The Back Building

by Julie Dewey

  “What are these?” He asked befuddled.

  “Just a little something for our new home.”

  He unwrapped the items and swept me up into his arms, “They’ll be perfect, did you find us a place then?” he asked amused.

  “I haven’t spoken with the owners, but I have seen the property and it will do just fine.”

  “I have tomorrow off, let’s go look at it then. I can hardly wait, now I must be off to the mill. Enjoy yourself today.”

  It turned out the property owners were deceased and a distant relative was selling the homestead. He wanted far more than the property was worth and we weren’t willing to part with our entire nest egg. After bickering back and forth between lawyers, we obtained the property for two thousand and four hundred dollars. The lawyer also had a fee, so after we paid him we were left with about five hundred dollars to our name. It wasn’t much, but for us all that mattered was having a place to call home.

  On his days off James cleared the property and repaired the stables while I took care of the inside of the house. It had been well kept and still had some furnishings that we gladly used. The oak kitchen table sat four people, so I envisioned my husband and me and our two children all eating meals together there. I wiped it down and oiled it, then set to work on the floors. I swept and mopped, then dusted the cobwebs that lingered in the cupboards. I saw a few vermin scatter across the floor and jumped onto the kitchen chair, screaming for James. When he came in he had an expression of terror, but when he saw me with a broom and up off the floor he guessed we had mice. His laughter filled the house, making me love him and this place, our place, even more.

  “Once we really get settled in here the mice will move out. Until then, don’t go anywhere without your broom, haha.” He got a tall glass of water and then went back to do more yard work. He said he had a surprise for me and he was trying to finish it before dusk.

  I prepared a measly dinner of pancakes and eggs, I didn’t know how to cook very well and this would have to do for now. Then James took my hand and led me outside. He had me close my eyes and when I opened them, before me was a chicken coop. My very own coop. It was nicely constructed and just the perfect size.

  “Oh, James, you remembered. Thank you. Now we have to get some chickens!”

  “My boss at the mill said we can go to his place tomorrow, he has more than he needs now that it’s just he and his wife. She’d like to meet you as well and help you get acquainted to the area so the official invite is for dinner. Is that okay with you?”

  “Of course, I’d love to meet them. It will be lovely, but what shall I wear? I only have the two skirts….”

  “Take a few dollars, go into town and buy a nice outfit. Buy me one too!”

  I bought us both some much-needed new clothes and a pie from the bakery so we didn’t arrive empty handed. I was letting my nerves get the better of me. What if they found out who we really were? Or what if they pried into our background and asked how we met? I would need a convincing story. We were pretty young comparatively to be married and living on our own already.

  James came home to freshen up and we were off to dinner. The couple were Ben and Jennifer Mills. They looked to be in their late forties and had several children who had moved on to larger cities leaving them alone with the mill.

  “Your home is just lovely, Jennifer,” I said, remembering my manners.

  “Thank you, do come in and have a proper look around.” It was a very inviting home, fluffy lace pillows adorned the davenport, hand hooked rugs covered nearly all the wooden floors. Water-color paintings lined the side tables and walls.

  I felt so lacking in my ability to make a home and said as much to Jennifer. To my surprise, she offered to help me spruce our place up. I admitted I was not much of a sewer or cook for that matter and she grew slightly apprehensive for a moment. I told her James and I were young lovers and that we ran from home to be together. I begged that she not tell anyone. It explained how we arrived in a new town without any family waiting for us, or helping us. It didn’t explain why I was so deficient in womanly ways. I added that my mother lacked the patience to teach me, and that because there were so many mouths to feed at my house, it was easier to send me outside, the reason I was so good with animals.

  Jennifer understood and didn’t ask further questions. She served us an impressive meal of pork chops, smothered in apple butter, alongside a vegetable casserole, and hot buttered rolls. It was delicious, and had me wondering where she found the time. I supposed she prepared the crusts for the casserole and the rolls earlier in the day and realized I would soon be doing the same if I were to take care of a family. My time would be spent in the house more often than not and I wasn’t quite comfortable with that.

  That night I told James my concerns that he wouldn’t love me if I couldn’t cook properly or take care of the home sufficiently. He promised to help and I held him to his word.

  We came home with not two or three but five chickens for our coop. We had fresh hay that I scattered around and a trough full of grains for feeding. I sat in the coop with the girls and closed my eyes, remembering back to when I was a young girl collecting eggs. I wondered about my family. I ruminated about my new baby brother, Frederick, and how they were all getting along. I shook off the image and collected myself before heading indoors.

  James worked long, arduous hours. I was often left home alone from sun-up to sun-down. Luckily, Jennifer paid me frequent visits, sensing my loneliness. On one such occasion she brought with her two fluffy pillows that she made but no longer required and settled them on the davenport. She looked at our lackluster decor and suggested we go shopping.

  “I know just the place.” She grabbed my hand like we were old friends and together we marched into town. There were several stores I hadn’t noticed before that had all kinds of knick-knacks. I was disinclined to spend too much money, but did buy a few little items to make my place homier. I bought a pair of salt and pepper shakers in the shape of chicks, and a cuckoo clock to go over the mantle. I had spent my limit, but then I saw the baby blanket. It was a velvety soft, light blue blanket with a lace pattern. I grabbed it and held it to my cheek, then marched to the counter and checked out with all of my items.

  When I returned home I hung the clock and filled the shakers before placing them in the center of the oak table. Combined with the pillows, things were looking more like a home. I tucked the baby blanket into my closet, behind my clothing so James couldn’t see it.

  Every night I waited for my husband to come home, but more often I ate and fell asleep before he walked through the door. He put his earnings on the counter and climbed into bed beside me, sometimes without eating. He was over-worked, but never complained. The pay was good and we would be able to save for a family this way. I only minded when he was too tired to bed me. I looked forward to our intimate moments all day long, sometimes bathing right before he was due home so I would smell enticing.

  Weeks went on this way and I started spending more time with Jennifer. She invited me to a sewing club, but I declined. I was far too ashamed by my skills to join a club of ladies who were sure to be advanced. Jennifer offered to come to my house once a week for a few hours to sew with me, she didn’t mind what my skill level was, she just wanted the company, she said.

  So every Tuesday at ten a.m., Jennifer arrived with sweets and her sewing basket. I had to pull out my pillowcases that I was embroidering and pretend to enjoy myself. Hetty stood behind Jennifer and belly laughed.

  “Is someone behind me?” Jennifer asked one day.

  “Oh, no, I was just thinking of my old friend, Hetty. She always tried to get me to sew. If she could see me now!” I laughed. Then I thought about sewing with my mother, she always grew impatient and frustrated with me, whereas Jennifer had the patience of a saint. We laughed at my mistakes and didn’t seek perfection.

  “You’re coming along fine, all you need is practice. Now what are you serving your husband for supper toni
ght?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it yet, usually we have eggs and biscuits, or a slab of ham and some pancakes.”

  “Let’s put the sewing down and cook a nice pie. I brought some fresh berries from our bushes. Ben and I can’t eat them all before they go bad so I hoped maybe you’d like them.”

  “How kind. I would love to make a pie, but honestly, Jennifer, I don’t know how.”

  “I am here to teach you. The crust is the hardest part, but if you can make biscuits, you can make pie crust.” So our first cooking lesson began. I cut the cold-pressed lard into the flour mixture as explained to me and then mixed it into a large lump. Then I rolled it out to create a nice symmetrical circle. I laid the dough out into a pan and cut the edges off so they didn’t hang over and burn when cooking. Then I filled it with a mixture of fresh berries we had let stew with sugar. The leftover dough was used to make lattice-work on top of the pie. We baked it for forty minutes and put it on the windowsill to cool. I was proud of the accomplishment and couldn’t wait to show James. However when he came home, it was one of the evenings he was too tired to eat, think, talk, or bed me.

  That night I ate the pie directly from the pan with a fork, not cutting slices but starting in the center and working my way out. I felt nauseous all the next day and wondered if it was my cooking. My brows sweat and I had to sit down a few times. I felt better as the afternoon passed, but the following morning after I ate, I felt like I would vomit. When the week passed and Tuesday arrived I dreaded visiting with Jennifer. She could tell right away something was wrong when she came through my doorway.

  “Iona, is it possible you could be pregnant?” We were seated together on the couch.

  “Oh my goodness, I suppose!” I laughed and jumped up from my seated position grabbing Jennifer’s hands and circling the room with her in a dance.

  She hugged me and offered her congratulations. We figured I was still early in my pregnancy and that I should keep it a secret a little longer in case it didn’t take. She promised to show me a few other recipes that I could make easily and quickly with little ones in tow and then she pulled out two skeins of yarn from her infamous, bottomless, basket. Next she pulled out two wooden needles.

  “Let’s teach you to knit so we can make booties and sweaters and hats for the little one. It’s so exciting.”

  It was exciting, but terrifying as well. I didn’t have a good relationship with my mother and hardly knew how to be a mother. I couldn’t focus on Jennifer’s instructions on how to knit and purl.

  “You’re scowling. What is it?” Jennifer asked.

  “I just want to be a good mother, that’s all.”

  “Well, you’re a good wife, so you’ll be a good mother too!” She had no doubt at all that I would do fine.

  “I suppose.” Hetty held the scowl now and later when my guest left I would find out why.

  My nausea came in waves. I felt better at night-time, but in the mornings I was unable to keep any food down. I was bone tired all day long and spent most of my time in bed. When James came home that evening I was still slumbering.

  “Iona?” he called.

  I stirred and suddenly jolted from bed, I had nothing prepared for supper as my husband was rarely home at this hour.

  “Are you sick? You look a little peaked.”

  “You could say that.”

  “Is that a riddle, you are either sick or you’re not, which is it?” He was slightly crabby which wasn’t unusual lately.

  “James, sit. I have news.” I couldn’t keep this from him, I was terrible at keeping secrets.

  My husband pulled out a chair and sat with his elbows on the table.

  “What is it, Iona, you’re scaring me.”

  “You’re about to be a father, you should be scared!”

  “What?” His expression changed from one of surprise to terror, then to elation. He swept me off my feet and kissed me on the lips.

  “Really, are you certain? We’re having a baby?” He put his hands protectively across my flat belly and grimaced.

  “It’s early yet, just wait, he’ll be kicking in no time.”

  “I am just so happy, our own little family. Gosh, we are doing it, aren’t we?”

  “Making our way? Yes, we are, but James, I admit I am afraid. I don’t know how to be a mother. I can barely cook for you and me, let alone keep up our home. I am afraid you won’t love me the same if I can’t do it all.”

  “You’re giving me a child, what is better than that? I can help cook and clean and I’ll tell Ben I need shorter hours once he or she arrives. Until then maybe I should double up and save extra money. What do you think?”

  “I think it gets lonely here all day without you.”

  “I know. Ben is apprenticing me so I can take over one day. He won’t work forever and his children are not interested in mill-work. It could be ours one day to run and operate, it would secure our future so that we can buy a nicer house and have all kinds of special things for our family.”

  “James, I don’t need any of that. I grew up in a fancy house with all the trimmings and look where it got me.” My home may have had a lot of fancy furnishings and finery, but it was sterile and dry. The irony that my mother told me dozens of times that ‘one day I’d be sorry if I didn’t learn to stitch and knit, sew and cook’ hit me with full force now. I was indeed sorry I hadn’t learned these skills, yet at the same time I still didn’t want to learn them. I wanted this child, and to be a mother, but did that mean I had to become a slave to the household?

  Chapter Ten

  Lucy

  Lucy was born seven and a half months later. The contractions started slowly at first, but when my water broke at four in the morning the pain left me breathless. James was sound asleep besides me, but I was tossing and turning all night long with the feeling of indigestion. When I could no longer bear the intense cramping, I tapped James on the shoulder to wake him. He was startled upon seeing my discomfort, but jumped to action. He knew his first order of business was to get Jennifer and the midwife.

  I was fine alone for the hour it took him to gather the ladies. I paced the well-worn floors holding tight to my belly. I took small sips of water and wiped my sweating brow. All the while I prayed for an easy delivery. The midwife had come to check me several times through-out my pregnancy and she declared that my hips were made for birthing. I wasn’t so sure I agreed. The labor put extra pressure on my pelvis, making me feel that I had to relieve myself. I had an urge to push but promised I would wait for help. In moments the door flew open and the ladies came in. They assessed the situation and began getting my bed ready for the birth. James came to my side, but was sent into the kitchen to boil water and make tea.

  “I need to push, Kathy,” I told the midwife.

  “Let me check you first.” She knelt down between my legs and agreed the baby was coming quickly. It’s head was already visible so she told me to push. I pushed three times and the baby’s head was out, followed by the rest of her. Her cries echoed in my bedroom and nothing could keep James from entering. He came in the room and went straight to his daughter, counting her fingers and toes. Then he smiled at me with new-found amazement. He kissed his baby on her forehead and then kissed me. The women gathered the birthing sheets and mopped the floor before giving us our first moments alone as a family.

  “She is beautiful, just like her mother,” James said.

  “Are you disappointed, James?” I asked because it was a girl and not a boy as I hoped.

  “How could I be? She is lovely. What shall we name her?”

  “I like Lucy. What do you think?”

  “Lucy it is then.”

  Kathy came back into the room with fresh towels for me to expel the afterbirth. Then she taught me to nurse. She had me cradle the baby’s head in alignment with my breast and nipple. Lucy latched on lazily and kept slipping. I had to hold my nipple in her mouth and express milk until she latched on firmly and could extract the sustenance on
her own. Once she learned how to nurse she became an expert.

  James took the ladies home when they were certain everyone was healthy. When they left, I dozed on and off with Lucy beside me. I would keep the blue baby blanket tucked away in the closet for our next little one. I felt a sense of pride and accomplishment when I stared into the eyes of my sleeping beauty. Her tiny fingers latched onto my own and the feeling caused my milk to let down. I put her to my breast, but she was too tired and full to want to bother with feeding. I held her and nodded off. I only woke when James crept back into the bed, cradling the baby between us, safe and sound.

  She woke urgently a few hours later, crying to be fed. I was happy enough to nurse her although exhaustion was setting in and my woman’s parts were tender. I put her to my right breast and then alternated to the left, but she kept falling asleep in between. She never got her fill, instead she became a constant snacker. I was unable to do much else, so her chronic nursing didn’t bother me.

  “Hello, darling girl. You are beautiful, yes you are.” I cooed, picking up my darling girl, breathing her in and kissing her forehead. I unclothed and bathed her with a washcloth and warm water in the sink and noted how she startled when the water trickled down her belly. She enjoyed her bath and even opened her eyes wide enough to investigate me.

  Hetty reached out to hold her, but I told her no. I continued with the bath before drying and then swaddling my little girl. I was told that most babies sleep a lot, but Lucy had other ideas. She cat-napped for ten minutes here or there, but never for long stretches. I was ready to collapse after a week of constant feedings and very little sleep. My nipples were cracked and bleeding, and there was searing pain when Lucy latched on. I developed the chills and James called Kathy to come check on me at once. She assessed the situation and diagnosed me with mastitis on both breasts. The baby would need to have an alternate way of feeding while I healed. We wrapped my breasts in cabbage leaves and changed them every two hours in order to draw out the infection. We tried glass bottles with Lucy, and while she was reluctant at first, after several tries she finally accepted the fake nipple and drank a few ounces.