“Sad times call for sad speech.”
“Sad speech, aye, but not angry speech. I’m not angry at you, sweeting. I’m angry at God. My heart is filled with harsh indignation about God and His workings, taking both my parents at just the time when they were realizing their dreams. It…isn’t fair to snatch people from their happiness.”
“I reckon God can take your anger, Emma.”
“I don’t know. Mr. Wentz would stay me from being cross with God. He’d say I have no right to question the Almighty. But I can’t help myself. God turned foe to Father and Mother. Today I couldn’t keep from strewing my ire all around me, and you were in the direct path, I fear.”
Carrie smiled tenderly at her. “But my words cut off your—”
“Oh, my sweet.” Emma laid her head in Carrie’s lap. “Please don’t.”
Carrie ran her hand through Emma’s braids and sighed. “As you wish. I reckon we learned a little about sorrow.”
They remained some moments in silence. Carrie smoothed Emma’s hair. Emma closed her eyes and relaxed into Carrie’s tender touch.
At candle-lighting, with the chores done, Emma quietly made supper, the memories of Father and Mother still whirling through her head.
Carrie sat down to supper. “On the morrow we have the husking bee.”
Emma nodded, but said little the rest of the evening.
In bed, Emma cuddled close to Carrie until her even breathing signaled sleep. Emma rose, put on her wrapper, and sat in front of the fire. She brought out her knitting to finish socks for Carrie. When she finished the last stitches, she chastised herself for her morbid stewing over her losses, and, realizing she was quite tired from the extra harvest work, she climbed back next to Carrie, but slept uneasy in her grief.
Carrie thought of all the farmers at the husking bee as the usual crowd of neighbors, all friends—even Conner, praise be. His transformation was nothing short of a miracle. She’d said as much to Mr. Wentz at the last Sabbath meeting.
“God works in ways we cannot ken, Miss Fletcher. It was His work, not mine, that made him rue his evil ways. I pray mightily for him and I hope you do, too. His is a long path toward God. As all of ours is, each in our own sinful soul.”
“Aye, thank ye, Mr. Wentz. We do well to have your leadership among us, to keep us on the straight and narrow.”
Wentz patted her shoulder. “God leads us; we only are to follow.”
While Wentz would attribute Conner’s change to the Almighty, Carrie kenned a great deal of Conner’s turnaround stemmed from too much time to ponder in a dark place, shackled like an ox.
There he was. A helpful neighbor, working with Dixson on the bookkeeping about the harvest.
Dixson brought them all together. “Friends, I propose that one-tenth of the harvest be put aside for our village needs. To pay our preacher Mr. Wentz and our teacher Miss Dozier, and for road improvement and such.”
James nodded, as did Blanton.
Conner looked puzzled. “We all pay fer the school-marm even if we have no young’uns?”
Carrie tensed. Maybe he wasn’t so changed after all.
“Aye. Consider this a tax for the good of the whole community.”
“Put it to a vote,” James suggested.
Dixson conducted a vote and all the landowners, even Conner, voted the ten percent tax on the harvest.
At candle-lighting, the corn husking began.
Like the barn-raising, men were again divided into teams. Women collected husks and divided them among themselves much as the corn was divided, eager for the husks they used in a number of ways: mattress ticking, animal fodder and bedding, even in the privy. Carrie always made cornhusk dolls for Gerta for the holiday. This year she would make one for Permelia as well, who was crawling now and eating soft foods.
The men shouted encouragement to their teams, dividing the ears and feverishly tearing husks and corn silk, then throwing them over their backs, where the women gathered them quickly and tossed ears into a wagon.
Corn liquor passed freely, so the work got louder and rougher as the evening wore on. The men cavorted, pushed the other team members away from their ears, and a few playful fists were thrown. The prize for finishing first was a jug, not of corn liquor, but apple jack from Moose and Dixson’s apple orchard. In a few weeks they would all traipse to the orchard and have an apple bee.
The work seemed endless to Carrie. Her back ached from stooping to gather husks and pushing them inside burlap sacks. Each wife would take home several sacks that night.
When the shout went up from the team who had finished first, Moose came forward, holding high the jug of apple jack.
“Now the frolic will begin,” he shouted above the noise of the winning team.
Women placed the vittles on the plank tables, the corn liquor made the rounds, and Donner tuned his fiddle and played jigs.
Susannah Dixson sidled up to Emma, patting her belly bulging slightly under the large dress. “How do you fare, Emma? I’ve missed our friendly talks since I wed Caleb.”
“Me, too. How is your childbearing? Any problems?”
“A small bit of morning upset. I can’t complain. I feel more well than I ever have, which is quite surprising. Mother tells me it was like her bearing with all of us, my brothers and I.”
Emma peered around to see who was near them, then took Susannah’s arm gently and led her to a quiet, shadowy corner, away from the bonfire and the dancing. She inhaled deeply, feeling shaky. Susannah was the first one outside the Carrie’s family who would know. “I want to tell you something. It may shock you.”
Susannah raised her brows.
“The day Mr. Conner…” She cleared her throat “It resulted in…” She let the word hang.
Susannah frowned for a few moments, then blanched. “Oh, my dear friend. You carry that man’s child? How…Lord ’a mercy.” She grabbed Emma’s arm tightly.
“James brought him to us, asking forgiveness. With Dolly. In Springfield, both Mr. Kerr and Mr. Wentz tended him and each set him on the right path, telling him where he went wrong. Mr. Wentz, I suspicion, set the fear of Hades in him. He came to us quite contrite, his hat in his hand.”
“I see. That’s a surprising development. Unexpected for you as well?”
“Aye, very.”
“But, Emma, carrying his child…Have you told them? Who knows?”
“Only Carrie’s family, and now you. You have my permission to share the news with your mother. I want Elizabeth to know.”
“Miss Reynolds?”
Emma turned. Mrs. Morgan, whom she and Carrie had tended with fever before harvest, approached them. She smiled politely at her but bemoaned the interruption.
“I have some old dresses that may fit you, seeing you are my height.”
Nothing for it, but Emma had to clasp the bag Mrs. Morgan proffered. Most women would ask before bestowing personal items as hand-me-downs on another woman they hardly knew, and it peeved her to be thought as needing clothing. She summoned up an appropriately thankful tone. “I’m grateful, Mrs. Morgan. You look well.”
“Thank ye. My fourth child is on its way, as you may have heard. I hope you’ll tend me at the time.”
“I hope…Aye, of course. Either me or Miss Fletcher, who apprentices as midwife with me now.”
“Is that the young lady as stays with ye? The mannish one over yonder?” She pointed to Carrie standing with Laura, watching the dancing and sipping from a tin cup. “The one drinking hard spirits?” Mrs. Morgan sniffed.
Emma’s peeve raised a notch. Her pride in Carrie took over, nevertheless she kept her voice civil. “Miss Fletcher is one of the more outstanding citizens of our Locust Hill and Moss Creek. Always coming to the help of those in need. A hard worker.” Emma stopped before she inadvertently added, “And a tender lover.” “She and I are bosom friends, Mrs. Morgan, tending to my gardens and to the sick of our community, including you and your children.”
Mrs. Morgan eyed Emma
. “I meant nothing by it, Miss Reynolds. Her kind didn’t go over well in Virginia, is all. I’m surprised at how the community embraces her mannishness.” She straightened her shoulders. “I bid you good night.” She turned on her heel.
“It’s not very Christian of me, but I don’t like her.”
Emma chuckled. “Why, Susannah. You spoke my sentiments exactly.”
They smiled at each other. Then Emma decided to ask Susannah, “What do think about Carrie?”
“Oh, yes. Mrs. Morgan described her to a tee in her dress and manners, but, my dear, I can see her friendship makes you very happy. You smile more. You have someone to keep you safe. You share so much together. I’m happy to share you with Carrie. If, as you have told me many times in the past, you don’t wish to marry, a single lady must not live alone. She is the perfect mate for you then.” Susannah’s face then became more serious. “If she pleases you, Emma, then she pleases me, as your friend.”
Emma looked tenderly on Susannah. “Thank ye, my kind heart.” They hugged lightly. Emma drew back and smiled uncertainly. Her eyes looked to the men swinging their partners, while those at the perimeter clapped and sang along. Spirits were especially high, now that the harvest had officially ended with the husking bee, and her shoulders relaxed. Unless the winter were particularly brutal and long, every farm family here tonight would not starve through the bitter cold months to come. She threaded her arm through Susannah’s. “Let’s join in the frolic.”
Emma tucked a scarf around Carrie’s neck. “Make sure you keep warm. It’s blustery out there.”
Carrie batted her hands away from her neck. “I’m a grown woman. You dote on me like a ma.”
“Oh, my love. I’m nothing like a mother.” They kissed sweetly. “But I do dote on you.” Emma playfully patted Carrie’s rump.
“Emma!”
“Now, off with you. James and Blanton will wonder what became of you. Are Laban and Red Fox joining in this hunting trip? I worry about you all out in the wild overnight.”
“Aye, Laban and Red Fox’ll join us, but aren’t returning to Locust Hill. I forgot to tell you.”
Emma found herself surprisingly sad. “Oh, no.”
“They said it’s time they join Red Fox’s people over in Missouri State.”
“But Laban? Will he be safe there? I know he’s a freeman, still—”
“According to Moose’s news from the East, Missouri is a slave state since last year, but may not be so bent to enslaving colored people. They don’t have the cotton trade like the deep South. Cotton plantations take a lot of labor.” She shrugged. “I reckon Laban knows what he’s about, being more attached to the Kickapoo-reserved lands and Red Fox’s people than the whites out there.”
Emma fussed with Carrie’s blanket roll. “Aye. I’ll still fret about him. Now, do you have all that you need?”
Carrie grabbed the roll from Emma. “Yes’m. I’ve been hunting with James every fall for a few seasons. Now, kiss me goodbye.”
Emma brought Carrie into a fierce hug. “I’ll miss you.”
“You fret over nothing. Did I tell you Josh is going with us? His first fall hunt. James broke out the bow and arrow we got from Edwin Bluejacket down home and gave it to him a fortnight ago. He’s been practicing and, according to James, killed himself a wolf lurking around the chicken coop.”
“I suppose if Laura lets Josh go with you all…” She kissed Carrie deeply.
Carrie chuckled. “A kiss like that makes me want to come back safe.” She shouldered the roll on her back with a leather tie. “See you late on Wednesday.” Carrie pecked a swift kiss on her cheek and was out the door.
Emma sighed and waved to Carrie as she turned Maisey toward Moss Creek and waved. “Stay safe.”
Emma gathered her medicine bag and looked around the cabin. She couldn’t shake a foreboding about this hunting trip. Carrie could take care of herself. Her lingering doubt would not leave her, but she hoped her own trip over to the Illinois River, up by Dixson’s, to tend newly arrived pioneers, would occupy her mind this day.
On her way, she stopped at Dolly’s to ask about her pregnancy. Dolly assured all went well with her. So many women with child: Dolly, Elizabeth, Laura, now Susannah. Mrs. Winters. Mrs. Morgan was due soon. When Carrie returned from the hunting trip, she needed to continue Carrie’s midwife schooling. She pondered how long she could tend other women with her own body swelling. All but Mrs. Morgan now knew of her condition, but she would birth her child next month, well before her own time. Even so, Mrs. Morgan was to be Carrie’s first midwifing. Emma chuckled, imagining Carrie, “the mannish woman,” tending the woman who held her in contempt.
Emma nursed the new pioneers who had nothing more serious than fall colds, and wended her way back to her chores on the farm.
She made more candles, then turned to churning butter for trade.
After her chores with the livestock at candle-lighting, she made herself a light supper of stew made with mutton from Dixson’s sheep she had traded for eggs, butter, and cooking herbs, which Susannah was delighted to receive.
At bedtime, Emma felt especially lonely. The November wind stirred the trees outside and blew down the fireplace, making her wish for Carrie’s solid presence and warm, tender touches. Carrie slept out in the weather this night with only tree branches for shelter. She fretted for her a little, then slept.
The next day, the wind turned considerably colder. When would the first snow fall? Moose had a pot of money on his plank countertop that held bets among the men, their dates written on a piece of brown paper. She smiled, thinking of both the good fortune of the man who would win and the simultaneous bad fortune of freezing winds blowing snow. As she milked, she shivered and nestled closer to Millie’s warm side.
Near midafternoon, she made her way over to Moose’s with her butter. She didn’t have any needs this day, but Moose would credit their account, which already held her share of her farm’s wheat and corn harvests.
“Good morrow, Emma.”
“Moose. How do you fare?”
“Getting my stores stocked for the cold ahead. Do you come to trade?”
“I don’t need anything this day. Just to put this butter on my credit.”
“It’s a mite lonesome with all the menfolk off hunting. Are you on your own out there at the farm?”
“Aye. I couldn’t stop Carrie from the trip with James, Blanton, and little Joshua.”
“Josh goes, does he? Bow and arrow?”
“Aye.”
“It’s the way out here. Boys start with a bow afore they can be responsible to shoot a rifle. The rifle takes a man’s strength. Well, Miss Carrie does it powerful good, for a woman.” He busied himself with stacking goods on his meager shelves. “Sure you ain’t interested in this nice rabbit fur Laban brung in? Make mighty fine hats and mittens.”
Emma stroked the soft fur of the pelt he held. “Now you mention it, Carrie could use warm mittens. I sent her off without anything warm for her hands. She traded away all her own furs, I think.”
“Hard to shoot a rifle with mittens, Miss Reynolds,” Moose said, smiling mischievously.
“Moose, you make fun of me. I know about rifles from Father.”
“’Course you do. I was just funning with ye, as ye say. This here pelt looks like one of Laban’s best work, nicely finished off, softer than most I get from the trappers hereabouts.”
“I trust your word, Moose. I’ll take it.”
Moose’s grin split his face. “Good choice, Miss Reynolds. Are you set for coffee and tea? How about grinding your corn? I got new tin graters in.”
“Oh. Tin? Let me see.” She marveled at the handheld grater for kitchen work. “How much?”
“They come cheap. I reckon your butter covers both the fur and the grater with some left for credit.”
Emma left with her new rabbit fur and the grater, intending to take the rest of the day to grind cornmeal.
That night’s wind blew harder than
the night before. Emma stewed about the hunting party out in the weather again. She hunkered near her fire all evening, darning socks.
Later, she remembered Mrs. Morgan’s dresses so blithely “handed down” to her. She had to admit they fit her. Two of the five dresses were fine woolen frocks, which would come in handy this winter. She regretted that she had misjudged Mrs. Morgan’s intentions as foisting inferior, ratty clothes on her. After putting the dresses in her trunk, she tidied up the cabin and sat watching the fire for a time. Carrie thoughtfully had laid firewood outside the door, and Emma thus would spend another night snug while poor Carrie shivered in her makeshift hunting camp.
On the morrow, close after morning chores, horses on the trace surprised her. The whole hunting party alit their mounts.
James carried Josh in his arms.
“We need your nursing, honey.” Carrie led James into the cabin.
“What happened?” Emma rushed to James’s side, where Josh looked down on her with a pale face, moaning softly.
“He got shot.”
Emma’s heart raced. Shot! “Lord ’a mercy.” On his first hunt. How did they let the boy get shot?
James laid Josh down on the small bed.
She quickly went to his side. His leggings were split and blood caked his right leg. “James, you stay with him. Carrie, boil some water. I’ll get my kit.”
“I’ll fetch Mrs. Stratton,” Blanton called as he left the cabin.
Carrie and Emma scurried.
“I got the bullet out of his leg last night. We cleaned it best we could. He bled some on the ride this morning. We hightailed it out of the camp afore sunrise.” Carrie filled the pot over the fire hob with water.
“You did what you could. Let me see it.” Emma mopped the seeping blood. The shot entered his calf in the fleshy part. She probed around the wound. “Sorry, Josh,” she said when he cried out in pain.
Prairie Hearts Page 20
