by Ward, Marsha
“No hay de que,” the woman said, flipping her free hand above her shoulder in a self-deprecating gesture. “Coman todos,” she said, indicating the rest of the tortillas.
“Oh, we couldn’t eat them all,” Jessie exclaimed. “I haven’t got any money to pay you.” She turned to her brother. “Luke, do you have any coins?”
He shook his head as he ate another tortilla.
“Luke! We have to pay her.”
“I don’t reckon she wants money, Sis,” he answered. “She’s bein’ nice.”
“Ma’am, you’re very kind,” Jessie said, as the woman pressed another tortilla into her hands. She took it and tore pieces off, wondering why a brown woman would share her food with two strangers. White strangers.
When Luke had eaten his way through the plateful of tortillas, he thanked the woman another time and she laughed, her eyes narrowing into massed crinkles.
“Uuu good boy,” she said, and patted Luke’s hand. “Uuu good girl.” She looked at Jessie. “Vayan con Dios.”
Jessie was quiet as she and Luke continued their exploration around the town. When they were nearly back to the wagons, she tugged on Luke’s arm to stop him.
“Why did she feed us?” she asked him.
He shrugged. “There’s no doubt she heard my gut rumbling. Likely she took pity on me. You were there, Sis, so she gave you food too.” He grinned. “Just bein’ polite, I reckon.”
“But why did she feed us?” she asked again, emphasizing her words. “She as much as invited us into her home and gave us a meal. But she’s a Mexican, and we’re white.”
“You worry on such things too much,” Luke said, and turned away.
“Yes, I do,” she muttered to herself, and immediately followed it with a thought: Aren’t Mexicans different from us? She followed her brother back to camp, not sure she knew the answer anymore.
Chapter 26
During the next few days, Mrs. Bingham kept a close watch on Hannah. Robert had told her that his wife had been secluding herself in their wagon, hauling herself over the load to find bits and pieces of cloth and sack toweling and arranging a bed in an empty crate she’d insisted they not burn.
“She’s nesting, just like a broody hen,” Mrs. Bingham told him. “Her time is near, I reckon.”
Robert drew his brows together. “What can I do to help?”
“Stay out of her way, Mr. Fletcher. Perhaps I need to sit on the seat tomorrow and see what she’s about.”
“I’ll welcome your presence, ma’am,” he said, sighing. “She’s snappish with me.”
Mrs. Bingham laughed. “I thought you’d be used to that by now. Hasn’t she been off in her behavior during the whole journey?”
Robert blushed. He compressed his lips, and nodded his head positively. “Yes, up until lately. Then she …” His head motions went from side to side. “One night she …” His voice trailed off, and after a pause, he tried again. “Well, ma’am, matters between us got better. I’d have to say, they got much better.” He nodded up and down once more.
Mrs. Bingham patted Robert on the arm and smiled. “I’ll put my eye on her, my dear, and let you know what I think.”
The next day, Mrs. Bingham sat on Robert’s wagon seat, while Hannah fussed around in the bed, after her initial remonstrance against her mother’s company went unheeded.
At the noon stop, Mrs. Bingham touched Robert on the arm and said, “She has only a few days left, Mr. Fletcher. If she complains of continuous pains, we’ll need to pull up and make camp.”
Robert let out a short gust of air. “Then the baby will come?”
“I figure so. See, she’s carrying low now. Her time is near.”
“Need I let her know?” Robert fidgeted with a thumbnail.
“I’ll do you the service, if you don’t mind.”
“Please, go right ahead. I’d rather a woman tells her.” He worried at the thumbnail with his teeth, and when he had got the rough edge torn off, he added, “I hear childbirth is mighty painful.”
“It is that, Mr. Fletcher. Dangerous and painful. Ever since Mother Eve.”
~~~
The company traveled on, striking southwest toward the town of Cimarron, where, a few days later, they crossed the river without incident. Having done so safely, James had no end of irritation when a day later the sorrel pitched him into the icy water as he crossed Rayado Creek.
“Damn horse,” he muttered, along with all the other animal-related curses he could think of as he regained his feet and slogged through the water to the creek bank. The dog stood hunched down with stiff front legs, barking excitedly at him. Ned stood nearby, doubled over with laughter.
As Robert and George built a fire on the south side of the creek, Luke retrieved the sorrel, and asked if he could clean and reload James’s rifle.
“I reckon,” James sputtered, water coursing down his face from his wet hair. He reached to his side, loosened the thong holding his handgun in his holster, and gave it to Luke. “Thanks, Luke. Do my pistol too, will you?” he said, swiping water from his eyes.
Heppie brought James a blanket from his bedroll, which had made it safely across on the back of the mule. “Come to the fire,” she said, holding out the blanket.
“Hang on to that a moment,” James said. “Let me get my boots off. They’re full of water.”
He sat near the newborn fire to remove and dump his boots, then, shivering, took the blanket from Heppie.
Robert came up to him, but waited to speak until Heppie had moved away. “You need to strip off, dry your clothes,” he said.
James shook his head. “I don’t want to hold up the party while there’s daylight.”
“We’ll take the time to let you dry out. Don’t you have a tent packed away? You can use that to preserve your modesty.”
“I’d forgot. It’s in the bundle on the offside of the mule.”
Robert unpacked and set up the tent while James huddled near the fire. When they had finished, he hustled in to take off his clothes. The men outside strung a rope line across the fire and hung his coat, shirt, and pants over it as he handed them out.
“Let’s have your underclothes, too!” Robert demanded, thrusting his hand into the door of the tent. “If everything ain’t bone dry in this weather, you’ll take sick.”
James, teeth chattering, complied, and Robert draped the underwear over the line. “Tell the ladies to stay away from the fire,” Robert said to George.
George laughed. “What’s the use of that? They’ve all seen a man’s small clothes, one time or another. If not on a body, at the least, hangin’ on a line.”
“These could use a good scrubbing with lye soap.”
James stuck his head out of the tent flap, clasping the edges together, in time to see Jessie taking his underwear off the line.
“Rob, don’t let her—Jessie! Don’t you touch my things!”
“They want washing,” she replied. “They reek something fierce. I have a crock of soap, and I’ll use a little creek water to—”
At that point, Robert kept her from getting any more clothes off the line, but she remained in possession of James’s undergarments.
“Jessie! Hang those back on the line,” James yelled at her as she turned around to depart. “Six little beans! You remind me of Rida O’Connor.”
Jessie spun around. “Who’s that?”
“The blacksmith’s little girl in Leones. She stole my clothes when I was—” James stopped short, remembering the occasion had been his marriage day. Probably not the best thing to bring up with Jessie Bingham. “Never you mind. Leave me be.” He pulled his head into the tent and sat on the ground, wrapped in the blanket.
The next thing he heard was Ned’s angry voice. “What are you doing?”
Jessie replied, “A little laundry.”
“His laundry. You don’t do mine.”
“You never asked.”
“It’s not fittin’!”
“What, washing a few
things?”
“He didn’t ask you to.”
“Humph.”
James could imagine Jessie shrugging her shoulders and turning her head away from Ned. That should have ended the quarrel, but Ned pressed on.
“He didn’t ask, and you shouldn’t have offered. You’re spoken for.” Clothes rustled. Jessie’s skirts. Was Heizer fool enough to lay hands on her?
James almost got up, but reflected that he was not in a suitable state to go rescuing young women from their folly.
“Ned Heizer, get away from me.” Jessie’s voice was low, carrying a threat that a thinking man should take heed of.
After a long pause, Ned said, “Stay away from him, Jessie. He treated you poorly.”
Looks like everyone shares that opinion of me. James waited for Jessie to counter Ned’s statement.
When she did speak, her voice was low, but had a somber tone to it as she agreed, “Yes, he did.”
Ned made a sound like wind rushing through aspen leaves, but he didn’t say anything.
Jessie spoke again. “I begun this. Let me finish, Ned.”
“Keep clear of him in future,” he said. Ned’s boots crunched on the gravel of the creek bank as he moved off.
James heard Jessie sigh. He pulled the newly learn word out of his mind. Nemesis.
Later, when the clothes were dry, Robert brought them to James, including the stolen—and washed—undergarments. “It’s a pity you have to put this dirty shirt on over such sweet-smelling small clothes,” he said. “Maybe I shouldn’t have stopped the young lady.” He turned away.
James glared at Robert’s departing back. “They’ll be dirty enough when the week’s out,” he said, and began to dress.
~~~
Robert kept his eye on Hannah during the forced halt. She couldn’t seem to light and sit down, but roamed around the wagons, twisting a loose rope end here, patting a horse there. Sure she would tire herself out, he approached her.
“Hannah love. You must sit down and rest. We’ll be on our way soon, and you’ll miss your chance.” He caught her hands, gently holding them still. “Come over here. Sit yourself down.”
“I’m restless,” she said, glancing around the temporary camp. “Ma said I’m about due to, well, she said, my time’s nearly up for, you know …” Her voice trailed off as she finally looked at Robert.
“She told me the baby would come soon,” he said.
Hannah’s mouth twisted. “I’m frightened,” she whispered.
Robert drew her toward him. “Don’t you be,” he said to sooth her. “I’m here. Whatever happens, I love you. I love our babe.”
“Even if …”
His firm statement cut her off. “No matter what happens.” He tugged her toward a barrel.
“I’ve been having pain,” she admitted when she had sat down.
Robert knelt beside her. “What kind of pain?”
“Cramping. Here.” She laid her hand on her abdomen. “Oh!” She tensed up and moaned. “Like that one.”
“Do they keep coming, love?”
“They have since morning.”
“That long?”
“I didn’t want to trouble you. They weren’t much at first.”
“But now?” Robert got to his feet.
“Now I reckon I’m troublesome.”
“Mrs. Bingham,” Robert called out. He caught George’s eye. “Make camp. The baby is on its way!”
The mad scramble that Robert’s words brought on would have been amusing to him, except that Hannah had doubled over, and her initial moan had turned to a keen that ripped through his heart.
James came striding up, a look of concern on his face. “Use the tent,” he said, and was gone so fast that Robert doubted whether he had been there at all.
“Luke! Find our bedding and take it to Mr. Owen’s tent,” Robert barked. He didn’t want to move Hannah while the pain was upon her, but he figured she should get settled into a private place for her laboring. James’s tent seemed the ideal location.
“Heppie,” Mrs. Bingham called. “I need your assistance. Jessie, set a kettle on the fire. We’ll need wash water by and by.”
Robert felt his innards quake at the sounds that came from Hannah’s throat. She was counting on him to be strong for her. Could he do that? Will I let her down at the last moment? he wondered. I’ve been saying I’ll love the baby, even if that brute was its father. Can I actually manage it? Or did I say that only for Hannah’s sake? He let out a long sigh, just as Hannah straightened up, her face shiny with sweat. “Can you walk?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I’ll try.”
Robert got her to her feet, his arms supporting her, and they took a few steps.
“Don’t leave me,” Hannah said in a throaty growl. “Ma will try to make you go. Stay with me! Uh!” She bent over, and Robert stopped walking her along, waiting for her pain to pass.
“I won’t go,” he said, rubbing her back in small circles.
“Lower,” she grunted.
“Not out here,” he replied. “Let’s get you into the tent. I’ll do whatever you say, once we’re sheltered.”
“I don’t care,” she moaned. “Rub lower!”
Robert looked around, shrugged his shoulders, and furtively moved his hand lower on his wife’s back.
“Yeees,” Hannah said on a long outward breath. Then she stood upright and asked, “Where’s the tent? Get me to it.”
Robert half stumbled, half walked with Hannah to the tent and through the open flap. Luke had brought the bedding—blessed boy—and arranged it on the ground.
Mrs. Bingham came through the tent door, Heppie in her wake. “Thank you, Mr. Fletcher,” she said as Robert helped Hannah get situated on the quilt. “You can leave now.”
“I’m stayin’,” he said.
“But you can’t,” said Mrs. Bingham. “This is women’s work.”
“She told me to stay,” Robert said.
“At least be useful. Help me take off her clothing.” Mrs. Bingham looked over her shoulder. “Take off her shoes,” she told Heppie, whose face had paled since she had come into the tent.
Robert began unbuttoning Hannah’s blouse. Mrs. Bingham untied her skirt, and Heppie attacked her shoes. Between them, they removed her outer garments.
Hannah cried out. Mrs. Bingham felt her belly under her petticoat. “That’s a hard cramp. Breathe, dear. You need air. There, that’s right.” She looked at Robert. “I need to take a look at her, Mr. Fletcher. Please turn your head.” He gave half a smile, but acquiesced and looked away.
Mrs. Bingham lifted Hannah’s petticoat and examined her. “You have a ways to go, dear, but you’re doing fine.” She covered Hannah with a blanket. “Keep breathing between the pains. I have to fetch some things from the wagon, but I’ll return shortly. Heppie, come with me.” The two women left the tent.
Robert stroked Hannah’s hair. “What can I do to help?” he asked.
“Get behind and hold me up. Rub my shoulders,” she gasped out in a small voice.
Robert raised her torso and sat behind her on the quilt, his legs extending on either side of her body. “Like this?” he whispered as he massaged her neck and shoulders.
“Oh yes,” she said, then screamed and curled forward.
Robert ran his hands down Hannah’s arms and touched her belly. “It’s hard as rock, love. No wonder you’re screamin’.” He rubbed her stomach.
“Oh, don’t touch me, not now. Later,” Hannah said, catching her breath and pushing his hands away. “It hurts so much.” After a moment she leaned back against his chest, panting.
“It can’t go on much longer,” he murmured.
“Hours and hours,” she said, bending forward and clutching at his hands.
In a few moments, Mrs. Bingham returned with Heppie and an armful of supplies. Hannah was in the throes of another pain, doubled forward. She caught her breath and screamed.
Heppie gagged.
“Ma, I can’t help you,” she choked out as she fled the tent.
“Send Jessie,” Mrs. Bingham flung over her shoulder. “There’s no help for it. I need someone here,” she grumbled to herself as she sat down and arranged the supplies.
“What can I do to assist, ma’am?” Robert asked.
“Now, you keep right where you are,” Mrs. Bingham said, motioning him to stay put with her hands. “You’re doin’ fine right there.”
Robert chuckled. “You want me out of the way.”
“Yes sir, I do,” Mrs. Bingham said. “This here will always be woman’s work.” She turned her head and hollered out the door of the tent. “Jessie! Where are you, girl?”
~~~
Jessie came reluctantly into the tent. Not only was Robert Fletcher in there, but Ma was likely to raise up Hannah’s skirt, and that was a sight she wasn’t prepared to gaze upon. There’s going to be blood. I know it! Hannah was panting, and Jessie turned her head, ashamed of the revulsion that swept over her.
She had little concrete idea of how babies came into the world, except that it involved a woman’s secret parts. She’d been too young to learn much when Luke came along. As far as the process for making a baby went, she’d seen the occasional dog and chicken matings, but gave little credence to the notion that humans did the same thing as the lower animals. Ma’s warnings about kissing boys had not prepared her with actual useful information about what came afterward between a man and a woman. Even James’s persistent kisses, which had stirred her to the core, had done nothing to reveal the mystery. All she knew was that babies came after couples did something together that had to do with lust.
She’d visited the Owen farm, years ago, where she and Marie had spent a lazy afternoon lying on the side of a stack of hay as they chatted. When she heard loud whinnies and snorts coming from a small corral, she’d climbed up to the top of the hay to see what the commotion was about. She barely caught sight of a stallion mounting a mare when Marie pulled her back down the slippery stack, saying, “I forgot Pa was breeding the mares today. You don’t want to see that.”
“Don’t I?” she asked.
“No. It’ll spoil your weddin’ day, worrying about that big long thing coming at you.” Teasing was one of Marie’s great pleasures in life.
