Ten Thousand Charms

by Allison Pittman

  That is, until she felt lips in her hair asking about her dreams, and absolute terror at not having the right answer.

  “Why did you marry Katherine?”

  “What?”

  “Did you want to claim her? Rescue her? Or was it mad, passionate romance?” She clasped her hands to her breast and fluttered her eyelashes, mocking the emotion. John William responded with a smile and a slight shake of his head.

  “She was a good woman,” he said. “She taught me about Christ, gave me a Bible. I guess some part of me thought that marryin’ a good woman would make me a better man.”

  “So you think marrying me would make me a better woman?” A sly, taunting smile tugged the corner of her lip.

  “Well,” John William said, shrugging, “I don’ think it could hurt the cause.”

  Gloria emitted an exaggerated gasp of horror and punched his arm playfully—nothing like the blow she landed earlier. John William grasped his arm and staggered to a half-sitting, half-lying position on the sofa. Barefoot and in her nightgown, Gloria attempted to flounce past him and into her room, but his hand caught hers before she could get away, and there was something in his grip that kept her from taking another step.

  “Gloria, look at me.”

  She did, and as she did, their fingers intertwined.

  “I’ve got strong feelin’s for you,” he said, looking at their hands rather than her eyes. “Feelin’s that just aren’t right without you bein’ my wife.” He looked up at her, briefly, then looked away again.

  “I can’t make you a better man,” Gloria said. “Making me a wife isn’t going to erase my past. It isn’t going to change me. Think about what I am, John, and tell me that it’s something you want to claim.” She felt his grip loosen and let her fingers go slack, but the connection remained.

  “I’m leaving, John. Just after the harvest.”

  He smiled. “Now, darlin’, we’ve been through this before.”

  “That was different. I didn’t know then what kind of future Danny would have. But now …”

  “What’s changed?”

  “Look around. I’ll always be able to picture him in this home, growing up, going out into the fields. With you.”

  “And Kate?”

  “That little girl owes her life to me, but I don’t owe mine to her. Or to you. Good night, John.”

  She turned her back on him and padded away. She thought she heard him say her name one more time, but the rushing in her ears made her unsure if he had said “Gloria,” or “Good night.” She wouldn’t acknowledge either.

  She crawled into bed with Maureen, who appeared to be asleep. She lay awake, waiting for the sounds of John William’s settling into the bed in the room next door, but heard nothing.

  When the sky outside beckoned her to leave her bed—after an unnecessary rousing from Maureen—she half-expected to find John William still splayed out on the couch, and in her mind she reclaimed the dangling hand, brought it to her lips, and spoke to him the promises he’d asked for last night.

  But he was gone. The next time she saw him he was up—dressed and scrubbed—swigging coffee and slapping backs, ready to get the harvest under way.

  20

  While there had never been any discernible affection between John William and Gloria, they now took incredible pains to avoid each other. John William roused early, grabbed whatever cold food he could find in the pie shelf, hitched a team, and was well into the wheat before the rest of the hands had their first cup of coffee. Gloria begged off taking a noon meal out to the men, claiming the afternoon sun was too much for the babies and that she would be of much better use staying back at the house washing and slicing the vegetables from Maureen’s garden in preparation for preserving and pickling. When the men came back at dusk, John William tended to the livestock while Maureen and Gloria served the crew a hearty supper. At his request, Maureen fixed a plate and took it to him in the barn.

  If anybody picked up on their avoidance of each other, nobody remarked on it. Maureen attempted a few worried questions, but neither would offer conversation. Big Phil made one joke about sensing an early winter on an occasion when Gloria and John William passed in the yard, but a withering look from John William stopped the comment from escalating into banter. The sheer rhythm of a farm in autumn, the harvest of the field and the bounty of the garden, provided a work-filled haven from idle conversation.

  Then came Sunday.

  During harvest, the idea of Sunday as a day of rest seemed unreasonable. Despite the perfect stretches of clear crisp days, there was always the threat of frost or storm—any agent of the God they worshipped that could take away a year’s worth of work and profit in a day. So when Sunday morning came along, the men had to make do with warmed gravy over cold biscuits and no guarantee of a second cup of coffee, as Gloria and Maureen confiscated one team and a wagon to take themselves and the babies to church.

  “No argument this time?” Maureen asked as they bumped along the road.

  “Hm?” Gloria was mesmerized by the passing landscape.

  “I’m just remembering the last Sunday you went to church.” The cheerful chortle that lurked just behind all of Maureen’s words grated on Gloria’s nerves, just as it had all week. “You kicked up quite a fuss. Thought that man was going to have to hog-tie you to a pew.” She bubbled into full laughter that died out after a few self-conscious moments.

  “Just feels good to get away,” Gloria said after a while.

  “That it does. Those men might feel the need to work on the Lord’s day, but not me. He gave me a day of rest, and I intend to take it.”

  Gloria glanced over her shoulder to the babies in the back of the wagon. Nearly six months old, neither Kate nor Danny would settle for being packed away in a blanket-lined basket as they had been for their journey from Silver Peak. Now the entire wagon bed served as a traveling crate, the bottom made soft and smooth by no less than three quilts. Although Danny showed no interest in ever bringing mobility to his little body, Kate had taken to grabbing anything she could get a grip of and pulling herself to stand on her stubby, sturdy legs. Gloria checked frequently lest Kate stand up and get bounced right out of the wagon.

  “They all right back there?” Maureen asked

  “Fine.”

  “Think they’re warm enough?” There was a slight chill in the autumn morning. Both babies wore woolen pants and sweaters, gifts handed down from Josephine Logan.

  “I’m sure they’re fine.”

  After a while, Maureen transferred the reins to one hand and reached the other over to cover Gloria’s own.

  “Child,” she said, and only that, while the occasional squeezing of Gloria’s hand communicated with more warmth than her most cheerful voice ever could.

  Gloria broke the silence. “How long do you think it will take?”

  “To get to town? About an hour.”

  “To bring in the crop.”

  “Ah,” Maureen said, withdrawing her hand to gain better control of the team before they veered off the narrow path. “When it was just me and Ed and a sickle, it could take nearly a month. And that was with only ten acres planted. But that was before there was anyone to help. Just every farmer for himself. Now that the country’s growin’, why there’s all kinds of men here just to hire out as hands. Pocket full of cash, no responsibilities. Course, Big Phil’s just being neighborly. He’s got a place of his own, but he’s takin’ to start an apple orchard, so he don’t have a crop this year, except hay, and there’ll be plenty of time for that after the wheat gets in.”

  “How long for this crop?”

  “I talked with John last night,” Maureen said. “He thinks they’re about half through.”

  “Half?” Already?

  “Well, they got eight men working, two reapers, a team going behind each machine tying up the sheaves.”

  “That’s just another week.”

  “Until it’s all cut. Then of course the stalks have to dry—”


  “How long?”

  “A few days. Then it all gets loaded and driven to Centerville. They’ve got a mill there—”

  “Is that far?”

  “About three days. Maybe five with the wagon loaded down. But that’s a blessing. Time was we had to thresh it all by hand.”

  “And then what will he—What’s after Centerville?”

  Maureen turned and gave Gloria a full smile. “Why, it’s time to put up the seed wheat for the spring and start bringing in the hay.”

  Gloria turned around to check on the babies again. Kate lay on her back, madly gnawing at the sleeve of her sweater. Danny was on his stomach, valiantly holding his head high until the next gentle jolt of the wagon made his elbows give out and his little head bomped down on the quilt. He was frustrated—not hurt—and Gloria sent him a sound of sympathy in the midst of her calculations.

  One month.

  “A lot can happen in a month,” Maureen said, a sly song in her voice.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just that a month is a long time.” Maureen’s voice oozed innocence. “Seems to me that this time next month, little Kate might be able to walk herself to church.”

  Gloria laughed at the exaggeration, then said, “When do babies start walking, anyway?”

  “Whenever they decide to. One day they’re just crawling around, hands and knees filthy from the floor, and God just hands down the strength to get up, find a balance, and take a step. After that, walking just comes natural.”

  Gloria took a sidelong look at the woman who had grown to be so dear to her. “How do you know all this? You’ve never had—” She stopped herself too late, but the older woman’s chuckle set Gloria’s mind at ease.

  “Good heavens, girl,” she said, “you don’t have to have children to know they get up and walk.” She turned then, and seemed determined to stare until Gloria rewarded her with a smile. “As for the when we walk, why there’s nothin’ to knowing that either. It’s in God’s timing—just like everything else. Nothing on this earth ever happens until God gives His hand to it. Crops don’t grow, babies don’t walk. We can make all the plans we want to, can try to make people fit and fill our lives, but there’s not a thing we can do outside of His power. Funny how sometimes it’s the people who love God the most that are the worst about lettin’ Him do His work, and the ones that don’t care the least are happy driftin’ along, not even knowing they’re under His hand.

  “Men—well, human beings—can be just so stubborn. They feel the need to force their desires, their vision. Staying up nights, worrying …”

  The pause hung between them like a worm dangling from a hook, but Gloria refused to take the bait.

  “And just how are you sleeping these nights, Maureen?” Gloria asked.

  Maureen turned and gave her a wink. “Some nights better than others,” she said before clicking to the horses and turning them toward town.

  John William felt a bit hypocritical not going to church that Sunday. All the wheedling and convincing he’d done to bring Gloria to church for the last service echoed in his ear. What a blessing it was to be near a congregation. How important it was to forge ties in the community, to obey God’s command to assemble together.

  None of his crew members seemed disappointed to be working on the Lord’s Day—although Big Phil declared he would miss the after-service dinner—and he considered leaving them to their labor and accompanying the women and babies. But the long ride to Middleton with Gloria was not an idea he cherished. Moments of silence in passing were one thing, but hours of ambling non-conversation were quite another.

  “Men,” John William said before the first stalk of wheat was cut, “seein’ that it’s the Lord’s Day today, let’s say a prayer before we get started this mornin’.”

  There was a series of uncomfortable mumblings and shufflings, and nearly a full minute elapsed before Lonnie caught on that he should remove his hat. John William’s request for a volunteer to lead sent eyes darting to the dust, except for Big Phil, who launched into prayer before John William’s eyes were fully closed.

  “Our Father God in heaven,” Phil’s voice boomed into the morning, “we labor here today to Thee. We ask Thine hand of safety upon us.”

  John William moved to put on his hat and head to work before he realized that Phil wasn’t finished.

  “And for this bounty that we harvest, for this Thine blessing Thou has broughtest forth from Thy earth, we truly praise and thank Thee.”

  Shuffle …

  “Though we know we toileth not for our own selves, but for the benefit of our brother and new neighbor, we know he shareth our gratitude. May he findeth rest here easy. May his family be at peace here in our midst.”

  A few men mumbled “Amen,” but Phil pressed on.

  “And finally Lord, we thank Thee for Thy love and bounty. And mostly for Thy wisdom in our lives.” Pause. “In the name of Thy Son Jesus Christ, the Savior of our souls, we offereth this prayer to Thee.” Pause. “Amen.”

  “Amen!” echoed the hands. John William sensed the movement around him, but he remained head bowed, eyes closed in prayer.

  May his family be at peace here in our midst. He wondered if Phil would pray for God’s blessings if he knew the nature of his “family.”

  Forgive me, Lord, he prayed silently, both for deceivin’ my friends and for allowin’ such discord in my home. I’m givin’ that woman over to You and Your wisdom. You sent her to save my child, and for that I give thanks. Renew my strength to resist temptation, and help—

  “Amen, MacGregan!” Phil said, giving a hearty slap on his back. “Are we workin’ or havin’ a prayer meetin’?”

  John William opened his eyes to see the smiling face of his new friend, this older, portly man who, in a single innocent prayer, managed to bring him a path of peace for the discord in his home. He kept his hat gripped in one hand and extended the other to shake Phil’s.

  “Thank you brother,” John William said, pumping Phil’s hand. “That was a powerful prayer.”

  “Well, if we don’t get to work soon, we may as well have gone to church.”

  They shared a laugh as they made their way toward the waiting men and horses.

  Gloria entered the small Middleton church for the second time in her life. This morning had a distinctly different feel to it. Absent were the gatherings of hands-in-pockets, dirt-stamping husbands. No crowds of rowdy boys ran circles around screaming packs of little sisters. There was only Reverend Fuller, dressed in his somber black suit, to lend a baritone voice to the gathering crowd. He did so poised on the steps of his little church, ringing its bell, calling the group of women and young children in to worship.

  Gloria remembered seeing several of the women the previous week, but John William had not taken great pains to introduce her. Maureen, however, made her way across the lawn and through the crowd of longtime friends, holding baby Kate in one arm and the other stretched behind her, leading Gloria by the hand. “This is Gloria,” Maureen said to one smiling, bonneted face after another, “and her son Danny and daughter Kate. I kept them back at the house last week …” Gloria followed, silent behind her, with a tight-lipped smile and downcast gaze accompanying each greeting.

  Both Danny and Kate were looking especially bright-eyed and beautiful this morning, and Gloria steeled herself for an onslaught of oohs and ahhs, for torrents of admiration and questions. But nearly every woman she met had her own beautiful baby in her arms or clinging to her skirts, so Gloria’s babies were hardly given more than a passing glance.

  “Well,” Maureen said, turning to Gloria with a smile, “shall we go in, then?”

  “I suppose so,” Gloria said, truly wishing she had a choice.

  The women ascended the small set of steps that led to the open church door where Reverend Fuller stood greeting his congregation.

  “Good morning Mrs. Brewster,” he said, extending a warm handshake to Maureen. “And who is this lovely child?”


  “This is John MacGregan’s daughter, Kate, and his son, Danny. And you met Gloria last week.”

  “Of course I did.” His voice was soft, Gloria thought, and wrinkled. “Good morning, Mrs. MacGregan.” He extended his hand, and Gloria allowed his fingers to grip hers, but she did not meet his eyes when she mumbled “Good morning,” before passing through the door.

  She breathed again after passing the threshold. The same rows of benches as last time. Some of the same faces. Same rays of sunshine pouring through the glass windows. Same muted conversations. Same smell of sawdust and leather and soap.

  Maureen walked just ahead of her. As she passed each row, heads looked up and women smiled, then returned to their conversations. Nobody seemed shocked to see Gloria in the room. Nor did they seem elated, disappointed, or outraged. Gloria, mute and musing, followed behind Maureen to the bench in the last row on the left-hand side. Where they’d sat last week. Maureen gestured to Gloria to slide in first.

  “John William said you’d be more comfortable in the back,” Maureen whispered as Gloria slid halfway down the bench. “I usually sit third row from the front,” she pointed to where another older lady was turned, offering a white lace wave across her shoulder, “but back here’s nice, too.” She used Kate’s hand to return her friend’s wave.

  “She looks familiar,” Gloria said, offering a guarded smile to the woman in the third row.

  “That’s Big Phil’s wife, Anne,” Maureen said.

  “That’s why she looks familiar. She looks just like Phil.”

  “Well, they’ve been married nearly thirty years. They say after a while you just start to look like each other.”

  Gloria brought Danny’s fist up to her mouth and grazed his little fingers across her lips. She tried to picture herself thirty years from now with a misshapen nose and a cauliflower ear. She smiled into the eyes of her son and thought, what better reason to leave?

  A familiar brood slid into the bench in front of them. Josephine Logan settled two of her children—Eliza and little Charles—beside her before turning around to offer Gloria and Maureen a warm smile.