by Ward, Marsha
Ellen turned her head, slowly, carefully, breathlessly, so as not to wake Carl. She gazed at his stubbled cheek and jaw line, which filled her vision. She took a shallow breath, and looked for signs of hurt or suffering. His sleep seemed peaceful, undisturbed. All she could see of his unlined face convinced her that there was no pain today. He slept deeply, looking younger than his twenty years.
She inched her face back until she could see his eyes, finely chiseled lids rimmed with light lashes closed over eyes as blue as a Colorado afternoon sky. There was no pain in the hair-shadowed forehead, in the molded ears, in the sculpted nose, or in the slightly parted lips, full and chapped from the cold. There was no pain in his countenance.
Carl ain't James, she thought, and James ain't Carl. I would love this man. Ellen suddenly felt overwhelming peace come over her, and she allowed her hand to sneak up to cuddle his cheek. The stubble of his beard, which blurred the strong line of his jaw, was soft under her fingertips. His eyelids flickered, then opened. He was instantly awake, and his hand trapped hers against his cheek.
“Good morning, Ellen. You’ve a mighty gentle way of waking a man. Was I snoring?”
“No.” He had hard calluses on his hand. “The sun is up. We’d best travel while the weather holds.” She pulled at her hand and he released it. Her face coloring, she sat up. “It’s still cloudy, and we’ve got a long ride.” She shook off Carl’s arm and stood up, brushing the wrinkles out of her skirt.
He grinned, looking up at her. “I reckon I’m rumpled and crushed, but you look like a bouquet of fall flowers, rich and red and full of spunk.” Carl got to his feet. “I’ll see to the horses.
~~~
The clouds hovered low and dark, but the sun shone through enough for Carl to get his bearings as they started off. The plain shimmered white in the weak sunlight, the glare broken only by the dusky tips of sagebrush poking through the snow.
Sherando and Dun Baby struggled in the drifts, tiring easily from the exposure and lack of feed. Carl stopped often, rubbing the horses’ legs to warm them.
They passed Carl’s cabin in the late afternoon, and Carl saw Ellen’s stealthy look at the house as they passed. I’d give a nickel to know her mind, he thought. What does she think of me, after all I done that’s hurt her feelings?
The creek was slushy as they rode through, and Carl dismounted to wipe the horses’ legs once more.
“It’s a mile, mile-and-a-half to Rulon’s” he said. He looked around at the darkening sky, mounted, and reached for Ellen’s reins. “I reckon it’s going to blow again. This time I ain’t going to lose you.”
Carl kicked Sherando up the side of the creek of the creek bed and onto the flat. He headed for the trees, pulling Dun Baby and Ellen along with him. The mare tossed her head and fought the lead, but settled down as she came into the shelter of the oaks.
Ellen tossed her own head. “It ain’t even begun to snow. I could’ve ridden all by myself up to here.”
Carl turned Sherando and eased him up to Ellen’s side. “I ain’t willing to take a chance on losing you to the storm again. I asked you to come out here with me, and I’m responsible for your safety. I don’t take that lightly.” He handed her back the reins. “There’s a path through the trees. We can make it to Rulon’s in a few minutes. I reckon Mary won’t mind some company for supper.”
“I’ll be glad for a home-cooked meal. We didn’t come prepared for camping-out.”
Rulon’s cabin looked solid and comforting when Carl and Ellen rode into the open a short time later. Smoke rose from the chimney, curling up into lazy snowflakes that now drifted down into the meadow from the leaden sky. Rod’s cabin lay cold and frozen across the creek, snowdrifts halfway up the sides. Carl was glad of the welcome Rulon’s home promised.
As they approached the cabin, a shriek sliced through the frozen air, and Carl drew his pistol.
“You wait here,” he cautioned Ellen. “That sounds like a big cat, and it’s inside the cabin.” Carl dismounted, threw his reins to Ellen, and pushed through the snow toward the cabin.
A throat-rending scream came from the house, followed by Rulon’s panicky voice.
“No, Mary! You can’t! Not till Ma gets back.”
Ellen flung herself from the horse. “Put up your gun, Carl. Mary’s baby is coming.” She floundered through the snow and pounded on the door. “Rulon, let me in. It’s Ellen Bates.”
Rulon opened the door and hustled Ellen into the room. “Thank God you’re here. Tell her she can’t have the baby yet, please, Ellen.”
“Shush, Rulon. You’re scaring her.” She looked around and saw Roddy’s big eyes peering from under the bedcovers where Mary lay, alternately moaning and shrieking. “Mr. Owen,” Ellen exclaimed, “dress that boy and take him outside. He’s big enough to help his Uncle Carl with the horses. You start a fire in your pa’s cabin and stay over there. Send Carl back when he’s done with the animals. I’ll need his help.”
Rulon followed her orders as Ellen approached the bed. “Hello, Mary. I’ve come to visit you. I reckon you need a mite of help.”
Mary stared wild-eyed at Ellen, moaning as pain shot through her. “Ida? Where’s Rulon?”
“Your man’s gone on a little errand to the Owen’s cabin,” Ellen said, her voice soothing. “He’ll be gone for a spell, but I’ll be here, and I’ll help you. I’m going to have a look around for some things I’ll need. You rest easy, ‘cause I’m right here.” She took off the cloak.
You’re Ellen Bates,” Mary moaned. “That’s Ida’s cloak. I thought you was her.” Mary took a ragged breath. “I can’t last much longer. Two days I been a-laboring, and Rulon no help.” She stopped to wheeze and pant, squeezing her eyes shut against the light of the fire. “He keeps bidding me to wait for his ma to come. Ellen, there ain’t no waiting when the babe wants to come.”
Ellen rummaged through Mary’s trunk and found clean linens. She tore a sheet into pieces and brought the rags to the bed.
“I’ll get water to wipe off your brow. I reckon you’re thirsty, too.”
“I ain’t got time for being thirsty,” Mary panted. “I can’t hold back this baby no longer.” Her voice rose in a wail of anguish.
“Mary, don’t hold back. Let that child come.” Ellen returned with the water, as Carl opened the door and stood in the opening.
“Rulon took over tending the horses. Said you wanted me here.” He looked as though he’d rather be out in the storm.
“Carl Owen, you shut that door and come over here!” Ellen’s voice was stern. She shoved the basin of water into Carl’s hands as he tiptoed forward. “Wipe off her face, then sit behind her and hold her up.”
Carl’s chin jerked up, and he shot Ellen a look of pure horror. “I ain’t climbing into that bed with my brother’s wife,” he whispered hoarsely.
“You hush and do what I tell you. I reckon she won’t mind you more than a great lump of bedclothes. Get her onto the side of the bed. She should sit up to push that baby out.” Ellen pulled back the bedcovers.
“You ever done this before?”
“I’ve helped my pa birth calves. I reckon it’s the same, only smaller.”
“Ellen Bates, I been through a war and across the country, but I never seen the likes of you before.”
“I hope not,” she muttered as Carl tended to Mary’s dripping face. “Mary, before the next pain comes, try to get to the side of the bed.”
Mary panted. “Ain’t no time without pain.” She inhaled, then stiffened and screamed into the ache and the agony. Carl flinched, set aside the basin, and turned to Ellen.
“Can you draw her forward?”
Carl nodded, his face blanched, lips pressed tightly together.
“Put her here onto the edge, get on the bed, and hold her up.”
He gathered Mary up in his arms and lifted her to the side of the bed. Mary moaned. Carl let out his breath with a shudder and got behind her on the bed.
Ellen pulled Mary’s
bed gown up over her legs, and tugged it up around her waist. Carl squeezed his eyes shut. “Rulon’s gonna kill me,” he groaned.
“Hush up, Carl. Hold her tight.” Ellen spread a towel on the floor below Mary’s dangling legs. Carl held Mary by the shoulders, and she hunched forward, grunting. “You help, Mary,” Ellen urged, holding Mary’s legs apart. “Push that babe out. Don’t give up yet!”
“I’m dying,” Mary shrieked, pushing.
“No you’re not,” Ellen answered, kneeling on the floor. “You’re giving life. Push again, Mary. I can see the head.”
Mary obliged, her scream high-pitched and keening.
“Oh good. The head’s out. Hold on, Mary, let me get the shoulders straight. Don’t push!”
Mary panted, “I have to push.”
“Wait, wait. Now, go ahead.”
“Oh-h-h-h-h!” Mary gave a great push, bearing down with all her strength.
“Ah! Here’s the babe.” Ellen sighed. “You’ve done good, Mary.” She wrapped the child in a piece of sheeting. “Carl, I need your knife.”
Carl opened his eyes and dug into his pocket. He handed Ellen his clasp knife, which she opened and used to cut the baby’s cord. She laid the child at the head of the bed. “Now one more push,” she told Mary. “You’ve got to get the afterbirth out.”
~~~
Ellen looked up from washing the struggling infant. “You can go get Rulon now,” she said to Carl.
He wiped his sweating face with his shirtsleeve. “Good. I need some air.”
Ellen laughed. “You look like you think you did all the work. Look at Mary. She’s wore out from two days of struggle with this lively little one. It’s sure full of ginger.”
Ellen dried the child, wrapped it up in fresh cloths, and carried it to Mary, who cuddled the baby and held it close as Ellen walked Carl to the door.
He put on his coat and looked down at the girl beside him.
“You’re full of ginger yourself.” He held out his hand to see if it still shook. It did. “Look at that. I’m all undone, and you’re going strong.” His voice filled with awe as he continued. “I reckon Marie couldn’t do what you just done, and I’m almighty sure she couldn’t. You stand mighty tall in my eyes, Ellen Bates.” Then he bolted through the door.
~~~
“It’s a girl, Rulon,” Mary whispered a few minutes later. “Look at all that hair. She’s real lively, too.”
“Ah, she’s sure a pretty little thing. You give her a name?”
“I favor naming her ‘Ellen’.” Mary smiled.
“‘Ellen Owen.’ It sounds mighty fine, Mary. We’ll do it.”
Ellen got up from the fire where she was cooking supper. “No. Name the baby for your ma, or for Rulon’s, but not for me. I ain’t kin.”
“You should be,” Mary sighed. “Without your doing, I’d likely be cold and stiff by now.”
“I just happened by. Name the baby for your ma or your sister.”
“You can’t deny me, Ellen. I can put your name to my child, and you can’t do anything to prevent me. ‘Juliellen Amanda Owen’. That’s her name. It’s right and fitting.” Mary sank back on the bed.
“As long as you don’t put my name up front, I guess I can’t complain.” Ellen shrugged and returned to stirring the pot.
Carl eased in from the night, accompanied by young Roddy. He beat his hands together and stamped his feet, sending a shower of snow onto the floor. The youngster mimicked him, then shed his coat on the floor and ran to his mother’s bedside.
“It’s snowing steady, but the wind ain’t come up yet,” Carl announced, bending to pick up the abandoned wrap. “I made us a bed up to the other house, Rulon. Best we leave the ladies here after supper. Is that agreeable?”
“That’s fine, just fine.” Rulon pulled Carl over to the side of the bed. “Come see my daughter. Ain’t she a sight? We named her after Ma and Ellen, and Mary’s ma.”
Carl rubbed one boot behind the heel of the other. “You give her three names? Ain’t that a lot for such a tiny girl?”
“We think Juliellen Amanda suits her just fine. Ain’t she a pretty thing?” Rulon lifted the baby and turned to his son. “Roddy, look at them tiny hands.”
“Pa, was I that puny?” Roddy ventured to put out a finger to stroke the baby’s hand.
Rulon laughed. “I wasn’t around when you arrived, youngster. I was off fighting for Jeff Davis and the Confederacy, so I got limited knowledge in that line. Ask your ma.”
“Was I puny like that, Ma?”
“You were strong and fat, Roddy. But all babies start small.”
“Why, Ma?”
“They start out little so they can grow, Roddy, just like you.” Carl scooped up the boy and planted him on his shoulders. “See how tall you’ll be one day? ‘Course you got to eat all your supper to grow this tall.” He carried the boy over to the table. “Let’s help Miss Ellen lay the table, then you can start in on all that good food she’s a-fixing.”
Ellen turned and hid a smile behind her hand. “If you set that silver tongue to wagging, Carl Owen, you won’t have no place in your mouth to put the food. Set the boy down and find the plates. I’ll dish up from here.”
“Yes, Miss Ellen.”
She gave him a quizzical look, then turned back to the fire. Carl put Roddy off his shoulders and looked at Ellen’s back.
The blaze of the fire backlighted her auburn hair, giving it the effect of a crown of flames. Silhouetted against the light, her slim form, moving with the rhythm of her arm, stirred up an excitement in his blood.
As if a burning coal had escaped from the fire and hit him in the pit of his stomach, fire spread up his chest and down his arms, leaving his fingers tingling, shaking. He tried to shrug off the feeling of burning that flowed through his blood, but he only remembered another time when he had felt this same excitement, at the bend of the river, where she had fallen into his arms.
The feeling built in him as he walked unsteadily to the shelf to get the plates, and lifted his feet as he walked the few steps to the fireplace. He put the plates on the hearth, not daring to risk touching Ellen’s hand, and backed away to the table.
“Here, Roddy. Take the plates to the table when I fill them.” Ellen looked at Carl. “I reckon your uncle’s feeling faint. You’d best give him this first one. Rulon, come eat. Don’t worry about Mary. I’ll feed her while you men partake.” She turned her attention back to Carl. “Are you feeling poorly? You look a mite strange.”
“I feel…a mite strange,” he stammered. Carl turned his head back toward his plate. “This food looks good. I didn’t know I was so hungry.”
“Well, you been through a mighty rough time for a man. I needed your help, or I wouldn’t have put you through it.” Ellen came to the table with Mary’s plate. “I reckon I own you a right smart lot of thanks.” She touched Carl’s shoulder lightly as she walked to the bed.
He grabbed his shoulder where she had touched him, then let his hand fall to his side. “Let’s eat, Rulon, before I lose all my strength.”
“I’m going to say grace first. I got a lot to say thanks over.”
~~~
“Ellen?” Mary whispered in the darkness as Ellen slipped into the bed beside mother and baby.
“It’s me, Mary,” she soothed. “Try to get some sleep. You’re all wore out.”
“I just remembered something. Rulon told me Carl was going in to my pa’s party specially to marry Ida.” Her voice was sleepy.
“I guess that was his plan.”
“Well, you ain’t Ida.”
“I ain’t Ida.”
“Are you two wed?”
“No.”
“How come you to be here, and where’s my sister?”
“She’s still in town, fixing to wed some English fellow. Right in the midst of the party she broke the news to Carl, and he took it powerful hard. He asked me to go for a ride, and we got caught in the storm. That’s what happened.”
&
nbsp; “He didn’t seem to be pining any.”
“He didn’t get a chance today. He helped me birth your baby.”
“Did he act better than Rulon?”
Ellen chuckled. “Some better, but not much. He was scared. I ain’t ever seen a man so white in the face. But he stayed in here, and he did what I bid him.”
“I’m glad it was you came with him. Ida wouldn’t have been any help. She ran into a corner and hid when Roddy came along. I’m glad James let you come back with Carl.”
“You go to sleep now, Mary.” Ellen patted Mary’s arm, frowning. “Good night.”
“Good night, Ellen. Thank you.”
Chapter 16
Chester Bates rode into the clearing at noon the next day.
“Ellen!” he hollered out. “Ellen Bates, where are you?”
Ellen’s heart quaked as she opened the door of Rulon’s cabin. “Pa!” she called. “Pa. It’s good to see you.”
“Daughter!” he yelled as he hit the ground. “Where is that young hellion? I’ll shoot him. I swear it! If he harmed a hair of your head—” He craned his neck, looking around for Carl.
“Pa, shush now. Calm down. Stop shouting. Carl didn’t lay a hand on me.” She took his arm. “Please, Pa. Don’t go to shouting again. There’s a new baby trying to sleep.”
“A baby? What’re you saying? Who’s got a baby?”
“Mary Owen had her baby. I birthed it for her. No, don’t you yell none. Rulon wasn’t any kind of help. I had it to do, Pa.”
Carl came out of the woods behind Rulon’s cabin with an armload of deadwood. He dropped it on the woodpile and strolled over toward the visitor. Ellen looked wild-eyed in his direction and took hold of her father’s other arm.
“There he is!” Chester cried, struggling with Ellen. “I’ll wring his scrawny neck, taking you off like that, without a ‘by your leave’. Carl Owen, I’m calling you out!”
“Pa, listen to me. Carl, get away! Don’t you come over here. Pa, don’t you dare touch him! I went with him willing. He gave his word I’d come to no harm, and he’s kept it. Pa, listen to me!”
