by Becca Little
“Yeah I can handle that.” I cracked some eggs as I nodded.
John saddled his white horse after he had food in his stomach and had made sure my mother ate. He didn’t look happy as he left, and I started to get really worried. My mother insisted it was a fever, and everything would be fine, but I was still concerned. He was gone for a few hours, and then I saw a coach approaching with John riding beside it. The doctor had only been to our house a few times, and my father always commented about how expensive it was. At that point, I didn’t care about the cost. John ushered him upstairs and they were in her room for a while with the door closed before the doctor came downstairs wiping his brow. John followed with a solemn expression on his face.
“What’s going?” I walked towards them, seeing the discontent between them.
“She’s in bad shape.” John stated as he shook his head.
“Not just in bad shape…” The doctor sat his bag on the counter and pulled a stool close so he could sit. “Jessy, your mother is dying.”
“What!?” I stared at him, my eyes reflecting the reaction of my emotions.
“It’s not a fever.” John picked up a bottle of whiskey and poured three drinks. “The storm triggered it, but it’s something much worse.”
“I gave her some medicine to make her comfortable, but there isn’t much I can do. She’s been living with it for a while and her immune system has broken down.” The doctor took a huge gulp of his whiskey and John refilled his glass.
The days that followed were hard. I watched her wither away with the medicine doing absolutely nothing to heal her, but it did help her sleep—she slept all the time. Tending to the farm was tough without her around, but John kept things going while I did the best I could to contribute. John tried to explain how the disease worked, but I was too lost in my thoughts to comprehend most of it. I did my best to keep taking food up to her, but as the days turned into weeks, she hardly ate. The doctor visited a couple of times, giving us worse news each time. One morning, she simply didn’t wake up at all.
Chapter 4
On a warm afternoon, we buried her beside my father and I was left alone in the world. The preacher came and said some nice words. A few of our neighbors that we never saw came, and some people from the church were present, even though we never really attended service after my father passed. I was completely broken with nothing left to give. John took care of the chores around the farm, but I wondered how long he would bother staying. I was no help. I curled up in bed and cried, never wanting to see the world again.
“Jessy…” John sat down at the edge of my bed with a drink in his hand. “You can’t keep doing this.”
“I don’t want to get up. Maybe I have the same thing my mother had. Maybe I’m dying too.” I pulled the covers under my chin.
“You’re not dying.” John moved closer and put his hand on my forehead. “You don’t even have a fever.”
“Maybe if lay her long enough, I will…” I pulled away from his touch.
“The man from the bank is coming tomorrow. He wants to talk about your mother’s account. It would be good if you could put in an appearance and let him know things are going to be okay.” John took my hand in his. “It is going to be okay. The grief will pass and you’ll still need this farm to keep going.”
“I don’t care about any of that right now.” I pulled my hand away. “I don’t care about anything.”
John left and I felt tears coming again. I turned my face towards my pillow and let them flow. They were a bit of relief, mixed with the constant sensations of grief. My soul waged war with my emotions and neither side ever won. It was a constant stalemate on both sides, each of them overpowering the last remnants of my spirit. I was vaguely aware of the man from the bank downstairs. His voice carried, but I could hear John talking business with him. I didn’t care enough to crawl out of bed or try to participate in the meeting. When the man left, John came upstairs and sat down next to me.
“He said everything is in good shape.” John lifted his whiskey to his lips. “Your mother’s account was in good standing, so if we can keep the farm going, we should have enough to keep it that way.”
“That’s nice to hear…” I muttered through my grief.
My mother had been such a strong woman after my father died. She kept me from falling apart and although I was certain she struggled, I could bottle those emotions. Without her by my side, I felt like I had no strength to make it on my own. I started to deal with the emotions of losing him for the first time since he passed. I needed my mother to take my hand and tell me everything was going to be okay, but she wasn’t there, so I wallowed in my sorrow. John did his best to care for me. He brought my food to me every day, just like we did for my mother when she was alive.
“I found this in the field.” John sat down a glass of water on the table and dropped a lily in it.
“It’s pretty.” I tried to muster a smile.
“It reminds me of you. You’re very pretty as well.” He reached down and ran his fingers along the edge of my jaw. “You need to try and put this behind you…”
“I’m trying.” I sighed. “I really am…”
Weeks started to pass. I would get up from time to time and take a bath, or sit on the edge of my bed, but finding the strength to go on was more difficult than simply crawling out of bed. Each day I said the next one would be the day I returned to the world, but when I woke up, I found nothing but despair on the edge of my mentality. John continued to bring me food, and every time the lily in the water wilted, he would bring a new one to replace it. When the sun finally set each day, it was like a relief. I no longer found myself obligated to get up, and promised that would change the next day—it never did.
“Come on, Jessy.” John placed my food beside me. “You can’t stay in here forever.”
“I’ll get up tomorrow.” I tried to force a smile.
“Okay.” He sighed deeply and left the room.
I knew it was frustrating for him. I wished I had more to offer than the shell of a person I had become. It was just too hard to try and connect with the world. It felt like I had become a piece of furniture, just forgotten in my emotional downfall. I had no idea how I would have approached it if he wasn’t there, but he was almost like my guardian, making sure I had the room to grieve that I needed. Every day that passed, he seemed to grow more frustrated with me. I understood it, but I didn’t know how to get past it. Eventually, he rode into town and got the doctor to come and check on me.
“You’re fine.” The doctor said after examining me. “I’ve seen this before, and it isn’t easy, but you just have to get up and try to put one foot in front of the other. It will make sense in time, even if it doesn’t right now.”
The doctor was kind, but his words were hollow. Finding the balance between what he said and the reality of my situation was a connection I just couldn’t comprehend. As much as I wanted to take the next step, I simply couldn’t find the right way to do it. The weeks kept rolling by, and the seasons changed. The harvest was ready to be picked, and we had animals ready for slaughter. I could sense the frustration in John’s voice growing each time he visited, although they weren’t strong enough to instill a need to move from my self-imposed coffin.
Chapter 5
My mind sank into a fog. Even the daylight wasn’t enough to lift my spirits. The doctor visited a couple of times, and I could hear him whispering with John in the hallway. When I got out of bed the following day to try and get a bath, I was shocked to see how gaunt and hollow I looked in the mirror. The person I was before my mother passed had faded into the skin colored skeleton I saw in the mirror. I ate, but I picked at my food, and the effects were coming more noticeable each time I got out of bed. That evening, I woke up to see a silhouette against my doorway, watching me sleep.
“John? Is that you?” I tried to focus my sleepy eyes. He walked into the room and nodded.
“Jessy, you have to get up out of this bed. I know you�
�re hurting, but your mother wouldn’t want you to waste away like this.” He took a seat on the edge of my bed and looked over at me. “The doctor says this is not healthy for you.”
“I can’t, but I’m sure I’ll get up tomorrow.” I gave him a weak smile combined with my usual promise.
“You told me that months ago, and here you are. This farm is too much for one man. I’m going to have to either hire some help, or get you back in the fields. There really is no other way. The crop is going to rot.” He seemed genuinely concerned.
“Let it rot then, I don’t give a damn.” I rolled into my pillow and hugged it against my chest.
“Tomorrow morning…” He stood up and the bed shifted. My weight wasn’t enough to keep the mattress in place anymore. “Either you get up on your own, or I’m dragging you out of this bed.”
He walked out the room and headed back downstairs. It had been so long since I had walked down those steps, it was hard to even picture what it looked like downstairs. With John gone, I was alone in my sorrow. I rolled over on the pillow and blew out the candle. Once the room was dark, I cried myself to sleep. My dreams were the same as always. They were literal nightmares filled with images of happy times—the happy times terrified me most because they were gone forever. I tossed and turned in my bed all night, waking up several times to find sweat on my brow.
The sun raised against the clouds, and I heard the rooster crowing. I didn’t feel like I had slept at all. John came upstairs after the sizzling sound of breakfast subsided, but he didn’t have a tray for me. He pulled the covers away and scooped me up. He pulled me against his chest, and I felt the warmth emanating from him. It was a stark contrast to the cold I could barely contain, even when the blankets were on top of me. He rocked me for several seconds before finally lifting me off the bed. I closed my eyes and let him hold me. I felt safe in his arms. I got the shock of my life as I was unceremoniously deposited into a large tub of soapy water in the bathroom.
“John! What the hell?” I sat up sputtering. The water was ice cold.
“I told you I was going to drag you out of this bed. Clean yourself up, Jessy. You can’t go on like this.” He threw a rag at me and I glared at him angrily.
“I’m not cleaning myself up. I’m going back to bed!” I tried to stand.
“If you don’t do it, I will.” He folded his arms like a statue.
“Fine… Turn around.” He stared at me for a moment, and finally turned around. I started removing my clothes.
My clothes were sopping wet as I peeled them off my skeleton thin body. If he wanted me to take a bath, I could at least do that. I didn’t like my chance of returning to bed until I was clean. The water was still cold when I dipped the rag into it and started rubbing it across my tired body. When that was done, I used a hard brush and soap to scrape away the layers of dirt I had neglected when I even bothered with a bath before he forced one on me.
By the time I was done, I felt at least like I had accomplished a lot. I picked up a towel to dry myself, and John left the room so I could have some privacy. After I was dry, I wrapped it around my breasts and stalked back towards my room. I was still angry, but I was cleaner than I had in months. As I walked into my room, I found a dress on my bed. It was not one of mine, and it wasn’t a style my mother would have worn. I heard John walking towards the door, so I quickly tightened the towel as he approached. He was a little bit of a comical sight with his shirt coated in the splashed water of my defiance, complete with some dried soap around his ears.
“What do you want now?” I asked as he showed his face at the door. “Where did this dress come from?”
“I picked it out for you the last time I went to town. Do you like it?” He folded his arms again and a smile crossed his face.
“It looks like one I would have worn as a kid when we still went to church.” My father wasn’t one for religion, and the hardships we faced made him question his religion. After he passed, we never went back.
“Put it on and come to the kitchen.” He didn’t give me much of a choice. My stomach was burning with hunger and I knew I had to eat.
I slid into the dress and stared at myself in the mirror. It was such a strange sight, dressed as a girl with the blossom of womanhood fully formed on my breasts and my hips. Other young women my age had already married and most of them even had children. My work on the farm had restricted my options. While other young women my age were going into town and finding someone with similar interests, I was toiling away in the fields—although the latest chapter of my life had been restricted to my bed because of my grief. I left my room and carefully walked downstairs, finding John sitting at the table with breakfast prepared.
“Isn’t there work to do?” I sat down and stared at him.
“I rode into town this morning and hired some people to take care of it for me until you’re back on your feet and ready to help.” He pushed a plate of food over to me. “You need to eat.”
“I don’t want to eat. How did you hire people? The farm belongs to me…” I was hungry, but his mention of hiring people was causing me more worry than my hunger.
“I told you I would have to if you didn’t help. You told me in a fairly nasty fashion that you had no intention of helping, so I talked to the man from the bank. I told him about your current situation, and he agreed to let me take care of things for a while.” He pushed the plate over again. “You really need to eat.”
“I’m not hungry.” I folded my arms just like he did.
“You know what I think your problem is? You didn’t have a childhood. You grew up on this farm with a mother and a father who loved you, but they couldn’t afford to let you be a little girl. They needed your hands in the field, and it was hard work.” I could tell there was an edge to his voice, but he remained his composure.
“Yeah? So what? Times are tough and people grow up.” I continued to glare at him.
“I’m going to change that. I may not be your father, but from this point forward, you are going to be my little girl.” He stared directly into my eyes as he said it.
“Your little girl? I’m a woman, John.” I shook my head.
“You will address me as Daddy until I feel like you’ve grown up enough to call me John again.” There was a bite to his words.
“Like hell I will. This is my farm. Get the hell out of here.” My eyebrows came together in anger. “You’re fired.”
“You can’t fire me. You’re not your mother, and people respected her for what she was doing out here on her own. They wouldn’t work for your mother, so what makes you think they’ll work for a little girl like you? I’m the man of the house now, and you will do what I say, or you will find yourself taking a trip to the woodshed.” I could tell by his expression he was serious.
“I’m going to bed.” My defiance was running wild, and I didn’t have the energy to keep up the conversation.
“That’s fine, but tomorrow you begin your life as my little girl.” It was almost a threat.
“We’ll see about that.” I looked over my shoulder at him and sneered before walking up the stairs.
I stripped off the dress he had picked out for me and put on my nightgown. I was angry. His words had left me furious and feeling unsure about him. I trusted him up to that point, but the distrust was starting to seep into my pores. He had hired people without asking me. He had taken over the farm without even consulting me. The gall of John Bradford made me seethe as I lay in my bed and stared at the wall. The fact he would refer to me as his little girl when I was clearly a grown woman heightened the anger growing quickly as I replayed them in my head. I loved my parents. They did the best they could with the situation we had. I didn’t need a childhood, and I had turned out okay without it. I certainly had no intentions of calling him Daddy.
Chapter 6
I woke up the next morning and blinked against the sun as it peered through my windows. After laying there for a few minutes anticipating another day in bed, the events o
f the previous evening started to play out in my head. I started getting angry again, but then a nervousness took over. As upset as I was the night before, I did need John. He might have been a bit over the top with what he said, but I didn’t think he was serious. How could I live as his little girl? How would that even work. I could smell breakfast cooking downstairs, and I was hungry after resisting food the night before with my defiance. When I heard his boots on the stairs, I started to feel uneasy.
“It’s time to get up, Jessy.” He pushed my door open and walked into the room, parting the curtains.
“Leave me alone…” I muttered out of spite.
“That is no longer an option” He put his hands on his hips as he stared at me in the bed. “I’ve done my best to give you space and I’ve hoped you would snap out of this funk you’re in, but I see that isn’t going to work.”
“So? Leave me then. Just leave me here to rot.” I rolled over in the bed.
“Before I broke away from my family, I learned a lot from them. I tried to put that part of my life in the past, but I realize it isn’t possible anymore. I’m going to have to do what is necessary to bring you back to life.” He walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed.
“What the hell does that mean?” I didn’t look at him, although I felt his hand on my shoulder.
“I’ll be back.” He patted my shoulder after resting it there for a moment. “I know what I have to do…”
He stood and walked into my mother’s bedroom. I listened with caution, although I had no idea what he was doing. I heard him loading up the old sewing cart she used when she wanted to set up shop in my room to do alterations. It reminded me of a happier time, and the thought of it brought tears to my eyes. When I heard the cart moving down the hallway, I slid the quilt away from my eyes so I could see what was going on. He pushed it through my door and stopped it at the foot of my bed. I saw various items on it, items that I hadn’t seen in a long time. He sat down on the edge of the bed and looked over at me.
