by Dinah McLeod
My eyes swept over the room, a knot growing in the pit of my stomach. I felt my throat tighten when I finally spotted them, curled up on the wide mattress. If appearances were anything to go by, the quilt had been washed and hung to dry, too. I looked at them, heads bent in sleep, their chests rising and falling. They looked so peaceful and so friendly that my throat constricted to the point of being painful. I’d never had a girlfriend, and Libby had certainly never filled that gap in my heart. She’d never liked me, even when we were children.
I turned away, unable to bear the sight of them in the room that had been my mother’s, lying together like true sisters would. I backtracked, walking back into the parlor. I ignored Clay and went straight to the kitchen to start supper. The men had to eat, and I needed to do something to keep my hands busy.
“They OK?” he asked, his voice gruffly.
“They’re sleeping.”
“Sleeping?” he arched an eyebrow. “At this time of day?”
His tone of voice told me that no wife of his would be in bed asleep when dinner needed to be on the table, and strangely, it made me feel more lonely than before. I turned my back on him as tears filled my eyes. Soon enough, he’d be tired of me. It was bound to happen, the only question was how long we could keep up this charade. Would it be this week, or the next? Perhaps I’d be able to keep his interest for a month, maybe even get him to put a ring on my finger. But then? He already knew I was as improper as they came, and no wife of his would be hinting at anything vulgar, as I was wont to do.
“Maggie, is something wrong?”
Before I could even consider answering his question, the back door opened, and I watched my brothers come in, stamping their feet.
“You should really do that before you come in,” I commented mildly.
“Hey, Mags,” Trent grinned. “How else are we supposed to shake the ice from them?”
I shrugged and was about to reply when Wesley spotted Clay. “Howdy, Clay. Are you and Maggie alone?” I could see by the way that his brow furrowed that he liked this idea not at all.
“I expected both Mrs. Swifts to be here,” he explained.
“They aren’t here?” Wesley arched an eyebrow. “Where would they have gone?”
“No, Wes, they’re here.” I assured him. “They’re in Mama’s bedroom.” I know he could hear the reproach in my voice, but he met my eyes head-on.
“Getting’ it ready, I ‘spect.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I demanded. “That room was our mother’s, it…” I trailed off helplessly. There were no words to express what I was feeling.
“I didn’t realize I had to run anything by you, sister dear. But either way, Trent and Abby have to have a place to sleep.”
“They have my room!” I exclaimed.
“And we appreciate it, Mags,” Trent stepped in, laying his hand on my shoulder. “But we all knew that was a temporary solution.”
“I don’t see why,” I huffed.
“What would you have us do?” Wesley intoned. “Leave it vacant year after year? What are we going to do when Trent and Abby have children, or Libby and me? What then?”
I set my mouth in a firm line and said nothing. What could I say? They’d made up their minds and nothing I would say could change it.
“It makes sense, Mags. You have to see that.”
Before I could decide if I wanted to reply, my sisters-in-law emerged, one after the other, each with rumpled hair and sleepy eyes. “Goodness, it’s late!” Abby was the first to speak, looking at us with wide, guilty eyes. “I’m sorry. I should be helping with supper.”
“Have a nap, sweetheart?” Trent asked gently, his eyes drinking her in so hungrily that it was entirely improper in mixed company.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated, her cheeks flushing, but the way he reached out and stroked her cheek brought a smile to her lips.
“Let’s take a look and see what you’ve got done,” he suggested, and I frowned at the pair of them as they walked into the master bedroom, hand in hand.
Libby walked over and kissed her husband, offering no apology, not that he asked for one. I fumed inside. If it had been me caught napping in the middle of the day, almost until sunset, with no dinner on the table—why, I’d probably be getting a hiding right now! But no, not so much as a word of reproach for their wives!
I turned my attention back to the flour I was mixing with salt, trying to ignore the aching in my heart. I tuned out their idle chit chat—I didn’t care to hear talk of new preparations for the bedroom that Trent and Abby would now call their own. I worked in silence, making biscuits from memory. My mother had kept me in the kitchen with her since I could walk. I’d always found it a comforting place to be, away from the dirt of outside and the boredom of sewing. When the smells of meat and gravy filled the air, I inhaled deeply, savoring the aroma. Every time I cooked, I could practically feel her whispered instructions, her fingers sweeping back the wisps of hair that fell into my face.
The memory shattered by the sight of Abigail standing in the entrance, watching me. Her eyes were anxious, and she had her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She looked like she would say something, but I turned my back to her, pretending to fuss over the gravy. I waited, the air thick with tension, for her to break the silence, but after a few moments she brushed past me and gathered plates to begin setting the table.
When I could put it off no longer, I begin to carry the food to the table where everyone sat, waiting for me. Wesley, who was in animated conversation with Clay about a horserace that had just taken place yesterday, broke off when he saw me.
“Looks good,” he offered.
“Thank you,” I replied, saying nothing more as I set out the platters.
“Say grace for us, will you, Clay?” Wes asked.
“Sure thing. Everyone, join hands, please.”
I reached for Clay’s hand, who was beside me, and Trent, who was on my other side. I had to hide my smile. Wes, like Pa, believed that before a girl was to marry a man, she should hear him pray to determine if he were right with God. Clay, of course, couldn’t know this and easily prayed, asking God to bless the meal and our time together as a family. I shuddered when he said the word, but obediently said “amen”.
The room was relatively quiet, as we women normally kept the conversation flowing, and all three of us were sitting uncomfortably in our chairs. I could feel Libby and Abigail staring at me, but I refused to meet their eyes.
“So, what did you three do today?” Trent asked to break the silence, clearly uncomfortable playing the role of the initiator.
“Ah, well, Abby and I—”
“Have been lazin’ about sleeping all day,” I muttered under my breath, at the same time Libby said, “—have been getting the bedroom ready.”
Wes held up a hand, turning a furrowed brow to me. “What was that, Maggie?”
“Nothing,” I replied, unable to keep the resentment from coming out in my voice.
“Pardon me?”
I turned fierce eyes on him. What was he expecting, a “nothing, sir”? I didn’t think so! He was younger than me, for heaven’s sake, no matter how hard he tried to pretend otherwise. “I said, it was nothing.”
“That’s not what I heard. I won’t have you mumbling at my table, d’you understand?”
I felt my temper flare, as hard as I tried to keep it in check. “Your table?” I repeated, my voice low. “Since when is it yours, Wesley? Did that happen after Mama died, and you forgot to mention it to me? Or was it five years ago, when Pa went? When did you become master of this house?”
His eyes clashed with mine like flint and steel. “I do not like your tone, Maggie Swift. I suggest you fix it this instant.”
“In case you forgot, brother,” I said, ignoring his comment, “we all live here. Everyone, your wives excluded, grew up here. This is my house as much as your own.”
I expected him to deny my challenge, but to my surprise, he nodded. “You
’re right, Maggie. And I ‘spect that is why you’re in such a foul temper.”
“I am not—”
“You are,” Trent inserted, calm as always. “You didn’t want us to move into Mama’s room, did you? Did you want the room?”
“Oh, Maggie!” Abby exclaimed, a sob catching in her throat. “I didn’t even stop to think—we don’t have to… what I mean is, you can have the room, if you want.”
I saw Trent open his mouth to say something, but one look at his emotional wife stopped him. “I don’t want the room, either,” I answered. “I just thought… I don’t know. I just saw the two of them, sleeping there… on her quilt…” I nodded toward the other women.
“We were planning on replacing the bedding,” Trent commented. “You could have it, Mags.”
I sighed in exasperation. Was I the only one who understood? Instead, I turned my attention to the only thing that they would understand. “Your wives slept the day away leaving me to do everything, as usual. Am I the only one who knows how to work around here?” I heard Libby gasp at my words, but I ignored them.
“As far as I can tell, Maggie, they did quite a bit. Have you been into the bedroom? They’ve spent all day working on it. Why, it looks brand new!”
My heart hardened as I saw Libby preen under her husband’s praise. I saw it clearly now. Now that they were both married, there was no place here for me anymore. I would no longer be listened to. Their wives would, bit-by-bit, edge me out until I had no say in my own home. “If I had been the one caught sleeping midday, would you be so kind?”
Wes considered me for several long, silent heartbeats. I could tell that he was frustrated with me and that he was getting angrier the longer I kept at him. “Your situation and Libby’s are quite different,” he said at last.
“Because she’s married?” I demanded.
“Because I am with child,” Libby replied, her voice soft and serene.
I whipped my head around to stare at her, my mouth dropping open. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be! Now I was to be displaced by a child as well? “You’ve only been married four months,” I said in wonder.
“I hear tell it only takes once,” Libby replied, but dropped her eyes at the sharp look her husband gave her.
“Now that the news is out, you’ll understand why Libby will be resting more,” Wesley said, looking at his wife with such tenderness and pride that it made me ache.
I jumped to my feet. I just couldn’t take it anymore, I felt like I was suffocating under all the changes. “Pardon me,” I said, turning to leave.
“Where do you think you’re going, Maggie?” Wesley asked.
“I need to take a walk.”
“Not now, you don’t. It’s dark out. You can go to your room if you wish to sulk.”
The smile I turned to him was bitter. “I don’t have a room anymore, remember? You’ll be wanting that for a nursery. As there isn’t a place here for me anymore, I don’t see that I have to follow your rules, either, brother dear.” With that, I turned on my heel and stomped out. When I got to the kitchen I stood by the back door, hidden from view, my hand hovering over the doorknob.
“You enjoy your dinner,” I heard Clayborn say. “I’ll go after her.”
“Try not to think too badly of her, Clay,” Trent replied. “She and our mother were as close as mother and daughter could be. She’s taking this harder than we thought she would. Christmas was always Mama’s favorite, which made it Maggie’s, too. She’s a good girl.”
“Perhaps we’ve been too easy on her,” Wesley mused. “We’ve let her act as the woman of the house for so long that she couldn’t take being upstaged when we got wives. We were tryin’ to show her sympathy, but maybe we let it go on too far.”
“Nothing I’ve seen here today changes how I feel,” I heard Clayborn reply.
Before I could hear any more, I opened the door and hurried out of it, closing the door behind me. I took off at a run, heedless of where my feet were taking me. I breathed in and out, ignoring the sharp pang the cold air made against my throat. I ran until my hair came unbound, flying behind me like a flag. I ran until my cheeks were pink and tingling from the cold. I ran until I was breathless and my legs were aching.
When I couldn’t go another step, I fell into a heap right where I stood, my cheek pressed against the cold, hard ground. The hot tears felt strange on my frozen cheeks, but they came, and came quickly. I cried and cried, sobbing my heart out until I felt weak with the effort. When I was finally spent, I sat up, wiping the grass off my cheek with the palm of my hand. I stood to my feet, wobbling a bit at first.
The first thing I noticed was that the trees surrounding me looked unfamiliar. I’d been walking this land—usually tagging behind my brothers, per my pa’s orders—since I was a little girl. I knew every grove of trees, every walking path. Somehow, I’d veered off the familiar paths and had ended up somewhere I could not name. I turned my head from side to side, trying to make sense of it. Maybe if I walked through those trees, there… I started toward them with renewed determination.
As I walked through, pushing branches aside as I moved, I kept looking for some familiar sign that would show me where my feet had carried me. The farther into the brush I went, the more apparent it became that I was in unfamiliar territory. I stopped to try to get my bearings, cursing my stupidity for having run away in the first place. I heard it before I saw it—a crunching of the leaves, indicating that I was not alone.
I turned my head and saw a blur of color flashing by. I wasn’t able to make it out, but my heart began beating as hard as a hammer in my chest. With a rustling of the branches, whatever I’d seen hid itself from my view. I felt my body become as heavy as lead as I stood, not daring to move a muscle as I weighed my options. It could have been an owl, or some other bird—but instinct and years of living near the woods told me that it wasn’t. Surely if the creature had any intentions of harming me, it would make itself known, but could I stand to wait here as it decided? By the time I figured out what it was, it might already be too late.
Looking at my feet, I realized that a little farther on there was a trail of some sort, made by an animal who’d come here before me. The tracks were fresh and large, pressing deep into the dirt. They’d been preserved by the frost that covered them.
Get ahold of yourself, I told myself. Just because there are tracks doesn’t mean… I let my thought trail off, not wanting to think on it any longer. Maybe I should just do it—make a run for it? Yet, I found that I couldn’t. Fear had frozen my feet to the ground, and I couldn’t do anything but shiver with the cold and try to keep my teeth from rattling. Next time I ran out, I’d have to remember to grab my shawl. If there was a next time. The thought that there might not be brought tears to my eyes.
What if I never saw my brothers again? I hadn’t been very sweet to either of them since Mama had died. We all used to be so close… I could remember how well Wesley looked after me; even though he was younger than me, he considered himself to be my protector. I remembered how, after hard days at school when I didn’t have any friends, he would hug me tight, almost fiercely. Strangely enough, the next day at school all the girls were sugar-sweet to me, and I’d begun to make friends. I’d never troubled to find out what he’d done, or thanked him for it either.
The same had happened years later, when I started to get the cold shoulder from women in town who pretended not to know me or else were pitying me for my spinsterhood. Wesley had heard the whispers, as well as I. Once he took it in his head to put an end to it, nothing was ever said in my hearing again. Libby herself had been one of the worst, I remembered, my stomach lurching. She’d always had a talent for hitting me where it hurt the most. Yet, he’d married her anyway. I’d never been able to forgive him—how could my protector wed my most vicious tormentor? I could have forgiven her the cruel words, but I would never forgive him for watching me cry over them and making her his wife anyway.
And then there was Trent… he’
d been so dear and sweet, from the moment he was born. He was the kind of baby that strangers smiled at wherever we went, for he was so happy and good-natured. Even men that didn’t like babies liked Trent. They’d welcome him into their shops and places of business when he was older, letting him watch them work. He never made a peep, and I suspected they enjoyed his company, as silent as it was. He’d grown into a fine man… I’d regret it if I never learned what kind of husband and father he made.
When I saw the large, black cat jump down from the high tree branches it had been hiding among, I thought of Clayborn. How strange it was, that I had come to care for him in such a short time. How could that be? How unnatural it was that my last thoughts were of him. I remembered him in great detail—the strength in his shoulders, the width of his calloused hands. I remembered with startlingly clarity how they’d felt on my waist when he’d helped me down from his horse. I remembered the strong, rich timbre of his voice…
I identified the animal easily. It was a panther, a female, if I judged rightly. I met its gaze, its large yellow eyes blinking sleepily as though it hadn’t a care in the world. It didn’t, of course; I was the one who was frightened. I knew running would be useless, yet my first instinct was to flee. Clay. It was a mantra in my head, repeating with each frantic beat of my heart. I’d never gotten to know him properly, never gotten to thank him for putting some sunshine in my otherwise dreary, monotonous existence. I’d never get to know if we would have gotten along as husband and wife.
I’m coming to see you, Mama. Yet, even as I thought it, sending it up as a prayer of sorts, I ran. I took off as quickly as my feet would carry me, my face being whipped by the branches I couldn’t duck under. I didn’t even feel the scratches they left. I ran, not daring to pause, not daring to let my lungs give out this time. Too much was at stake.
