Knitting his bushy eyebrows together, Pastor Thomas frowned, his head shuddered as he tried to make his point. His theatrical voice bellowed until the window panes rattled in their frames, his jowls quivered, his fisted hand hit the air and then wielded a mighty blow on the pulpit. Belle loved the drama of it. She felt as if she should leave, but how does one walk out on such a fine sermon?
She was getting more uncomfortable by the minute. She shifted in her seat. The sermon went on and on and on. Why couldn’t he just wind it up? Her father was right. Preachers live for Sunday mornings and don’t want them to end. Finally, a thunderous bang on the pulpit to wake up the nodes and it was over.
“Twas a God-fearing message,” Belle thought as people shuffled to the aisle. “Whatever the members of this congregation put in the collection plate, they got their money’s worth.”
At the bottom of the stairs a lady stood waiting for Belle. She smiled and introduced herself as Ada Pritchard. “Those women were wrong and I’m ashamed for them,” she said. “What a thing to do in the house of God. They went too far. We live five miles up river from the Pruett ranch and I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Meeting Mrs. Prichard and others like her was what Harlow wanted Belle to do but at that moment, it didn’t matter, nothing did. Belle’s stomach cramped, her water broke and she knew her time had come. “I’m . . . I’m . . .” Belle grasped her belly.
“Good grief! Someone get Doc Bumguard!” Ada Prichard shrieked, and then in a soft voice said, “You’re all right dear. You’re in good hands. Don’t you fret. Childbirth is a natural process, there’s nothing to fear.” Belle wanted to believe that, but she thought about her beautiful mother and how she’d died in childbirth. It might be natural, but so is death.
“This woman is about to have her baby right here,” Ada screamed so everyone could hear as she threw her arm around Belle and led her back up the steps into the sanctuary.
“No!” Belle said. “Not Dr. Bumguard. I want the Irish women.” But it was Doc Bumguard who came and as luck would have it, it was noon and Doc never took his first drink until two o’clock. Someone brought blankets and they made a bed for Belle in front of the pulpit.
“Blasphemy!” The pastor fussed and fumed. “An unwed mother giving birth in my . . . in the house of God? Get her out of here!”
“What better place, Rev?” Doc Bumguard snickered.
“This has to stop! Do you hear me?” The pastor was about to explode.
“It won’t do any good telling me, tell this baby,” Doc Bumguard said. “I don’t think it gives a good god damn what you’re saying. Why not stick around and baptize it, Rev? You’ll never get a better chance.”
Belle’s labor pains eased. “Move her now while you have the chance,” the pastor said as his jowls quivered.
“Where would you have this poor girl go? Get out of here, and take your piety with you. We’re having a baby here.” Doc Bumguard looked as if he needed a drink.
When Belle didn’t come home from church, Harlow came looking for her. As he rode up, it looked like a three-ring circus. People split into little groups, jabbering excitedly over this wild and wonderful turn of events. When the pastor saw him coming, he followed him into the church.
“It’s your fault, Harlow Pruett, bringing that lady of ill-repute to our community in the first place. She’s about to give birth right in the sanctuary."
“You’ve got it all wrong. As a man of God how can you jump to such conclusions?” Harlow took the preacher aside and lowered his voice. Pastor Thomas wasn’t good at apologizing because he liked to be right, but he came pretty close to it this time.
“I see. Well . . . well . . .” was all he could manage.
“I’m going to marry her.” Pulling the license out of his leather wallet, he showed it to the preacher. “Would it make a difference if she was married?” Harlow asked.
“Oh! Indeed, that would solve everything. Then people wouldn’t be talking about an illegitimate child being born to a woman of questionable morals right there in the sanctuary.”
“Then maybe we should be doing it right now.” Harlow walked over to Belle and shoved the women aside who were trying to help her.
“Belle, are you all right?” He knelt close to her.
“I’m glad you’re here. “
“Maybe this is a wild idea Belle, but if the preacher were to perform the ceremony right now, the baby would have a last name on the birth certificate other than yours. It wouldn’t say father unknown. We can have our party later.”
“Let’s do it,” Belle said as her smile turned into a grimace with another pain.
The congregation waiting at the steps was invited in.
Enthusiastically, the organist played the wedding march while Belle struggled into a sitting position, and the ceremony began.
Pastor Thomas was as nervous as a tree frog in a fish bait can. The ceremony was quick and to the point--he’d lost all desire for flourishes, which was fine with Belle. She had a baby to deliver and she wasn’t sure she could survive another sermon. Colleen and Gracie got there in time to hear them say their vows. They’d heard the news and came running from Sacred Heart Parish.
“We’ll take it from here,” they told the doctor. But Bumguard wasn’t about to be robbed of his fee. Besides, he seemed to love the drama and intrigue this day had brought to his rather dull life.
The Irish women felt a little cheated as they planned to deliver the baby. They did the next best thing and whipped out their rosaries and knelt in prayer.
“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with Thee. Blessed art thou among women,” they chanted in unison.
“Stop that right now.” The Rev was wringing his hands and puffing. “No Catholic goo-gaw in my church. I won’t allow it.” But they didn’t seem to hear him, and worked their way on down their beads.
“Get out of here! All of you! We’ve got work to do,” Old Doc bellowed. It was after two o’clock and he wanted to get this birth behind him. He needed a drink.
The crowd seemed hesitant to leave. They’d miss the show.
Outdoors the men had separated from the women and went behind the church and laid bets on the gender of the baby.
Born nurturers, the canyon women schemed how they would make amends to Belle by providing food, and help at the Pruett ranch while she got back on her feet.
Finally, Doc Bumguard stood on the top step of the church and he held Belle’s baby up like a trophy for everyone to see. “We have a fine healthy baby boy here,” he announced. Cheering voices echoed off the sagebrush canyon walls. There hadn’t been such a feeling of unity in the canyon for a long time.
That is how T.J., Thomas Jacob Pruett, came into the world. Harlow Pruett had sent Belle to church that Sunday morning to make herself known to the canyon women. She had accomplished that.
Chapter Nine
Tommy Jacob, the baby boy Belle held in her arms while it slept, made little squeaky noises as he stretched and seemed to grow right before her eyes. He would be a fine man with gentle ways, she would see to that.
Ada Prichard snatched him away to bathe him and in that short time, Belle wondered if she’d ever been a complete person without him. She held in her hands the welfare of a helpless human being. Helpless, yet powerful. He’d brought the canyon women to the ranch, one by one with gifts of food and baby things.
“Belle, are you awake dear?” Colleen O’Donnell and Gracie Roarke were standing there. Belle reached for their hands and pulled them down on her bed. “I can still see the look on Reverend Thomas’s face when the two of you, like angels from heaven, knelt beside me saying your Hail Marys. You’re priceless, ye know that.”
“We caused a stir, didn’t we?" Gracie grinned. "Father O’Riley couldn’t keep a straight face long enough to admonish us for our behavior.”
Colleen picked up the baby and cuddled it in her arms, cooing and clucking. He opened his eyes. “He’s beautiful, Belle. A heart-tugger. Wh
en you’re up to it, Gracie and I will keep him so you and Harlow can have some time together. Babies get all of our attention and men get left out.” Belle realized that Harlow had made himself scarce since the baby was born almost a week ago now. She wondered if he secretly resented him. As soon as the baby settled in, she’d make a special dinner and his favorite cherry pie and maybe she’d put some candles on the table instead of the old coal oil lamp.
“We brought you a stack of baby things,” Gracie said. “We pass them around. Can’t even keep track who they belonged to in the first place. There’s more here than one baby needs. They’re almost worn out but that’s when they’re the softest.”
Gracie pulled the bottom drawer out of the bureau, lined it with a folded blanket and tucked Tommy in. “There now, you can get some sleep without worrying about rolling over on him.”
“We’ll be back.” Colleen kissed Belle and they were gone.
Belle dozed off, contented in the sort of euphoria that only new mothers know.
In the course of things, Belle got acquainted with the canyon women. She understood, for the first time, that they were trying to establish some decent standards to live by in a place where men were wild and wooly. And if they didn’t insist on civility, their lives would be in shambles. She could see how a pregnant dance hall gal was not a welcome addition to their community. These women who had seemed so unfeeling and invincible were as vulnerable and frightened of this primitive life as she was. Beatrice Fox, a take-charge woman, was squat and certainly not a beauty; yet her face was strong, her eyes rousing. Her huge unharnessed bosom swayed when she walked. She’d heard Belle’s story by way of the grapevine.
“It isn’t easy being a woman,” she said. “We’re moving targets for the beasts out there. They’re all animals--some just swing closer to the trees than others. You’re a lovely girl; I want us to be friends.” Belle squeezed the hand that Beatrice offered.
“Of course, Beatrice, I’d like that, too.”
“We women have to look out for each other, nobody else will,” Beatrice said. Belle’s thoughts went to Flo, who had said something like that on the train that day. It was odd, two such different women having the same thought. Belle knew she had been accepted, for the moment anyway, into the sorority of canyon women. Harlow would be pleased.
The household revolved around little Tommy, and he grew stronger. But things weren’t going well for Belle and Harlow. She was still sleeping in her bed and he in his and it didn’t look like it was ever going to be different. In the eyes of God Belle was still a virgin. Her one encounter with the unmentionable act had become a lasting torment. The only positive aspect of the situation was that Harlow was long-suffering and understanding but how long could that last? After all, Belle had married him and he of course had every right to expect . . .
She was more than willing to have Harlow hold her. Kissing was good, too. It was just the thought of the rest that made her tense up and pull away as she anticipated what came next. And Harlow seemed to be able to take only so much hugging before he was out the door and heading for the river with his fishing pole.
The salmon were running and he often disappeared early in the morning and came back with his creel full of flopping fish for breakfast. Belle would clean them, dip them in cornmeal and fry them in the cast-iron skillet in a little lard. Belle wanted to go fishing with him but Harlow ignored her pleas until one day he came into the kitchen and handed her a fishing rod. “So you want to go fishing. How about today?” He threw Belle a devilish smile.
“You really mean it! What about little Tommy?” Belle asked.
“Call the O’Donnells. Colleen’d do it,” Harlow said. They went into the parlor and Harlow took the bell-shaped receiver down from the wall.
“It’s called a hoop and holler line,” he explained. “Hoop, because it only serves a small area and holler, because people seem to think they have to yell to be heard. Anyone can l listen in and the busybodies do.” Belle had heard it ring before but never had reason to use it.
“Crank the bell, three long turns and put the receiver to your ear.”
Colleen was on the other end saying, “You bet, I will. Just you bring him on over, love. Make a day of it. “
Ada Prichard was on the line. “Where did you say you’re going, Belle?”
“Fishing,” Belle answered.
“What in the world are you going to do a fool thing like that for? That’s a men-folk thing.”
“Well, Ada, I have a very good reason.”
“What is that, dear?”
“I want to,” Belle said.
Colleen giggled into the phone.
Ada mumbled, “You’re a caution, Belle,” as she hung up.
While Harlow delivered Tommy across the Payette, Belle put on a pair of Harlow’s trousers. Only days ago, they barely went around her waist now and she had to cinch them up with a belt. What a relief to have her body back. She found an old sweater, a straw hat and her tromping boots, packed a lunch and was standing down at the gate when Harlow rode in on his buckskin he called Horse.
“I’ll saddle up Baldy for you and we’ll go up the river a piece.” Baldy wasn’t a saddle horse; he pulled the hack but he was the best there was. Belle was so excited, she would have ridden one of the Clydesdales if Harlow had wanted her to.
Against the river, a narrow ledge cut into the terrain held the railroad tracks. Tracks that were only a few years old and had been instigated by the Thunder Mountain gold strike upstream. The mountain rose from the river so vertically they were in deep shade. Life in the canyon was like that mountain, Belle thought--rough and demanding. Huge chunks of basalt, washed clean at the mountain edge, stood like medieval castles.
“I don’t know about taking you fishing. It’s not a thing that women do.” Harlow turned to look at her, as he puffed on his bent-stemmed pipe.
“That’s what Ada Prichard said.” Belle laughed. “What’s so odd about me wanting to learn how to fish?”
“For starters, you can’t talk. It scares the fish. That won’t be easy for you. And you’ll have to hump to keep up with me.” Harlow had real style the way he sat his horse. He looked almost handsome.
“I can do it. Just watch me.” Belle gripped the reins with new determination. They’d been on the trail a good hour, gone up past a place called Banks where the sun caught the rapids whipping them with light. Harlow got off his horse and helped Belle down off Baldy. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. “The sun’s dancing in your hair. You look beautiful.” She pressed her cheek against his chest. “Tie up old Baldy, wife, and I’ll take you fishing.”
Belle followed him down the bank of the river canyon where Harlow put his rod and creel down and started to take off his clothes. “What are ye doin’, Harlow?”
“Going fishing. The best hole is on the other side of the river. We can walk across on the sand bar. It’ll come up about waist high. Leave your boots on. The river bottom is rocky.”
“I’ll not be taking my clothes off,” she said. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Harlow standing there naked.
“I thought you said you wanted to go fishing, Belle. Do you want to get your clothes all wet?” Harlow pulled a flask out of his creel, pulled the cork and handed it to Belle. “Here, take a snort, it will keep you from getting cold.”
Belle didn’t hesitate. She belted it down. Then she looked around to satisfy herself that they were completely alone before she disrobed. She watched Harlow fold his clothes into a bundle and put it under his arm. Naked as a plucked turkey, except for his boots, hat and the pipe in his mouth, he picked up his rod and creel and waded across the Payette. His head and his arms were well-tanned but the rest of his body was pale. She followed him, remembering what he said about keeping up. As she crossed on the sandbar, the ice-cold river made her legs shiver while the hot sun on her arms relaxed her. She felt inhibited yet free. “This is insane,” Belle shouted at Harlow.
As she reached the
far shore, Harlow pulled her up the bank with a silly grin on his face. He drew her to him and she responded in a way she didn’t dream she could. Harlow: caring, incredibly funny Harlow. A feeling rose within her that she didn’t know was there. She felt giddy, warm, and something else. “You’re beautiful, Belle, every inch of you. Worth waiting for.”
“You are beautiful, too.” As strange as it sounded, it was exactly what she meant. Harlow raised an eyebrow. “Beautiful to care about me so much. So this is fishing?” she said as Harlow nuzzled her neck with his beard.
He kissed her slowly, gently. His rough hand wiped her thick curls back from her cheek, and then moved easily to her shoulder, her back, her hips, and she wrapped herself against him. We are like Adam and Eve, she thought, naked in the Garden of Eden.
Out of Innocence Page 13
