When Jan woke, Noelle made up a tea to purge his guts of the liquor he’d drunk. She prepared his mush. She buttered bread and poured honey on it.
At dusk on the night before the wedding, when the bloodiest work of animal slaughtering was done and the air was saturated with smells of singed hair and roasting meat, the neighbor women collected out back of the Wilhelms’ kitchen. Many had brought elements for stews or cakes, breads, jams, and cheeses for the wedding fest. Hat and Dossie circulated with platters of sweet rolls and hot cider and roasted potatoes and roasted seeds and nuts and apples.
Noelle, the only woman in the gathering wearing the old-style beaded buckskin dress, seemed out of step with the other women. All of them wore calico, even the two young wives of Chief Aaron, a distant relative of Russell Sitton. Old Sarah DeGroot, born when few women wore anything but skin dresses, wore a fancy cotton gown and sat in a rocker covered in shawls and warmed quilts. She was prune dark and frosted with white hair, and she began the storytelling in the old language that few still understood. She still spoke the former masters’ prattle, the slatternly pidgin Dutch of decades before. The younger grown women stood, leaning against a porch rail or against the house, and spun on their drop spindles or used their needles for making stockings. The little gals combed and plaited each other’s hair and listened to words they hardly understood.
Dossie was too nervous to rest, but Hat settled at last and guided the women’s talk to the market. “Is your girl wantin’ to work, Honey?” she queried. “Dossie can stand the help with her eggs and her sellin’ and I know my brother will pay your Sally to go ’long and ’sist her.” It was Hat’s clever way to remind the women that her brother was a very successful man, and they were here to celebrate him. Ah, and well they knew it! Hat then laid out a whole plan with a precision that suggested she had practiced her words.
Harriet “Honey” Vander smiled graciously. She was even more pleased and flattered than she chose to display. Most of the women who had daughters were eager to find some work for their older ones amongst the women who needed to hire helpmeets. Honey was excited to be asked if her daughter could work. In fact, she had dreamed of this for her girl. It would do her Sally no harm to be in Harriet Wilhelm’s orbit. And it would do her no harm to be in the orbit of Mrs. Wilhelm’s son and nephew. Sally was at the age that she must be seen. And she must be seen to be a modest, hardworking, healthy-looking girl. No man in Russell’s Knob wanted a wife who would sit on her rump and preen. For that, they went in town.
“Ma’am, she’s a good, obedient girl,” Honey said to Hat, then turned to look at Dossie. “Miz Dossie, you won’ hafta give her nar’ a penny if she don’ do just what you ast her. She’s strong. I be proud if you take her on. She’ll serve you well.”
Sally’s face lit up with circumspect excitement. She wanted to show all of the modest, obedient attributes that her mother was extolling, but she was excited to be going to the market. She wished it was considered proper for a girl of her size to jump up and cavort. She squeezed her younger sisters’ hands until they squealed and pulled away.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Dossie said to both Harriets for their plans for her. She felt built up, too. Hat had taken and given her a place and elevated her to a knob of respect. And Honey Vander must trust her fitness to let young Sally come into her orbit. Dossie felt content, accepted, and only once or twice for the remainder of the festive night did she think about her husband and worry about her marriage.
Dossie dozed off listening to the women’s market palaver. Hat’s eyelids fluttered, though she did not drift to slumber as most of the others eventually did. Had Nancy Siscoe slipped from the group when some of the young women sneaked away to meet their beaux?
Nancy Siscoe did leave the group, did go in search of Duncan, did find him, but left exhausted of her self-esteem. He hadn’t done anything but finger her and kiss her and had acted more drunk than he’d actually been. Nancy fumed to herself that, at last, Duncan truly had a ring in his nose. For a long time she had been the easy trouble, the dalliance. But now the new little cow had it all.
The wedding foursome left Russell’s Knob for Paterson before sunrise on the day. Dossie was resplendent in the dress Mary Figgs Van Waganen had made. Her eyebrows had been shaved to half-moons, and purple agates hung on gold wires from her ears. The dress’s collar was high and white and laced magnificently. The cloth was a plaid design that was perfectly agreeable to Dossie’s shape, for it emphasized her enviable bosom and, with its folds and flounces, celebrated her delicious butt. Hat, too, was beautifully dressed in a new gown. Duncan caught his breath when he mounted to sit beside Wilhelm at the front of the four-wheeled trap. Ah, beauty is a complex play of familiarity and surprise! Duncan said nothing, only turned to Ernst Wilhelm and smiled. Because Hat suggested it, Ernst Wilhelm had dressed the horse with a fresh-polished holiday bridle, and the group set off for town with a merry sound.
In the office of the justice, the marriage ceremony went smoothly except that Duncan and Ernst Wilhelm had lied that Dossie’s papa was a freeman called Jim Bird whom they’d known for many years. Dossie started when she heard her name called as Dossie Bird, and Duncan winked at her. She wanted to laugh. Her most important day, and she wanted to do nothing so much as laugh aloud! She smiled while repeating her vows and lit the room.
If the morning’s ceremony was Dossie’s high and festive pinnacle, then the evening’s party was Hat’s. All of the town did come to celebrate with the Wilhelms and the Smoots, and Hat felt a thrill to see them assembling in the clearing and filling the barns.
Because there was far less shame in being a woman put aside than in being the sole inhabitant of Russell’s Knob who did not attend the wedding fest of Duncan Smoot, Noelle Beaulieu attended. She observed to herself that, though Duncan Smoot is a pirate, he can’t put aside something he don’t own—that he ain’t ever owned. When Jan came to escort her, Noelle’s chin was thrust forward, and her cheeks were held tight, and she’d prettied up for the occasion.
Not a soul missed Duncan Smoot’s wedding celebration. As dusk descended, torches were lit and hung at intervals. Some people were, at first, shocked that Jan had gone and got the very best fiddler in Russell’s Knob, a well-traveled girl called Charity Toynton, to accompany his dancing. Charity, an abandoned bastard child that no one had the bitter heart to smother, lived with and worked for the Van Waganens. She was called Toynton because she was discovered, in infancy, some months after the disappearance of Prosper Toynton.
The bride and bridegroom were seated on a dais to observe the dance, and Jan began the show by nodding to Charity, who brought her fiddle to life. Jan let her play and only tapped his heels intermittently. He brushed against the floorboards with his thick leather clog shoes as he looked at Charity’s fingers on the fiddle. All eyes bore into Charity until the spectators realized that Jan’s feet had become active. Then they turned to gaze on him. Jan Smoot, nephew of the bridegroom, danced for the bride—for Dossie, the beautiful queen of the day. Jan and Charity meshed and were kept to a beat by a drummer who drummed in the old ways. They furnished a wildly beautiful duet of fiddling and dancing. The jigs and turns were entrancing and complex.
The duet continued with mounting fury for several songs, then Jim Scout added jug playing, and the cadence soared. A mouth organ was played, and a band formed as several young shavers worked at spoons.
As master of the dance, Jan took Dossie’s hand and pulled her off her throne and pulled Uncle to his feet and gave one to the other. Jan drew them to the center of the floor and led them in the dance. Duncan grinned from ear to ear and grabbed Dossie’s waist and spun her around the barn. His dancing was exuberant and graceful. No one had ever said the Smoots were inelegant dancers. Here again Dossie had worried. But it mattered little, because Duncan held her and swirled her and she fixed her eyes on him and was borne along. Finally he let her go to Jan for an extended turn about the floor. At this signal all of the party began to cho
ose partners and form up for reels and breakdowns.
Dossie danced with most all of the men while Duncan rotated through the women—stepping gaily but keeping a corner of his eye on his wife. Except that when he danced with Hat he drunk in her beaming face. Hat was so rapturous that it made Duncan proud of himself to have given her a reason to swell with pleasure. They stepped sprightly and in perfect concert. Their family resemblance was obvious, and they made a handsome pair of dancers.
“You had better watch out for your husband, girl,” Noelle said to Hat with tipsy laughter when Hat stopped and caught her breath from whirling about the floor. “He’s got plans for you, I think.”
Noelle was the one woman who did not dance a turn with the bridegroom. She had promised herself that she would not. “The European dances are useless,” Noelle said out loud but to no one in particular. “They can’t cause rain or ward off a danger!” It annoyed her to see Hattie swirling around so merrily. As always she was getting her way! She had Duncan tucked up tight, and now she could work on marrying off the boys. And Hat wanted to believe that Duncan and Dossie would fill up the porch with children. Noelle knew they would not. If Hattie believed differently she was fooling herself and dreaming still. Hat knew, and she ought to tell the Dossie Bird because a woman ought to know what she is getting in marriage.
“He’s following you with his greedy eyes. You better have your safety,” Noelle said to Hat, who was blissful in all of the revelry.
“Shut your mouth, Noelle.”
“He’s dancin’ roun’ like Pan with a flute. He’s gonna catch up with you, girl.”
“You jealous, Noelle? You can’t let us have no fun ’cause you’re sour.”
“I’m as always jealous of Mr. Wilhelm,” Noelle answered quietly and pinned Hat’s eyes with her own.
“Hush up, Noelle,” Hat snapped. “You’re jealous of everyone.” She rolled her eyes and walked away. She caught up with her husband and linked her arm in his. The gesture surprised Wilhelm, and he grasped at Hattie’s waist.
Jan had barely managed to contain himself. The worst had happened. Dossie had married Uncle. He felt exhilaration in his dancing. His soul flew around the barn with the opportunity to show her his capering. He had kicked it up to delight only Dossie. He loved her so much, and his eyes loved her so much. He had looked at her all of the day. It was allowed. All eyes could drink in the bride on this one day. When Jan reflected on it, he wanted to cry. This one day had convinced him that he loved her completely and fatally and that she would disappear into Uncle’s pocket and he would know she was there.
So many things had been there—in Duncan Smoot’s right-hand trouser pocket: his tobacco, some smooth stones he fingered, some string, a leather strip, and once an unusual feather was there when Jan and Pet had sneaked into Duncan’s pants to pilfer a coin or two. The feather hadn’t come off any bird they’d ever seen. It had a large eye at the center of it. Neither boy knew what Uncle used the feather for, nor could they imagine. Then Jan had seen Uncle use it. Jan had crept out of his bed in Noelle’s house and followed the happy voices. Uncle was using the feather on Noelle’s body, stroking and titillating her all over and in every place upon her. Then she had turned the feather on Uncle. When Jan told Pet about it they talked for hours, and Jan said things about Noelle that made him ever after regret he’d watched. Though from that time, Jan became a confirmed watcher. Dossie was part and parcel of Uncle’s pocket now. Did Jan love Dossie so much because she belonged to Uncle? Belonged? She was his wife now, and Uncle belonged to her as much as she belonged to him.
Dossie was so beautiful on this day from sunrise until the last torch had burnt in the clearing. When it was black dark Jan watched her walk into the house with her hand in Uncle’s. She had sat for hours, then had danced and gone back and sat again. Once she had been given a small cake from Uncle’s hand, and she bit into it and smiled directly at Jan. He knew it was meant as a small smile of happiness for all of the excitement around her. But Jan also imagined that Dossie taunted him with her eyes. She was a little vixen who was pleased with herself for succeeding with Uncle. Later when Jan fucked Charity Toynton in the horse stall, he thought about Dossie’s studied innocence and the contents of Uncle’s pocket.
PART THREE
“ONE OF PORTZL’S BITCHES had some pups. That’s the prettiest,” Pet said, smiled shyly, and deposited an animal at Dossie’s feet. She cradled a pan of peas, pulling them out of their pods. At first she mistook the animal for a lamb. For days the wedding gifts had continued to arrive. Small sheep and goats were popular.
“Oh, he’s pretty!” Dossie exclaimed.
“Oh no, ma’am,” Pet responded in a peculiar, uncomfortable voice. “Is a bitch for a job. She’ll make a good lookout around those chickens. She was my choice ’cause Hickory Short’s bitch was wild for my Portzl. So Portzl did the job, and I got my pick. She’s for you. Uncle says you need a dog.” He gave her a fleeting, furtive smile.
“Oh,” Dossie cried and raised her hands to her face. Her face broke apart in smiles and giggles at the sight of the fat, clumsy dog tumbling about the porch. “Oh, thank you, Pet!” She reached down to stroke the small dog. It had a dark black fur, a large head, and molasses-colored eyes.
“Better not spoil her. She’ll be good at runnin’ off a fox or any other thing worrying your chickens. Her bitch is from a line of foxhunters. She’ll be keen for them.” Pet stooped and ran his hand over the dog’s back, then picked her up by her scruff and held her to his chest. “She’ll be big and clever like Portzl. I guarantee you.” He nuzzled the pup about the head and neck. He handed her into Dossie’s arms.
“She’ll cry a lot at firs’ ’cause she misses her mama,” Pet went on talking and walked into the kitchen. He fixed up a small pallet of buckwheat hulls in a sack and found a rag and knotted it and put the baby dog in a corner near the stove. He dangled the rag above her head, and the puppy grabbed it in her tiny teeth. Pet and Dossie giggled together, both sitting on the floor beside the dog’s bed.
“Don’t let Uncle put her out in the chicken house yet. She’s a baby still. You’ve got to be her mama.” Pet’s voice was gentle. But he soon got nervous of the closeness as if afraid some feeling would come over him and he might touch his uncle’s wife. When Dossie squatted near him he smelled her pleasantly yeasty privates and fought not to respond to the charm of the aroma. He took up the puppy again and nuzzled it. Dossie thought that Pet was very sweet with animals he liked. He stood up and still held on to the dog.
“She’s got brown eyes like you got—pretty—fiery bright but sweet,” Pet declared to the great surprise of them both. “Uncle said, ‘Pick out the bes’ dog for my Dossie. Don’t take jus’ the prettiest one. Get the bes’ one.’ I know about dogs. That’s the bes’ one.”
He returned the dog to Dossie’s outstretched arms and she hugged her little helpmeet.
“Duncan will love her and me, too.”
“Yeah,” Pet said and patted the puppy again. “Uncle is crazy ’bout you. He will walk over hot coals for you.” He suddenly wanted her to know just how strong Duncan felt for her. He wanted to be sure she knew it. He wanted to warn her away from dallying with Jan.
The cat had got out of the bag as far as Pet was concerned on the afternoon that they’d tussled with her donkey. Now he was afraid of what might happen. Jan was very good at seduction.
“Jesus, Jan. You gonna get your jasper chopped off if you try anything with her,” Pet had whispered. Jan was staring at Dossie’s bodice, moist from sweat and her donkey’s snorting breath. His longing was adolescent, urgent, and obvious.
She’d rushed up and caught sight of them slapping at the flanks of her she-donkey. “Eee-ah!” she’d cried in an odd, shrill voice. The animal, whose rump had collapsed in intractable donkey rage, stood up at Dossie’s voice and rotated her ears back and forth. Her sudden movement tossed Pet, who had braced himself against her rump, into the mud and shit. “Ee-ah!” Dossie called again
, and the donkey snorted amiably. The donkey’s swishing tail put more dirt on him, and Pet jumped to his feet, cursed the animal, and slapped her sides again.
Dossie got even more exercised and sweat damp. “No, no! Hold off. She is my beast if she needs a slap! Fix the wagon so’s the load is even, one side to the other. Uncle taught me. If the load ain’ balanced, the donkey will balk. A donkey ain’ as dumb as a horse,” Dossie had lectured him, repeating Duncan’s words. She’d taken hold of the bridle and talked into the jenny’s ears and stroked her head and neck. She used soothing touches to calm the donkey. She lay her face on the animal’s neck. She looked like a pretty butterfly resting on a fallen log.
“Ah, you saved us, Miz Dossie,” Jan said pleasantly, teasingly. “That oaf, Pet, crossed your donkey, and she refuses to haul our goods.”
“What!” Pet had exploded. He was so mad at Jan he could have slugged him. His clothes were covered in mud and donkey shit and sweat, and Jan was laughing? “That hardheaded old thing needs a whip on her back! We ought to have brought a whip, Jan! I told you we’d have to drive the old donkey to get her to haul a load.”
Dossie hung on the donkey’s bridle and looked about the ground for a thick stick to hit anybody who raised a whip to her donkey.
“Aw, Pet, if a donkey don’t want to move, it won’t. You can stand and give it stripes until your arms are worn out. It’d rather drop and die than pull a load it don’t want to. Is’t not so, Dossie?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Duncan says so.”
“See, I tol’ you. A whip ain’t no good on a donkey. Ain’t that what Uncle says, Dossie?” Jan’s voice was ever more full of mirth and teasing.
“She’s a good donkey. She’ll haul if I tell her,” Dossie had said, and she’d locked her eyes with Jan’s.
Pet nearly lost his breath in fear of the look. He had seen his cousin’s methods of seduction. He knew the danger of a woman looking long into the eyes of Jan Smoot. His face was startlingly handsome when he was smiling and sweat frosted him.
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