James was a hard worker. Barely seventeen, he left his mother and stepfather’s farm to run one of his own. He and his older brother, Robert rented out eighty acres of rich cultivated farmland in Marshall County, Iowa. Their first growing season had been hard, but ultimately their corn and wheat crops brought in enough for James to spend his earnings on schooling. He was always on top of the commodity prices and on several occasions had considered moves to Missouri or Kansas when produce and livestock there were bringing higher prices per bushel or pound than in Iowa.
It only took two growing seasons until the brothers were able to buy the land and split it. They each built a home on their forty acre share.
James was an adventurer. Always had been. His mother, Catherine, had often said that of all her children it was James who gave her the first gray hairs that had invaded her auburn hair. He was never a problem child, just an adventurous and inquisitive one. But Catherine had soon learned to look the other way when she saw her young son on the roof of the barn, or climbing the silo ladder, or about to swing from a high branch of a tree. She had known he was a bright child and when he began to read at a young age she encouraged him. One of his favorite books turned out to be the Holy Bible, but Catherine was surprised to learn his undertaking was not of an especially religious nature but one of scholarship. He was interested in the historical data contained within and was constantly asking questions of her that she could not answer. She often referred him to their pastor but James found little satisfaction in his answers.
In December of 1858, James’s wanderlust had been about to lead him from the corn fields of Iowa to the pine forests of Colorado. He had told his family at the supper table one evening, “The fever is spreading and I am afraid it will sweep thousands.”
Catherine, unsure what her son was speaking of, put her fork on her plate and looked at her son with alarm, “What fever? Is there an epidemic heading our way?”
He told her, “The Pikes Peak fever, Mama. It is to be richer gold mines than California ever was. I’m preparing to head out there when the snow melts and stake a claim. Many will be rich, hundreds, maybe even thousands, just like in California.”
Catherine had heard stories of the miners and renegades in the West. It was a dangerous and violent life in the gold fields. She much preferred her son find his riches in the corn and wheat fields of Iowa than the mountain streams of Colorado or California. She could not keep silent.
“Now, James Campbell Garrison, you do not belong with hoodlums and whores. You’ve heard the stories of life out there. Nothing but whiskey, wild women, and gun fights. You don’t want that.”
“Mama, you read too much.”
“Oh, do I now? That’s another thing. You’d give up your studies and dreams in favor of a wild life?”
James put a heaping spoonful of hot mashed potatoes on his dinner plate. He set the bowl on the table and looked at his mother, his face revealing a charming smile as he said, “My dreams take on many forms, Mama. We’ll see what spring brings.”
Spring brought glitter and colors of yellow-gold to her son, but much to Catherine’s relief, it came in the shape of a woman. When James looked at this woman his eyes sparkled and glittered and her gaze returned to him the same brilliance. Catherine never heard her son mention Pikes Peak fever again.
She was a young woman with a gentle, kind-eyed face and long golden hair that looked as if it were spun in heaven. She had an unearthly air about her, one of grace and fineness and James had never seen such beautiful eyes. They radiated the most intense blueness, deeper than the deepest sky blue he had ever seen. She wore a long dress of light yellow and a wide brimmed hat with a dark yellow ribbon band that dropped from the hat and fell near one shoulder and lightly moved as she moved. He thought an angel had just entered his schoolroom.
He did not take his eyes from her as he raised his six-foot frame from behind his desk. She was silent as she crossed the room toward him and he could not find any words to bring forth from his bewildered mind. Was he having a vision of an angel? Was this beautiful creature real? Would she fade from his sight at any moment?
She stopped four feet out and her face broke into a beautiful smile. “Mr. Garrison, I am Lucinda Brown and Professor Cramer asked me to stop by and see you.” She held out her hand toward him.
Of course, James thought. The Professor had told him that a text book salesman would be by today. He recovered quickly and greeted her. “I’m sorry, Miss Brown, I was so engrossed in my studies when you walked in that it did not occur to me that you were from Century Press.” He moved from the desk and grabbed a chair and placed it near her. “Please make yourself comfortable,” he added.
“Thank you, Mr. Garrison. You have a nice school room here. Bigger than most. How many students do you have?”
James perched on the edge of his desk. “Right now I have twenty-two.”
“That’s a nice number,” she replied. “All ages?”
“No, I teach the older children, twelve to sixteen or seventeen or so.”
“Oh, really. Professor Cramer mentioned that you were his prize student.”
His face colored. “That was nice of him to say that,” he replied softly.
She smiled. “Well, he must have meant it. How long did you study with him?”
“I still do.”
“Well, how nice. Education never stops, does it?”
“I hope not.”
“Well, I brought with me some beautiful new books for you to look at. And then we have our regular ones, if you need to add to your arithmetic, reading, and geography inventory. Would you care to go out to the buggy and take a look?”
“Of course,” he replied. As he escorted her outside, his mind whirled with the many girls that had moved through his life since he was a young teenager. The girls had always flocked around him, he had no trouble with having the attention of the opposite sex, but none of his relationships had ever been serious. His married friends told him he was too picky. He often admitted that maybe he was. He didn’t really know what standard or expectation he had about a woman who he would choose for a wife. All he knew is that he had never met the right one.
Until now. He knew the moment his eyes saw her in his doorway. She was the woman of his dreams.
He had to smile as he remembered the words he had once written to his Uncle Andrew in his youth. He told his uncle that there were plenty of girls to go around and that he, James, was the best man of his age that ever crossed the path of the plentiful girls. The parties and dances had been bountiful and his apparent good looks, his dark hair, hazel eyes, and bright smile often had him the center of attention. At seventeen, 155 pounds and 5 foot, 10 inches, he thought he was God’s gift to women. He had written that he was muscular and fit but not broke to ride. His Uncle Andrew often teased him about those written words. James had no idea then that not only would he grow physically but also spiritually. He no longer thought he was God’s gift to women but at this moment he was convinced that God had just sent him his gift.
James was unaware that the smile was still on his face as he was caught up in his reverie. Lucinda patiently held out the book to him. She cleared her throat more than once before his attention returned to her. When he looked at her, her face revealed a small smile. “Mr. Garrison, uh, here is the new grammar book. I think you will like it.”
He took the book from her hand and opened it, aware that her eyes were on him. He flipped through a few pages and did not really see a thing on any page. His mind was too aware of his beating heart and surging hormones that were traveling through his blood stream to concentrate on the written page. He drew in a deep breath and lifted his eyes from the book. They were met by hers. He handed her the book but the intense gaze between them did not falter. As she took the book their hands touched and for James it was as if a bolt of lightning had flashed down from the clear blue skies. She did not move her hand and allowed his to touch hers. A radiant smile crossed her mouth as she said, “Do you
want any?”
He sharply sucked in his breath and said, “I’ll take six of them.”
“Good.” Her blue eyes had still not wavered from his. Several moments passed before she moved to put the book down. She handed him another.
Again, her eyes intent on his. His heartbeat had not slowed. At that moment, he knew he wanted this woman more than he had ever wanted any woman before. He wanted to make love to her but he also knew he wanted more than that. He wanted to know every nuance of her, every thought, every action, every dream, every hope. He wanted to be a part of her, and her a part of him. But, of course, he did not even know if she was available. All he knew was that if his perception was right, she was interested in him.
But what if she wasn’t? Did he chance it and make a fool of himself?
Fool or not, he had to know.
He asked softly, “Are you married?”
This time it was she that drew in a quick breath and her eyes dropped from his. “Sort of,” she replied.
He gave her a puzzled look. “Sort of?”
“I’m divorcing him. I found myself with an abusive man.”
“I’m sorry.”
She raised her eyes to his. “Don’t be,” she said. “It is behind me. I don’t look back. I only look to the future.”
“What do you see in your future?”
She smiled. “Full time teaching again. My own schoolhouse and maybe, uh, maybe someone like you.”
His shoulders dropped in relaxation. “Like me?”
“Like you.”
He smiled broadly. “You don’t even know me.”
She laughed. “I know you better than you think, James Garrison. I found out every detail I could from your favorite professor. And then when I saw you I knew all I needed to know.”
“Funny. I thought I knew you too, as an angel from heaven.”
Her eyes danced as she said, “Maybe I am.”
He smiled. “Will you have supper with me?”
“Do you cook?”
She had just thrown him an unexpected challenge and he felt a little disconcerted. To cover his unfamiliar nervousness he reached for another book. He wanted nothing more than to be alone with her but he also wanted to be proper. He wondered how many people around here might know she was a married woman.
He asked, “Where do you live?”
“Des Moines. I’ve been there with an aunt since I left my husband in Pennsylvania last year.”
“Where are you staying here in town?”
“At the hotel. I’ve had a room there for a couple of days. I have to head back to Des Moines next Wednesday.”
“Would you rather have supper at the hotel?”
She laughed. “James, are you worried about my reputation or yours?”
He shrugged. “Not mine,” he said and then added, “But yes, yours.”
Her eyes were unflinching as they met his. “You really don’t need to worry about mine,” she said.
He wondered if she really meant that. Not wanting to put her in any sort of embarrassing situation yet longing to have her come to supper at his home, he said, “Lucinda, it is entirely up to you. I would be happy to have you come to my place, but only if you are comfortable with that.”
She was pensive only a moment and said, “James, I want to go home with you.”
“All right.”
“Would you mind if I brought my things at the hotel with me?”
James felt his heart leap at the suggestion. He smiled warmly and said, “Of course not.”
A few minutes later, Lucinda returned to the hotel to pick up her belongings and met James on the road to his farm. The sun was sliding down in the sky and a soft breeze was blowing across the prairie. She maneuvered the horse and buggy under a tree near the front of his farmhouse. James unhitched her horse and led him into the corral, and took his own horse into the barn. He filled the troughs with hay and pumped fresh water for the horses. His farm hand was finishing up the chores for the day.
Lucinda leaned against the tree, enjoying the canopy of shade as she watched James. He retrieved a bucket from the barn and filled it with fresh water. He set it aside, removed his shirt, and afternoon sun glistened off his tanned skin. He had broad shoulders, was well-muscled, trim and fit. He washed up and then joined her.
“There will be fresh water for you in the house if you want to freshen up,” he told her as he joined her.
“Thank you, that would be nice,” she said. James pulled her luggage from the buggy and they walked together toward the farm house.
Lucinda was impressed with his home and said so. His house was clean and well-kept. He put her luggage in a guest room, a small room with a bed, chest of drawers and a chair. She took off her hat and placed it on the foot of the bed. James went into his room and returned wearing a clean long sleeved shirt, open at the neck and tucked into his pants.
In the kitchen, shiny kettles hung from a beam and there was the aroma of coffee and spices. In the center of the kitchen table was a vase filled with flowers. The living room had a fireplace with a large brightly colored rug on the floor in front of it. Everywhere Lucinda looked there was evidence of an obviously cultured man. The walls were lined with wooden shelves loaded with books—books of philosophy, poetry, science, politics and classics. The list of authors was extensive: Plato, Franklin, Paine, Emerson, Poe, Thoreau, Burns, Longfellow, Whitman, Bancroft, Browning, Melville, Hawthorne, and Dickens, among others, and she was quite impressed as she had read some of their writings herself. Several paintings and prints hung on the walls along with political posters.
While James started supper, Lucinda browsed through the book shelves. She opened a book by Elizabeth Barrett Browning and noticed that verses were underlined and comments written in the margins. “You must like poetry, James,” she commented.
“I love it,” he answered.
Atop a desk were several copies of the ChicagoDemocrat, the Philadelphia Press, and the New York Herald. Lucinda glanced at the headlines on several copies. A pile of student school papers were stacked alongside the newspapers and she looked through them.
“Your students seem pretty bright,” she told him. “They do good work. They must have a good teacher.”
“I learned a lot about teaching from Professor Cramer and a few of the others I studied with. A good teacher has to spark enthusiasm in his students. They have to enjoy learning or you lose them. Don’t you agree?”
“Yes, you’re right.”
“When I got my certification I vowed I would only teach if I enjoyed it. If I ever get to the place where it becomes just a dreaded job, I will quit.”
“Then what would you do?” she asked.
“Maybe go off for an adventure on the high seas,” he teased. “Do you like teaching?”
“I love it. I really want to get back to it full time. I needed this second job to get on my feet after the divorce. It really is my dream to have my own school.”
He said, “Then marry me and we’ll build our own schoolhouse.”
She laughed, very much enjoying his enthusiasm.
He continued. “You can teach the little ones and I’ll teach the older ones. We can teach our way. We can make it a subscription school and offer more than the regular schools.”
She walked up behind him at the stove and put her arms around his waist and sunk into him. “James Garrison, I may take you up on that.”
He put down the spatula, turned around and drew her into his arms. He tilted her face upward and kissed her, at first softly and then again, unleashing a mutual hunger that had been quietly awaiting this moment. It was only the sizzle of the potatoes frying that interrupted their kiss.
Lucinda laughed as he broke the embrace and tended the potatoes. She said, “I’ll get out of the kitchen and let the cook, cook.”
He laughed and winked. “Maybe that would be a good idea unless you want burnt potatoes.”
As they enjoyed supper together, Lucinda complimented him on his
cooking. He had fried up onions with the potatoes and eggs and served them with bread and fresh butter.
Lucinda asked, “You didn’t bake this bread, did you?”
He chuckled. “No, that comes from my sister-in-law, Mary. She and my brother Robert have the next farm over.”
After dinner they washed the dishes and then went out for a leisurely walk. James had always enjoyed spring evenings such as this when temperatures were mild and pleasant and the air filled with the faint fragrance of blooming flowers and freshly turned rich earth but the beauty of the outdoors that he had always enjoyed so much was now overshadowed by the beauty of the woman who walked beside him. God, she looked good. He watched the light breeze softly moving her hair and the sparkle in her eyes when she spoke. He had no doubt. He was in love. It had happened suddenly and without warning the moment he had looked up and saw her standing before him in his classroom.
They returned to the house just at sunset. They talked nonstop about everything and anything. James discovered that Lucinda had been teaching for several years, just as he had. She spoke of her marriage and the abuse she had suffered during the two years she had been with her husband and told him she had gained the courage to leave him after his last beating caused her to miscarry.
“I’m only telling you all the sordid details of my marriage so I never have to talk about it again,” she said. “So if there is anything else you want to know, ask now.”
James remained silent. He got up from the sofa and went to the fireplace and prepared a fire. He placed three large logs on the grate, threw in kindling and lit it. When the fire was burning hot, he returned to Lucinda’s side. He gently pulled her into his arms and tenderly said, “I am so sorry, Lucinda. No one will ever treat you like that again. Never.”
As he held her, she began to cry. He stroked her hair and rocked her in his arms. “Never, ever,” he promised.
Corn Silk Days: Iowa, 1862 Page 3
