Boister did his own wetting down, but Jan declared he wasn’t energetic enough in the application of the soap and ended up scrubbing him.
“My skin’s gonna come off!” Boister declared as he turned pink under the scant bubbles of the lye soap.
The girls laughed, and Jan showed no mercy.
“Your turn,” Boister declared as he hunkered by the fire in his blanket. His eye was on Tildie.
She turned pink, but declared, “Yes, I must have my turn. If you gentlemen will put up a blanket for privacy, Marilyn will help me.”
“Me, too,” insisted Evie. “Wash Tildie. I scrub, scrub, scrub-a-dub.”
“You’ll have to be gentle, Evie,” Jan said, gazing at Tildie’s blush. “Remember, your cousin got hurt and has been sick.”
“You better let me do the scrubbing,” said Mari, importantly. “You can wrap her in the blanket.”
“Well then,” said Tildie, thoroughly embarrassed. “Shall we get started?”
Her bath took a while and there was a lot of giggling behind the makeshift screen. Jan concentrated on keeping a fresh supply of water warm and studiously avoided watching the blanket being bumped by the figures behind it.
With all the bodies washed except Jan and Gladys, Tildie instructed from her bed that their clothing must be washed. The dollies were set on the hearth to observe the proceedings as they, themselves, dried. With only the small bucket and kitchen kettle to use for washing, laundry was an all-afternoon project. During the process, Mari and Evie managed to get their cloth dolls soaking wet again, and they were laid farther from the hubbub of activity to dry.
The children were draped in their blankets with ropes binding their garments to them. Jan said they looked like Romans in togas and spent an hour explaining about the customs of early Greece and Italy while they labored over the soapy project. Tildie fell asleep directly after dinner which was cooked amidst garments hanging about, drying in the cabin’s fireplace heat.
She awoke to a darkened room. The blanket still hung over the space in front of her bed. Jan was there straightening the pallet he slept on beside her. “Jan.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I can’t see you.”
He leaned over the bed so his face was close to hers. She felt his nearness, but it was so dark she still couldn’t see.
“It’s snowing again,” he said.
She touched the side of his face.
“Your hair’s wet.”
“I took a bath after the children were in bed.”
“Thank you.”
“Oh, you’re welcome. I couldn’t be the only human in the cabin who smelled.” She could hear the laughter in his voice.
“No, I meant, thank you for going to all the trouble. For the children, for me.”
“We’re going to be here a long time, Tildie—maybe until spring. You can’t travel now, and by the time you can, hard winter will have set in.”
“Are we going to be all right? Is there enough food, enough fuel?”
He took her hand, the one with which she unconsciously stroked the side of his face, feeling the smoothness of his just shaved cheek.
“Yes, that’s no problem. I’ll hunt now, and we can dry the meat or let it freeze in the cave I use for storage. There are trees all around us for firewood. It may be difficult to get enough hay in for the stock, but I’ll manage. It would be nice if we had a cow.”
“A cow?”
“Milk and cheese for the little ones.”
“The children will get bored.”
“If they’re bored, we’ll give ’em baths. That took all day, and they loved running around in their togas, playing chase between the hanging clothes.”
“Do you mind them?”
“Last year, I was nearly crazy with loneliness. No, I don’t mind them.” She liked his tone of voice. She could listen to him talk this way every night. It was nice to have him there.
“There is something else, Tildie.” He sounded serious. Was he going to talk about her injuries? Did he have something to say about why it was taking her so long to recover?
“What?” she whispered in her anxiety.
“I don’t think of you as one of the children. I think of you as a woman—a warm, beautiful, kind, sweet woman.”
She started to cry.
It alarmed him. “I wouldn’t hurt you, Tildie. I’d never do that, but it’s going to be a long winter in this cabin, and I’ve got my heart set on marrying you.”
“But I’m sick and maybe a cripple… and until today, I smelled like a goat.”
“You’re brave, and you’re going to get well. And until today, I smelled like a buffalo.”
She giggled through the tears.
“I don’t know if I love you,” she admitted. “Sometimes, I think I’d die if you walked away and left us. I’ve thought about when we get back to the ranch and you’ve fulfilled your promise to see us safely away from the Indians. Then, you’d leave us. I don’t want that.”
He stroked her hair back from her face, and she felt warm and secure.
“I’ve never been in love, Jan. I don’t know if I can be a good wife. All I’ve thought about the last two years is keeping a roof over my head, then keeping the children safe and happy.”
He kissed her then, interrupting her ramblings. When his lips released hers, she gasped a tiny little breath of air that tickled his lips so close to hers.
“Jan,” she whispered.
“You talk too much.” He kissed her again.
When he pulled away, he stared at her, barely making out her features in the dark.
“Do you think you could love me?” he asked.
“Yes.” The answer came without hesitation. He smiled. He shifted, deliberately moving away from her but retaining her hand in his. He sat on his pallet with his back against the wall.
“We’ll have to get married,” he said huskily.
“How can we do that?”
“I’ll marry us. When the spring comes, we’ll register the wedding in the nearest town that has a courthouse. That may be clear back in Oklahoma. Can you handle that? We’ll be married in the eyes of God. The children will be our witnesses. It’s unusual, but out in the wilderness, that’s how some couples have to do it.”
“Have you married people before?” This thought fascinated her.
“Yes, I was a regular preacher before I came west to be a missionary.”
“I didn’t know that. Jan, there’s an awful lot I don’t know about you.”
“We’ve got a long, cold winter ahead of us. By spring we should be pretty well acquainted.”
“When will we get married?”
“Let’s say… when you’re strong enough to stand up for the ceremony.”
“How long do you think that will take?”
He rose up on his knees and came to kiss her again, trailing light, feathery kisses over her forehead, down her cheeks, and settling on her lips. He pulled himself away abruptly.
“Go to sleep now, Tildie. Rest, so you can get well quickly.”
“Good night, Jan.”
“Good night, honey.”
CHAPTER 11
Anew parson came to the village parish,” said Jan. From her bed, Tildie smiled at the thick Swedish accent he adopted for the telling of one of his grandmother’s tales. “He asked how there came to be in the church cemetery a lifelike, stone statue of a man of humble means. Why ‘tis a man of two centuries past who, while walking through the grounds on a beautiful spring day, had the insensitivity to make a cruel remark regarding the dead. Instead of the proper respect, he said they’d done what they did in life to earn where they slept in death. He was instantly turned to stone, whereas his companion, who had doffed his hat, and said, ‘God’s peace to all who rest here,’ marched on without feeling so much as a twinge in his overworked limbs.”
“Limbs in a tree?” asked Mari.
“No, your arms and legs are limbs,” explained Boister w
ith scant tolerance for his little sister’s ignorance. “Means he didn’t have a charlie horse or cramp or nothing.”
“Charlie? Horse?” Evie’s big eyes turned toward the stable end of the cabin.
“Oh, forget it,” said Boister, at the end of his patience. “Tell the story, Jan.”
“The parson said the statue should’ve been prayed over to release the poor, unfortunate man now that he had learned the error of his ways. The townsfolk said, indeed, the man had been prayed over by every parson since.”
The wide-eyed children sat, listening to every word, Boister on his pallet with Gladys, Mari and Evie on their own. Jan sat in his chair between them, leaning forward as he told one of the many bedtime stories they indulged in every night.
“Well, the parson was a man who liked a challenge, so he had three strong men from the parish carry the stone statue and set it in the corner of his study where it would be within hearing of the many prayers he said each day.
“It was this parson’s custom to end his evening prayers with these words, ‘And by Your grace, heavenly Father, banish all that is evil from this house. Amen.’ As the weeks went by, the parson began to think that there was a flurry of activity in the room each night after he said this prayer. It was nothing he could hear or see but rather a stirring of the air.
“He was a practical man who didn’t worry too much about it, figuring if it was something beyond him to deal with, then his mighty God was taking care of it. One night he heard a small noise like a chuckle from the corner of the room where stood the statue. It was such a small tittering sound that he was not quite sure he heard it. The next night he heard it again, and it was more distinct. He took up his candle and peered about in the corner. Nothing, so he went to bed. The next night he heard it even more plainly, and since there was nothing in the corner besides the statue, he determined that it was the statue who had laughed.
“‘Now,’ he says to the statue, ‘If I can hear you laugh, then I can hear you talk. Be so kind as to tell me what makes you laugh each night.’ Considering the state of the man in a statue-like pose, he thought there could not be much to laugh at.”
“How can a statue talk?” asked Marilyn.
“It’s a story,” answered Boister. “Be quiet.”
Jan continued. “The statue spoke very courteously to the parson. Remember, he has had a long time to repent of harsh words. He said that the parson was a very kind man, a very learned man, a very good counselor to his parishioners, and a very witty man behind the pulpit telling very worthy accounts from the Bible. However, he quarreled a little too much with his headstrong wife. ‘Every night you call upon God to banish all evil from the house,’ explained the voice from the statue, ‘and a thousand little imps dance out the door. With each cross and contrary word that passes between wife and husband the next day, they come back in one by one.’
“The statue went on to explain that among these imps was a little fellow ‘who wiggles about so, and does such tricks on his merry way out the door’ that the statue could not help but laugh at his antics and funny faces.
“The parson had a heavy heart from hearing this. He went to his wife and explained that when stones began to speak in his study, it was wise for them to listen. They agreed to speak more kindly to one another and not be quick to anger, nor insensitive to each other’s feelings.
“The wife was particularly unhappy to think of impish creatures free in her home throughout the day. Husband and wife behaved more seemly and soon began to enjoy each other as they had when first they were married.
“The statue was silent, and after many months when the parson and his wife were truly happy once again, the parson thought to ask the statue had he not seen the little imps, and particularly the one who made him laugh?
“The statue declared that he had upon occasion seen him lurking outside the door, peeping in, and being very impatient about it. The imp had finally given up and gone—no doubt to find a more quarrelsome household.
“The parson called his wife to rejoice with him, and thanked God together for ending their petty disagreements. The wife asked how it was with the statue, considering they were so happy and he was still stone.
“The statue replied that he was very nearly at peace, for he had done the kind parson a good deed. When the parson said his prayers that very night, the stone became flesh, drew his first breath in a three hundred years and his last throughout eternity. The parson and his wife saw that he had a very nice funeral, for they were glad of the man’s release from his penance and grateful that their own entrapment in hasty words was ended.”
“Tildie always says, ‘and they lived happily ever after.’” Mari informed Jan. “That way we know the story is over and we have to lie down.”
“Well, my grandmother never said it, but I don’t think it will ruin her stories.” Having told the story with the heavy Swedish accent, now that he was just talking, the inflection lingered upon his words. Tildie liked the sound of it, and she listened carefully as he continued. “The parson and his wife lived happily ever after. Now, put your heads on your pillows and go to sleep.”
“Jan, do you tell your grandmother’s stories to the Indians?” asked Boister.
“No, I only tell them stories from the Good Book. I think I might confuse them since they’re just learning facts from the Bible. I wouldn’t want them to expect to pray a person out of a stone statue.”
“Don’t you think we might get confused?” Boister asked. “I mean, I never would, but the little girls might.”
“No, you don’t have a language problem and are here to ask me or Tildie questions any time you want. Also, since you already know so much, it is good for you to use your brain and decide which is a fun story and which is the truth from God’s Holy Word. You’re a stronger Christian because you can think these things through.”
“I want a kiss good night,” declared Mari.
“Kiss, too,” added Evie.
Before Jan could answer, the girls scrambled out of their covers and gave Jan a hug and kiss. They next stormed Tildie’s bed, remembering just in time to carefully climb up instead of madly scrambling to kiss her. Jan watched them with a big grin on his face. When they came back, he knelt beside their pallet and carefully tucked them in, pausing to pray their good-night prayers with them.
He blew out the candle. Turning away, he was surprised to find Boister standing beside him. He looked at the boy and saw there was something he wanted to say.
“Boister?” he inquired softly.
There was no response. Jan, who was still on his knees, leaned back so he sat on his heels. The flickering light from the fire revealed the little boy’s features tightened in a mask of indecision. With an expelled breath of tension, Boister leapt at Jan, threw his arms around his neck, and gave him a quick, convulsive hug. Then just as quickly, he let go and darted across the room to dive into his blankets, turned his back to the room, and lay very still as if he had instantly gone to sleep.
Jan slowly rose to his feet and walked to the boy’s pallet. He leaned over, pulled the blanket up more securely around his shoulders, then laid his big hand on the boy’s small head for an instant. He said no words but across his face the look of tenderness Boister evoked was clearly evident. He moved then to settle on his pallet on the floor beside Tildie’s bed.
After a few minutes, he reached up over the side of the bed to find Tildie’s hand and hold it.
“Why are you sniffling?” he asked.
“I’m happy.”
“Boister?”
“Yes, he’s going to be all right. You’ve helped him where I couldn’t. Thank God John Masters was taking us to Fort Reynald. Thank God for the accident. My aunt would have been happy to know that her son was better. She truly loved her children, you know. She was just incapable of fighting the circumstances. She gave up.”
“We won’t give up, Tildie. We have the strength of our Savior to draw upon.”
“She did, too, Jan. Sh
e just forgot to use it. I think she always counted on Uncle Henry to seek God, so she just benefited secondhand from his strength. When he was gone, she had no personal connection to God.”
“I don’t want that to happen to you, Tildie. We must teach the children well.”
“Yes, Jan.” Tildie turned on her side and smiled into the darkness. She was happy with how God had changed her life. If asked to choose this road, she never would have taken it, not being able to see this place she had come to from the beginning. This, however, was good. She knew the truth of the verse that says all things work together for good to them who love God.
CHAPTER 12
Tildie stood behind the chair, marveling that she was doing so without hurting. She let go and stood with her hands out to her sides.
“Very good,” said a voice in back of her. She jumped and grabbed for the chair as she lost her balance. Strong arms caught her and swept her up. Jan held her against his chest. “Does this mean I finally have a bride?” He kissed her nose.
Tildie giggled. “Put me down. I want to try a step.”
Boister, Mari, and Evie gathered around. Evie clapped her hands as Jan set Tildie on her feet and steadied her. When he let go she started to sink, so he wrapped his arms around her middle and stood close.
“Okay, Tildie, I’ll support your weight, and you walk. Right foot first.” She felt his right thigh pushing against the back of her right leg. She concentrated and managed to work with him, moving the heavy leg forward in a slow, dragging step. For some reason, her toes didn’t want to lift off the floor.
“Great. Now the other side,” urged Jan.
Six steps and she was exhausted. He kissed the back of her ear as she slumped against him. “We’ve got all winter. Before spring we’ll have you turned around, facing me, and we’ll be dancing.”
Tildie laughed softly at his optimism. He made it seem possible.
“Dancing!” Evie squealed.
“You don’t even know what dancing is,” scoffed Boister.
“She saw the Arapahos do the Sun Dance,” said Mari in defense of her little sister.
The Brides of the Old West: Five Romantic Adventures from the American Frontier Page 75
