Night Fires in the Distance

by Sarah Goodwin

  I gave Will enough time to be focusing on his walking and not on looking over his shoulder at us, then started to put my boots on. “I’m going to walk over to Mr Clappe’s soddie and see that he’s faring all right, I’m expecting you to be a good girl while I’m gone.”

  Rachel took up a bonnet and started picking through my needle box. “I will.”

  “And you too Beth.”

  She was playing with Nora on the tick and waved her doll at me.

  “I’ll be back soon. Watch your sisters, Rachel.”

  Even with my thick shawl on under my wool coat and two pairs of stockings under my boots, it wasn’t long before I felt the cold. My toes became numb, my fingers in their mittens started to burn and my breath froze on the inside of my muffler. When Clappe’s soddie was within shouting distance, my nerves almost failed me, but it was the cold that pushed me forwards.

  As I reached the door a dog began to bark inside and I heard the rise and fall of her voice within, shushing the animal. I knocked on the frosty planks of the door. The dog refused to be quiet and as the door opened its brown face pushed into the widening gap, sniffing and barking at me.

  Clappe appeared in the slice of shadow, her eyes went wide when she saw me.

  “Laura?”

  “I’d appreciate you calling off your dog.”

  She seemed not to know what she was about. “Missy,” she hissed, tugging the dog back by the loose skin of its neck. She opened the door wider and I took this as permission to enter.

  Inside, the soddie was much as it had been the last time I’d seen it. I was surprised to see a shaving kit and scissors on the table, the rectangle of polished tin that served as a mirror propped up against a basin.

  “Shaving, Mr Clappe?”

  She brushed past me and put the mirror flat on the table, sweeping up locks of damp red hair as she did so. She was dressed as a man, I could see her hair was freshly trimmed. So, she was sticking with her disguise. That meant she wasn’t leaving.

  “Laura, I’m so sorry about what’s happened. I never meant to hurt anyone by lying.”

  “What were you trying to do?”

  “Stay safe.”

  I’d seen a trick once, at a fair. It was a circle of paper with a string on either side. On one side of the paper was a picture of a red bird, on the other, a picture of a cage. When the string was twisted, the paper flipped, over and over, the bird appeared to be caught within the cage. That was what she looked like to me, by turns the woman who had tricked me and the man who’d comforted me, blurred together through trickery.

  “What do I call you?”

  She bit her lip, causing a little of the illusion to fall away; she looked more like a girl when she was unsure.

  “Come on, you have a name don’t you? Let’s hear it.”

  “It’s Cecelia.”

  I snorted. “So you are from some hoity-toity Ohio family.”

  She lowered her eyes and nodded.

  “You ran away from them?” I was curious, despite myself. Gossip was at an all time low, that was all it was, I certainly wasn’t itching to find out more about her because I cared.

  “I ran away from my husband. Charles.”

  Those words made my heart shudder. “He beat you?”

  She shook her head.

  “You spoke of your ‘sister’s’ child.” I felt my blood heat up. “Did you mean yours? That you left behind?”

  “He died,” she said, and I saw her hands twist up the cuffs of her shirt. “Afterwards Charles told me my moping was pathetic, shut me out of my baby’s room and had all his things taken away.”

  I kept my face as blank as I could. It was a horrible story to hear, yet I couldn’t help but think of my own stillborn babies and the little one, before Beth, who had lasted but a week before passing on. The hard crossing from England to America, months of jolting travel by wagon, hauling our possessions with us as one-by-one things had to be abandoned, or were traded, or simply broken beyond repair. Carving a home out of the sod, raising my screaming brood as we tried to sow seeds into the wild earth and protect ourselves in a land made of more dangers than boons. William there beside me all the while, always on at me, striking me, getting me with child, beating the daylights out of me whenever the whisky flowed.

  She seemed to see all of this flickering in my eyes, because she slumped onto a packing crate and put her shorn head in her hands.

  “You think I was too flighty.”

  “I think you cut off your hair and came across the country without hardly anything. You wouldn’t’ve lasted out here if you had anywhere else to go.” I said. “He’d have to do something a damn sight worse than lock up a room to scare you this bad.”

  She let out a breath. I saw her try and fail to collect herself.

  “The night Charlie died, I was with him. I woke up and wanted to see him, but when I reached the nursery Charles was there. He didn’t notice me come in. He had a pillow over Charlie’s face…” Her mouth moved but only a choking sound came out. She waved her hands like she was trying to catch the words. I took hold of one and squeezed, scared to hold her properly.

  “I tried to pull him away,” she whispered. “I tried but…I couldn’t. Then he left Charlie and shook me. He said if I told anyone he’d have me put away, tell my family I was mad. He didn’t even see that he’d done something wrong. He made it seem like it was a kindness, because Charlie’s legs were crippled and he’d never walk. I was so afraid after that. I couldn’t sleep, could hardly eat. Charles wouldn’t let me out of the house. He wouldn’t let the servants up to my rooms in case I said anything. When he caught me trying to send a note to my family he locked me in my room.”

  I wanted to snatch her up and out of the shadow she was under. Part of me couldn’t see how she could run away, not without first throwing kerosene over his sleeping body and striking a match.

  “Did you have to marry him?” I said, “I mean…did your family force him on you? Would they not understand if you told them?”

  “I didn’t love him, but he’s respected, wealthy and he’s pleasant enough to everyone else. He seemed it to me too.”

  “I think they all do. Before the marriage licence’s signed.”

  “He wanted everything his way,” she said softly. “He decided where went, who I saw. When I had Charlie it only got worse.”

  “Seems he ought to be the one locked up,” I said.

  “It’d be the only way I’d feel safe I think.”

  “He’ll never find you here.”

  “I feel as though he might. It scares me. Every sound outside at night might be him.” She looked down at her hands. “Besides, I…I don’t think I can stay now that, now that this has happened.”

  “Then why’d you kiss me?” I said, forcing the words out like coughing up stones.

  “You kissed me.”

  “I kissed James Clappe. Why did you kiss me?”

  Her thin shoulders wriggled under the worn shirt. “I kissed you back. I was surprised.”

  Something urged me forwards, nipping at my heels. “Would you kiss anyone if they kissed you first?”

  “No, I-”

  “Then why kiss me?”

  She ran a shaking hand through her hair, small pieces from her trimming came loose and fell like sparks in the light from the window. I wanted to touch her hair, to slide my fingers into the short, curling locks.

  “I…wanted to.”

  I hadn’t known what I was pushing her towards until I got her there. Having her there, I didn’t know what to do with her. My hand crept out without my say, touched the warm softness of her hair. Her eyes were on mine. What I’d felt for Clappe hadn’t faded with the distance between us. It hadn’t faded now I knew what was under those trousers and shirt.

  “Laura,” her voice was like a breath.

  I leant closer to her. It was so different to the first time, I was more afraid, more aware of how she was different to Will, to any man I’d seen or known. I felt
still the protective, murderous rage against her husband, but she was soft, nervous, kind. It changed what I felt, somehow, knowing that she cared, that she was here where I could care for her, and where she could feel that care in the gentle press of my lips to hers.

  The unfamiliar feel of a woman’s mouth made me close my eyes and hold my breath, scared of what I’d see and who I’d be myself when I opened them again. I was no fainting lady, but what I was doing made my head spin.

  We barely touched, but there was a boiling pot in my chest, overflowing. My blood ran hot and I could see, when I pulled back from her, the hectic flush in her cheeks and the sheen to her eyes that wasn’t down to tears. Fear and want fought in me like snakes.

  We moved together, I opened my mouth a little against hers, felt her warm, wet breath against my tongue. I touched it with my own and our lips came together, damp and sliding. My skin was hot and prickling all over. She shook and I tightened my fingers in her hair until she gasped against my lips.

  “Laura!”

  The dog leapt up and started to bark, I jumped. It was William, shoving the door open as fast as Cecelia could leap away from me, tugging her shirt straight.

  William seemed larger than ever in his winter wrappings, like a bear. His face was red with the cold and rage.

  “Get your things on, now,” he demanded, pointing at my coat and muffler. With a heavy gloved hand he pointed at Cecelia, his finger like the wrath of God. “Keep your fucking hands off my wife, or I’ll cut ‘em off and leave ‘em out for the wolves.”

  I stood up, fumbling for the coat, wrapping the muffler. I didn’t dare say a word. I think Cecelia was too shocked to speak and William had me by the arm, pushing me out into the white bareness of the prairie before I had a chance to look at her properly.

  He slapped me across the face, once, twice, a third time. My ears rang and the sudden cold on my flaming cheeks made my head ache.

  “Whore!” he shouted, the word flying out over the snow. He hit me and I fell back into the snow. The icy layer cracked under me, scraping my hands. Hot blood ran from my nose, getting into my gasping mouth, running over my chin and staining my muffler. I couldn’t get my breath, couldn’t get my trembling limbs to push me out of the snow. Any other day I’d have mustered the strength to put myself right, but this time I knew I deserved it. I’d kissed her, felt the powerful feeling that men must feel all the time. A feeling that wasn’t for me.

  Above me I heard the click of a rifle.

  He was going to kill me.

  “Leave her alone!”

  Looking up, I saw Cecelia, holding up her gun, stockinged feet buried in the snow. The earth tilted and she seemed to flow across the sky like smoke.

  “Don’t you point your fucking gun at me,” William growled.

  “You lay another hand on her, I’ll do more than point it.”

  I coughed and spat into the snow, feeling weak. I knew I was going to be sick. To my shame I started to cry.

  A shower of snow hit my face, it took me a moment to realise that Will had kicked it over me.

  “Stupid bitch,” he said, “get up.”

  “Leave her alone.”

  “Shut your mouth,” Will snapped, “Laura, get your ass out of the snow and come with me.”

  “She isn’t going anywhere with you.”

  Oh, if only that were true. I wanted to stay with her, more than anything. Going with Will meant more slaps, kicks, meant showing my battered face to the children and waiting for night when Will would hurt me all over again, just like when Jacob told him what we’d done. Only this was worse, far worse.

  I wanted her to wrap me up in her bed and put snow on my bruises, to put her arms around me and hold me the way no one had ever done, the way I’d always wanted to be held. I wanted her to disappear, taking what we’d done with her.

  But what else could I do? I couldn’t leave my children at home with him. There was no telling what he might do in a rage if he didn’t have me to blunt his anger on.

  I let him drag me to my feet and stumbled as he forced me to march along with him.

  I didn’t dare look back.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Laura

  It was Rachel who’d told him where I was. Will and Thomas had turned back before they ever reached Jamison’s, Will’s suspicious nature being what it was. William found me missing and demanded of Rachel where I’d gone, though of course he knew. When she refused to answer he’d cuffed her around the head and left her with a large sloe coloured bruise. She told him where I was. I couldn’t blame her for it. It was my fault she’d gotten hurt.

  I suppose everything looked the same. I cooked, I cleaned, I talked to the children and got them to do their daily tasks around the house. I fed Nora and combed Beth’s hair and put my girls to sleep each night. But over it all hung the threat of William’s boiling temper.

  Two days after he dragged me back from Cecelia’s he cornered me in the barn where I was strewing fresh hay. The door was closed to the frosty air, the barn dark and filled with the steamy breath of the oxen, the ripe smell of their shit and the heat from their skins. He hadn’t laid a hand on me since we’d been back.

  “Will-”

  He came towards me, pushed me into the corner and turned me round so my face was to the wall, the hay in its hanging net scratching my face.

  “Don’t, Will!”

  He pushed my skirt up and shoved me further forward, one hand planted on my back to keep me still, the other around my throat. I wanted to turn and fight him, to kick him and bite his hands and scratch his eyes out of his head, but I knew he’d kill me. My fury held my tears inside me until he was done heaving and pushing, half choking me. Without putting my skirts down he threw me to the dirty floor and went out into the snow.

  On the ground, surrounded by straw and shit and feeling like a dog trampled under a wagon, I felt a greater fear than I’d ever known. William had hurt me before, even forced himself on me, but now I knew there would be no end to it, not this time. I had gone too far and there would be no sobering light of dawn or a day good enough to make him forget. I rubbed my throat, knowing it would bruise.

  What made it worse was that Cecelia was only a mile or so away. Her house was the only thing I could see across all the snow. It looked like one of the grass houses Rachel built for her dolls. The urge to go to her was stronger than it had been as I’d lain in the snow. I thought of the gentle touch of her lips to mine, the way she’d clung to me – wanting her but afraid of what we’d done. Perhaps we could forget it, she could be my friend. I needed her, either way.

  But I wanted her.

  “Ma?”

  It was Rachel, carrying a bucket of fresh water. She stood in the doorway, looking down at me. “Are you hurt?”

  “No, sweet pea,” I dragged myself to my feet, tears at my own shame coming too easily to be held back.

  “Is Pa still angry at me?”

  I couldn’t talk, my throat was too thick.

  “I’m sorry I told him you went out.”

  I put my arms around her, smoothing her back, biting my lip to keep my sobs inside. She squeezed my waist tightly, hurting the bruises that coloured my skin under my dress. I didn’t care, I didn’t want to let her go.

  “You’re a good girl Rachel,” I managed, “Pa loves you very much, he was angry at me, that’s all, I promise.”

  “Why did you go to Mr Clappe’s house?”

  I stroked the softness of her braid, so like mine. I’d tied it only that morning, but it was already coming undone.

  “He’s our neighbour, Rachel. You know how important our neighbours are to us.”

  She pulled away from me slightly, looked up at me with her dark eyes. Since Christmas I’d seen warmth in them when she looked at me. I’d hoped that she was beginning to love me, that it would be easier for me to love her, as I had when she was small.

  “Why don’t we go back inside and start sewing up your quilt pieces?”

 
; Taking her little hand in mine I led her out into the cold, walking back towards the soddie. In the distance, Clappe’s house stood out like a small hill against the flat, frozen land. Further west, patches of tawny brown were showing through the white.

  Spring was coming.

  *

  As the weeks passed, the snow began to melt. The weather became mild and clear. Every time I went outside to haul water or clean out the pot I saw more and more mud and grass peeking through the snow banks.

  Every morning, once the chores were done with, Beth and Rachel took to the outside world like thirsty men to a pail of water. Running between the barn and the house, Rachel pretended to gallop like a pony, tossing her hair and whinnying. Beth followed after her, kicking at the ground and stamping on slush.

  The fear that had stuck like a fist in my throat for weeks gradually loosened, as William had more and more to do away from the house, though there was never a moment when I didn’t want to go to Cecelia and be comforted.

  Fingerlings of our new crops were raising themselves out of the wet earth, corn and wheat furred the land in a haze of green. There was ploughing and harrowing to be done so that the crops of root vegetables could be put in for harvesting that winter. Once more turnips took up our every waking moment and William, no longer at my side for every hour of the day, became a bearable jailer, plodding in the distance with the oxen.

  On the third day of our work in the fields, Jamison came riding towards us over the prairie. William stopped his work and turned to watch Jamison come closer.

  He hauled the dun coloured horse to a stop and reached up to brace his hat, a faded thing with a narrow, upturned brim.

  “What’s Mr Neaps doing here?” Thomas said.

  I didn’t answer, but I picked up my skirts and led the children with their seed baskets over to where Jamison sat, talking down to Will.

  “…in the barn,” Jamison was saying, “I’m hoping to get there for early evening. Tomorrow morning there’s a circuit rider coming through, lucky as hell. Want it done before I’ve got to get down to ploughing.”