B004XR50K6 EBOK

by Kathleen Shoop

  Jeanie recoiled. Templeton caught her gaze, but didn’t intrude in the tension between the married couple. This only grew the tension between the spouses.

  “Not to be ill-mannered, dear wife, but old Temp’s batching-it. He can make adjustments as you suggest when he adds on in the future. He just needs a place to sleep.”

  Jeanie rubbed her belly as a contraction pulled. She ignored it. “It’s more practical to add the second floor rooms now. It’s still half the size it was before. But, it will offer the same—”

  “Yeah, okay, okay,” Frank said. “Let’s just get building or I’ll never get my commissions for any of us or the men in Yankton by fall. Now isn’t the time for—”

  “You’re right, Frank. Let’s get going on this.” Templeton straightened and turned to face Frank, squeezing his shoulder, defusing Frank’s anger as Jeanie had lost her patience to do so. “Your changes are well taken and I believe I’ll have the funds to add the rooms come next year, but I’m going to keep things as simple as possible for now.”

  Templeton’s hand flew over the paper, making the changes they’d discussed. Jeanie watched, feeling triumphant, that even though Templeton couldn’t make her changes now, he valued them enough to note them on his plans.

  By the end of the afternoon, Frank, Templeton, James, and Mr. Hunt had erected the small frame.

  Jeanie prepared and served a small lunch of day-old bread, spread with the last of the butter and dried meat, and then settled into the space that would serve as Templeton’s kitchen and began lathing the walls with James. This was something Jeanie could do that wouldn’t tax her body too much. She would only do what she could, not push too hard. But she couldn’t stand not to offer her hands where they could be useful.

  They nailed the two-inch strips of wood horizontally up the frame, leaving a quarter inch space between each lathe so it would create a skeleton from which plaster would hang.

  James stood at one end of the lathe and hammered his end into a stud and Jeanie did the same to hers. Templeton came into the room, puffing on a pipe. Jeanie squinted up at him.

  “Mr. Templeton,” she said.

  He lay down more boards and squatted beside Jeanie where she knelt amid the nails. He lay more lathing beside her then puffed smoke away from her face before turning back to her with a smile. Jeanie felt rushed by excitement.

  “While I will freely admit I’m ravenous with jealousy at building this frame home, clean, new, fresh,” she took a deep breath and shut her eyes while letting out the smell of whatever she considered clean and fresh, “I can’t quite grasp why you’re insisting on rebuilding a home that is indeed so vulnerable.”

  Templeton tamped out his pipe, set it down beside him and lifted another lathe for Jeanie, putting it into her hands, covering hers with his for a moment. “For the same reason you’ll build a frame home just as soon as you first can.”

  Jeanie opened her mouth as though about to reply, but pursed her lips instead and narrowed her eyes at Templeton. “Yes, well, I suppose that’s correct. I suppose it is. But so soon after the fire. As much as the muck and animals who reside in my little hole in the earth set my stomach to nausea, I have to admit the fire has softened my hard stance against that abode.”

  “But still,” Templeton said cocking his head toward the six strips of lathing Jeanie and James had completed so far.

  Jeanie looked at the wall. “Right, still.”

  Templeton patted Jeanie’s shoulder and inquired how she was feeling in regard to the baby in her belly. Jeanie responded to the question by lifting a lathe to the stud and nailing it in. She hammered her thumb three times before plugging the nail in. She shook her hand then sucked the throbbing thumb.

  “You’re sure it’s not too much for you? I could take over this before I start hauling the rest of the wood. Or James’ side. I could do his and he could help on your side. I don’t want you to strain, to hurt yourself.”

  Her breathing wavered as Templeton attempted to hold her gaze and offer his concern. He clearly wasn’t going anywhere until he’d gotten his answer. She looked up at him and shook her hand again feeling as though she might crawl right out of her skin with this line of questioning.

  “I’m fine. Things are as expected. Things are proceeding as expected.” Jeanie trusted this baby would live, sitting around, thinking of it every moment of the day would do no good, she’d learned that hard lesson back in Des Moines. But, discussing it with Templeton, well she might as well, heave up her skirts and let him have a look between her legs if she were going to discuss these matters with him. It felt the same.

  Templeton tipped his hat, stood, and lugged a tarp full of earth that would be used to make serviceable though not pretty plaster down the way until he reached James. Jeanie watched the two of them talk about strategy for building and finishing a home, and they entertained the topic of Templeton’s passions—the weather.

  She couldn’t make sense of what she was feeling toward Templeton. She’d never felt any sort of attraction to any man besides Frank. Ever. And so within the confines of marriage, she felt quite safe entertaining her crush, knowing it meant nothing, would lead to nothing, that no one would ever know of its existence. She especially felt safe in its one-sidedness. Perhaps had she been approached by Templeton, the recipient of special advances, a different tone of voice than she’d seen him use with others, she’d have been scared. Scared of him and herself.

  She banged another set of nails in and set another length of board against the wood. She waited for James to lift his end, but he had turned to look at something in the distance, some place Templeton pointed. Jeanie guessed it must be the weather flag station they were discussing—a station where flags could be flown to let residents know the weather that was on its way. Mostly it was for dangerous blizzard warnings, but as they all protested before, only a few homesteads were placed so its owners would see it.

  To Jeanie, the weather was only important once it was overhead or under her skin. Though there was no way to determine what type of conditions would approach with any reliability and so discussing it, the subtle clues of what’s coming seemed to provide some map of the atmospheric future. Frank dismissed such avenues of thought and made Jeanie pause, curious why he, a person who clung to what lived inside his brain, abstract ideas, art, music, all manner of things not normally leading to a materially abundant life, would not join Templeton in desirable, wide-minded thinking. But, even though Jeanie saw the usefulness in turning the invisible workings of the air into observable science, she thought discussing it with James, at that moment, was a waste of time.

  A contraction pulled hard. Jeanie bent at the waist, feeling a wave of heat kick in with the muscle cramping. Templeton came beside Jeanie, sitting behind her, taking her weight while she recovered from the pain. He smoothed the loose tendrils of hair back from her face. When she opened her eyes, she realized Templeton was cradling her, that his chin rested on her head, and he soothed her with gentle words. She stiffened.

  Templeton released her and slid around to see her eye to eye.

  “That was a bad one,” he said. “Why don’t you lie down. James and I can lathe this—get the plaster in—in no time. The night’s clear. As far as I can tell, there’s no bad weather coming this way for some time. You go on home and rest for a time. For the baby.”

  Jeanie steadied her breathing and took his hand when he offered it to help her stand.

  “I’m sorry Mr. Templeton. I suppose, I’ve had a hard time with several pregnancies since the twins. I don’t mean to drag the operation to a stop like a body across the railway.”

  Templeton didn’t laugh at her joke, but studied her instead. Her gaze darted from his, feeling self-conscious that he hadn’t laughed with her. Finally Jeanie’s gaze locked with his. Templeton’s head dropped to one side slightly as though examining a rare gift, his gaze never broke hers as a small smile curved his mouth. He put his hand on her belly. “May I?”

  “You alrea
dy are.” Jeanie’s voice was hard though not cutting.

  “It’s just…it’s so…it’s divine.” He stepped back, hand still on her belly.

  Jeanie felt her nerves leap to life, she was instantly drawn into Templeton’s awe of her. She knew she wasn’t far enough along for him to feel the baby move, but she didn’t tell him that and she didn’t tell him to remove his hand. In the one touch, in his gaze, she was paralyzed by something wrong and wonderful. She couldn’t say it aloud, but staring at Templeton as he marveled at her, she told him that his words, interest in her touched a hidden chord in her heart and caused it to send electric thrills, peculiar to love, through her whole body. It couldn’t be possible that she felt that way—she must have mischaracterized it. The pregnancy must be getting the best of her senses.

  “Mama?” James startled them. He stood there with the pail of water. He set it by his feet and went to his mother.

  “I’m okay. Just a bad contraction.” Jeanie took Templeton’s hand from her belly and shook it with both her hands. “You and Mr. Templeton are going to work. I’m going to check on your father.”

  “And rest, Mrs. Arthur,” Templeton said. “You’ll need to rest.”

  “And rest. Yes, I’ll try some of that,” Jeanie said relishing in his attentions again. She should have been ashamed at James seeing such crudeness, seeing it perpetrated by his mother. But, she also knew she’d lived and taught a life where trust was utmost and as they weren’t lying people, James would have no reason to see the situation as anything other than okay.

  In the few seconds of connection she only felt satisfaction. The small touch and complete enchantment spurred by the act was as pleasing as anything she’d ever experienced.

  At the horse, James threaded his fingers together and let Jeanie step into his hands as she mounted the one called Summer. Named for its color—yes to the Arthurs, the summer had a golden glow like the hair on their horse—and for Jeanie and Frank’s love of the book A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Jeanie rubbed her belly and straightened against a contraction. They called their other horse Night, inspired by the same literature.

  “Mama?” James said. He had one hand on the neck of Summer and the other on Jeanie’s leg. He squeezed it when she didn’t reply. She looked down, her face somehow flushed and losing color simultaneously, taking on a deathly pallor.

  “Mama?”

  “I’m all right.” She nodded and looked into the horizon. “I’ll stop at the well for water and once I’m home, preparing dinner, I’ll feel better. I’m fine. Don’t you worry.”

  James bit his lip and squeezed his mother’s leg again. “As long as you’re sure. I won’t stay long with Mr. Templeton. Just long enough to learn how knowing the pressure coming up and down through the air can tell us what the coming indications are.” James shielded the sun with his hand as he looked up at his mother, his words tumbling out.

  Jeanie reached down and cupped his chin with her hand. She smiled her close-lipped one that meant all was fine in her mind. My God, how had she and Frank created such a wonder as James? As she looked at her son’s animated face, the way it was framed by his hand and hat, an image of him as a newborn popped into her mind. She startled then ran her hand over his shoulder marveling at the juxtaposition of his childlike enthusiasm and mature concern for her wellbeing.

  “No, I have to go with you, Mama.”

  James tipped his hat then leapt onto Night, yelling out that he’d return once he saw his mother back to the dugout. Jeanie stopped protesting and took Summer to a trot, James beside her, looking as grown-up as he could be.

  The motion of Summer trotting alleviated Jeanie’s contractions—the ones coming much too early for the stage of pregnancy she enjoyed—and she relaxed, letting the horse go to a full gallop. She passed the well, as she’d felt good enough to carry on past and she hummed as she dismounted, tied Summer to the wooden stake outside the barn then watered and fed her as James headed back to Templeton.

  Jeanie’s clothes were still sopping with sweat and as she bent and stretched, tending to Summer, her own odors filled her nose making her cringe. She’d never been a woman who let circumstances dictate her cleanliness—the benefit of Templeton’s bath all but wiped away with one day’s work. She dismissed her desire for another bath. The prairie did indeed make use of a proper toilet difficult. Perhaps when the lathing and plastering were complete there’d be time for another bath. No, that would be…she growled at herself for entertaining frivolous thoughts.

  She would have to settle for wiping her body down like a horse, as often as possible. Even inside the dugout, which was significantly cooler, it was not cool enough that she didn’t break into a sweat while simply brewing coffee. Maybe she’d try a little of the rose water Katherine had made at the Moore’s. Despite the scent that made Jeanie queasy, she thought it better than pure human stench.

  Jeanie ticked off a mental list of things to do, accounting for where everyone was, what they were doing and when she’d need to have dinner ready. Cramps or not, meals needed to be cooked. And with everyone doing their part, she couldn’t very well beg off. She kept reminding herself of the miscarriages, that they occurred when she lay corpse-like in bed. This child was meant to be and she could feel it as sure as she could the heat.

  Chapter 11

  Jeanie headed to the dugout. Frank’s tapping of his hammer filled her ears. He would have constructed at least half of Templeton’s bedstead that afternoon. Frank was always at his best when he had concrete work behind him and she was sure this was a good thing, that creating would release whatever mood he was taken by earlier.

  Jeanie stood atop the dugout, leaned over the edge and was about to say hello to Frank when the sight before her stole any words that had formed in her mouth. There, in front of the dugout, below Jeanie, lay Frank, on his back. One foot was crossed over his knee, his eyes were closed as he chomped on an unlit pipe. His arms lay out from his body, his one hand’s fingers lazily making circles in the dirt while the other held a hammer tapping a piece of wood beside him.

  There wasn’t a constructed piece of anything in sight. Jeanie bit the inside of her cheek, holding back the flurry of confused words—reprimands that swam in her mouth, wanting to flood out, drowning Frank in a scolding that ought to have put him in his place. She kicked dirt at him from above. It sprayed over the ground below, landing near him, but apparently not close enough to jar him from his respite. He shifted on his back and snored.

  Jeanie backed from the edge of the dugout to settle her stuttered breathing to organize what she’d say to Frank to not encourage him to forge a path into a blue mood. This could not be happening. Frank could not be losing his drive to survive already. Not there on the prairie where laziness and dreams without the grounding of practical action would mean starvation, calamity, death. If a person stopped moving a person would die, Jeanie had come to believe.

  She pushed these thoughts from her mind, smoothed her skirts and walked down and around the dugout clearing her throat. She hoped that announcing her presence would allow Frank the opportunity to save his face, so she could save their lives in the process. Jeanie rounded the side of the dugout and when Frank came into view he was still reclined, though his hands were now crossed over his chest like a dead man in a coffin.

  “Frank,” Jeanie said. Her voice was tight, hissing.

  “Oh, hello.” Frank rose to his elbows. “Oh, hey, you’ll never believe what I’ve come up with.”

  Jeanie cocked her head. “I’d love to see.”

  “Uh, well, no.” Frank tapped his temple with his forefinger. “It’s all upstairs, tucked away with the riches, the real treasure.”

  Jeanie shifted her weight and ran her tongue over the roof of her dry mouth.

  “Now,” Frank said looking off into nothing, “don’t set about fretting things that haven’t come to pass.”

  Jeanie shook her head. “I don’t even know what that means.”

  “It means sheep.”
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  “Sheep? Sheep?” Holding back her anger had transformed it into frustration fueled tears. She began to cackle through them as it was clear he’d gone to his residence where air castles were built like a child’s toy.

  “I got a letter from Jack today. He’s raising sheep in Tennessee.”

  “Where’s Templeton’s bedstead?” Her voice rose over the plains, screeching in a way she’d not done in two decades. She wiped her face with the back of her hand. She wasn’t the crying type. Especially without even getting a full explanation, but she felt it in her bones that he’d been up to nothing of any promise or worth. While the rest of the cooperative broke their necks to survive, he’d been lounging like a brainless slug.

  Frank stood, lifted and dropped his shoulders and wouldn’t make eye contact.

  A crash in the dugout made Jeanie jump. She covered her mouth wondering what creatures had infiltrated the dugout this time.

  “Come on out ladies!” Frank intoned like a sideshow master. “Jeanie’s home and I think she’ll be satisfied to see her work’s been halved at least.”

  Lutie and Ruthie appeared from the dugout, wiping their hands on their aprons. Jeanie looked at Frank’s grin that swallowed his face as he seemed to admire the mere existence of the two single women. His eyes held and lost focus at the same time. Jeanie followed his gaze back to the women, to Lutie specifically.

  Lutie’s thick yellow hair hung in loose ringlets down her back, her dress, an empire-waisted silk, draped her body. A sharp wind burst through the air and pushed the material against Lutie’s round breasts, displaying what was clearly an absence of proper undergarments.

  The breeze lifted her hair and Jeanie’s mind registered the scene as though it were equipped with a camera. The picture of Lutie, like a painting in the Louvre, or the illustrations in Jeanie’s favorite book of fairytale princesses, seared into Jeanie’s consciousness.