the ladies’ quilting circle regularly at Jean’s house.
“I would love to,” Copper said. “And you all can tell by my crooked stitches that I need the practice.”
Jean squeezed her hand. “Welcome home. You and John must join us for supper one evening.”
Copper blushed. Did everyone know about her and John? Word sure traveled fast in the mountains. She couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you. I’m sure John would like that.”
As Hezzy hitched her way across the floor, her foot slid on an errant spool. Copper reached out to steady her. The old woman pushed her face in Copper’s. The rank smell of tobacco issued from her mouth, and her eyes flared like struck flint.
Wary, hand to her heart, Copper stepped back.
But Hezzy pursued. “Too bad about John Pelfrey’s wife. They never found her body, did they?”
John’s wife? Surely she hadn’t heard right. Copper felt the blood drain from her face. She had to get away from Hezzy. She stooped to pick up her daughter. “Lilly Gray, give Bubby his spool.”
“Aw, let her keep it,” he said. “I meant for Lilly to have it.”
Copper reached out and ruffled the boy’s blond curls, glad for the distraction. “Thank you, Bubby.”
Jean touched Copper’s arm. “Are you all right?”
If she could just get outside, away from all the stares, she would be. “Goodness, yes. I hope to see you all soon.” As she walked across the yard with Darcy and Lilly, she forced her steps to be as steady and evenly paced as quilt stitching, though she wanted to run. She couldn’t bear for her shame to show.
“Look, Miz Copper,” Darcy chattered, holding out a stack of quilt pieces, each gathered into a round the size of a silver dollar. “I got a good start. Don’t you think?”
“I do,” she said as if her world were the same as when she had stepped up on Jean’s porch that morning. “You’ll have a full quilt in no time.”
“And see,” Darcy continued, “Mrs. Foster gave me these extras to make more.”
Blessedly, they were soon on the path through the woods that led home.
It was midmorning the next day when Jean and Bubby came to call. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said, “us just showing up like this, but I had to see if you’re okay.”
Darcy took the children out to play under the apple tree in the front yard. “We’ll catch jar flies and listen to them buzz.”
Copper cut pieces of gingerbread and poured cups of coffee.
Jean sliced through the moist cake, but she didn’t take a bite. Instead she laid her fork aside and reached across the table to Copper. “Honey, didn’t you know?”
Copper dropped her head, squeezing her swollen eyelids shut. She’d cried all night with pain she’d never felt before. Tears of loss and longing and sorrow as dark as a moonless night were all too familiar to her heart, but she’d never cried from betrayal before. And to think it was John—her John—who had laid his lie before her.
She shook her head; her fingers tapped her lips. Finally she spoke. “I didn’t. John never said a word in all this time. I feel like such a fool.”
“I’m sure he never meant to hurt you. He just . . .”
“Just what? Just conveniently neglected to tell me he was married?” There, she’d said it. It was true. “Oh, Jean, forgive me. I don’t mean to take my anger out on you.”
“Anger’s good. Don’t hold it in, else it will fester like a boil.”
“I’ve never been good at holding anything in. You should ask my mam.”
“Do you want me to tell you what I know? Or would you rather wait and talk to John?”
Coffee sloshed from Copper’s cup, and a wet, brown stain spread across her apron front. “Tell me,” she whispered.
“I didn’t know the woman he married,” Jean started. “I don’t think anyone did. I heard her family was gypsies, but I don’t know if there’s any truth to that. You know John was away for a while?”
Copper nodded. His leaving had been a burden on her for a very long time, for she knew that once she had broken his heart. Now he had broken hers. “He left to work on a merchant ship when I was promised to Simon. He wanted to marry me way back then.”
“I don’t want to spread gossip, so take this with a grain of salt. All I can tell you was what was told to me. I heard that John’s young wife died in an accident at Torrent Falls. They’d been married only a few days.”
“That’s dreadful.” Wetting her finger, Copper captured a gingerbread crumb from her plate. “I must seem so selfish, only thinking of myself, not that poor girl nor John’s sorrow.”
“You have a right to your feelings, but perhaps you should withhold judgment until John has had a chance to explain himself.”
Copper went to the door to check on Lilly. Darcy had spread an old qu
ilt in the shade, and the children seemed quite content. A quick wind whipped the leaves of the apple tree; it seemed a storm was brewing. She felt Jean’s touch on her shoulder. “I thank God that you are my friend, Jean Foster.”
“Pray about this, dear, and don’t be too hard on John. He really loves you.”
“I cannot hold to a liar, but I’ll always care for him.”
Dance Shelton gripped her belly and gritted her teeth. Ace was gone again, and she was as alone as she would ever be. Water trickled down her leg and puddled on the floor. She began pacing. It wasn’t so bad when she walked; the walls enclosed her pain. And with each step she prayed, O Lord, please send help.
Late that night, unable to rest, Copper slipped out to the porch. The storm that threatened earlier in the day had dissipated after only a little wind and a few hard drops of rain, and now a perfectly round moon cast a golden light across the parched yard. The flower slips from Fairy Mae that she’d planted looked listless in the moonlight. Grabbing the water bucket and dipper, she made her way to the small plot by the side of the steps. She’d give each lily and rose just a smidgen of the cool water. It was nice being out among the plants in the moonlight. Maybe she’d take up night gardening since she couldn’t sleep anyway.
She’d just straightened up from smelling the one rose that had blossomed. Nothing had a better fragrance than roses. It was her favorite flower.
Suddenly, Dimm materialized out of the darkness, riding Star right up to the porch.
Copper gasped and covered her heart with her hand. “My, you gave me a fright, Dimmert. What are you doing out so late?”
He slid off the horse and made a quick motion with one hand as if to say, “Come.”
Copper shook her head. “You’ll have to use words if you need something.”
“Dance,” he managed, then closed his mouth.
“Dance? You want to dance?”
“My sister,” he said and clutched his belly in a pantomime of pain.
“At Fairy Mae’s?” Nothing was making sense or else she was dreaming.
“Dance,” Dimmert tried again. Then a whole sentence stumbled out. “I . . . I . . . I been watching.”
Copper finally understood. His sister Dance, who lived with her husband up a holler somewhere off Troublesome, must have taken ill. “Let me tell Darcy. I’ll be right back.”
After waking Darcy and telling her she’d be back shortly—no need to alarm the girl with news of her sister until morning—Copper fumbled around in her small apothecary. She grabbed castor oil and sweet tincture of rhubarb—sure cures for a bellyache—and just in case, she took her entire medical kit.
The farther they traveled, the farther it seemed in remove. They were halfway to nowhere before they came to a clearing in a jumble of trees and vines. Obviously Dance and her husband didn’t want folks just dropping by.
The place gave Copper chills. The cabin was eerily silent. The front door stood open to the night, but only a weak light wavered in one window. She could see a stooped figure leaning in the doorway. Dimmert helped her down, and she rushed up the steps and had started across the porch when he jerked her back.
“Watch out,” he said, pointing to an odd opening in the floor.
Gingerly Copper stepped across the hole in the floor and over the threshold, though Dimm held back. “Dimmert?” she asked.
He pointed again. “There’s a turtle.”
If she had chills before, now she had the shivers. Something was very strange here. Something was very wrong.
Dance was in labor. It would be hard to mistake that particular kind of discomfort. She gave a low shuddering moan and clutched Copper’s arm. “How’d ye find me?” she asked.
“Why, your brother brought me. Where’s your husband?”
“Gone,” she answered. “I’m caught up in this jail. He hit me with a poker.”
Copper’s blood went cold. “Oh, my word. When will he be back?”
Dance shrugged before sinking to her knees in distress. “It’s my time.”
Copper got Dance to the bed in the corner of the room, then turned up the lamp. After asking Dance about her predicament and doing a quick exam to see how far along she was, Copper called out to Dimmert, “I need wood for the fireplace, and please draw some water.”
Soon she heard a clunk of wood against the floor as he tossed pieces across the threshold. He leaned far in with a bucket of water, set it inside the door, then disappeared again.
Curious, she went to the doorway. Dawn was breaking, turning the dark sky into shades of lavender gray and stirring the birds to sing. Dimmert had taken a seat on the top step; a little cache of rocks lay beside him. She guessed he was waiting for Ace Shelton, the man Dance had said was her husband. Copper tied the strings of her long, bibbed apron behind her neck and sighed. What was she to do with Dimmert? But what if he was right? What if Ace was a danger to them? After all, Dance was kept prisoner in her own home by nothing more than a trapped turtle. The man wielded great power over her.
“Dimmert, leave the rocks for a minute. I need you to come inside and build up the fire. I’ve got to get some water boiling.”
The young man stood on one side of the hole while Copper stood at the other. In the faint light of morning she saw no more than a dishpan-size shell hiding what would be an ugly beaked head and short legs with clawed feet, but Dimm’s face was blanched white with fear. She held out her hand, and Dimm clutched it like a lifeline. “The turtle can’t hurt you. I promise,” she said.
His love for his sister won out over his fear as he mustered his courage and stepped across the doorway. With that done, he wasted no time in building up the fire.
Soon Copper had a pot of water heating. Dance was making fast progress, but Copper was dismayed by the lack of preparation for the birth. No cloths had been torn, no clean newsprint lay stacked and waiting, but thankfully there was a short stack of fresh linen in the cupboard.
“Dance, why didn’t you have Dimmert fetch your mammaw? I expect she would have liked to be here.”
Dance grunted and started panting. “I didn’t know Dimmert was hanging around out there,” she gasped. “Ace wouldn’t like that one little bit.” She squeezed Copper’s hands tightly. “Whoee, this hurts like the dickens.”
When Dance relaxed her hold, Copper scurried to the fireplace and pulled scissors and two twisted cloth ties from the boiling water with tongs. “It won’t be long now.”
“Uh . . . uh . . . ,” Dance replied.
“Don’t push yet. Wait on me.” Hurriedly Copper got her things assembled at the bedside before guiding her patient’s hands into strips of stout cloth that had been looped and tied to the bedposts. “Okay, now push, Dance. Push!”
It was a first baby, so it would take a little while longer. Copper had Dance rest between efforts. She could see Dimmert through the window, walking up and down the yard. It seemed there was always an anxious man pacing during deliveries. Copper reckoned he had to do something to relieve his anxiety. She was very glad to have him and his stack of rocks out there, especially since she’d seen for herself the scabbed-over burn on Dance’s arm. She’d sure like to know more about this husband of Dance’s.
Dance was snorting and blowing and grunting, pulling with all her might on the handholds Copper had fashioned. Her face was as red as boiled beets and contorted with pain.
“Push!” Copper shouted as if the louder she called, the harder Dance would work.
Dance pushed mightily, then fell back against the bed.
Copper wiped Dance’s face with a cool, wet cloth and brushed strands of sweat-soaked hair out of her face. “You’re doing good.”
Dance answered with a long and heavy sigh. “This ain’t fun.”
Copper rubbed Dance’s weary shoulders. “That’s why they call it labor.”
Midmorning, as the day heated up and a nice breeze sailed in through the open door, Dance’s healthy baby boy was born. He was cheesy and slippery wet. His little he
ad peaked into a long cone, and his eyes were mere creases in his wrinkled face.
“Ah,” Copper said and meant it, “you have a beautiful boy, Dance.”
“Jay,” Dance said, her tired voice a whisper. “Ace wants to name him Jay.”
Once mother and baby were cleaned up and settled, an hour-long task, Copper began to take stock of the situation. She couldn’t leave the two of them here, and she couldn’t stay herself. With each passing hour she felt more at risk. Darcy didn’t really know where they were, and she’d be worried to death. Plus, she had to get Dimmert out of here. Good as he was with rocks, he’d be no match for a man with a gun. And Copper suspected Ace knew how to use one.
First things first though. Copper took off her dirty apron and put on a clean one. Dance had to eat—had to have some nourishment before she could be moved. Copper surveyed the larder. Some milk, some withered potatoes, some flour and salt—no eggs, no meat. Ah, but there was a perfectly good turtle right outside the door.
“Dimm,” she said tapping her shoe beside the turtle hole. “Get out your pocketknife and pry this screen up.”
Leaving his lookout spot on the step, Dimm swallowed hard but crouched down beside the trap. Soon tacks were flying in all directions.
“You know how to clean a turtle?” she asked.
“Watched some,” Dimmert managed to stutter out. “Never did my own self.”
“Well,” Copper said, steeling her voice, “now’s the time. Your sister’s hungry. I’ll help, but you and I’ve got to cook this turtle. It makes a good, rich soup for convalescents.”
By noon they’d all been fed, and Copper was anxious to leave. She put the dishes to soak but she’d not take the time to wash them. The soiled linens were stuffed in a pillowcase to take along. She’d leave them with Dance at Fairy Mae’s. The girls could do them up. For all she knew, Ace Shelton was mean as a striped snake, but still, she didn’t want him walking into a house stained with blood. Her scalp prickled with fear at the thought of him.
