Still House Pond

by Jan Watson

  “And what good would Abe Sizemore have been, shiftless thing that he is?”

  Setting her cup on the porch rail, Copper stretched backward, working the kink out of the small of her back. “Why don’t you go get some rest?”

  “I’ll catch me a nap on the cot in the sickroom after while,” Remy said. “I’m going to the shed first to see about Foxy.”

  The rooster heralded the break of dawn as Copper watched her friend’s halting progress until the fog that hung across the yard in thick gray curtains swallowed Remy up. Copper’s thoughts turned to a simpler time when she was young and Remy was whole. They had been the best of friends when Copper lived with her daddy and stepmother up Troublesome Creek.

  Remy was a wild thing, out on her own at twelve, while Copper at fifteen was cosseted in the arms of her family. They’d met in a cave of all places, and Copper had been determined to save Remy from her lonesome state. But Remy refused to be saved.

  Copper retrieved her coffee and took a sip. It was nearly cold; she’d let it sit too long. Remy was her first lesson in what it meant to be truly independent. A lesson Copper sorely needed when her first husband, Lilly’s father, died and she was left alone to try to make a go of the farm passed down from her daddy. Now Remy lived close as kin on Copper and John’s property, free to come and go as she pleased. Thankfully, she chose to be near Copper and her family most of the time. Good thing, Copper thought. What would I do without Remy?

  She dashed the bitter coffee dregs out into the yard. She’d have a hot cup with breakfast, but for now she needed to get to the barn. Bertha waited.

  Before she could step off the porch, strong arms encircled her from behind. John nuzzled her neck. “Why don’t I do the milking this morning?” he asked.

  Leaning back into his warmth, she felt the tension of the night drain away. He was her rock. “Let’s just stay here instead. Bertha can wait a minute.” She turned in his arms and stood on tiptoe for a morning kiss.

  “Don’t tempt me,” he said.

  She laughed. “No chance of that. You know the twins will be up with the rooster.”

  “Yeah.” He sighed. “And you’re itching to get to the barn. I think you love that cow more than me.”

  “You’re a very close second,” she teased. “Besides, Bertha’s easier to get along with.”

  John sat on the step and pulled on his boots. “What should a man expect but disrespect from a woman who’d name her twin daughters after cows?”

  She made her way around him and down the steps. “Speaking of which, I’d better get a wiggle on. The girls will want warm milk with their breakfast. Where are you off to this morning?”

  He looked up from lacing his boots. “Nowhere right now. I’m waiting to watch the wiggle.”

  “John Pelfrey, anybody could be listening.”

  He gave her his slow, easy smile, the one that crinkled his green eyes at the corners, the one that was hers alone. “Let them listen.”

  “You’re not leaving before you eat, are you?”

  “I thought I’d go get Abe Sizemore early on before he has a chance to shirk his responsibility another day.” His bootlace snapped midlace. Patiently he pulled it out and rethreaded it, tying a knot instead of a bow. “Fool man needs to see his wife and baby.”

  Copper pushed curling tendrils of thick red hair under her work bonnet. “That’s true enough, but shouldn’t you wait until Abe’s ready to come?”

  “When do you reckon that might be? His head’s as empty as a Simlon gourd. If I don’t go fetch him, he’s likely to forget he has a wife.” John examined the short piece of leather string, then stuck it in his pocket. “Waste not, want not.”

  He joined her on the walk to the stable. “Seriously though, Tillie Sizemore could have died last night.”

  Copper shuddered. “Don’t remind me.”

  “I always thought once a woman made it through childbirth, you didn’t have to worry anymore,” John said. “What went wrong last night?”

  “She started flooding. You know how sickly she is. That’s why I brought her here instead of delivering her at home. Something told me she needed close watching.”

  “Will she be all right?” he asked while opening the stable door and standing aside for Copper to enter first.

  “Well, she’ll be eating beef liver for a while, but I think she’ll be fine.”

  “What’s that do?”

  “Puts some iron back in her blood. Don’t you remember how anemic I got with the twins? I ate so much liver and onions, I didn’t think I would ever eat them again.”

  He paused just inside the door as she scooped feed from a wooden bin into a bucket. “I remember how scared I was for you. It makes me think Molly and Mazy should be our last.”

  The grain hit the bucket with a pleasant whoosh. It smelled sweet and summery. Copper loved the ritual of feeding and milking Bertha every morning and evening. It was good to have an animal to tend to. “You don’t mean that, I hope. I want a dozen babies or thirteen like your mother. Remember how happy she always was and how welcoming?”

  “I do,” he replied. “Still, it was hard on her.”

  Bertha bawled impatiently.

  Copper kissed John on the cheek. “You fret too much. Go fetch Abe. He can have breakfast with us.”

  It was a good thing Manda had fried extra bacon and eggs because Abe Sizemore ate like a man coming off a fast.

  After breakfast, Copper took him to the invalid room. His grin spread ear to ear when he saw his baby son for the first time. “Ah, Tillie, you done good.”

  Sweet Tillie beamed and lifted her wan hand to her husband’s whiskered cheek. “How are you making out without me?”

  “It is hard being on my lonesome. I’ve near starved without your cooking.” Standing, he turned to Copper. “Can I carry them home now? I brought the wagon.”

  Copper had seen many men like Abe Sizemore in her years of baby catching. He was good as gold but lazy as lead. “I was going to ask you about that. What do you think about Tillie staying here a couple more days?” She chose her words carefully. With men like Abe it was best to let them think they came up with their own answers.

  “Well, I thank ye kindly, but we couldn’t put you out no more’n we’ve already done.”

  Tillie flinched like she’d been struck, but she reached for the dress that was neatly folded on a chair beside the bed. The baby fretted in his cradle.

  “Tillie,” Copper said, “why don’t you nurse the baby first? Abe and I will take a little walk.”

  “Now, Abe,” she said as he followed her outdoors like a puppy at her heels, “I know I can trust you to do what’s best for Tillie.”

  “Sure thing,” he said as they paused beneath the apple tree in the side yard.

  “All right then. First make sure she doesn’t do anything but feed the baby for two weeks. Okay? No cooking, washing, cleaning, ironing, or anything that might tire her in the least. Have you ever changed a nappy? I must show you that before you go. Oh, and you’ll want to freshen the bed linens every day.”

  Abe nodded, but he was beginning to look as pale as his wife.

  “You’ll get the hang of it easy enough,” Copper said. “Just soak the linens in cold water overnight. That will take any stains out.” Starting back, she stopped midstride as if she had forgotten something. “Make sure you cook nutritious foods.”

  “I ain’t sure what that means,” he replied.

  “Food that is good for your wife and son,” she said kindly. The man was trying. “Tillie is still eating for two.”

  “Are you certain Tillie’s ready to come home?” he asked. “Seemed like she looked a little peaked.”

  “I trust your judgment on that. I can see where you’d want to get them home. But if you’d like, she can stay a few more days.” Copper made a puzzled face. “You could come by for visits—maybe around suppertime? Tillie will be upset if she doesn’t see you every day. We don’t want that, do we?”

 
He dropped his head and scuffed the toe of his worn boot in the dirt of the yard. “Tillie means the world to me. I sure do thank ye.”

  Remembering John’s unkind words about Abe, Copper studied him. The young man’s head did kindly favor a gourd—a gourd with ears. She touched his shoulder. “You’re more than welcome.”

  “Hey, Abe,” John called from the barn. A grubbing hoe rested on his shoulder. “Want to earn a few bucks?”

  Abe rubbed his palms on the front of his britches. “Sure thing. I reckon I could help you out.”

  Copper hid a smile behind her hand and watched as John showed Abe to the lot beside the barn. John had been clearing it of brush and scrub trees. He aimed to start a pear orchard there. John might act tough, but he had a kind heart. Abe would earn his supper and a few bucks besides.

  Something glinted at her feet. She bent to retrieve the tea strainer. Why was it in the yard? And there was her favorite pie tin, the one that had belonged to John’s mother. “John William Pelfrey!”

  Jack struggled through the kitchen door. His arms bowed with a pot, a yellowware bowl, and her glass rolling pin. “Hey, you found my pie pan.”

  With a firm hand she guided her son back through the door. “Just why are you taking the kitchen outdoors?”

  Red curls tumbled in his eyes as he shook his head. “Just call me Jack, please. My long name sounds like you’re on a tear.”

  “Be mindful of your words.” She ran her hand through her son’s tangled locks. John was always after her to cut it, but she couldn’t resist those bright red tresses. “I’m not mad, just perplexed.”

  “I was setting up shop. Me and Molly and Mazy are making mud pies today. We’re going down to that big flat rock by the creek.”

  “That sounds like fun,” she said, “but you can’t take our kitchen tools. Maybe Lilly will help you find some other things if you ask her nicely.”

  “I’m turning into a prune,” Lilly said, lifting her hands out of the pan where she was washing the breakfast dishes.

  “Let me see,” Jack clamored, dumping his load on the table.

  “Do I have to wash those?” Lilly whined. “The water’s cold already.”

  Copper lifted the kettle from the stove and poured more hot water into the granite dishpan. “Just this pie tin and the tea strainer.” She handed Jack a towel. “Help your sister.”

  “Then can we make mud pies?” Jack asked, polishing the tines of a fork.

  “I was going to take a walk,” Lilly said, “by myself.”

  “You can do that after,” Copper replied. “The girls can’t go to the creek alone.”

  Jack puffed up like a bullfrog. “I can watch the twins.”

  “Peep, peep,” came from under the table.

  Copper pulled back the red- and white-checked cloth.

  The girls were underneath. As soon as they saw their mother, giggles broke out. “We be doodles.” Mazy leaped out, followed by Molly. “Peep, peep.”

  “You look more like frogs than chicks,” Lilly said.

  Soon the twins and Jack were jumping all over the kitchen. Frog croaks mixed with doodle peeps.

  “Has anyone seen Manda?” Copper asked.

  Suddenly Lilly Gray was concentrating on the tea strainer. Twirling away from the dishpan, she held the utensil up to the window light and polished it vigorously with the cotton towel Jack had discarded. Something was up. Copper toyed with questioning Lilly further, but Manda was a good girl, and even good girls needed to have a secret now and then.

  She’d sure had her share. When she was fifteen, she’d planned to run away from home and live in a cave just to spite her stepmother. Poor Mam, Copper thought. I don’t know how she survived raising me.

  “Lilly, if you’ll take the twins and Jack down to the creek to play, I’ll finish the dishes.” She knew Lilly hated washing the heavy cast-iron skillet, where bits of egg clung as stubborn as oak leaves in autumn.

  Relief flooded Lilly’s face as she hung her apron on a peg behind the door. “Thank you. I’ll watch them close.”

  “Find your shoes, Jack,” Copper reminded.

  “But the grass is green! You said I didn’t hafta wear shoes when the grass turned green.”

  “Get your shoes on or we’re not going,” Lilly said.

  Jack scooted under the table and came back with both shoes. It amazed Copper how quickly he would mind his big sister, never putting up an argument like he did with her.

  John said she spoiled their son. Maybe so.

  Her heart swelled with pride as she watched her children cross the yard. Lilly held the twins’ hands. Her hair bow bounced as she walked. She liked a freshly ironed ribbon every morning, usually choosing white because she thought it complimented the swath of platinum that emanated from her perfect widow’s peak and shot through her shiny black hair like quicksilver. When Lilly was a newborn, women would comment on that unexpected vein of silver saying she was marked by the death of her father. But Copper knew where it came from. Lilly’s aunt Alice had that same wayward streak.

  Sometimes Copper searched her daughter’s face looking for some resemblance to herself, but Lilly was a miniature Alice Corbett Upchurch—same hair, porcelain complexion, arched eyebrows, and expressive eyes. Looks were not the problem, for Alice was very beautiful. It was her exacting manner Copper had to guard against Lilly adopting.

  Reaching behind a stack of platters on the bottom shelf of the corner cupboard, she withdrew the letter that had come last week. Lilly would be incensed if she knew her mother was keeping it from her. But in truth, she’d only meant to keep it for an opportune time. Then Tillie’s unexpected complications took over her household and the letter had slipped her mind.

  Alice’s precise cursive in her signature navy blue ink adorned her signature pale gray stationery, intruding into Copper’s signature sunny mood. She tapped the edge of the envelope against her chin. Her stomach knotted. She was not ready to share her daughter in such a big way with her former sister-in-law. Though her request was broached in kindness, Copper was not deceived. She felt like a fish on the line—one little nibble and she’d be reeled to shore by the barbed hook of Alice’s allure.

  Ever since Simon died, Copper had felt Alice biding her time like an eight-day clock—ever ticking off the minutes of the past—hurrying her along to the future. She couldn’t blame Alice for wanting more of Lilly. She was her niece after all, and Alice had adored Simon. Copper had adored him too. He was an easy man to love.

  Copper stepped outside. A string of clouds the color of gunpowder scuttled across the sky. Grief crept into her heart, marring her spirits in much the same way the clouds blemished the bright June day. It would be summer before they knew it.

  Clinching her fists against her sides, she said, “Not now. I don’t have time for this.”

  She allowed only a short storm of memory. There was work to be done. She needed to take her doctor’s bag to the little house and assess Adie, Jumbo should be weighed, the milk needed separating, and she dearly wanted time to scratch around in the garden with her hoe.

  When she raised her hand to wipe her eyes, she saw Alice’s missive crumpled in her fist. Pressing the stationery added to her list of chores, she went back into the house and retrieved the sadiron from the pantry. She set it on a burner to heat just a smidgen. She didn’t want the letter to go up in smoke, did she? Copper smiled as she folded a towel in quarters and laid it on the kitchen table, making a protective surface. As she carefully ran the iron over the expensive stationery, she pictured the paper bursting into flame. The perfect answer to her problem. Oh, sometimes her thoughts were naughty. Alice would be appalled.

  Copper put the iron aside to cool, folded the letter, and stuck it back in the cupboard. Time enough to think on that later.

  3

  Manda Whitt was climbing steadily up the side of Spare Mountain. It was a harder task in her new shoes than she had thought it would be, and now a blister threatened on her right heel. She sup
posed a trek in her clogging shoes had not been a good idea. But she wanted to break them in before the dance on Saturday night.

  She could have picked an easier hike, but she had a special place where she liked to sit and dream, and it was such a pretty day. Her dress for the dance was already pressed and hanging in the chiffonier at home. She could just imagine its skirt flaring out as she twirled around the dance floor. This was no place to practice twirling, however. The narrow trail she climbed was bordered by rugged trees and thick brush on one side and a hundred-foot drop down a sheer sandstone wall on the other. Fall over that and you wouldn’t even get a chance to bounce.

  Just around the bend was the familiar jutting cliff where she loved to sit and read from the Woman’s Home Companion magazine Miz Copper received in the post each month. Of course, Miz Copper wouldn’t mind if she read at the kitchen table or on the porch, but there were so many distractions in the Pelfrey house.

  And then there was Miss Remy always studying her. If Miss Remy caught her with a book in hand, she was sure to find more wash to do or a floor to sweep. Manda’s fingertips were still sore from one of Miss Remy’s found jobs that had Manda stuffing all the pillow ticks with fresh feathers. Pushing a needle through that thick ticking was hard even with a thimble, and each seam had to be sewn twice over. Miss Remy put that old saw “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop” to test. Manda tried to stay out of her way as much as possible.

  Miz Copper took pity sometimes, though. She would breeze by and see Manda bent over some job. “Go do something fun for a while,” she’d say. Or she might take time to help Manda peel potatoes or wash a window. It gave them a chance to talk. Manda loved that.

  Manda rounded a curve in the cow path and dusted leaves and twigs from the wide ledge that provided a fine seat on the safe side of the cliff. From where she sat, she could look across the narrow trail to the top of Devil’s Eyebrow, so named for what it put you in mind of if you stood at the foot of Spare Mountain and looked upward. The overhang was bare save for a few scraggly cedars seeking nourishment in the scant film of soil atop the solid rock. A breeze always wafted across the stone plate as if a giant hand brandished a pasteboard fan across its surface.