“I know,” Gloria said, her voice tinged with resentment. She reached for the blue tea towel, and the leftover biscuits tumbled into the dirt. She whispered a curse and squinted up at John William.
“Sorry.”
“Not a problem,” John William said, his voice a mixture of amusement and annoyance. “We can just dust ‘em off.”
He watched Gloria blink and shake her head, apparently trying to focus on pouring the coffee. This morning it was a fairly successful accomplishment; only a few drops sloshed over the edge of the cup and onto the biscuits at her feet. John William, deciding it was worth the risk, held out his cup.
“Ill take some more of that.”
“Certainly," Gloria said, her voice filled with exaggerated courtesy. She angled the pot over the cup and filled it just to the top.
“Very good, Miss Gloria,” John William said, carefully bringing the cup to his lips. “You've made quite an improvement. Do you feel up to fryin’ a few eggs?”
“Listen, MacGregan. The deal was that I feed your daughter, not that I feed you.”
Gloria settled onto one of the campstools and wrapped both her hands around her cup.
“Right, then,” John William said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. “Do you think you can bring yourself to clean off the biscuits you dropped?”
“I think I'm up to that.” Gloria picked them up one by one, swiped them across her skirt, and deposited them on the plate they had fallen from.
“Better?”
John William took a biscuit from the plate, dunked it into his coffee, and popped it, whole, into his mouth. They passed several minutes in comfortable silence, sipping coffee and listening to the sizzling of salt pork in the frying pan. When it was cooked through, John William drained most of the fat into the drippings jar, leaving some in the pan to fry the eggs. He broke them one at a time, careful not to let the whites run together.
“I'll fry them hard,” he said. “Don't want to waste the yolks.”
Gloria made a contented-sounding noise through a sip of coffee.
“Plates?”
Gloria rose dutifully to get the plates from their drying rack at the back of the wagon. She handed one to John William, and on it he placed a slice of salt pork, two eggs, and two biscuits.
“Eat up,” he said. “We're in for a long day.”
Gloria took the plate from him and returned to her seat. She dug in with her fork and didn't look up until John William was settled across from her. He bowed his head over his plate and sensed that Gloria stopped chewing mid-bite.
“Dear God," he prayed, “we thank You for this food You have provided for us. We thank You for the strength it will provide for us as we journey this day. Bless our journey Keep me on the path You would have me follow. Give us the strength to overcome’ our obstacles. Watch over me and Gloria and little Danny and Kate. Amen.”
He opened his eyes and looked at Gloria and waited for her to echo his “amen.” She didn't. She never had. Instead she swallowed the bit of food sheltered in her mouth during the blessing and gestured toward his plate with her fork.
“You don't want the other egg?” she asked.
“No, no. You eat it.”
“What about our long day?”
“It'll be longer listenin’ to you complain all day about being hungry.”
“You know," she said, dunking a biscuit into her coffee, “if you ate more you might not need to pray for strength.”
“I could eat an ox a day and still need to rely on my Lord,” John William said with such an air of finality that Gloria returned to her breakfast, eating with a little less relish.
When they'd finished, John William harnessed the horses while Gloria went to wash the dishes in the stream. When she returned, John William was struck by the difference in her appearance. Her pale face was tinged with pink, he guessed from a cleansing splash of the cold water. Her hair was damp, smoothed away from her face. The loose braid was now a tight plait, twisted and secured to the back of her head. She wore a pale blue blouse, tucked into her gray skirt. A wide leather belt emphasized her slim waist. She looked proper, almost severe, like a woman who would promptly throw away a biscuit that landed on the ground.
He watched her approach, the sun now full up and strong. When he saw her raise her hand, he lifted his to return the greeting, only to realize that she was shielding her eyes and did not see him in the early morning glare. Feeling foolish, he dropped his hand and returned to his task.
Just then, a lusty cry came from within the wagon.
“Somebody's awake,” he said.
“Sounds like Kate.” Gloria loaded the clean dishes into the cook box, and together they hoisted it to its place below the wagon's seat.
“Can we get started? Or do you want to feed her first?”
“It's late, isn't it? I can feed her in the wagon. Danny will be up soon, too.”
Gloria grasped the wagon seat and began to climb up.
“Let me help you,” John William said. He took her elbow and held her steady as she climbed over the wheel and settled herself on the wooden seat. Once settled, she turned, reached through the canvas opening at the front of the wagon, and plucked the impatient Kate, now fairly screaming, from the little wooden crate that served as her crib for this journey She began unbuttoning her blouse, and John William turned away, running his fingers over the harnesses. Satisfied, he walked one more circuit around the wagon, checking to be sure that the fire was out and all their belongings were gathered and secured.
“Ready?” he asked, glancing up at Gloria.
“Could you hand me my hat?” she said. “It's just in the back.”
“Of course. Wouldn't want you to burn.”
He walked to the back of the wagon and found the calico bonnet.
“Here you are,” he said, holding it up to her.
“Could you help me?” Gloria shrugged in gesture to the greedily nursing Kate. “My hands are full.”
“So they are.”
When he joined her on the seat, she bowed her head for him to put the bonnet on. He hadn't been this close to her since the day he asked her to join him on this journey The top of her head was just inches from his eyes, and he marveled for just a moment at the myriad colors that nestled against each other before blurring that vision with blue calico. Once the bonnet was settled on her head, Gloria lifted her face, and John William looked down the shadowy tunnel into her eyes.
“Don't choke me.”
“What?” Her question jarred him from his brief reverie.
“When you tie it. Don't choke me.”
“Don't tempt me,” he said. But as his fingers grazed the softness of her throat and cheek, he knew that choking her was not the temptation he would need to guard against.
“That's good,” Gloria said. “That feels right.”
“So the princess is ready to proceed?” Just then, Kate gave a happy little kick that thrust a foot outside of the blanket she was wrapped in. John William caught the tiny foot in his hand, brought it to his lips. “Excuse me. Are the princesses ready to proceed?”
“We are, sir,” Gloria said. “Drive on.”
John William hopped down, picked his own hat off the peg on the side of the wagon, and shoved it onto his head. He gave the horse a friendly slap on its flank and took the first steps of the thousands he would take that day.
Lead me not into temptation.
The words had never had such meaning before.
Deliver me from evil
But the glance over his shoulder yielded a vision that didn't seem evil. A woman, yes. But a woman demurely covered, face hidden, nourishing his child.
Katherine's child.
Katherine.
John William had been awake for nearly two hours this day, and this was the first time her name entered his head. He found himself pushing away blond tangles to make way for a picture of Katherine's dark features—plain, but beautiful in their own way.
L
ord, I rely on You for my strength. Give strength to my thoughts. Give strength to my heart. Give strength to my body.
“Especially my body” he said aloud.
“What was that?” Gloria asked from her wagon perch.
“Just praying.”
“Again?”
“Always.”
hen the sun hit full noon, John William cooed a gentle “whoa” to the team and brought the wagon to a halt.
“Time to rest,” he said, as he'd said every day at this time. The horses were unharnessed and allowed to drink from a stream if they were near one, from water poured from thedrinking barrel into the washtub if they weren't. A cold lunch was assembled from whatever bits and pieces of food were available. A measure of canvas was laid out on the grass, and the babies, free from their diapers and gowns, were allowed to lay and roll and squirm, their naked bodies exposed to the fresh summer air.
Often, once the horses were taken care of, John William would pluck a flower or a long stem of grass and run it, lightly, up and down the babies’ bodies. He delighted in burying his face in baby Kate's belly and blowing as she kicked and squealed with laughter. This was a game he enjoyed with Danny, too, even after learning the hard way that it's much more fun when a little boy has his diaper on.
Gloria didn't play She busied herself with putting away the lunch things, wiping down the plates. But the corner of her eye never left the frolicking scene on the canvas.
She marveled at the controlled strength of this man. She'd seen him use his bare hands to snap branches into kindling, and now those same hands gently held her infant son aloft in thrilling flight. The man who could walk alongside the wagon for hours in total silence now seemed a fountain of noise. Gibberish and song poured from his lips. His uneven features—misshapen nose, scarred skin—seemed to soften, giving him the appearance of a lovable monster, an overgrown troll.
He set Danny down and turned his attention to Kate. She lay on her stomach, struggling to hold her head up and view the world. He loomed, like a giant bear set to maul. He even made a comic growling sound before pouncing, his body creating instant shade for the little one, and running his beard up and down her spine.
His beard.
He didn't have one back in Silver Peak. Gloria wondered just when the whiskers took over his face.
Then, as it happened every afternoon, the yawn. It started always with a squinting of his eyes and a scrunching of his nose. Then his mouth opened as if the jaw were about to unhinge. He brought his fists to his shoulders, stretched his arms and arched his back, all in accompaniment to a massive, primordial yawp.
“Those babies wear me out,” he said, as he did every day “Think I need to rest up a bit. Close my eyes.”
“You do just that,” Gloria said, as was their routine. “I'll wake you in a little while.”
Today they were stopped near a little grove of trees, and John William sought out the one with just the perfect roots to cradle his head. Once that spot was found, he stretched flat on his back and almost instantly began snoring into the heavy silent afternoon.
Gloria dampened a soft washcloth and brought it over to where the babies played. One by one, each little body was washed and let to dry in the warm summer air. Then Gloria tied a fresh diaper around each tiny belly and settled in to nurse. This afternoon, Danny was first. She brought her son to her breast; baby Kate lay in the nest of her skirt. She leaned herself against another tree, where she wouldn't be in full view of John William should he suddenly wake, yet keeping him well within her sight.
With one hand she held Danny firmly; the other hand played gently across Kate's soft, clean skin. Gloria ran one finger from the top of Kate's brow to the middle of her tummy then back up for a bop! on the tip of Kate's button nose.
“What a pretty, pretty girl,” she whispered. “You're such a pretty girl. Do you look like your mama?”
Gloria spoke to the wide blue eyes that seemed so entranced by Gloria's own face. She'd only met Katherine MacGregan once. Now she tried to recall the woman's features, to see them in this little one's face. Gloria had never seen Katherine smile; Kate's face was constant, toothless joy. Katherine's eyes were dead, distant; Kate's eyes danced with searching curiosity. Katherine's hair was shiny, blue-black. Gloria ran her hand over Kate's soft head— perfectly bald since her second week of life.
“Or do you look like your daddy?” At this, Kate emitted a moist gurgle and kicked her little feet in delight. Gloria laughed, softly, and glanced over at the sleeping form a few feet away. The man Jewell wanted her to fear.
Her hand abandoned its job of tickling Kate and came to stroke her own son's face. Danny's eyes were closed in the contentment of suckling, but they opened wide at his mother's touch.
“And you? Do you look like your daddy?” Danny's eyes held her gaze, almost as if demanding an answer. Having none for him, Gloria looked away.
With both babies fed and dressed in clean cotton gowns, Gloria went to John William, knelt, and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“MacGregan, wake up now. Time to go.”
He was instantly alert, eyes open midsnore.
“How long did I sleep?”
“Long enough.”
John William laughed. “Can't argue with that. Are the babies still awake?”
Gloria sighed and rolled her eyes. “Yes, but—”
“Good. Gather ‘em up.”
“MacGregan, it's late. 1 really think we should—”
“I'm going to step over that rise for just a minute, then I'll be right back. Get everythin’ ready. The Bible's up under the seat.”
Muttering under her breath, Gloria went to the wagon seat and pulled out the thick leather-bound book. Then she gathered the babies, sat down, and settled them into her lap. When John William returned, he took Danny into his arms, sat down, and settled the little boy into a semireclined position supported by his leg.
Gloria handed him the Bible.
“Where were we?”
“How should I know?” Gloria said. “That's your book, not mine.”
She could tell he was smiling even though he didn't look up. The tiny wrinkles at the corners of his eyes were a dead giveaway.
“It is your book, too,” he said. “You should read it.”
“I don't read any better than these little ones do,” Gloria said. “And I don't understand it any better, either.”
“My family will know Gods word.” John William looked Gloria straight in the eyes, his smile gone. “Now, I think we were in chapter thirty-three.”
“We just read when the two brothers met each other again, when they're old.”
“Ah, yes. Jacob and Esau reunited. Then we're in chapter thirty-four,” he said, and he began reading. “And Dinah the daughter of Leah, which she bare unto Jacob—'”
“I thought Jacob just had sons.”
“Well, I guess he had a daughter, too.”
“Why wasn't she mentioned when she was born?”
“I'm not sure—”
“I mean, we heard all about how she bore a son and named him this and she bore a son and named him that,'” Gloria grew more irritated, “why didn't we hear about the daughter?”
“I guess she wasn't important to the story until now,” John William said.
“Why is she so important now?”
“Well," John William's voice was full of patience, “why don't you let me read and we'll find out?”
John William continued reading the chapter, but was soon interrupted again.
“What does it mean to have your ‘soul clave?” Gloria asked.
“It means Shechem loved her. The verse goes on, ‘he loved the damsel and spake kindly unto the damsel.'”
“So when it says he ‘defiled’ her—”
“It means he…took her virginity.” John William was clearly uncomfortable.
“But he loved her?”
“Yes.”
“So why use such an ugly word? Defiled”
“When a woman loses—lost her virginity in this culture…before she got married, she was…unclean. Undesirable.”
“And these are God's people?”
John William wouldn't meet her gaze.
“Tell me," Gloria continued, “does God see me as unclean? Undesirable? Defiled?”
“I don't know how He sees you,” John William said. “I'm not God.”
“Is that how you see me?”
Now, finally, his gaze met hers. “No.”
Gloria wasn't sure she completely believed him, but she rewarded him with a smile steeped in gratitude.
“Now,” he said, “may I please finish? At this rate we'll be readin’ till dark.”
Gloria nodded her consent and listened to the rest of the chapter in silence. It had been their habit, a chapter or more each day, beginning in what he called the first book. This in itself had confused her: after all, it was just one book, wasn't it? But she soon caught on, and though she'd never tell him so, she somewhat enjoyed the stories John William read each afternoon.
Today's was especially exciting. Dinah and her lover, the wrath of her brothers, the slaughter of Shechems family. She had one pressing question, but was reluctant to interrupt the reading again. She filed it away until they resumed their journey
When John William finished the chapter, he closed the Bible and bowed his head to pray Sometimes Gloria closed her eyes, too, but not today Today she looked at John William as he prayed the familiar words—thanking God for the Bible, asking for a safe journey, asking for health and strength—and she wondered if he had felt the same passion for his wife that Shechem felt for Dinah. She wondered if any man would ever put himself in danger of of a love for her. She wondered if she would have known her father if she'd been a son instead of a daughter. She wondered if she was undesirable. Defiled.
John William's deep, reading voice always put the children to sleep. Now, as a continuation of the routine, Gloria tucked them into their little crates in the back of the wagon while John William hitched up the team. He helped Gloria up into the seat and settled himself next to her.
“I'm still a little beat,” he said. “Think I'll ride a while.”
Ten Thousand Charms Page 9
