Spoke Of Love

by Cathy Marie Hake

  To his dismay, Garnet slowly nodded.

  Over the next three weeks, everyone stayed excessively busy. Just as the creatures hoarded food for the winter, so everyone labored to extract each last morsel of food from the earth. Neighbors arrived in hopes of bartering for Garnet’s cheese. Ruth Morton came over thrice a week with the excess from her cow, and Thomas Brooks sent his along, as well. They’d agreed that half of the cheese made from their milk would belong to them; the other half was Garnet’s.

  “Garnet?” Sam cleared his throat. “Goodman Dickson is here. He’d like some cheese.”

  Garnet sat at the spinning wheel and continued to work. “Deal with him as you will.”

  “Is there aught you need?”

  “I’ve flax and fleeces aplenty. I trust you to do what’s best.”

  “Very well.” She’d been strangely remote since their marriage. Just yestermorn, he’d seen her placing her palm on her belly, measuring the small mound that finally testified to impending motherhood. She’d not known Sam was there, and the strained look on her face warned him not to make his presence known. Garnet chose not to say much of her former husband other than he’d shown a weakness for both spirits and cards. The day the sheriff arrived to take him to debtors’ prison, he’d keeled over dead. She never spoke of the babe. Sam took his cue from her and didn’t, either.

  Sam left her in the keeping room and went back to the barn.

  “So what does your goodwife name as the price of her cheese?”

  “She left that to me. What do you offer?”

  They settled on the payment of a small, tin-punched lantern. As Dickson prepared to leave, he squinted at Sam. “Has it occurred to you that your goodwife hides away in your keeping room? The only time I see her is at worship.”

  “She’s spinning much of the time. In truth, it puts me in mind of a bird lining the nest ere the young come.”

  The old man chortled softly as he swung up into his saddle. “Just so. Goodwife Morton isn’t finding a need to prepare for her babe—but she’s very early on yet, and she’s already been through this seven other times.”

  Sam handed him a wheel of cheese. “Aye, ’tis the truth. Garnet’s on her first.”

  As Dickson left, Sam cast a look back at the cabin. This babe will be her first, and if things continue on as they have, ’twill be her only. I’ve no one to blame but myself. Whilst we exchanged vows, I told her ’twas sufficient that we care for each other in Christ Jesus.

  I’ve always been a man of my word.

  Sam bleakly walked toward the nearest field. All about him, the land struggled against the coming winter. Soon life would go dormant, only to burst forth in spring. Garnet would give birth in spring, too. But the only yield she’d ever have would be another man’s child.

  ❧

  “Mama, I can’t put my arms all the way ’round you anymore.” Hester stood on tiptoe and tried once more just to prove her point. “See?”

  “Enough of that.” Sam shed his cloak and hung it on a peg by the door.

  His curt tone of voice made it clear he wanted no reminder of her condition. Garnet tried to hide her sadness. It wasn’t right for the children to be caught in the middle of the strain. She straightened the clout covering Hester’s hair. “There. Now get back to practicing your letters.”

  “I’ll write my whole alphabet for you.” Hester skipped over to the table and picked up her slate. “Ethan, why do you look so sour?”

  Garnet braced herself for his answer. Thus far, the children had remained oblivious to the tension between her and Samuel. Try as she might to keep the problem a secret, Garnet knew the time would come when she couldn’t shield them from the fact that their father didn’t want her child.

  “You do look sour,” Sam said to his son.

  Using his slate pencil to scratch the back of his hand, Ethan let out a gusty sigh. “I’m supposed to figure out how much of a hogshead eight firkins is.”

  “You can do that.” Sam headed toward the table. “It’s a fractional problem. There are nine gallons in a firkin. How many gallons in a hogshead?”

  As they worked on the arithmetic, Garnet sat by the fire and carefully stitched together the buckskin breeches she’d been making for her husband. Though supple, the leather was difficult to pierce with the needle. Samuel desperately needed these new breeches, though. She hoped to finish them tonight.

  Christopher burst through the door and ran toward the hearth. “A huge buck is out where the vegetable garden was!” He reached for the flintlock. “Hurry, Father!”

  “No, son.” Samuel looked across the keeping room. “Our smokehouse is full. It would be a waste to slaughter the beast when we’re not in need of meat. Never take something you cannot use.”

  Is that how he thinks of me? He bought me because he’d get Hester back from the Ryders. He married me to keep her and the boys. He took me because I suited his needs.

  She pushed aside the buckskin and stood. The room tilted crazily.

  “Garnet?”

  Blinking, she turned and wondered how Samuel got from the other side of the table to her. He curled his hands around her upper arms as she said, “I’m going to add a log to the fire.”

  “Christopher, see to that.” Sam exerted pressure on her arms. “Sit back down. You cannot rise of a sudden like that.”

  Melting back onto the stool, Garnet tore her gaze from her husband to Christopher. The boy moved the logs about in the fire with an andiron, then added another log. “Thank you, Chris.”

  “Is she faring better, Father?”

  “I’d say so. Her color’s come back.” Sam studied her, and Garnet couldn’t look away. “ ’Twas just a passing affliction. Sometimes when a woman moves too swiftly, this happens.” One at a time, his fingers released her arms until his hands hovered close but didn’t touch her. “Have a care in rising.”

  Garnet nodded slowly. As her husband walked back toward the table, she lifted the buckskins back into her lap. Mayhap I’m being unfair to him. He’s shown me nothing but kindness. It took forceful pushing with the thimble to force the needle through the leather. Garnet shoved it through yet again. Truly, Samuel treats me well. But what about my child?

  He’d refrained from saying a word about the baby. In the midst of this episode, he’d never once referred to her condition.

  “Christopher, have you completed your lessons?” Sam looked up from Ethan’s work.

  “Aye, I have. I’m to recite Reverend Michael Wiggles-worth’s ‘The Day of Doom’ on the morrow.”

  “ ’Tis a long poem. Are you confident?”

  Chris stretched to his full height and launched into the fiery passage, putting notable feeling into the piece. When he finished, Hester shivered. “That was scary!”

  “Well done,” Garnet praised.

  “Indeed.” Sam’s voice held full approval.

  “My stomach is growling.” Ethan wiggled on the bench.

  “You ate two bowls of stew at supper.” Christopher folded his arms across his chest. “Just because you snared the hares doesn’t mean you have to eat all of them by yourself.”

  Hester giggled. “Soon Ethan’s belly will be as big as Mama’s!”

  “My hares were plump, but they’d never get me to that size. I’d have to eat a—”

  “Silence yourselves.” Sam scowled. “If you cannot speak respectfully, hold your tongue.”

  Ethan’s teasing grin twisted into a stricken expression. He’d been told to be silent, so he couldn’t say a word. His eyes begged Garnet’s forgiveness. Confusion painted Hester’s face.

  Garnet smiled at them. They’d not meant any disrespect. Still, it would be wrong to disagree with Samuel in front of them. She bowed her head and set to stitching again.

  Sam dragged a stool over, stood on it, and opened the ceiling hatch to the upper story. He hopped down, dusted off his hands, and pushed the stool against the far wall. “Chris, come with me. We need to bring in more wood. The weather’s tu
rning.”

  Ethan pushed away from the table. “I’m finished solving the problems. Shall I come along?”

  “Put on your cloak.” Sam reached for his own as he gave the order.

  “I. . .” Ethan puffed his cheeks full of air and let it out in a slow, loud blow. “I left my cloak at school.”

  “You’re ten, Ethan. Fast becoming a man.” Sam shook his head. “You cannot indulge in such irresponsibility. The night’s too cold for you to be out for more than a few minutes. Your brother and I will have to leave you behind and do this chore without you.”

  “I’m ready,” Christopher said as he fastened the horn button at the throat of his own cloak.

  Sam and Christopher went outside. Garnet finished the last stitch in the breeches, knotted her thread, and bit off the excess. She set her work aside and put towels on a stool close by the fire.

  “Mama, why did you do that?”

  “Rain is on the way. Your brothers might get wet when they climb up the ladder to go to bed. The towels will dry and warm them.”

  Ethan stared at the fire. “So you think it’s going to rain, too?”

  “Aunt Dorcas always said she could tell when it would rain. She could feel it in her bones.” Hester’s face puckered, and she used the tip of her finger to erase something on her slate.

  “I don’t feel it in my bones,” Garnet said as she scooted the towels a little closer to the fire, “but I trust your father. He’s very knowledgeable about the land and weather.”

  Hester let out a moan. “I can’t fit the whole alphabet on here.”

  Garnet studied the carefully written letters. “You’ve scribed quite a few and nicely. I’d rather see you do your best work than to hurry through. You don’t want to get into a habit of being messy.”

  Ethan wrinkled his nose. “Schoolmaster Smith read from Poor Richard’s Almanack today. Benjamin Franklin said, ‘ ’Tis easier to prevent bad habits than to break them.’ ”

  “Exactly. Very nicely said, Ethan. Hester, it’s time to be thinking of putting you to bed.”

  “Will you please take me to the privy?”

  “Of course, I will.” Garnet slipped into the double-toned blue cape. Though Hester was afraid of the dark and didn’t go out alone, something in her voice let Garnet know her little daughter wanted to say something. “Here.” She buttoned Hester’s cape and tickled her little nose.

  Contrary to her usual giggle, Hester remained somber. She waited until she’d finished in the privy, then stood in a weak moonbeam and gave Garnet a woebegone look. “Goodman Morton tells his goodwife that she is fat and sassy. Mary laughs and says it is good when a woman’s belly grows big.”

  “It’s a sign that all is well.” Garnet chose her words care-fully. “Sometimes we pray together and give the Lord our thanks. Other times we whisper our prayers when we’re alone. So it is when a woman is with child. Some feel free to celebrate with everyone. Others think it more fitting to be private.”

  “Oh.” Hester slid her hand into Garnet’s. “But it was just us, in our own home. No one else heard us say anything about how big your belly is.”

  “Even so, you must honor your father.” As soon as the words exited her lips, Garnet felt a bolt of conviction. It’s my place to honor my husband. I’ve been sulking instead of thanking the Lord for His provision.

  “Yes, Mama. I will.”

  They returned to the house, but the keeping room was empty. A few minutes later, Sam and Christopher pulled a sledge to the cabin and started carrying in armloads of wood. “I meant to stack wood on the side of the house, but the weather’s gotten ahead of me.”

  “But you brought gracious plenty,” Garnet said. “Thank you.” A minute later, she walked to the door and peered out. “Samuel, where’s Ethan?”

  “Isn’t he in the house?”

  “Not unless he went to bed.”

  Sam carried in another load of logs. “Chris, climb up and check on your brother.”

  A minute later, Christopher stuck his head down through the hatch. “Ethan’s not up here.”

  seventeen

  “Sam!” Garnet grabbed his hand and yanked as if her horrified tone hadn’t already garnered his attention. “The water buckets are gone!”

  “Ethan!” Sam broke away from Garnet and ran toward the stream. “Ethan!”

  Christopher sprinted alongside him, shouting for his brother.

  One bucket sat on the shore. Moonlight tipped small ripples in the water, but Sam couldn’t see Ethan. “Lord—my son!” Sam cried out in anguish as he jogged along the water’s edge, searching.

  “Father!” Christopher pointed.

  Sam dove into the water. Half a dozen powerful strokes took him to his son. Ethan’s head bobbed above the water, but Sam clutched him and headed for shore.

  Ethan spluttered and coughed—the sweetest sounds Sam had ever heard. “I have you. I have you.” Sam lifted Ethan into Chris’s waiting arms, then pulled himself out of the cold water and onto land.

  “Ethan!” Panic lent an edge to Garnet’s voice.

  “We found him,” Christopher shouted.

  “Wet, but well,” Sam added as he grabbed Ethan from Chris’s arms.

  “Lord be praised!” Garnet huffed breathlessly as she reached them. “Here.” She swept off her cape and stood on tiptoe to try to envelop him and Ethan in its folds.

  Sam stepped back. “Put that back on out here. It’ll only get wet, and the last thing we need is for you to sicken again.”

  It seemed as if it had taken forever for him to run to the stream and reach Ethan. It took no more than a blink but that they were inside the keeping room once again.

  “Mama, I did what you told me to.” Hester peeked down at them from the hatch door. “Here.”

  “Good girl!” Garnet caught Ethan’s nightshirt as Sam grabbed Hester and lowered her to the floor. “Ethan, get out of those wet things and put this on. Samuel, I finished your buckskins. You change, too.”

  Sam ignored her order and yanked off Ethan’s sodden shirt. Garnet immediately enveloped Ethan in one of the towels.

  “Sam, there’s another towel to the left of the fire.”

  He grabbed the towel and started to rumple it through his son’s hair. Garnet made an impatient sound. “Samuel, dry off. I’ll take care of him.”

  “He’s my son!”

  Garnet jerked backward into the spinning wheel, but Chris-topher grabbed her ere she fell. The spinning wheel toppled over. The clattering sound it made as it tangled with the andirons didn’t cover an ominous crack.

  “Oh, dear.” Hester’s little voice whispered in the utterly silent keeping room.

  “Are you all right?” Sam stared at his wife.

  She nodded and turned away.

  Christopher righted the spinning wheel. One of the spokes stuck out at an odd angle, the beautifully turned wood now cracked. “Goodwife Stamsfield’s wheel is missing a spoke,” Christopher said in an appeasing tone. “She claims it still works fine.”

  “Father, you’re going to wear my hair off my head!”

  Sam forced a chuckle and stopped rubbing Ethan’s hair. “Change into your nightshirt.”

  Christopher shot a look from Garnet to him and back again. Worry dug furrows on either side of his mouth. “I’ll bring in some more logs while you dry off, Father.”

  Reaching up, Garnet took a small bundle of herbs from a peg. By the time Sam dried off and had donned his new buckskins, she was setting cups on the table. “Hester, please fetch the honey.”

  Hester did so, then stood upon the box and asked, “What did you brew?”

  “Bee balm tea. Do you like how it smells?”

  “It smells pretty. Aunt Dorcas made lots of chicory tea.” Her little nose wrinkled. “I didn’t like it.”

  Christopher came back inside, his arms full. “These are the last logs from the sledge, and not a moment too soon. It’s starting to rain.”

  “Some tea will warm you up.” Garnet drizz
led honey into the teapot, stirred it, and filled cups. “Here you are.”

  Sam frowned. “Garnet, there are only four cups.”

  The saddest smile he’d ever seen sketched across her face. “Ruth mentioned I oughtn’t drink bee balm.”

  How she managed it, Sam wasn’t quite sure. The mattress from the trundle barely fit through the hatch, but Garnet and Hester now huddled on it beneath a blanket whilst Ethan and Christopher climbed into the jump bed. Sam wanted to draw his wife aside for a private conversation, but with the children underfoot, he’d not yet managed to do so. Now it was too late.

  “Garnet, are you warm enough?”

  She nodded. “Be sure to keep Ethan bundled up. I don’t want either of you to take a chill.”

  Giggles spilled out of Hester. “Mama! How did you do that?”

  Ethan propped up on one elbow. “What did she do?”

  “She has her arms ’round me, but her tummy bumped on my back like someone knocking on the door.”

  “It’s her baby.” Christopher gave the explanation in a matter-of-fact tone.

  “It’s not fair.” Hester sat up. “How come Mama’s baby isn’t my baby, too? Mary said her mama and father share their baby with everyone in the family.”

  “That’s different. Aunt Dorcas—”

  “Hush, Ethan,” Christopher hissed. “She was wrong about the recorder and about the loom. I—”

  “Have you spoken to your aunt recently?” Sam fought to keep his tone even.

  “She brought us cookies. After school,” Hester said.

  “And she said she’d bake us cookies when we decided to come live with her,” Ethan added.

  “Why,” Sam gritted, “would you go live with her?”

  “Because,” Hester said, “she said Mama’s not really our mama and when she has her baby, she won’t care about us anymore.”

  “Well, she’s wrong.” Garnet’s voice rang with certainty.

  Hester continued. “I know. Aunt Dorcas was wrong about other things, too. She said I’ll always be her baby, but I told her I’m a big girl now. I go to school and sleep upstairs.”

  “The only place you’re going is to sleep.” Sam strove to contain his temper. “Hester, lie back down.”