Their Frontier Family

by Lyn Cote

  While away this year he’d thought of her over and over. He’d barely spoken over a dozen sentences to this woman yet he knew he couldn’t leave her behind—here among the sanctimonious and unforgiving.

  A strained, restless silence blanketed the simple, unadorned meetinghouse. Fatigued from tension, Noah quelled the urge to let out a long breath, loosen his collar and relax against the chair. Without turning his head, Noah knew his father sat in his usual place beside Noah’s five brothers. He felt his father’s disapproving stare burn into his back like sunlight through a magnifying glass.

  Finally, when Noah thought he could stand the silence no longer, Solomon rose and came to stand beside him. Eve rose and came to stand near Sunny. Noah held his breath. There was still time for his father to cause a scene, to object to the wedding, to disown him again. Noah kept his eyes focused on Sunny.

  “Sunny, Friends do not swear oaths,” Solomon said, “but we do affirm.” Then he quoted, ““For the right joining in marriage is the work of the Lord only, and not the priests’ or the magistrates’; for it is God’s ordinance and not man’s; and therefore Friends cannot consent that they should join them together: for we marry none; it is the Lord’s work, and we are but witnesses.’”

  Noah’s heart clenched at the words the Lord’s work. Where had the Lord been when sizzling grapeshot had fallen around him like cursed manna? Cold perspiration wet Noah’s forehead. He shoved away battlefield memories and tried to stay in the here and now, with Sunny.

  Solomon continued, “When thee two are ready, my wife and I will lead thee through the simple words that will affirm thy decision to marry.”

  Sunny looked up then.

  Noah read her appeal as clearly as if she had spoken—please let’s finish this. “I’m ready if Sunny is,” Noah said, his voice sounding rusty, his pulse skipping.

  Sunny nodded, her pale pink lips pressed so tight they’d turned white.

  Noah gently took her small, work-worn hand in his, drawing her up to face him. He found there was much he wanted to tell her but couldn’t speak of, not here or maybe ever. Some words had been trapped inside him for years now. Instead he found himself echoing Solomon’s quiet but authoritative voice.

  “In the fear of the Lord and in the presence of this assembly of Friends, I take thee my friend Sunny to be my wife.” He found that she had lifted her eyes and was staring into his as if she didn’t quite believe what was happening. “Promising,” he continued, “with God’s help, to be unto thee a loving and faithful husband, until it shall please the Lord by death to separate us.” Noah fought to keep his voice from betraying his turbulent emotions.

  Sunny leaned forward and whispered shyly into his ear. “Thank you.”

  Unexpectedly, his spirit lightened.

  As Sunny repeated the Quaker wedding promise to Noah, her whole body shook visibly. When she had finished, he leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss upon her lips. The act rocked him to the core. For her part, Sunny, his bride, appeared strained nearly to breaking. Was marrying him so awful? Did she think he’d be a demanding man? He would have to speak to her, let her know...

  “Now, Sunny and Noah,” Solomon continued, “thee will sign thy wedding certificate and I ask all those attending to sign it also as witnesses.”

  At Solomon’s nod, Noah took his bride’s arm and led her to a little table near the door. A pen, ink and a paper had been set there for them. At the top of the paper someone had written in large bold script, “The Wedding Certificate of Sunny Adams and Noah Whitmore, April 4, 1869 at the Harmony, Pennsylvania, Friends Meeting.”

  Noah motioned for her to go first, but she shook her head. “Please,” she whispered.

  He bent and wrote his name right under the heading. Then he handed her the pen. She took a deep breath and carefully penned her name to the right of his, her hand trembling.

  Then Noah led her to the doorway. By couples and singles, Friends got up and went to the certificate and signed under the heading of “Witnesses.” Then they came to her and Noah and shook their hands, wishing them well. All spoke in muted voices as if trying to keep this wedding secret in some way.

  Adam and Constance Gabriel signed and both of them kissed Sunny’s cheek. “Thee will spend thy wedding night at our house, Noah, if that meets with thy approval,” Constance murmured, still cradling Sunny’s baby.

  “Thank thee,” Noah replied. He’d known better than to consider subjecting his bride to a night in his father’s house. He’d been planning on taking Sunny to a local inn but this would be better, easier on her, he considered, as a thought niggled at his conscience. Should he have confessed to Sunny his limitations before the wedding? That their marriage would not be the usual?

  One of the last to come forward to sign the wedding certificate was his father. He stomped forward and signed briskly. Then he pinned both of them with one of his piercing, judging looks. “I hope thee know what thee are doing.”

  Sunny swayed as if struck. Noah caught her arm, supporting her. All the anger he’d pressed down for years threatened to bubble over, but to what purpose? I will not make a scene. “Thank thee, Father, for thy blessing.”

  His father scowled and walked past them. Then one by one his brothers signed, shook his hand and wished him the best. Finally his eldest brother, Nathan, signed and leaned forward. “God bless thee, Noah and Sunny. I’ll miss thee. We all will. Please send us thy post office address. Though separated, we will still be a family.”

  Noah gripped his brother’s hand and nodded, not trusting his voice.

  “We will write,” his bride said, offering her hand. “I will try to be a good wife to your brother.”

  Noah turned away and faced the final few well-wishers, suddenly unable to look at Sunny. I promise I’ll take care of thee, Sunny, and thy little one. Thee will never want and thee will never be scorned. But I have no love of any kind to give. Four long years of war burned it out of me. I am an empty well.

  * * *

  It was done. Sunny had become a wife. And now in the deep twilight with Noah riding his horse nearby, she rode in the Gabriel’s wagon on the way home to their house. The wedding night loomed over her. How did a wife behave in the marriage bed? Nausea threatened her.

  Oh, Heavenly Father, help me not shame myself.

  She wished her mind wouldn’t dip back into the past, bringing up images from long sordid nights above the saloon. Why couldn’t the Lord just wipe her mind clean, like he’d taken away her sins?

  That’s what she’d been told he’d done, but Sunny often felt like her sins were still very much with her, defining her every step of the way.

  After arriving at the Gabriel home, she managed to walk upstairs to the bedroom she usually shared with the youngest Gabriel sister. She now noted that fresh white sheets had been put on the bed for tonight, her last night in this house. She stood in the room, unable to move.

  Constance entered. “Thee will want to nurse Dawn before bed.”

  Sunny accepted her child, sat in the rocking chair and settled the child to her.

  Constance sat on the edge of the bed and smiled. “We are very happy that thee has found a good husband.”

  Sunny didn’t trust her voice. She smiled as much as she could and nodded.

  “Each man and woman must learn how to be married on their own. It cannot be taught. I have known Noah from his birth. He was a sweet child and is an honest man. Adam and I had no hesitati
on in letting thee marry him.”

  Sunny heard the good words but couldn’t hold on to them. She was quaking inside.

  “The only advice I will give thee is what is given in God’s word. ‘Submitting yourselves one to another in the fear of God.’ And ‘Let not the sun go down upon your wrath.’”

  Sunny nodded, still unable to speak, unable to make sense of the words. Then the sweet woman carried Dawn away to spend the night in their room. Before Constance left she said, “When thee is ready, open the door for thy husband.”

  As Sunny went through the motions of dressing for bed, she experienced the same penned-in feeling that had overwhelmed her at fourteen when her mother had died. A week later, penniless and with no friends in the world other than her mother’s, Sunny had taken her mother’s place upstairs in the saloon. At this memory Sunny’s stomach turned. That horrible first night poured through her mind and she fought the memories back with all her strength.

  That was the past. Living away from the saloon, surrounded by the Gabriels’ kindness, had begun softening her, stripping away the hard shell that had protected her from the pain, rejection and coarse treatment she’d endured.

  It won’t be like that. This is Noah, who called me sweet and kind and who has married me. Being with him will feel different. But how could he want her after she’d been with so many others?

  From across the hall, Sunny heard Dawn whimper. She quieted, waiting to see if her child needed her.

  Dawn made no further sound and Sunny took a deep breath. A new image appeared in her mind—her little girl in a spotless pinafore running toward a white schoolhouse, calling to her friends who were smiling and waving hello.

  Marrying Noah Whitmore had given her daughter the chance to escape both the saloon and the stain of illegitimacy. And they would be moving to Wisconsin, far from anybody who knew of Sunny’s past. Dawn would be free. Hope glimmered within her. I’ve done right.

  She slipped on her flannel nightgown and then opened the door. Before Noah could enter, she slid between the sheets, to the far side of the bed. Waiting.

  A long while later Noah entered and without a word undressed in the shadows beyond the flickering candlelight.

  Sunny’s heart thrummed in her temples. Harsh images from her past bombarded her mind but she tried to shut them out.

  Noah blew out the candle in the wall sconce.

  She closed her eyes, waiting for the rope bed to dip as Noah slid in beside her.

  “Sunny, I don’t feel right about sharing a bed with you tonight. We’re nearly strangers.”

  I used to lie down with strangers all the time. She clamped her lips tight, holding back the words, afraid that he would realize he’d made a terrible mistake in marrying her.

  “I’ll bunk here on the floor. Just go to sleep. We’ve a long day tomorrow. Good night, Sunny.” He lifted off the top quilt and rolled up in it on the floor.

  “Wh-why did you marry me?” she asked as confusion overwhelmed her.

  He turned to face her, scant moonlight etching his outline. “It was time to take a wife.”

  “You know what I was.”

  “Yes, I know. You lay with men who paid you. Did you ever kill anyone?”

  The question shocked her. “No. Of course not.”

  “Well, I have. Which is worse—lying with a stranger for money, or shooting a man and leaving him to bleed to death?”

  Stunned at his bleak tone, she fell silent for a long moment, not knowing what to say.

  In the dark she moved to the edge of the bed and slipped to the floor. In the dim light she reached for his hand but stopped just short of taking it. “That was war. You were supposed to kill the enemy.”

  He made a gruff sound, and rolled away from her. “Good night, Sunny.”

  Her heart hurt for him. She longed to comfort him, but he’d turned his back to her.

  Late into the night she stared at the ceiling, thinking about his question, about how he’d sounded when he’d spoken of war. Would they ever be truly close, or had too much happened to both of them? Was it her past that had made him sleep on the floor? Or was it...him? Oh, Lord, can I be the wife he so clearly needs?

  * * *

  “It’s not much farther!” Noah called out, walking beside the Conestoga wagon, leading his horse.

  Sunny, who was taking her turn at driving the wagon behind the oxen, waved to show him she had heard his first words to her in hours. Dawn crawled by her feet under the bench. Boards blocked the opening to the side and rear. She hoped her idea of “not much farther” matched his.

  Beyond the line of trees with spring-green leaves the wide Mississippi River meandered along beside them, sunlight glinting on the rushing water, high with spring rain and snowmelt. Frogs croaked incessantly. After several weeks of traveling all she wanted was to stop living out of a wagon and arrive home, wherever that was.

  The unusually warm April sun, now past noon, beat down on Sunny’s bonnet. She’d unbuttoned her top two collar buttons to cool. The air along the river hung languid, humid, making perspiration trickle down her back. A large ungainly gray bird lifted from the water, squawking, raucous.

  “I’m eager for you to see our homestead,” Noah said, riding closer to her.

  “I am, too.” And scared silly.

  Too late to draw back now.

  Several weeks had passed since they’d wakened the morning after their wedding and set off by horseback to the Ohio River to travel west by riverboat. In Cairo, Illinois, Noah had purchased their wagon, oxen and supplies. Then they’d headed north, following the trail on the east side of the Mississippi. Noah pointed out that the trail was well-worn by many other travelers, and told her that French fur trappers had been the first, over two hundred years ago. She’d tried to appear interested in this since it seemed important to him. She’d known trappers herself. They weren’t very special.

  “It will take work to make our claim into a home,” Noah said.

  She gave him a heartening smile and ignored her misgivings. This was her husband, this was her fresh new start—she would have to make it work no matter her own failings. “I’ll do my best.”

  He nodded. “I know that.”

  Sunny blotted her forehead with the back of her hand. Then she saw a town appear around the bend, a street of rough buildings perched on the river’s edge.

  “That’s Pepin,” Noah called out.

  “Thank Heaven,” Sunny responded, her spirit lifting.

  Dawn tried to stand and fell, crying out. Sunny kept one hand on the reins and with the other helped Dawn crawl up onto her lap.

  “Is she all right?” Noah asked.

  “Fine. Just trying to stand up.”

  “She’s a quick one.”

  Usually silent Noah was almost chatting with her. He must be happy, too.

  Noah always slept in the wagon bed at the end near the opening, evidently protecting her but always away from her. But just last night he called out, “Help, help!” She’d nearly crawled to him. But he’d sat up and left the wagon and began pacing. She hadn’t known what to do. Sunny was beginning to believe he slept away because of his nightmares. Because of the war perhaps?

  She wondered if his lack of sleep made him silent. Whenever she spoke, he replied readily and courteously. Yet he rarely initiated conversation, so today must be a good day.

  Soon she pulled up to a drinking trough along the huddle of rough log buildings facing the
river—a general store, a blacksmith, a tiny government land office and a wharf area where a few barges were tethered.

  And a saloon at the far end of the one street.

  Buttoning her collar buttons, Sunny averted her face from the saloon, deeply grateful she would not be entering its swinging doors. Ever.

  A man bustled out of the general store. “Welcome to Pepin!” he shouted. “I’m Ned Ashford, the storekeeper.”

  Noah approached the wagon and helped her put the brake on. Then he solicitously assisted her descent. Only then did he turn to the storekeeper. He shook the man’s hand. “Noah Whitmore. This is my wife, Sunny, and our daughter, Dawn.”

  He was always careful to show her every courtesy, and every time Noah introduced her and her baby this way, gratitude swamped her. For this she forgave him his tendency to pass a whole day exchanging only a sentence or two with her.

  Maybe it wasn’t the sleepless nights. Some men just didn’t talk much—she knew that.

  But she could tell that he was keeping a distance between them. Their marriage had yet to be consummated.

  She didn’t blame him for not wanting her. Sudden shame over her past suddenly lit Sunny’s face red-hot.

  “You just stopping or staying?” the friendly storekeeper in the white apron asked.

  “I have our homestead east of here claimed and staked.” Noah sounded proud.

  Our homestead—Sunny savored the words, her face cooling.

  “I thought you looked familiar. You were here a few months ago. But alone.”

  “Right.” Dismissing the man’s curiosity, Noah turned to her. “Sunny, why don’t you go inside and see if there’s anything you need before we head to our homestead. It will be a while before we get to town again.”

  The farther they traveled, the more Noah dropped his use of “thee” in favor of “you.” Noah appeared to be changing his identity. I am, too. And the sheer distance they’d come from more populated places heartened her. The farther north they went the fewer people there were. That meant the chances of her running into anyone who’d met her in a saloon were slimmer. A blessing, but now, Noah was saying they would be living far from this town?