“Some boys came by selling the berries,” I said, as I smoothed down Marybeth’s soft curls. “They picked them up on the mountains,” Marybeth exclaimed.
He nodded at me and took big, gulping sips of his drink. He finished the glass and then finally relaxed. We sat together under the beech tree with Marybeth chattering on about which of her dolls preferred blackberries and which didn’t.
Henry sat across from us and I could see his watchful eyes taking everything in. I looked over at him. Maybe it was the drink that emboldened me, or maybe it was the story I just heard. But I felt less afraid of him now, less intimidated. He was a man, just as I was a woman. When he looked at me, I did not look away, but instead smiled at him and refilled his glass.
“I must get back to work, but I thank you for the distraction,” he said.
“You are most welcome,” I said. Marybeth was feeding the horse hay, it was just he and I. Without warning and without giving doubt time to seed, I leaned forward and kissed him chastely on the cheek.
His hand found my arm, he squeezed it briefly and then permitted his hand to remain there as I said, “we shall see you for dinner.” He nodded and I called to Marybeth and watched as he returned to work. He looked over his shoulder and tipped his cap to me and I smiled in response.
Chapter Seven
I waited for him at the end of the day. Marybeth sat playing with her paper dolls as I rested in a rocking chair. The effects of Mrs. Reynolds drink had fallen away and I was myself again. But I had forgotten nothing she had said.
He was surprised to see us on the porch. I stood as he approached and as he stood before me I helped him out of his jacket and shook the dust and hay off of it. Marybeth helped him out of his boots and set them aside as I brushed off the debris from the rest of him.
“There are clean clothes for you in your room,” I said.
"Thank you," was his reply. It was wary and unsure as if he still did not quite trust me. I turned to walk into the house and I felt his hand rest on the small of my back as he guided me through the door. Sparks traveled up my back at his hand and I missed his touch the second it was gone.
My eyes followed him up the stairs. My imagination did the rest. I imagined him going into his room. I did not know what it looked like. I had never been inside of it. But I could imagine. There would be a large bed in the center of the room. Mrs. Reynolds would have set out a cool pitcher of water and a cloth for him to clean himself with.
He would remove his shirt and dip the cloth in the water. His strong hands would ring out the excess moisture and then it would trail over his shoulders and chest and down his arms. I would have done it for him. I would have sat him in a chair and cleaned off the day's work myself. If only he would have let me.
I kept replaying our chaste kiss in my mind. His face had been rough with stubble, he smelled like hay. It hadn’t been nearly enough. I didn’t even realize where I was going until I was halfway up the stairs. I was going to him, my feet were unafraid to go to the places my mind wished to avoid. I stopped myself and turned around and walked back downstairs.
He opened up slowly, like a flower. Each night we told each other more and more about ourselves.
I saw him laugh for the first time at dinner when I told him of a strange childhood habit. There were blackberry bushes in the forest around the orphanage and in the summer we would pick them for the kitchens. In my foolish youth, I thought it would be smart to put a few extra in my pockets to have for later. But when I reached into my pocket for my snack I was not greeted with sweet berries, but a smashed mess that stained my uniforms and exasperated the nuns.
“I must have done it nine or ten times. The lesson refused to stick,” I said, as he chuckled and smiled over at me.
“The first time I tried to lasso a cow, I lassoed myself instead,” he told me. “I was no older than eight. I had seen the farmhands do it countless times. It looks very easy, but it’s not. I was spinning the rope, being very proud of myself when I lost the rhythm and the looped rope fell right over my head.”
He shook his head as he laughed. My hand was resting on the table and for a moment, I stopped breathing when he placed his on top of mine. His hands were hot and rough as he traced his thumb over my knuckles.
“Are you happy?” He asked me.
“Very happy,” I said. “Except...” My voice faltered. How did I say what I wanted? How did I tell him that I longed for his embrace? I wasn’t supposed to want such things. Every married woman I had spoken to scoffed when talking about their “wifely duties.”
"You endure it," a washerwoman had said to me once. The disgust in her voice had been audible. She had been tired and pinched looking, like a fruit that has all of the juices squeezed out.
I did want it. I didn’t even know what it was, but I knew that something was missing. Something only he could give me. I felt a longing in my stomach and sometimes one a little lower. A longing I could not define, but one that grew stronger every time Mr. Forth was in the room.
“Except what?” He asked.
“Do you...” I stared, but no, that wasn’t right. “On our wedding day, you were the one who did not seem happy,” I said. It took all of my courage and the moments the words were out I wished that I could snatch them from the air before he heard them.
“I was not expecting you to be so young,” he said. “The priest said that you were excited and happy to be coming here, but on that day you seemed to be constantly on the verge of tears. You looked at me like I was some monster you were terrified of.”
He pulled his hand away, but I stopped him. I caught his strong fingers with my weak ones and held him fast. He could have easily pulled away, but he didn’t.
“I was afraid,” I said. “But not of you. Of being married. No one ever really told me what marriage was like. I grew up with nuns.” I shook my head. Now he was the one holding onto my hand and not letting go. “I just wished that someone had been with me to guide me. Instead of Father Michael who could not have been less prepared for the duty.”
“Like a mother,” he said.
I nodded numbly. I did not normally want for a mother. It's hard to miss what you've never had. But sometimes, even I wondered how my life would have been different if I had a mother to answer all of my questions.
“Do you smell that?” I asked. It was an odd question, but something was burning. “Perhaps Mrs. Reynolds has overcooking something...”
His face became pale as he released my hand and stood up. “Fire,” he whispered.
“Fire! Fire! Fire!” I heard the screams coming from the yard. One of the ranch hands was screaming. He came racing into the dining room with ash in his hair. “The barn is on fire, Mr. Forth!”
Henry was quickly up and running outside. Mrs. Reynolds raced into the room.
“Go to Marybeth’s room and stay with her in case it moves to the house,” I ordered. And she nodded at me, her mouth hanging open.
The large, beautiful red barn looked alright from the porch, but I could smell the fire on the air. Gathering my skirts up, I raced towards the barn.
“Get the horses to safety!” Henry ordered one of the farm hands. Without being asked, I followed the farmhand into the stable. Henry grabbed my arm to stop me.
“Go back inside,” he said. “It’s too dangerous.”
“You need all the hands you can get out here,” I countered, pulling my arm away. The farmhand, Michael was his name, already had bridles on two horses and he was pulling them away.
“I’ll take them, go get the others,” I said. The horses were huge and I had little interaction with them before. This was not a good time to learn. They were nervous, skittering and pulling on their leads. Their eyes were wide and there was white foam on their lips.
“Come,” I said pulling on the leads. They were beautiful, but dumb beasts. They didn’t know where the fire was and were just as likely to run into it, as away from it. The larger of the two reared up on its back legs, but I held f
irm to the lead and tugged and pulled them towards the other side of the house. Finally, I was able to tie them up to the back banister.
Out of breath and choking on the smoke, I raced back where Michael had three more anxious animals waiting. These too I fought and pushed and pulled until they were tied up with the rest.
With the horses tied up, I found Mrs. Reynolds on the steps with heavy winter blankets stacked in her arms.
“To smother the flames,” she just barely managed to get out before I grabbed them and raced back to the barn.
The air was thick with a choking smoke. My eyes stung and every breath burned in my throat. I coughed and sputtered and squinted into the smoke until I could finally make out the barn.
Michael ran past me with a bucket of water, but I knew the blankets would do better. I followed Michael's path through the smoke. This was what hell must be like. It was hot and smothering, the air itself a poison. I put my arm over my mouth to try and protect my burning throat. My every instinct urged me to go back towards the house, but I ignored them and pushed forward.
I could see the fence and blindly I opened the latch and stumbled inside. It was then that I could finally see the fire. The back half of the barn was engulfed in flames. They licked at the walls and the ceiling, orange and yellow and even blue in some places.
“Get back in the house!” Henry yelled at me as I dropped the blankets.
“We have to smother the flames!” I screamed back.
He had a wet handkerchief around his neck and he ripped it off, dipped it in water and placed it over my mouth, tying it in the back before doing the same for himself with another.
Almost immediately I could feel the difference. It was hard to breathe through the wet fabric, but the air that passed through my lungs was clearer and didn't sting. I grabbed one of the blankets and quickly threw it over part of the fire. I let the blanket sit long for a moment and then pulled it away before it caught on fire and then after a moment put it back.
It seemed like a fool's errand. The flames were everywhere. They were all around us. If they reached the roof, we would be done for. Sweat poured not just from my forehead, but all over my body. My skin was covered in the dark soot, my dress decorated with scorch marks. My eyes were red and raw and most of the time the world was nothing but confusing shadows with bursts of light.
My arms ached and my mask began to fail, but I refused to quit. I would not let fire claim this barn, Henry had worked too hard for it. I fought past the pain and exhaustion in my arms, past my own fear and continued to smother the flames.
I didn't realize we had won the battle. I put out a small flame and went hunting for another. I stumbled around the barn, not even conscious of what I was doing or where I was going. The air was still thick with smoke and Michael hurried past me with a bucket of water he poured over a few remaining hot coals.
“It’s out,” I heard Henry say. His arms were on my shoulders. I was breathing heavily, my chest heaving. I was crying, but I didn't know if it was from the smoke, the sadness of the fire or the happiness that we had contained it.
Without meaning too I leaned heavily back against him. His arms came up and circled around me and he leaned his chin on the top of my head. I had never been held like that. His arms were strong and sturdy and there was nothing wrong in his touch. He was my husband after all.
He pulled away and took my hand and led me out of the barn. The air outside was fresh and clear and above me the stars twinkled. Everything else was fine. The fire had touched nothing else.
“We did it,” I said.
Chapter Eight
We made sure every ember was out. With water buckets in hand, we stomped on the ashes looking for the red hot coals that almost seemed to breathe with life. We doused them with water when we saw them, making sure they were cold before we moved on. I didn't trust that the fire was really out. It had seemed a monster from hell and I was amazed that we had defeated it.
I was surprisingly awake. My heart had settled and I was breathing normally, but my mind was still racing. My new dress was singed and scarred with burns. My arms and hair were coated in soot and ash. Every time I took a breath the smell of fire filled my nose.
"You should go to bed, this has been a long day," Henry said to me as we surveyed the damage to the barn. The back wall was burned and ruined and would need to be replaced, but the rest of the building was structurally sound. Along the back wall, I could see the exposed woodwork, singed beyond repair. It would be a lot of work to replace the back wall. I was worried how Henry would handle it on top of everything else he had to do. The thought of him out here alone in the broken shell of his barn tore my heart in two. I could not do that to him. He did not deserve it.
“Not without you,” I said shaking my head. It took me a moment to realize what I had just said.
For a long moment, I couldn't look at him. It had been so bold and brazen and unintentional, but once the words were out, I refused to take them back. It was true. I wasn't going back without him. I would not leave him out here to battle alone. It didn't matter who the foe was, I would be with him.
He looked at me and I stared back at him. His face was dark with soot, but his eyes were searching mine. With a bravery I did not know I had, I slipped my hand into his. My heart swelled when he squeezed my fingers and then began pulling me towards the house.
We slipped past Mrs. Reynolds who was asleep on the couch in the sitting room. Henry led me up the stairs, but we did not turn towards my room. We continued to walk past it to the hard, wooden door of Henry’s bedroom.
The door opened silently and I followed him inside.
Chapter Nine
“There is something I haven't told you. I thought I could protect you from it. But it seems not.” It was the next afternoon and we sat together at the table with a hearty meal in front of us. Smoke still hung in the air, but a strong western wind was slowly pushing it away.
My stomach clenched as I waited for him to continue. His placed his hand on top of mine and looked deep into my eyes. I could see worry and fear there. I wished that I could kiss those worries away. I didn't want to talk about bad things. I just wanted to be with him.
We had finally come together and I wanted nothing to tear us apart. But the way he spoke to me, the way his eyes shifted past my head to the mountains, told me that all was not well.
“Have you ever heard the name Marlon James?” He asked me. I shook my head no.
"He's a criminal. He and his gang live out in the wilds. They rob stagecoaches and railroads. They war with the Indians. Last week they came to town and demanded the ranchers pay them to "protect" our homes. But they weren't really selling protection. It's bribery, they wanted us to pay them to keep them away from our homes. We refused, this is what happened."
“The sheriff is coming over later to discuss what we should do.”
Ours wasn’t the only house that had been hit. Some of the others had suffered damage worse than ours. The Millers to the south had lost an entire barn of milking cows.
I was terrified of what that meant, of what he would have to do. I wasn’t used to the strange lawlessness of the West. Why was it that Henry had to go? He was no warrior. He didn’t know anything about hunting bandits. He knew how to shoe a horse and birth a calf. He didn’t belong out there in the wilds, he belonged here with me.
The sheriff was a tall, intimidating man with a thick head of gray hair. He tipped his hat at me before he and Henry walked towards the barn. What were they looking for? What would they say to each other? I cursed my sex and my inability to have a say in these proceedings.
I could do nothing but search for them from my position on the porch. I could just make out the brim of the sheriff’s hat bobbing over the fence. They were staring at the half-burned barn. They were kicking at the burned wood and occasionally looking up at the damage to the roof before walking around to the back of the barn where I could no longer see them.
Henry's face, as he c
ame around the barn, told me everything I needed to know. The tears began to form in my eyes as the sheriff mounted his horse and headed back towards town.
“We’re putting together a posse. We are going to get Marlon and his gang ourselves. We know where their camp is-”
“No,” I said through sobs. “No, no, no.” Tears were streaming down my face as he gathered me in his arms and held my head against his chest. A posse, he could not possibly be part of such a thing. He didn’t belong on the hard trail with the Indians and the bandits. It was dangerous out there. Anything could happen. He could be injured, he could fall from his horse or drink from a tainted spring. If he left, there was a chance that he might not ever come back.
“It’ll be alright,” he whispered.
“Please don’t go,” I begged. “It’s too dangerous, please.”
“I must,” he said.
I was inconsolable as he packed a bag. Every time he put something in his bag I had to resist the urge to rip it out. I would have done anything to keep him here.
I was worried about his fate, but I was worried about mine as well. And the fate of the ranch and Marybeth and Mrs. Reynolds. What would happen to all of us without Henry? Who would manage the farm hands and run the ranch? What would she do if something happened and she didn’t know how to fix it? What if there was a sickness in the cattle? What if there was a sickness in the house?
He did not know how long he would be gone and there would be no way for us to communicate. He would be out in the wilderness navigating the mountains while hunting bandits. I had no choice but to wait for him here. Anything could befall him out there beyond the fields. Terrible thoughts raced around my head. I felt like I had only just found him and already I was losing him.
I held Marybeth in my arms as he rode away. His horse was weighed down with a heavy pack. He would be gone so long and I worried he did not have enough of what he would need. There was only so much water, food, and ammunition that would fit on the horse. What if it was not enough?
[2016] The Precious Amish Baby Page 9
