Still House Pond

by Jan Watson

  The cookstove was almost cold. Jamming a long-handled prong into a cast-iron burner plate, Copper lifted it and was rewarded by the sight of live coals. A chunk of wood from the wood box soon had the fire going again. What had gotten into Manda? She knew to keep one burner going under the teakettle. Not to mention the ironing board was still in the pantry, and it was nearly ten o’clock. Manda should have been half-done with Tuesday’s task by now. Maybe she should have a talk with the young woman, but she hated to say anything. It wasn’t like Manda didn’t work hard when she worked. She just seemed to have her head in the clouds lately.

  Copper drew the back of her hand across her forehead. Goodness, she was tired. There was so much to do. If she didn’t keep on top of things, her household would fall apart. While in the pantry fetching the sassafras root, she got the ironing board from behind the door and brought it out too. After the kettle boiled, she would put the iron to heat.

  Copper warmed the inside of a teapot with hot water, then emptied it into the slop bucket. The sassafras shavings made the prettiest light red tea when it steeped, and the aroma was heavenly—best treatment for the ague she knew of. She added a skein of yarn and two knitting needles to Adie’s tray.

  “I see you got too many irons in the fire as usual,” Remy said as she came into the kitchen with a wad of linen clutched to her chest.

  Copper laughed. “I was going to press a couple of things while the tea steeped.”

  “Waste of time if you ask me,” Remy said. “Why iron things that are just going to wrinkle again as soon as you sit down? Besides, ain’t that Manda’s job?”

  “I learned ironing from my mam. It’s soothing to stand in one place for a while.”

  Remy hefted the tea tray. “I’ll take this and a cup for Tillie. I’m going out anyway—got to leave these sheets in the washhouse. I took the opportunity to strip the sickroom bed whilst Tillie gets some air.” She looked aggrieved. “Somebody forgot them yesterday, the same somebody who forgot the ironing today.”

  Copper upended the sadiron and spit on the bottom. The spit sizzled and popped. “Don’t you want a cup of tea first?” she asked as she pressed the collar of John’s Sunday shirt.

  “Maybe when I get back.” Remy elbowed her way out the door. “I still got to mop the floor in there and wipe down the woodwork.”

  Copper kept her mug on the end of the ironing board. The flowery aroma of the sassafras mingled with the starchy smell released from the laundry by the hot iron. Copper inhaled deeply, smelling work and reward at the same time. She suppressed the urge to give aid as Remy backed out the screen door with the tea tray on one hip and the bundle of wash on the other.

  Remy was allergic to help, and it was a pure blessing when she could move about without the aid of her crutch. Warm weather greased her arthritic hip, giving her freedom from the usual pain. Remy never complained about her troubles, though she surely had reason. Years ago, before she was saved, Remy used to raid henhouses and cellars for sustenance. One day she picked the wrong henhouse, and an old lady came at her with a shotgun. Remy lost a lot that day and came within a hair’s breadth of dying, but the shooting brought her back into Copper’s life and into the arms of the Lord. “‘All things work together for good,’” Copper said.

  “Are you talking to me?” Tillie called from the porch.

  Copper laughed as she positioned a shirtsleeve for ironing. “I’m just citing Scripture.” Taking the opportunity she had been praying for, Copper put the iron back on the burner and stepped outside with her Bible and a mug of tea. “Do you know that verse?”

  “Can’t say that I do,” Tillie murmured.

  Copper pulled a chair alongside the young mother and opened her Bible to Romans 8:28 and read, “‘All things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are called according to his purpose.’ Isn’t that a wonderful promise?”

  “Do you reckon that means me too? I don’t go to church or nothing.”

  Copper covered one of Tillie’s hands with her own. “Do you love the Lord?”

  “Oh yes, ma’am—with all my heart. My mommy taught me about Jesus.”

  “It sounds to me like God meant you, then. It says ‘to them that love God.’ The Word of God never fails.” Copper stood and laid her Bible on the chair seat. “Let’s get you back in the shade. I believe the baby has had enough sun.”

  Tillie looked contemplative as she arranged the blanket around the baby. “How long do ye reckon before I could take Abe Jr. to church? I’d like to think I raised my son to have that promise for his own self.”

  Copper felt a tingle walk her spine, which always happened when she sensed the Holy Spirit moving. She couldn’t wait to tell John what had just happened. “I’d say wait about three months to take the baby out. By then he’ll have good protection against sickness, and you’ll be stronger too. In the meantime, Brother Jasper could visit you and Abe at home if you would like.”

  Tillie sipped from the teacup that Remy had brought out earlier. “I would like that. I heard him praying for me the night I flooded so bad. The room got so dark I thought I could see the stars. I was swirling down a dark river; then I heard Brother Jasper calling me back to my baby.” Her eyes spurted tears. “I was so scared. I thought I was about to die.”

  “Lord love your heart. That was a frightening time for all of us.”

  The screen door creaked. Copper had been so intent on Tillie that Manda was nearly inside the house before she noticed the girl had come up on the porch. Manda was carrying her shoes, and she ducked when she caught Copper looking.

  Just as Copper opened her mouth in question, the children straggled across the yard. Jack was covered in mud, and the twins’ dress tails were wet. Lilly Gray was mad. Copper could tell by the set of her fists on her nearly nonexistent hips.

  “Mama,” Lilly said, “your children do not mind very well.”

  “Obviously.” Copper herded Jack to the end of the porch and stripped off his pants and shirt. She’d have to scrape the mud off his clothes with a butter knife. Oh, well, boys will be boys. “Stand still,” she said while watching a horse and rider draw up in the yard.

  “Miz Pelfrey,” a neighbor called from horseback, “can you come? It’s Mary’s time.”

  5

  Mary Randall was made for birthing babies, Copper decided as she held a squirming newborn upside down and smacked her round bottom. The infant squalled in protest, quickly turning from blue to pink. “Mary, she’s a beauty. Have you picked out a name?”

  “Prude, I’m thinking,” Mary said as Copper secured the umbilical string in two places, then cut between the ties.

  Copper bit her tongue. What a name to settle on a baby, she thought. With one more push, Mary delivered the afterbirth. All of a piece, Copper saw. Tillie Sizemore’s had come out tattered. A retained piece of placenta was why she’d nearly bled to death. A million and one things could go wrong at a birthing, but this one was perfect—except for the baby’s name. Folks often lived up to their forename, so what would become of little Prude?

  Copper wrapped the wee one in a warmed receiving blanket and placed her on Mary’s chest. “Are you naming her for someone special?”

  “My ma, God rest her soul. Everybody called her Prude.” Mary unwrapped the swaddling and counted ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes. “I sure wish she was here to see her namesake.”

  “Did your mother have a middle name?” Copper asked while she helped the baby to suckle.

  Mary grimaced when the baby clamped on. “Merry. With two r’s, like ‘happy.’ Prudence Merry was her Christian name.

  With one fingertip Copper broke the suction from the baby’s mouth and repositioned her. “Does that feel better?”

  “Much.” Mary settled back against the pillows Copper had stacked there.

  “Merry’s sure a pretty name. You could switch your mom’s name around. Merry Prudence has a good ring to it. Don’t you think?”

  Mary fondled her infant’s h
ead. “She is pretty, ain’t she? Look at her ears—so perfect. Let’s see what she wants to be called. Prude?”

  The baby nursed in bursts of sucks but never lost hold.

  “She’s good at this,” Copper said, smiling at the ease with which the feeding was going. That was not always the case. It took some infants hours to catch on, but then Mary was a natural. Copper had oft noticed that the calmer the mother, the quicker the baby latched. She herself had loved nursing, though the twins had presented a bit of a challenge. She’d learned to hold them backward, tucked around her waist like sacks of potatoes. It seemed like all she did the first year of their life was feed them. Watching Mary made her yearn to have another baby. She’d have to talk to John. The girls were three, after all. But he seemed set against it, and she would never go against his wishes.

  The baby mewed like a kitten. Her head lolled away from the breast.

  “Merry?” her mother said.

  As if in response, the baby’s eyes popped open. She stared at her mother’s face.

  Mary stroked the baby’s palm and smiled as the small hand curled around her finger. “Looks like she’s picked what she likes best.”

  Copper retrieved a certificate, a pen, and a capped pot of ink from her delivery kit. “It’s Merry Prudence Randall then, is it?” When Mary nodded, Copper began to fill out the form, noting place, date, hour, day of the week, and the weight and length. She always took her time with this part of the delivery process for this was an important document and would most likely be cherished in the family Bible along with, hopefully, a record of baptism and someday a certificate of marriage.

  Dipping the nib of the pen in the pot, she said, “I need your maiden name and your husband’s given name.”

  “I was an Allen,” Mary said, shifting the baby to her other side, “and believe it or not, my husband’s given name is Big Boy.”

  “Really? I figured that to be a nickname,” Copper replied.

  “Everyone does, but Big Boy is the name his father gave him. Too bad you weren’t at that delivery. He might have had a proper first name.”

  “You’ve got me there,” Copper said, scribing a cursive B. “It’s just that names are so important. I once delivered a baby whose father insisted on naming him Nimrod Axel. That bothers me to this day.”

  After pressing a piece of blotting paper over the document, Copper set it aside to dry before she put her seal on it. “Speaking of Big Boy, I’d best go fetch him so he can meet his daughter. Last time I checked, he was walking a circle in the barn. He said he was too nervous to wait in the kitchen.”

  Mary clasped Copper’s hand. “Thank you ever so much. I would never have made it without you.”

  Big Boy was indeed right where she had left him, but now he was polishing tack. “You’re going to wear that leather out,” she said.

  Big Boy dropped the harness. “Is Mary all right?”

  “Mary is fine, and your daughter is beautiful.”

  Big Boy caught her in a bear hug and whirled her around the barn. “A girl. Are you sure?”

  Copper laughed. He was the nicest man. He reminded her of her father. “I’m sure. Go see for yourself.”

  Big Boy dashed a tear from his eye. “I never thought to see this day. I feel like the luckiest man alive.”

  Copper followed him across the yard, tarrying outside to give the parents some privacy with their newborn. Those moments alone were precious, and she felt it strengthened the couple’s union.

  Exhaustion overtook her, and she paused to rest under the large leaves and low-hanging beans of a catalpa tree. Her shoulders and lower back ached from the day’s hard work. They didn’t call it labor for nothing. But even as her muscles protested, her spirit soared. What sweet glory to guide a new life into the world. Nothing else gave her such satisfaction.

  Looking toward the distance, she watched twilight sashay down the face of the mountains. The vivid greens of the forest turned to shadowy gray and muted khaki. This day would soon be over. She wondered how her children were and what they’d had for supper. She felt a heart pang knowing she wouldn’t be there to tuck them into bed. John would, though. She could count on him.

  As if her thoughts had conjured him up, there John rode across the yard. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said before he even dismounted. “How goes it?”

  “A baby girl,” she replied, “six pounds, eight ounces.”

  “And Mary?”

  “She did great. Everything went smooth as clockwork.”

  John handed over a basket before he tethered the horse. “Manda sent supper.”

  “Smells good. I’ll get it on the table.”

  John took the basket back and set it on the ground. “First things first,” he said, tilting her chin. His kiss was light and easy as befitted the place, but it claimed her still.

  “That’s almost as good as the fried chicken I know is in this basket.”

  “Almost?” he said, with a smack to her fanny. “Since when do I vie with fried chicken?”

  She scampered ahead of him through the door. “The last time I ate was breakfast. I’m starved.”

  “So am I. But not for chicken.”

  Way after dark, John took his leave. Copper kissed him good-bye under the catalpa.

  “I don’t see why you have to stay,” he said, holding her close. “You said Mary was doing well.”

  She shook her head as it rested on his broad chest. Her forehead scraped across the pocket of his rough overalls. “We’ve talked about this before. Please don’t make me feel guilty.”

  He lifted her up as if she had no more substance than a will-o’-the-wisp. “It’s just I hate being home without you.”

  “I know, honey. I know.” She leaned into him as the infant’s cry called to her from the lit cabin.

  She traced the curve of his neck, feeling his strong pulse against her fingertips. His heart beat in perfect harmony with hers—like an orchestra of two. She often thought if his heart stilled, hers would surely follow suit. It was only when she was in the midst of her work that discord threatened their union. It was simple enough to figure out. He wanted her home—always within easy reach. You’d think he would have adjusted to her ways by now. She had to his, but if John was as close as a waltz, she was a square dance keeping a little distance.

  “I wonder,” he said in a low, gruff voice, “if you would take down your hair for me.”

  It surprised her that he would ask for something so intimate outside the walls of their bedroom, but her fingers sought the pins and combs and her hair fell free. A rush like a thousand butterfly wings filled her chest when he ran his big hands through her tumbled locks.

  “Gracious,” she said, breathless. “Maybe you’d best take your leave now.”

  The baby’s cry grew louder—more insistent.

  “Your hair is like the hottest flame,” he said. “It draws me.”

  With her hands on his chest, she pushed him away. “John, really I need to go in.”

  “All right,” he said, stealing one last kiss. “But you come home tomorrow.”

  Copper was stacking kindling under the washtub just as dawn broke. She had slept like a cat last night in fits and starts, once falling asleep in a chair with baby Merry on her chest. It was always like this when she was away from her own bed and the comfort of John’s arms. Plus, there was so much to do and so little time in which to do it. She’d already fired up the cookstove, boiled coffee, and made biscuits. It was early to do a wash, but she wanted to get the soiled birthing linens washed and on the line before Mary’s sister came to take over.

  When bubbles roiled across the surface of the water, Copper dumped in the sheets and toweling she’d let soak overnight. It was good to be outside so early in the morning while the mist swirled around her feet like the skirts of dancing girls and the sweet breath of the mountains restored her strength. As she stirred the laundry with a wooden paddle, her thoughts strayed to the time she had lived in the city with Simon. Obviously
she had loved him enough to be there, but it was a hard place. Everyone lived cheek to jowl like hogs in a pen, and whenever you stepped out of doors, you saw your neighbor and your neighbor saw you. She wondered if anyone who lived in such tight places ever took a truly deep breath.

  She’d been seventeen when Simon swept her off her feet and carried her far away to live in the big city. It was an adjustment for sure, but she found her place and learned so much. She might not be birthing babies now if it hadn’t been for the teachings of her doctor husband. Thoughts of Simon turned to thoughts of his sister, Alice, and the letter Copper carried deep inside her pocket.

  Things had not been good with Alice. No matter how hard Copper tried, she had never been the frilly socialite Alice craved for her only brother. The corners of Copper’s mouth twitched and a laugh escaped as she thought of the day, years ago in Lexington, when Alice, along with the upright president of the hospital auxiliary, came calling and found Copper barefoot in the garden. Alice was nearly apoplectic. There were many times Copper unkindly wished she were.

  As Copper rubbed a stubborn stain up and down the washboard, she wondered why she still needed to please Alice—especially since she was quite sure that was never going to happen. Of course there were ties that bound tight as apron strings; at first it was their shared love of Simon, and now it was his daughter, Lilly Gray.

  Lost in thought, she’d scrubbed too hard and scraped her knuckle raw against the ribbed board. This is what happens when I don’t pay attention, she chided herself as she wrung out the piece of wash and dunked it in the rinse water.

  Sucking on the injured knuckle, she took out the letter with her other hand. It was barely light enough to read, but unfortunately there was no mistaking Alice’s request—no, demand! She wanted Lilly, just Lilly, for the month of July. Round-trip train tickets were enclosed. Alice had thought of everything. All Copper had to do was get Lilly to the depot.

  The desire to hold the missive to the flame that flickered under the washtub was so strong, Copper had to step back. Last year, she had accompanied Lilly on her yearly visit, along with the twins and Jack. Alice put up a good front with the other children although she had eyes only for Lilly Gray. Then Copper had given in to Alice’s pleading and Lilly’s whining and allowed Lilly to stay a week beyond Copper’s visit. Like the first tentative pull of a moth’s wing against a spider’s web, Copper could see now how expertly her sister-in-law had woven her manipulative trap. Alice could rightly reason that Lilly would be perfectly safe to travel without her mother. After all, Copper had allowed it before.