Time's Enduring Love

by Tia Dani

  "Nobody. Them dumb animals can take care of themselves for a couple days."

  "A couple days?" Joseph gawked at him. "Hell, don't you realize animals have to eat? Do you have any milk cows?"

  "Nope, don't need one, at least..." He reached over and thumped his wife's extended belly as if she were a watermelon. "Until this one's big enough to muck the barn out hisself."

  It was Matthew who spoke next. His voice was lower, deeper. "Did you leave feed for your animals?"

  Again, goose bumps skittered along her arms as Matthew talked.

  "Naw, I didn't think—"

  "I did."

  Again Sarah's unexpected interruption broke through.

  "What?" Getz jumped to his feet and glared at his wife. His mud-brown eyes bulged. "What the hell? Why would you go and waste feed?"

  "It wasn't wasting, Claude. I couldn't let the animals starve while we were gone, especially my chickens."

  "Your chickens!" Getz's face turned purple, then red. He started to sputter. "You...you...stupid woman. You know how much money feed cost us? 'Sides, that grain was for my brewin'."

  Libby thought the man was going to strike his wife. His hand raised but, at the last instant, dropped to his side. "We'll talk about this later."

  Not if she could help it. Libby pushed her empty plate away and stood. Her hunger had disappeared the moment Getz raised his hand. She spoke to Katherine. "Speaking of later, there's sleeping arrangements to consider. Since we're sort of limited on bed space in the house, it might be better if Sarah takes my bed. I can sleep on a pallet. Mr. Getz can bunk with the others in the old house, or, if he doesn't want to, he can sleep in his wagon."

  "What?" Getz turned. "Now, see here—"

  "Why, Claude," she crooned, putting all the sticky sweetness she could muster in her voice. "You wouldn't want your wife to have to sleep on the floor this time, would you?"

  "She would have slept on the ground if'n we had gone on ahead."

  "Thank goodness, you didn't. After all," She gave him a smile. "I wouldn't have had the pleasure of meeting..." She deliberately trailed out the last of her words, "the two of you."

  His anger disappeared instantly. She almost gagged when he winked at her. "That's true."

  "Then, you agree Sarah needs to sleep in a bed?"

  "Sure, why not. You're right. It might all be for the best." Now he was solicitous of his wife's welfare. "Sarah, honey, go with Miss Strammon, here. She knows what's good for you. I'll go get our belongings from the wagon." Without any more fanfare, Getz hurried out the back door and into the night.

  Libby turned away, but not before she noticed Matthew had left the table and now stood in the hallway leading to the front of the house. His expression was not what one would call pleasant, and it was directed straight at her.

  "Miss Strammon, I'd like a word with you, before you help Katherine with the dishes."

  Goose bumps surfaced again. Libby resisted the urge to rub her arms. Too many people awaited her answer. Tim and Joseph grinned from ear to ear. Sarah and Katherine looked at her in confusion. James seemed oblivious, too busy sculpting a mountain out of the massive amount of potatoes on his plate. Her father kept eating his meal as if there wasn't a thing wrong but she knew differently.

  She lifted her chin and gave Matthew a smile, much like the one she had given Claude Getz and nodded. "Certainly, I'll be right there."

  "What do you think you're doing?"

  Libby wasn't certain if his question was a roar or a bellow the minute she walked into the parlor. Licking her lips, she decided to go with a roar. Thank goodness, Matthew had closed the door before he'd released his verbal blast.

  "I have no idea what—"

  "Yes, you do. What's the idea of playing up to Getz."

  "Playing up?" She stared at him in surprise. "I wasn't playing up...uh...yes, I guess I was, sort of—"

  "Christ, Libby, I knew you'd do anything to get a rise out of me, but to use Getz to make me jealous goes beyond all reason."

  "What?" she shrieked, forgetting to remain calm. "You think I...why you...over-stuffed, pompous baboon. That's the last thing I'd do.

  Matthew waved a hand at her. "Quit using your high-toned words on me. They won't work this time. I'm immune now."

  "High-toned?" She looked at him incredulously. "You think baboon is high-toned?

  "I do, and the same with chauva...chaven..."

  "Chauvinistic? When did I call you that? Not," she added, "that you aren't, mind you. You are."

  "Last night while you were sleepwalking."

  Libby raised her eyebrows. "All this hullabaloo is about a word? You're angry because I called you something you didn't understand?"

  "Oh, no, you don't. That word I know."

  "What?"

  "Hullabaloo."

  "Great, you know a word. You didn't answer my question. Is this why you're angry at me?"

  "I'm not angry."

  "You are, too. Look at you. You're towering over me like some Godzilla." To prove her point, she shoved on his chest then blinked. She hadn't realized how close he stood. She shoved on his chest again. "Back off. You're too close."

  To her amazement, he did as ordered. He took several steps back and ran a hand through his hair. The gesture reminded her of Getz, yet Matthew's actions had entirely different meaning. His clean hair and rugged good looks made the movement attractive. And for an instant her palms itched to follow his hand through those shiny locks.

  "Libby, please...let's stop this haggling." He sighed loud and long. "It's getting us nowhere."

  Libby echoed his sigh with one of her own. "I agree. Okay, so we start over." She went over to the sofa and sat. "Now what?"

  He followed, only he didn't sit down. He stood to the side, rubbing his hand on the thin strip of wood along the back. "Getz."

  "Right, Getz." She looked at the closed parlor door. "For your information, I wasn't playing up to him to make you jealous. I'd hoped to make him let Sarah sleep in my room."

  Matthew stopped his rubbing. "That was it? All for show? Why?"

  How could he be so dense? A blind man could see Getz's intentions. Her temper inched a notch and she clamped a lid on it. No sense stirring Matthew up with another explosion. "Because after they were alone, he would beat her again."

  "I see. You're right."

  "You agree with me?" Libby almost fell off the sofa as she turned to stare up at him.

  "Yes. I suspected Getz had a temper."

  "You suspected?" She couldn't believe he was so blasé about the matter. "My God, Matthew, the man beats his wife regularly!"

  He flinched. "It's Getz's problem, not ours.

  "Yes, it is. I won't stand for it."

  "Libby—"

  "Growling at me isn't going to make me stop, Matthew. Not in this case. Sarah needs help. Why won't you do anything?"

  "I can't. Neither can you." Again Matthew ran a hand through his hair, a gesture she was becoming familiar with. "If we try to stop Getz, it will only make things worse. He'll take his anger out on her when we're not around."

  Libby sank back in the sofa. He was right. She might stop the man from hitting his wife tonight, but she hadn't stopped him from doing it later. All he had to do was wait until they returned home. He could beat Sarah as much as he wanted, and no one would be the wiser.

  So unfair. She couldn't even go to the police for help. On the isolated prairie in 1866 there were no police, no laws protecting women. It was a man's world and he had the right to beat his wife, whether people agreed with it or not.

  Fortunately, she wasn't one of them. She'd find a way to make Getz stop the beatings.

  Permanently.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Libby gazed in awe.

  In Katherine's new two-seater buggy, she and Sarah clattered along the road to Luke Abrams place. Libby turned her head from side to side, taking in every bit of landscape around her. The familiarity sent little shivers dancing along her spine.

>   She knew exactly where she was. Before her spread the farmland she, as a young teenager, had helped run the sweep over to kill weeds and old wheat stocks. She'd taken the grain drill and planted the seed to harvest later on. She knew every dip and swell of this grassland, every rock, every out-cropping. She inhaled slowly and savored the same smell of fresh, new spring life sprouting from the earth.

  Off to the right, not more than a few yards away, Libby spied the sloping gully she'd searched for since she realized their direction. She'd played there so many times with Jenny and Richard she could have found her way there blindfolded.

  But this morning she wouldn't tolerate being blindfolded for anything. The lush plants around the gully washed clean by the night's rain sparkled emerald like in the sun. Wildflowers littered the prairie with blues and yellows. It looked like morning sky and sunshine had fallen among the tall grasses.

  As children, all three rode their bikes from home to converge at the gully at a prearranged time. It was a special place where they played make believe. Jenny was always the beautiful maiden who needed rescuing, Richard wanted to be the blood-thirsty Indian, and Libby was the cowboy or the wounded cowboy, whichever seemed the most fun at the time.

  Though she was seven years older than the other two, Jenny and Richard were her only playmates. Most of her friends lived in town or on distant farms and couldn't often come to visit. But once she got her driver's license, Libby's world changed. No longer did she go to her little gully. Thanks to her high school activities, she traveled to new horizons. She visited faraway exotic places. When it came time to go to college, she saw even more.

  Libby smiled, watching the gully disappear from sight as they rode on. Little did she know a day would come when she'd witness the land as it originally was...in the days of the Great Plains. Their childhood pretense never matched reality, only the awareness of the same rolling landscape seemed right.

  To see her childhood haunts laying undisturbed by the plow and undivided into sections, took her breath away. The vast land loomed untamed, unpredictable. Even the prairie dog towns, with their symmetrical mounds of dirt standing tall over the soft, grayish-green sod, seemed strange. By the 1960's, most prairie dogs were eradicated.

  Excitement bloomed in her breast. She'd been given a wonderful opportunity—living life the way it was in history—before highways and John Deere.

  "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

  Sarah's soft voice startled Libby out of her reflections. Many of the worry lines around Sarah's mouth were gone, and she seemed to enjoy the outing as much as Libby.

  Ahead of them, Katherine, James and Theo rode in the larger utility wagon. They carried with them, Sarah's mysterious basket, the multitude of pies, and everything else Katherine thought they might need for the day at Luke's.

  It had been Katherine's idea Libby and Sarah ride in the elegant carriage alone. She thought the two might enjoy time to themselves. Claude Getz hadn't been around to disagree. He left with Matthew, Joseph, and Tim before dawn to help Luke set up his party. "Yes, it's beautiful. I'm glad I'm able to see it this way, before...uh...civilization takes over."

  "I've felt that way from the moment I arrived six months ago. Claude and I are from Chicago."

  "I shouldn't say anything, but I get the impression your husband doesn't like it here."

  "He doesn't." Sarah fidgeted with the reins in her hands and spoke almost apologetically. "Claude isn't meant to be a farmer. He thinks he's one, but he isn't. You see, he was unhappy in Chicago working for a brewery. He thought the job was demeaning and boring, since he wasn't becoming rich on his labors. When he read the posters around town how great opportunities are out west he sold everything we owned, and came here. He had no idea how hard it is to be a farmer, especially when one starts out with little money."

  She hesitated, glancing shyly at Libby, as if apologizing. "This land isn't very giving. At least, not to those who are coming to settle now. Most of the choice land and ready water has already been claimed."

  Libby nodded, knowing Sarah was thinking of Katherine's beautiful place. According to Katherine, it hadn't always been easy. The barn and large house were built by the wealthy Andrew Strammon after their marriage in 1858. Both buildings were stone, built to last on the windblown prairie. He insisted on the best. But it had been more than Andrew's money which made the place what it was now. Along with the Basgals and Abrams, Katherine and Matthew were some of the first settlers, sacrificing for the land. They planted the row of cottonwoods and willows in 1845 as windbreaks. They dug wells by themselves and cleared enough to allow them to survive the lean years in the beginning. Their long sacrifices paid off. For those newly arriving into the area and seeing what Katherine possessed now had to be discouraging.

  "You're awful quiet, Libby. I hope I haven't upset you."

  "Goodness no, I was thinking. I never realized how much work this takes. All these years, I've taken the prairie land for granted and not once realized what others went through to make the Great Plains the huge wheat area that it is in my lifeti...er...I mean will probably be in the future."

  She held her breath, hoping Sarah hadn't caught the slip. Sarah seemed to concentrate more on directing the horse around several deep wagon ruts in the road. When they were on smooth land again, Sarah asked, "What made you decide to become a doctor?"

  "I always wanted to be one. And my mother believed I was destined for it."

  "She did?" Goodness, she must have been an unusual mother to want her daughter to do something so out of the ordinary."

  Libby smiled. It wasn't even ordinary in 1966, let alone 1866. If she had been born during this time, she doubted she would have considered being a doctor. "My mother was an exceptional woman." Truth rang in her words. Helen Strammon was always ready to involve herself in outlandish topics. Libby remembered her reading books on mysticism and strange phenomena. She wished her mother could have traveled through time with them. She would consider it high adventure and love every minute of it.

  "You can't imagine," Sarah said, "how relieved I was when you told me last night you were a doctor." The corners of her mouth lifted a bit. "And, don't think I don't appreciate you giving up your bed for me. You're an angel of mercy if I ever saw one."

  "Pooh." Libby squirmed, uncomfortable with the praise. "I'm no angel. With your baby coming real soon, you need your sleep. Period. If you ask me, you should be pampered until it's born. Come to think of it. You should be pampered afterward, too."

  Sarah shrugged. "Women have been birthing babies since the time of Eve. My mother had me and twelve others without missing a day of work alongside my father."

  "Wow." Libby shuddered. "Lord, I'm glad I'm not your parents' doctor. I probably would have had to set up residency in your house. With thirteen kids, I'm sure there was always some emergency or another."

  "I wish you had been there," Sarah replied quietly. "My youngest brother, Marty, was kicked in the head by a livery horse and died soon after. Mamma said that if a decent doctor had been close, Marty might have lived."

  "I don't know, Sarah. Brain injuries are very difficult to treat." Libby remembered when six-year-old Teddy Simpson had been kicked by a horse in 1961. Even though the boy lived and had the best medical help money could buy, he was never the same. His parents finally had to put him in a special school for handicapped children.

  "You would have been able to do something, I'm sure." Sarah paused then added in a low voice, "You could've saved Papa, too."

  Libby arched a questioning brow.

  "He died of pneumonia two years ago."

  A spark flickered in Libby's brain. "That's when you married?"

  "Yes," Sarah whispered. "Claude was the only caller who promised to help the rest of my family." She sighed. "Of course, after the wedding, I discovered he had no money and no inheritance. He intended to live off my family."

  Libby didn't know what to say.

  "Anyway," Sarah said her tone lighter. "You would have been able
to save them both."

  The pride and confidence in Sarah's voice surprised her. "Why, Sarah, thank you. Most people don't have much faith in women doctors."

  "I do. We need more women to take a hand in matters where it concerns women. Especially doctoring."

  "Sarah Getz." Libby shook her head and laughed. "You sound almost like a Women's Libber."

  Sarah frowned. "Is that like the women in the Suffrage Movement?"

  "Suffrage Movement? I think so. Where have you heard about Suffrage?"

  "In Chicago. They came into town and held a rally. I...I went while Claude was at work."

  "You did?" This tiny mite of a woman was not the timid mouse she first appeared to be. "What was it like? The rally, I mean."

  "Wonderful." Sarah's face glowed. "You should have been there. You would have enjoyed it. All kinds of women attended. Even a few women doctors." She smiled at Libby. "Maybe you would have known them?"

  Libby shook her head. "I doubt it. I...uh...I haven't been a doctor for very long, and we traveled a lot..."

  "Guess who else was there?"

  "Who?" Why had she considered any class not related to medicine be a waste of time? This was history they were talking about—real history.

  "Elizabeth Stanton and Susan Anthony. They were marvelous. Mrs. Stanton read the Declaration of Sentiments to us. Did you know the Suffrage's Declaration is based on our nation's Declaration of Independence?"

  "Good night. No, I didn't." Totally enthralled, Libby straightened. "How?"

  "Wherever King George is mentioned in the Declaration they changed to Man. My favorite part is... 'He has endeavored, in every way that he could, to destroy her confidence in her own powers, to lessen her self-respect, and to make her willing to lead a dependent and abject life.'"

  Sarah turned to Libby, her eyes shining with excitement. "Doesn't it sound like some men? I mean, haven't they done that to you, too?"

  "I suppose they tried."

  Libby shifted on the seat, thinking back to medical school. She should have gotten more involved with the group of women protesting for women's rights. As a senior, she’ been given Betty Friedan's book, The Feminine Mystique, but hadn't read it. She was too busy studying for exams. Her male colleagues never let her forget whenever she didn't measure up or make excellent grades. They always teased she wasn't there to become a doctor but to find a husband. "You know, you're right, they did make me feel less than adequate. There wasn't a day I didn't have to defend my dedication to become a doctor."