Prairie Hearts

by J. B. Marsden

  Mary squinted and grunted. “Aye, every few minutes. Getting closer,” she said between panting breaths.

  “You’ve been through this afore. You look ready.”

  “Aye. Ready.”

  Carrie dipped a cloth from her kit into a bucket of cool water Hannah brought over, then swept it across Mary’s sweating forehead. She wiped her arms and neck. “I want to prepare you for the birthing. I have some oil for ye.” She lifted up the old dress. Carrie breathed deeply to calm her nerves.

  Mary’s eyes widened. “You’re the mannish one. What you doing to me?”

  Emma said, “She’ll prepare your birth canal for widening so it goes easier for you, Mary.”

  Carrie warmed oil by rubbing her hands together, then found Mary’s vaginal opening and massaged the warm oil around. “The oil helps to soften the skin so it’ll expand easier.” She smiled placidly at Mary while massaging. Emma was right. Even though the massage could conjure up other more intimate feelings, she felt nothing like that at all. Most of all, she wished the birth to go fast and well.

  Emma handed Hannah the chamomile tea in a cup. “Please take this to your mother. She’ll be more relaxed with you at her side, Hannah.”

  “Yes’m.”

  “How long have the pains been coming, Mary?” Carrie asked.

  “They started afore cock-crow. I didn’t let Daniel come to fetch ye till they got closer. Seemed a waste of your time.”

  Hannah helped her mother sit up to drink the tea.

  Still panting and perspiring, Mary said, “I go quick when things start. I can feel it won’t be long.”

  Carrie felt her belly. The bump lay low in the womb. Carrie looked to Emma, hoping she didn’t look at panicked as she felt. “I don’t think it will be long,” she said.

  Mary groaned mightily.

  Emma stood by with a pail of the hot water and cloths at the ready on the table.

  “Don’t push yet,” Carrie said, sitting between Mary’s legs. She massaged her calves, hoping to relax her against the pain.

  “I reckon y’all don’t need me in the way,” Mr. Morgan said, squeezing Mary’s hand.

  “Go on, Henry. You keep the cabin warm.” Mary patted Henry’s hand and motioned him away.

  “I’m here, Ma.” Hannah held her hand.

  “You’re a good girl. Oh, Lord ’a mercy.” More groans, then a stifled cry. Mary thrashed in the bed for some time as the pains increased in intensity. “I need to push.”

  “Now, Mary.” The head of the babe emerged. “Push now.” Carrie held the little head, then a very slippery body landed in her arms. “Emma.”

  Emma rushed over and took the babe into a warm blanket. It howled.

  “It’s a fine boy.” Carrie grinned.

  “A boy. Henry?”

  “A boy.” Henry grinned widely as he peeked into the bundle in Emma’s arms. Emma gave the babe to Mary.

  She looked lovingly down and uncovered the babe. “All looks good, husband. Got all his parts, fingers and toes. A nice head of hair. ’Bout your color.” Henry and Hannah crowded the bed.

  “Oh, Ma. He looks just like Pa. Dark eyes and hair. Isn’t he pretty?”

  Emma and Carrie cleaned up the bed after Mary delivered the afterbirth.

  “Now, go bury that for luck,” Mary told Henry, who obeyed, taking it out of the cabin while the baby wailed. “He has a good strong voice.”

  Carrie laughed with Mary. She felt giddy. All had gone well. No need for the embroidered linen sack. Her first midwifed babe.

  Mary brought the red-faced, squalling infant to her breast and coaxed him to suckle, which he did energetically. “This young’un’s mighty hungry,” she said, watching him carefully.

  Carrie and Emma finished their tending of the cabin and made a small supper for the family. The baby slept at Mary’s breast.

  Hannah gathered the boy and laid him carefully in his cradle. Henry came back into the cabin and came to Mary, stroking her head.

  “Thank ye, Miss Fletcher. You done a good job. I never had an easier time birthing. You’re a good midwife.”

  “You’re welcome, Mary.”

  Emma looked tenderly on Carrie. “I reckon we’ll head back. Hannah and Henry will feed y’all supper now.

  “I am pretty tuckered out. I’ll eat after all them.” Mary motioned to the other children, who trod down from the loft and eagerly scurried over to the cradle to peek at their new brother.

  They packed items into Carrie’s kit and left.

  Back at the cabin, Emma took Carrie into her arms. “How do ye fare, sweeting?”

  “I know it wasn’t me, but I feel I toiled hard this day. I’m tuckered out. But, also happy about this birth. I did it, didn’t I? Well…Mary did, but she was mighty pleased with me.”

  “Aye, sweeting. You did very well indeed.”

  Granny, Laura’s milch cow, also gave birth. A fine heifer, the preferred calf for all farmers—more milk, less aggressive than the male cow brute. Laura and James celebrated by letting the children pet it.

  “What is its name?” Sam asked.

  “Ain’t got one yet, Sammy. She’s pretty, like her momma.”

  They watched the calf suckle eagerly while Granny stood patiently.

  “Why does Granny lick her?” George asked.

  “She’s getting to know her. Also, she gets it clean from the birth.”

  George and Sam giggled. “Gosh a’mighty, Momma, we’re glad you don’t lick us to get us clean.”

  Laura smiled at them.

  James sternly reprimanded the boys. “Watch your language.”

  “Yessir.”

  “She’s such a pretty brown. I think her name’s Brownie.”

  “A good name, wife.”

  “Miss Dozier says a brownie is a sprite that lives in the house and does things in the night,” Josh said.

  Laura thought a minute. “Aye. And my ma called a girl brownie a meg. We could name her Meg.”

  “Then Meg it is,” James said.

  The children watched the calf cavort around Granny until Laura called them to get to their chores before candle-lighting.

  The talk after supper bent toward Christmas coming the next week.

  Laura loved to decorate the cabin to brighten up the oncoming winter. “We’ll bring in some evergreen limbs to put on the mantel. I’ll let y’all make some decorations, too.”

  “Miss Dozier said we’ll make some in school, too. She has pretty paper to make snowflakes. Can we get some pine cones, too, Momma?”

  “Aye, Sammy. Pinecones have such a nice smell.” Laura sewed in front of the hearth. Gerta and Sam played with carved animals. Josh tended his bow string with animal fat.

  Sam looked up from his play. “Will Saint Nicholas leave things in our stockings?”

  James stopped cleaning his gun. “Don’t get greedy. You know we leave out the stockings. You wait to see what he leaves. A small thing or two, I suspicion.”

  The boys asked all types of questions about where Saint Nicholas came from and how he’d find their cabin now that they had moved.

  Laura shook her head. Where she grew up, no saint came calling on Christmas. They were lucky to have an extra piece of meat for their feast. Her and James’s children had so much more. She’d made them all hats from Carrie’s rabbit furs and hid them in her clothes chest. They’d love them, nice and warm for what would likely be a colder winter than they’d known before.

  Winter scared her. Cold, snow. She didn’t know what to expect here on the prairie their first winter. Moose had tales, of course. She didn’t hold much with his yarns of snow up to the windows and howling winds that kept a body in the cabin for days. James had prepared well. He chinked any small holes in the cabin, added more firewood to the pile each day, and had laid by oats, corn, and wheat aplenty. He’d built up the small shed for the two cows. The hogs would have their pen, should they come in from the timber. He’d checked the chicken coop to keep foxes, raccoons, and wolves out.
When Moss Creek froze or they couldn’t get through the snow, they had a water barrel right next to the cabin now.

  All seemed right with the world. Josh’s leg had healed. None of them had caught ailments other than a cold. Boys skinned a knee here and there. ’Course James had his aches and pains. Permelia and Gerta grew like weeds.

  The boys kept busy with their new chores and now their book-learning. Miss Dozier taught her boys, Moose’s boys and girls, Thad, and all the other young’uns around at the meeting house in Locust Hill. The boys took Napoleon three days a week for their schooling. Josh read and did his sums, had his world and United States geography, and history. Miss Dozier gave him a Latin primer, which he worked through in the candlelight after supper. He read from other books to the younger boys. He had a fine head on his shoulders.

  George was another matter. Two nights ago, grumbling about his reading after supper, he said, “I don’t know why I have to go to Miss Dozier. I’m going to be just a farmer.”

  James answered, “A good farmer reads and writes all the time, Georgie. I didn’t have your schooling, so I lean on your Momma and Aunt Carrie to help me. I wished I’d learned.”

  “You do?”

  “I surely do.”

  Laura hoped James’s confession helped George keep up his schoolwork. Laura could help a little, but she had only the small learning Carrie had helped her with: reading the Bible, writing her name and all the children’s names, or a list for Moose’s. Reading came hard for her. Mayhap if she’d started young like George, it would’ve gone easier for her.

  Everyone got to bed. Gerta, more able to dress and undress herself, needed her less at bedtime, but they all still looked to her to come up and kiss them good night.

  Then the silence gave her peace of mind.

  James whittled more small animals for Christmas stockings, making a mess on the hearth. She brought out her knitting for the new babe, blankets and little clothes to stand the winter. She had saved eggs and butter to trade for Moose’s maple sugar candy, an extra Christmas treat for the family. She smiled, thinking about how her heart would warm to see their bright faces on Christmas morn.

  And what of Carrie? She looked so happy most times now. She had her own little household with Emma. They had their chickens and milking, their healing and midwifing. But what about this babe on the way? Laura’s chest tightened. Poor Emma attacked. Such an act was worse than anything she could think of for any woman to endure. She didn’t know what she’d do if she were the one in Emma’s predicament.

  Because the ground stood brown without any more snowfall, Emma was disappointed. She missed the pretty white Christmases of York State in the cozy company of her parents. Her father and mother never liked snow at the holiday, claiming it made travel dangerous and feeding livestock more difficult. She kenned the source of their fretting, but she loved the fluffy white making all the world look clean and fresh. As a child she spent happy hours playing in it. The neighbor boys always wanted snowball fights while she pled with them to play house with her.

  Now, as a grown woman, even worrying about Carrie out in the weather, she still reveled in snowy fields and timbers.

  Carrie stamped her feet as she came in, took off muddy boots, and slipped into her ratty moccasins. “Christmas will be cold, but dry, I think. Animals are all shut up for the night. What do they say? That on Christmas Eve, the animals talk?”

  Emma helped her remove her coat and hung it on the peg. “And what would they say, my dear?”

  “That it’s cold and they want their hay.”

  “Come in and warm up. Supper waits.”

  They ate hot soup.

  “Laura’s milch cow had a calf yestidy. A heifer, so James is happy as a pig in mud.”

  “Good for James and Laura.” Emma was boiling over with excitement about Christmas Eve. “When will we celebrate with our gifts? Our family always gave gifts Christmas Eve.”

  “Gifts?” Carrie feigned surprise with a twinkle in her eyes. “As young’uns, we didn’t get gifts much. Maybe a small toy or a piece of candy on Christmas morn. Saint Nicholas left it in a stocking we hung the night before. James and Laura do that with their brood. I reckon we’re not children waiting for stockings to be filled by some old man, though, are we? We’ll feast with the Strattons after the service in the morn. Let’s give our gift this evening.”

  “Aye. I have coffee and a pan dowdy we can eat while we give them,” Emma said, her face bright with anticipation.

  “You’re like James’s young’uns, all foolish, aren’t you?”

  “I confess, I love Christmas. I only hoped for snow.”

  Carrie grunted. “Not me.”

  “Go sit by the fire. No work tonight. We enjoy the fire and have a fun Christmas Eve.”

  After serving the coffee and helpings of the pan dowdy, Emma ran to her wooden chest.

  “I’ll be right back.” Carrie hopped up and opened the cabin door.

  “Don’t go out without your coat,” Emma called out after her.

  Carrie stepped out into the dark anyway, clad only in her wool sweater and moccasins.

  “I swan, you will be the death of me,” Emma whispered to the empty cabin. She collected her gifts wrapped in burlap.

  When Carrie came back into the cabin, she was empty-handed.

  Emma handed her the bundle. “Me first. Happy Christmas, my sweeting.” She kissed Carrie, running her hands down her back, feeling the strong muscles she loved.

  “It’s a might big.” Carrie shook the bundle. “Not breakable.” She shook it again, then unwrapped the burlap. “Oh, my.” She held up a rabbit fur cap and mittens, and knitted wool stockings. She clapped the hat on her head and put on the mittens. “Everything fits perfect. I’ll be warm this winter. Thank ye, honey. I love them.”

  Emma smiled widely. “I’m so glad.”

  After rustling in her pocket, Carrie handed Emma a small package. “Happy Christmas to you.”

  Emma looked at her lovingly as she unwrapped a necklace.

  “Moose found me a piece of stone that I polished.”

  The yellow stone shone in the light of the fireplace. “It’s beautiful. Oh, Carrie, what a lovely present.”

  “Let me put it on you.” Carrie stood behind Emma and laced the leather thong around her neck so that the gem fell just above her breasts. “Moose called it amber. It has a little piece of leaf preserved in it.”

  Emma eyed the tiny leaf. “Look how it glows in the light.” She leapt up, hugged and kissed Carrie. “What a wonderful present. It puts my gifts to shame.”

  “Now, pshaw. Your gifts have a use. Mine is for show. You may not want to wear it.”

  “Nonsense. I’ll wear it always as a reminder of your love. How romantic.”

  Carrie’s blush made Emma’s heart beat loudly.

  “Don’t be humble. You made a marvelous gift.”

  “Do I get a reward?”

  Emma took her hand and led her to the bedroom. “You most certainly do. I believe I get the same reward, my love.”

  They came together in a feast of loving touches and murmurs, then groans and releases.

  On Christmas morn, Carrie bent to put on her moccasins next to the bed, but found they had been replaced with a bright new pair. The new leather smell made Carrie smile.

  Emma, just arising, looked at her winsomely.

  “Where did these beautiful things come from? Who made them?” She held the mocs up, admiring the leatherwork that met her own high standards.

  “Before they left, Laban and Red Fox gifted James and Laura and you and me with new moccasins made by Red Fox.” Emma bent down and held up her own new pair. “Mine are lined with rabbit fur. They are so soft,” she said, rubbing her cheek against the fur.

  “Red Fox, eh?”

  “They told James it was a goodbye gift for our letting them hunt. For our hospitality. What a wonderful goodbye.”

  They rose, kissing good morning.

  After morning chores a
nd a quick breakfast, they joined their neighbors at the church service, led by Dixson. He read the Christmas story from the gospel of Luke. They joined in the usual singing of carols, and wished each other a happy day, then all went to their homes to feast.

  At James’s cabin, even as they shed their coats, the children danced around Emma and Carrie, showing them treasures from Saint Nicholas that had appeared this morning—carved animals and fur hats. Each child also had a piece of candy.

  When they settled around the hearth, Emma gave them each her knitted stockings and mittens. Carrie gave them each a leather toy and cornshuck dolls for the girls. The children whooped and cried out in pleasure, the adults looking on with indulgent smiles.

  Without being told to, each child gave Emma and Carrie a peck on the cheek and thanked them for their gifts. The boys played with their new toys.

  “I ’spect the dinner won’t cook itself,” Laura said as she put potatoes into the ashes.

  “I smell something wonderful.” Emma sidled up to Laura.

  “Roast pork. Applesauce. Peach cobbler for dessert.”

  “I made wheaten bread yesterday. I also brought a blackberry buckle.” Emma sliced up the bread. She had not felt so happy since Father’s death, even though she missed both her parents terribly today. She called to mind past Christmases in York State with their neighbors and her mother’s sisters and their families, who lived close on their own farms. The toys she played with, the special foods they ate, the smell of pine branches strung along the mantel.

  “What’s that little smile for?” Laura brought carrots to peel at the table and sat down, watching Emma cut bread.

  Emma sighed. “Remembering my youth in York State. Playing with a great many cousins on Christmas in the snow. My parents.” She wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

  While the women prepared the meal, Carrie and James sat in their own world near the fire, relaxed with pipes, and talked of the new calf and piglets that were growing.

  “I’ll come up to help you chink Emma’s cabin for the winter.”

  “That’d be welcome, thank ye, brother. We got the new moccasins from Red Fox.”