Eden Creek

by Lisa Bingham

  The two younger girls howled even louder.

  Feeling totally inadequate, Ginny reached out to lift Baby Grace and settle her onto the curve of her hip. “Don’t cry,” she pleaded, a tinge of apprehension tainting her voice. “Please, please don’t cry.” Staring into the dirty, breakfast-stained face, she awkwardly patted Grace on the back. “Hush, I’m sorry. Hush.”

  Grace’s sobs finally died into hiccuping sighs. Glancing down at Eunice, Ginny noted the way her grief had suddenly disappeared. Ginny’s eyes narrowed when she realized that tears were a tool of manipulation for Eunice.

  “Eunice, I don’t think it is ve … ry…” Ginny’s words petered away as she felt a warm wetness seeping through the folds of Grace’s diaper and into her skirts.

  “Baby Grace needs a new diaper,” Eunice announced.

  Imogene merely stared at Ginny in stony silence, but there was a sparkle of mirth deep in her expression.

  “Diaper?” Ginny echoed weakly, wondering how in the world one folded a diaper. But as the dampness soaked clear through her petticoats she growled in disgust and, taking Grace under the arms, held the child away from her body.

  She stood in indecision as Grace dangled above the floor, her diaper dripping. Finally Ginny ran toward the dry sink and set Grace feet first in Orrin’s empty shaving basin. As soon as she’d been released Grace squatted in the bowl, grasped it with her chubby hands, and rocked back and forth, causing the rounded basin to buck and spin.

  “Where will I find a diaper, Imogene?”

  She turned to discover that Imogene had escaped outside. Eunice was quick on her heels, but Ginny dodged across the room, just managing to catch her arm.

  “Where will I find a diaper, Eunice?”

  Eunice tried to back away, gazing at her departing sister in regret. “They’re all dirty.”

  “Dirty?” Ginny echoed with a trace of dread.

  “We used ’em yesterday.”

  Ginny looked back at the two-year-old in the basin.

  Baby Grace offered her a wide, innocent grin.

  “I see. What does your father do when … um, the diapers are all soiled?”

  “Wash ’em.”

  “But what does he do … in the meantime?”

  Eunice shrugged, her uneven haircut brushing one shoulder but not the other. “He lets her run around naked as a jaybird, then cleans up her messes.”

  Ginny frowned. Surely the child was old enough now to dispense with diapers. After all, she could talk. She could walk. What more did she need than a quick explanation of how to dress and undress herself?

  “How old are you, Grace?”

  Grace peered at her, her flyaway hair falling across her brow. “Grace?”

  “Two.” She held up three fingers.

  “And you’re a big girl, aren’t you? Big enough not to wear diapers.”

  Grace looked at her sister, back at Ginny, then grinned. “I’m two.”

  “Since we are out of clean diapers, I think the time has come for you to begin using the necessary, Grace.”

  Eunice stared at her. “The what?”

  “The privy.”

  “Oh. But she can’t reach.”

  Ginny thought for a moment, then marched into the bedroom, took a tin chamber pot from one of the shelves, and brought it back. She set it on the floor, then lifted Grace, and placed her next to the battered container. She unpinned the girl’s diaper and, holding it in two fingers, dumped it into Orrin’s shaving basin before turning back to her charge. “Grace, when you need to … you know … relieve yourself, go in here.”

  Grace stared at her with wide, copper-brown eyes.

  “Do you understand?”

  The little girl nodded and bent to lift the pot and bang it against the floor.

  “Good!” Ginny felt a surge of satisfaction. By the time Orrin returned, he would find that she had begun to take the children under her wing. They would be washed, well-behaved, and properly attired. And Baby Grace would be out of diapers once and for all. Orrin would see at a glance how valuable she was to his family. He would never want to let her go.

  “Eunice, go get your sister. We have lessons today.”

  There was a beat of silence.

  “Eunice?”

  Ginny turned to find that both of her pupils had disappeared. All but Baby Grace, who smiled benignly at Ginny from the swiftly growing puddle beneath her bottom.

  By midaftemoon Ginny had discovered that Grace had no ken whatsoever of just what it meant to use a chamber pot. Though the girl listened each time Ginny explained the concept, Ginny invariably found herself cleaning up another puddle.

  Since Baby Grace was not about to understand miraculously, Ginny took a brass tub outside to the tripod she’d unearthed on her way to the chickens earlier that morning. She filled the container with water and a healthy dose of lye, lit the fire, then let a half dozen diapers stew in the noxious-smelling liquid for the better part of an hour. She rinsed them, then began the process all over again with another half-dozen flannel squares.

  She returned to find that Baby Grace had pulled every pan from the hutch. Then the child had retrieved her rag bear and was teaching it to use a skillet as a chamber pot. Ginny squealed in delight and hugged her, sure that it was only a matter of time before Baby Grace began following through with her training.

  In honor of the occasion, and buoyed by her successful breakfast, Ginny decided to fix a special meal. Borrowing one of Jesse’s musty books from the crate Orrin had nailed to the wall as a bookcase, Ginny thumbed through the pages until she found a recipe she could follow. “Never-Fail Peach Cobbler” the page read, the ingredients painstakingly copied in a simple script.

  Ginny set the book on the table and began. With each addition she made to the mixture in the bowl she spoke softly to herself, repeating each step so that she wouldn’t forget anything. “Flour, sugar, butter…”

  From the side window Imogene drew up on her tiptoes so that she could peek through the glass. She watched the way the woman worked, and a scowl creased her features.

  “What’s she makin’?”

  “Dunno. But she’s usin’ Mama’s book.”

  Eunice stared at her in mortification. “No one but Mama can use that!”

  Dropping away from the window, Imogene held a finger to her lips. “Shhh.”

  “Whatcha gonna do?”

  Imogene grinned and crept toward the door. When Ginny moved toward the hutch she sneaked into the room, changed the pages, then dodged out again.

  She waited to see if her prank worked. Peeking around the edge of the threshold, she saw Ginny return to the table.

  “Sulfur.” Ginny paused. “Sulfur? Must be some special preservative.”

  Stifling her laughter, Imogene grabbed Eunice’s hand and ran toward the barn.

  Imogene and Eunice spent the rest of the day tormenting Ginny. First they took a field mouse from the grain bin and let it into the house.

  The next few minutes were filled with an entertaining variety of screams and squeals punctuated by the slap of a broom hitting the floor.

  Allowing the woman only a few minutes respite, they saw to it that the goat’s tether mysteriously came loose. In no time at all Lila Sue was happily chomping on a meal of freshly laundered diapers.

  Ginny came out of the house and, stricken, watched as the goat ate the last few delectable bites of flannel. It took her a good half hour to chase the animal into a nearby pasture.

  Later they saw Ginny on her way to the privy. Quieting Eunice, Imogene hurried to step in the middle of her path.

  “Where ya goin’?”

  The woman straightened to full height until Imogene had to crane her neck back to watch her.

  “I am going to the necessary.”

  Imogene pulled a face at the woman’s highfalutin talk, but she allowed Ginny to pass. “Just watch out for snipes.”

  “Snipes?”

  Imogene fought back a grin at the woman’s hoity
-toity tone.

  “Yes, ma’am. Way up here we get quite a few of them.”

  Imogene turned and took a step or two away, moving slowly enough to hear the woman when she asked, “Just what exactly is a snipe?”

  Flashing her younger sister a warning glance, Imogene turned. “You mean you don’t got snipes where you come from?”

  The woman shook her head.

  Imogene’s regarded her pitifully. “Well, they’re small and mean—kind of like a cross between a badger and a rat.”

  Imogene was sure she saw the woman pale.

  “ ’Course, they won’t hurt you as long as you warn ’em away.”

  “And just how does one do that?”

  Once again Imogene stifled a grin. “Just make a sound kinda like this—whoop, whoop, whoop. Then flap your arms like a chicken so they can see you comin’.”

  Ginny stared at her intently, and Imogene thought she would call her bluff. Instead she backed away toward the house.

  “I think I’d best go check on Baby Grace.”

  Imogene offered her a sweet smile. It wasn’t until the woman was halfway back to the house that she and Eunice saw the way Ginny glanced over her shoulder. Then in a soft, whispery voice, she called, “Whoop, whoop, whoop,” while her hands flapped at her sides.

  By the time Orrin rode into the barnyard Ginny was feeling extremely confident She’d spent the whole day with his children. Leaving aside the unfortunate accident with the goat, she had managed to prepare a meal, instruct Baby Grace, and avoid the snipes.

  She stepped out onto the front stoop to watch him ride into the yard. As usual, there was something about the sight of Orrin, seated so tall and straight in the saddle, that caused a thrill to run through her.

  He waved but headed immediately to the barn, and Ginny hurried to put supper on the table.

  To her surprise, she found Imogene and Eunice peering over the counter at her peach cobbler. The moment they saw her, however, they eyed her guiltily, then volunteered to set the table. Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, Ginny gave her assent.

  “I’ll just go check on your father.”

  Surrendering to the inexplicable need to see him alone, she hurried out into the dusky light. A creepy feeling slinked up her spine.

  But surely, she thought, the snipes wouldn’t come so close to the house.

  Just to make sure, she waved her arms and uttered a meek “Whoop, whoop,” all the while watching for half-rat, half-badger creatures that might be lurking in the darkness.

  Once inside the barn she searched for Orrin and found him currying his horse. Long before he became aware of her presence she noted the tired set to his features. Yet when he saw her waiting in the shadows, the glow that leapt to his eyes had nothing to do with weariness.

  Orrin gave the horse one last stroke, then patted it on the rump. “Hello.”

  The one-word greeting affected her like a naked caress.

  “Dinner’s ready.”

  It was apparent that the last thing on his mind was food. “How was your day?”

  Ginny opened her mouth to tell him of the diapers—an “accident” she was sure had been partly arranged by his children. But when she saw the slump of his shoulders she merely shrugged. “Fine.”

  “No problems?” He appeared surprised, and that galled her.

  “No.”

  “Good.” He smiled brightly. “Good!”

  He draped an arm around her neck and led her into the yard. They had only walked a few feet when he stopped. “Ginny?”

  His palm slid familiarly to the hollow of her spine, forcing her to face him. When she saw the tense set of his features, however, she knew that he had something unsettling to tell her.

  “A new load of goods arrived at the freighting office today.”

  Orrin had delayed his trips as long as he could. Now he would have to leave her.

  “When do you go?”

  “Tomorrow. But it’s a short run—just down to Heber and back. I should be back by the end of the week.”

  Though Ginny wanted to beg him to stay, she knew she couldn’t. It wasn’t her place.

  “I don’t want to go,” he stated forcefully.

  “You don’t have to stay on my account.”

  “I want to.”

  “But you can’t.”

  He opened his mouth, then echoed her statement. “But I can’t.”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you?” His voice was surprisingly husky. He shifted until his thighs pressed intimately against her skirts. “Do you understand that I spend every hour of every day thinking about you?”

  His words were so unexpected that she could only stare at him in confusion.

  He moved closer. “Do you understand how you’ve made me the poorest excuse for a farmer for miles around? Instead of thinking of my crops, or my plow, or my land, I’m thinking of you, wondering when I can touch you, kiss you.” His voice dropped to an even more intimate level. “Love you.”

  “Orrin.”

  He pulled her into his arms so that she could feel the leashed strength of his body. “I know you still think I’m a stranger, Ginny. I know you need time and I need to woo you. But do you think … sometime soon … that you and I could become an honest-to-goodness married couple?” His words caused her to meet the dark uncertainty of his eyes. “I’m not just talking about the loving. I’m talking about sharing the worries, and the duties, and the happiness.”

  Never in her life had Ginny known such a man as this. One so proud, yet so tender. A man who cared not only for her welfare, but her heart.

  Slowly, ever so slowly, she explored the curve of his ribs. She felt the immediate reaction of his body, the tensing of already hard muscles, the flutter of his heartbeat.

  “Yes.”

  And even as she acknowledged that her answer was true, she admitted that there was nothing else on earth she wanted so very much.

  Dinner that night was quiet. Overly so. Orrin had told his children that he would be leaving and had wrung out a promise that they would be good, but the news had put a pall on their mood.

  Through it all Ginny kept glancing from the children to Orrin to the food. She’d wanted this to be a special evening. Orrin would be leaving Eden at first light; she was especially worried about whether or not her day’s efforts had resulted in a satisfying meal. Though she found the fare less than palatable, Orrin and the children ate it with some gusto—or, at the very least, they were eating.

  Perhaps it had not been a good idea to make a salt pork shepherd’s pie—but she hadn’t found any beef in the cellar with the rest of the foodstuffs. Without gravy she’d had to use tinned beans. Of course, there hadn’t been any fresh vegetables, so she’d substituted potatoes and dried peas for most of the ingredients. And even though her crust was a trifle tough, it was an easy enough matter to dig beneath and find the filling.

  Orrin was watching her with the same vacuous expression he’d worn during breakfast. He refused a second helping and resolutely laid his fork next to his plate.

  “Dessert?” Ginny asked brightly, standing and collecting their plates. “I made a cobbler. Peach cobbler.” She turned to the girls. “Would you like some?”

  Eunice and Imogene started and shook their heads.

  Ginny was surprised. “No?”

  “We’re”—Imogene looked at her sister in desperation—“we’re plain stuffed already.”

  Eunice’s head bobbed up and down in fervent agreement. “Stuffed.”

  Trying to push away a bit of her disappointment, Ginny shrugged and went to the stove. Taking a dish towel, she lifted the pan and carried it toward the table, setting it in front of Orrin’s plate.

  “Why, Ginny, it’s—”

  “Perfect,” she breathed, noting the crisp golden crust, the bubbling peach filling. The heavenly scent of peaches seeped into the room.

  Eunice and Imogene studied the cobbler, then each other, their tongues unconsciously swip
ing at their lips.

  Retrieving a set of bowls and clean spoons, Ginny ladled a healthy portion for Orrin, then sat in her chair and urged, “Try it.”

  He lifted the bowl and sniffed it in appreciation.

  “Aren’t you going to have some?”

  “Of course!” She eagerly ladled some into her bowl, but before eating she waited for Orrin to sample his own.

  He dipped his spoon into the rich, steaming desert, then took a huge bite and chewed. And hesitated.

  “Too hot?” Ginny asked, noting the way his eyes watered and his face grew pale.

  He mumbled something unintelligible and took another bite. Suddenly he gagged and lunged through the door on the way to the outhouse.

  “Orrin?”

  Ginny ran as far as the door before an overpowering sense of failure consumed her.

  Orrin returned, but she cringed when she saw the unearthly pallor of his skin. His limbs seemed shaky and unsure.

  “What did you put in it?”

  “I followed the recipe,” she said forlornly, gesturing to the messy hutch and recipe book.

  Orrin looked down at the book. A thick silence hung over the room as he studied the appropriate page.

  “You followed this recipe?”

  “Yes.”

  “This one?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ginny, this recipe is for homemade gunpowder.”

  When she saw the giggling children and Orrin’s pale features, her chin began to wobble.

  “Excuse me,” she murmured, then she rushed into the yard.

  Orrin found her at the banks of the creek, her hands rubbing her arms in an effort to ward off the evening chill. He slipped out of his jacket and placed it over her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Ginny.”

  The silence twined between them, then he heard her ragged breath. “I tried so hard.” When she looked at him again Orrin was struck by the misery he saw deep in her eyes.

  She threw herself against him and held him tightly. He wondered at the edge of desperation to her words when she whispered, “Please don’t send me away.”

  Send her away?

  Memories washed over him, dank and cool. Memories of his first wife. An empty bed. An empty grave.

  What would this woman say to him if he were to blurt out the truth? That Jesse wasn’t dead. That she’d deserted him and divorced him—a fate many would consider far worse than Orrin’s being a widower because it had left him with a tainted reputation.