The Diary of Mattie Spenser

by Sandra Dallas

  After discussing the events of the world, I do not feel so far from society after all.

  I have been unwell since Brownie’s attack, knowing not whether it is the natural state of my condition or the result of Brownie’s blows. At times, I am cold with fear that Brownie has injured Baby. I would like to question Emmie Lou about my symptoms, but Mr. Bondurant would not allow me to visit her alone, and I cannot ask him to deliver me.

  Mr. Bondurant’s bargain is not so jim-dandy for him, as I can scarcely stand up long enough to cook, and he takes my place at the stewpot. I endeavor to make up for my shortcomings by being a willing teacher, and Mr. Bondurant is the best of students. When I complimented him on how quickly he learned all twenty-six letters of the alphabet, he said slyly, “It’s twenty-five I learnt. I’m well posted with X.”

  I am grateful for his company, but I long for Luke’s return, which I hope will be within the month. I have not had a second letter nor any news from home since his leaving.

  May 14, 1866. Prairie Home.

  My time now is spent lying in bed or sitting on the bench in the sun. The men are concerned with my poor health. Yesterday, Tom rode for Jessie, who came and recommended rest and more rest. She studied my face but did not remark on it. I think it must be bruised from Brownie’s attack, but I do not know, since the dishpan does not reflect a clear likeness. Jessie offered to stay on to tend me, but I think Mr. Bondurant was jealous, for he insisted there was nothing she could do that he could not. So she returned to Mingo, promising to come again when called for. Mr. Bondurant does most of the cooking now. He writes his name and asked me to write mine so that he could copy it. It came out “Mutt.” I said ’twas close enough.

  May 17, 1866. Prairie Home.

  This morning at breakfast, a tooth popped out of my mouth. Distressed as I was, I was grateful it came from the back, where its vacant place will not be noticed. Lordy, I hope this loss is due to Brownie’s blows and not my condition. If ’twere the latter, I should be toothless ere my family is complete. I suppose I am vain after all.

  May 21, 1866. Prairie Home.

  I felt poorly all last night, taken with cramping and sleeplessness. When the boys arrived today, I could not keep up with their jolly talk, thinking instead about the pains. I was frying doughnuts when I realized the contractions were coming with some regularity, and I said with a calm I did not feel that I thought we might be five for dinner.

  At first, the men did not get my little sally, but at last, Moses grinned and said, “Hellfire and brimstone!”

  There was hurried discussion amongst the three about which should ride for Jessie, at length deciding on Moses, since both Mr. Bondurant and Tom have some familiarity with doctoring, the one having aided in emergencies on the Overland Trail and the other having learned a little of medicine in the war. Mr. Bondurant said from what he knew about the subject, Moses would have ample time to reach Mingo and return before Jessie’s services were required.

  Moses was scarcely gone, however, when there came a great pain, the worst I ever felt, and I did not need to be told that Baby had chosen this time to greet us. For a moment, I was distressed that two gentlemen who were not doctors would see me in a state of nakedness unknown even to my husband, but as there was nothing to be done apart from delivering the babe myself, I put thoughts of modesty aside and have since refused to think of it.

  Whilst they went to the well to draw water, I changed into my nightdress. Then, at my direction, the men arranged things first-rate, spreading a clean sheet upon the table, heating the water, and setting the bellyband and other tiny garments I had made for this occasion near the stove to warm. I was gratified to see that before making the preparations, Mr. Bondurant poured water into a basin, and both men washed their hands thoroughly with soap, although Mr. Bondurant did not remove the shirt he has worn each day that he has been with me.

  When Tom inquired, “Do you have knowledge of what we are about?” Mr. Bondurant replied, “I know everything there is to know about medicine. That is, keep in fear of the Lord, and keep your bowels open.”

  The remark did not inspire my confidence. Still, no woman at home, not even sisters, Mother, or Carrie, could have given me better and more loving care through my ordeal than those two faithful friends. They strained and sweat as hard as I, and I fancy they even felt a little of my pain.

  Once all was in readiness, we sat down to wait, the two men helping themselves to doughnuts, although I abstained. Each time the pains came, Tom grasped my hands for support, and Mr. Bondurant rubbed my lower back, which seemed ready to break in half. At their cessation, however, I was inclined to walk about the room.

  We continued on in this manner for more than an hour, when the sac of waters broke, and shortly afterward, I felt a great pushing. When the thrust was over, I got upon the table (having been told beforehand by Jessie that a hard surface was preferable to a tick, and made for easier cleanup). Mr. Bondurant remembered an Indian trick, and, “be as you was needing it,” he scrubbed a piece of kindling for me to bite down on. I have it now, prettily decorated with teeth marks.

  The pains came harder and harder, one scarcely stopping before the next began. And each time, I thought surely Baby would force itself into this world. Indeed, when Mr. Bondurant examined me, he agreed the little stranger would be there momentarily.

  Then came a great cramping, and I pushed with all my might whilst Tom held my hands, telling me what a good girl I was. Mr. Bondurant remained in position to “catch” the baby, as he put it, but Baby had other ideas and refused to emerge without more work. There were two more pains, and I thought I would not live to see the end. My body was covered with perspiration, but still I shook as if chilled, and I am ashamed that I cried out more than once, letting the stick fall out of my mouth. Of a sudden, I felt a great stretching and pain so bad that I feared I would be split asunder. Then Mr. Bondurant shouted that the head was out. Another pain or two or three—I did not count—and Mr. Bondurant shouted that I had delivered a “biggity boy.”

  The tears ran down Mr. Bondurant’s face whilst he presented Baby for inspection, muttering, “By ginger. By ginger.” Tom turned aside, but not before I saw that his eyes, too, were moist. O, Carrie was right when she said after Wee Willie was born that a baby is worth its price of pain, and I would gladly suffer it again—but not just yet.

  Boykins is small but perfect in every way. He has Luke’s cheekbones and serious eyes (and his strangely shaped earlobes and two of Luke’s curious brown spots on his body; I consider all to be marks of distinction, not imperfections). He has my impatience, however, arriving as he did before he was expected. Mr. Bondurant wrapped him in warm flannel before giving him to me, and I never saw a man handle a thing as gently as he did that babe, saying over and over again, “Well, I swan!”

  Both Baby and I were resting when Moses returned with Jessie, who inspected all and said she could not have done a better job herself. That pleased Tom and Mr. Bondurant enormously. She will stay a few days to make sure I am all right, perhaps even until Luke returns. O, that he were here to make this happy day complete!

  Whilst Jessie fussed about the sickroom, the three men presented me with their own surprise—a “rocky chair,” as Mr. Bondurant calls it. I prize it more than anything I ever owned and do not care if they used the wood of a precious tree in its manufacture. I am grateful they did not make it out of sod!

  Baby sleeps in the cunning cradle that Luke fashioned during the winter, under the Postage Stamp quilt made by my hands, whilst I rock back and forth in my handsome new chair. The others are outside just now, having given me orders to rest, but I will not until I have recorded the events of this momentous day. A great happiness and feeling of calm came over me when Mr. Bondurant handed Baby to me, and I felt I must be the first woman in the history of the world to produce such a wonderful creature. As I look through the tiny glass pane beside me, at the marblelike streaks of purple and bright pink that make up our sunset on the Great P
lains, I cannot help but think that Baby will grow to manhood in this country. He is a child of the prairie, not of the great Mississippi, as I am. We are bound together, he and Luke and I, in this place. His presence means that henceforth, Colorado Territory, not Fort Madison, is “home.” I hope I am up to this challenge.

  In honor of these dearest friends, I have decided to name my firstborn Benjamin Earley Spenser—with Luke’s approval, of course.

  May 23, 1866. Prairie Home.

  Jessie says Little Ben, as we call him, looks less like a drowned rabbit than some she has seen. I am glad to have one of my own sex around, and she is good company, sitting by my side as she sews on a sunbonnet whose pattern she borrowed from me. Yesterday, Jessie baked a vinegar pie, and Moses Earley made short work of it, so she was required to bake another. Our Moses is quite taken with Jessie, and I think, were she not already married, she might think of him for a husband. Of course, in Colorado Territory, where women are as scarce as trees and valued almost as highly, I have heard it said that a wedding ring is no impediment to taking a new husband. I had hoped that Moses or Tom would be interested in Miss Figg, who is a charming lady, despite her girth, but neither cares for her, and she does not seem interested in men.

  Now, I must say a thing about Jessie. She confesses she is grateful that I requested her to aid in the birth of Baby, for amongst our neighbors, it raises her standing, which had been greatly hurt by gossip. She inquired whether Missus had told me of her background, and I mumbled I had heard a thing or two about it.

  “She’s a meddlesome old soul and shouldn’t have said it, for I’m not what she claims. La! A lie travels a hundred miles while truth is putting on its boots. I have many times had my chances, but I never worked the line,” Jessie told me hotly. “Elode, now there’s a cheeky old ‘hoor’ for you. I’ll bet she didn’t tell you about the place she ran on Holladay Street in Denver. Smith—he was her ‘mac,’ as the men who live on the earnings of women are called—he gambled it all away. Then there was trouble, but I won’t tell it. So they came out here, where they pretend they’re good Christian people.”

  Now, I do not know for sure who is telling the truth, but I put my trust in Jessie. In Colorado Territory, not so much attention is paid to a man’s past. I think the same consideration should be applied to a woman’s.

  Babykins is as healthy as can be, and my strength is returning, thanks to Jessie’s care and good beef tea—beef tea made from antelope, that is. Jessie tells the men I am “smartly better.”

  May 31, 1866. Prairie Home.

  As I am now as good as new, Jessie said at midmorning that it was time to return to Mingo and she asked Moses to deliver her. It is a long trip. So I insisted they go immediately, although it meant I would be alone until Mr. Bondurant returned from chores on his homestead. I promised to stay within the house, but I disobeyed and went to the well to draw water. While there, I spied a horseman galloping across the countryside from the direction of the Early place. Alarmed, for I knew he was not Tom, I shaded my eyes for a better look, then, recognizing a familiar form, I dropped the bucket and ran as fast as I could in his direction.

  In an instant, Traveler was beside me and I was swept into the arms of my husband. Right joyful we were, I to look into his dear face and he into mine, inquiring if I was well. I nodded, the lump in my throat so big that I could not reply.

  “I stopped at Earleys’. Tom said to get here quick, so I left the mule. He’ll bring it directly. He didn’t say . . .” At that, Luke realized that my belly no longer came between us, and he asked with alarm, “The baby?”

  I did not keep him in suspense. “The baby,” I replied, “is a fine boy, who is ten days old today.”

  At that, Luke grinned broadly and said, “A boy! I’m damned. A boy!”

  With a mother’s love bursting inside me, I led Luke to the cradle where his son napped, and nothing would do but that the proud papa should awaken him. Baby yawned and fussed, which pleased Luke, who picked him up and sat down in the rocking chair, singing a lullaby to his boy. Were I not already convinced Baby was the finest child in the world, I should have been jealous that, upon his return, Luke was more taken with Son than Wife. But as I am quite taken with Baby myself, I understood.

  Tom arrived shortly, bringing the mule as promised. He had thought it was not right for him to tell Luke of the birth of our boy, so he had said only that Husband should make haste for home. Tom refused my invitation for supper, and Mr. Bondurant, upon his return a few minutes later, withdrew with his mule to his own homestead, leaving our little family alone.

  This afternoon, Luke left to inspect the fields. So I take the time to record his safe return in my journal, knowing that in future, I shall have less time to write as I attend to responsibilities for my two men—Husband and Baby, whom Luke has named John Shiloh Spenser.

  Chapter 4

  July 14, 1866. Prairie Home.

  I knew there would be little time to attend to my journal. Still, I had not meant to neglect it for so many weeks. There is no leisure for Self these days. When Baby is asleep, Luke is underfoot, and when Luke is busy elsewhere, why then Baby demands attention. He frets a great deal, due to the heat, I believe. When he finishes nursing, his face must be pulled from my breast, making a great sucking sound, as his little mouth is glued to my skin with his perspiration.

  It is so hot in the soddy that I think my milk must sour, but I am loath to go outside with Johnnie for fear of rattlesnakes, more numerous even than last year. Mr. Bondurant brought me a stout buffalo-hair rope to lay on the ground in a circle about the cradle, saying the snakes will not cross it. Perhaps not, but they come close, and I have killed seven this summer. I fancy that by chopping off their heads with a hoe, I even the score a little for Mother Eve!

  I suffer much this summer with headaches and lack of sleep, and I think back on my wedding trip to Colorado Territory, with all its dangers, as a carefree time. Last summer, Emmie Lou confessed she was so weary, she could sell her soul to the Devil for a night’s sleep. I thought the remark blasphemous, but now that I am awake much of the night with Johnnie, I believe it a passable bargain. If Lucifer would agree to give me a real bath in the bargain, then my soul would indeed be in jeopardy.

  Of course, no one suspects my despair, for I endeavor to keep a cheerful countenance around Luke and friends and tell my real thoughts only to my journal. Confiding them renews my strength, even if the listener is only a blank page.

  There is much for which I am grateful. With Baby to keep me busy, I am not so lonely for the dear ones in Fort Madison. Like Luke, I enjoy the violent sunsets of an evening, although they do not thrill my soul as they do his. After a year, they still frighten me because they set the sky on fire, and I think they will consume me. Perhaps someday I shall come to love Colorado, but not yet.

  Luke works harder than any man I ever saw, and I have no complaints on that score. He is quieter, more critical, since his return. Perhaps the reason is that he is now an old family man with responsibilities for Son, as well as Wife, but sometimes, I think I understand Luke even less today than I did when we were wed. I have learnt little about men in fourteen months of marriage.

  Luke is the most indulgent of papas, playing with Baby in the evenings and showing him off to all who visit. Luke is right pleased with his “seed.”

  He is pleased, as well, with the turkey red seed for hard winter wheat that he brought back from Fort Madison. (Luke would be shocked with this little joke, but I intend to write it to Carrie, who will find it funny. I wonder, do men know we women talk about such things, just as they do?) It not only resists drought but also thrives under the hot winds. Our wheat does better than any in the neighborhood, and I believe my husband will leave his mark as an agrarian.

  Mr. Bondurant’s pack mule was loaded down with farm necessities when Luke returned from Fort Madison. Still, knowing my sweet tooth, he found room for a little gift of chocolate. I am not so wanton with it as I was last year, using
small amounts now, and only on special occasions. Luke brought other favors, including photographs of loved ones. Carrie’s precious Wee Willie is every bit as splendid as my own Johnnie, which means he is very handsome indeed. Carrie also sent a purse she embroidered with ferns and heartsease, which is displayed upon the wall, as the neighbors would accuse me of putting on airs were I to carry such a fine item. I shall save it for the day I am in real society again.

  I have resumed my marital duties. At first, I held off, for Dr. Chase’s Recipes warns about too quick a resumption of relations. Besides, I do not care to follow Emmie Lou’s example and pop out babies as if I were shelling peas in a pod. But as a nursing mother, I believe I am safe from conception, and since Luke was so insistent, I gave in. I am rewarded each time with his kind attentions for a day. I think men benefit from the act, and women from their husbands’ gratitude.

  All loved ones are well except for Mother. Luke says she was in good spirits when he visited, but you can always count on Mother to rise to the occasion. The girls reveal so little about her in their letters that I wrote Carrie and ordered her to tell me plain how things stood. Carrie wrote that Mother is bedridden, and my faithful friend believes that she will live out her life in that condition. Now that I know, I shall write Mother letters that will cheer her and not expect much in return. Mother begged Carrie not to let on to me her true state, as it would cause worry on my part, and Carrie would not have done so, except that she had given her promise to me. Mother does not want for good care, but O, it is painful to think I am not there to bring her comfort or that I might never see her dear face again. If Luke returns to Fort Madison in the spring, he shall do so only if he takes along Baby and Wife.

  Persia Chalmers is now a married woman, but Abner was not her choice! Carrie wrote it was all the scandal, as Persia began keeping company with Henry Talmadge only four weeks before they tied the knot. But, Lordy, I cannot be too critical on that score, because Luke never courted me at all. He simply arrived on my doorstep one evening and threw himself on my mercy, as the poet says.