Prairie Hearts

by J. B. Marsden

  “Aye. He does beautiful work.” James straightened in his chair and cleared his throat. “I do have a piece of bad news.”

  Carrie’s squinted.

  James lowered his voice. “Moose got word from a traveler that some whites led an uprising in Missouri where the Kickapoo camped. White settlers tracked Laban down, thinking he’d stolen from them. They figured he was a runaway slave and they’d teach him a lesson, the traveler tol’ Moose. The mob took him. I am sorry to say they lynched our friend Laban.” James hung his head and let his pipe smolder.

  Carrie fell silent. After a few moments, she whispered, “Don’t let’s tell the others today. It’s a day of celebrating.”

  “Aye. I thought you needed to know.”

  “I can’t believe it. We fretted but I hoped Laban knew what he was about.”

  “It coulda happened here if Conner had been let loose when he was in his cups. Remember the barn-raising? How Conner ranted at them both.”

  “But, how could the Kickapoo let him be taken?”

  “The Injuns fought back, but the whites had better rifles and threatened them. They backed down only then.”

  “Do you reckon Injuns grieve like we do? Does Red Fox regret bringing Laban with him, I wonder?”

  Carrie and James quietly smoked their pipes, both staring into the flames.

  By the time they all sat down at the table, the children had calmed.

  James led them in the blessing for the year and for the feast, clasping hands around the table.

  “And don’t forget the presents,” Sam whispered.

  “And for the little gifts from Saint Nicholas and the aunties,” James ended.

  Before the food passed down the table, Emma brought her new necklace out from her bodice. “Did I show you what Carrie made for me?”

  Laura oohed and ahhed. James nodded disinterestedly.

  Carrie could barely manage a small smile to go with her hot face.

  Sam leaned over. “That’s shiny.”

  “That it is.” Emma let him take a closer look.

  Laura said, “Right nice present, sister. Pretty.”

  “Amber. Moose found it for me. Lots of amber on toward northern Illinois, he said. Some trader brought it in afore Christmas. I liked it right off. Polished it a little, bored a small hole for the leather that I tanned.” She blushed at the adoring look Emma gave her.

  Laura smirked, then filled Gerta’s plate. Permelia sat with them on Laura’s lap, gumming soft potatoes and gurgling happily.

  In between bites of the many foods on the table, they chatted quietly. After eating, the children went back to their toys. The adults sat around the hearth and sighed with full bellies.

  Carrie wondered how she would break the news about Laban to Emma, not looking forward to making their way back to Locust Hill. She knew Emma would parse out her mood, as Emma did often when Carrie wanted to hide her feelings. She knew her so well.

  Carrie worked hard in the winter blast that came at the beginning of the new year. She shoveled snow, fed goats, chickens, and Millie, chopped firewood, and helped James chink the cabin’s few holes to keep out the biting wind. Emma constantly urged her out of the weather, ruing the woman’s stoic, stubborn need to do the chores without stopping.

  In the first week of January, one late afternoon as the sun set the sky orange and yellow, a knock on the cabin door brought Dixson.

  “Anne Winters. Charles sent me. It’s her time. Susannah’s with her now.”

  “Thank ye, Caleb. We’ll be along as soon as we get our kits.”

  “I’ll saddle Titan and Maisey, if it’d please ye.”

  “Aye, thank ye.”

  Dixson ran off to the barn where the horses were sheltered from the bitter wind.

  Carrie and Emma rushed to gather their midwifing kits. Emma had taught Carrie to have her kit filled with necessary items at all times, and she was grateful Carrie had heeded her warning.

  They tugged on all their winter gear and wrapped scarfs around their mouths and noses. Carrie put on her new mittens and cap. When they left the cabin, the wind whipped her face and took her breath away. Her nose immediately froze despite the warm scarf.

  Dixson led them down the trace, where snow piled five feet in some spots along the side. It hadn’t snowed so much, but the prairie winds blew it into deep drifts in low areas and against trees and the cabin. Titan and Maisey plodded through smaller drifts. One large drift hit the horses’ bellies. They lurched and nearly threw Emma. Dixson reined in and called back over the wind, “How do ye fare?”

  “Fine, Dixson. Keep going.”

  They got the horses settled before plowing through higher drifts ahead. Steam blew out their snouts and they breathed deeply. Carrie flexed her fingers against the cold. She looked over to Emma, whose eyes smiled under her green scarves.

  The horses took twice the normal time to make it to Winters’s two-room cabin up near the Dixson farm.

  Dixson tended to Titan and Maisey, who panted and huffed against the wind.

  Carrie and Emma stamped and brushed snow, shed their layers, and warmed their hands before Charles and Anne’s roaring fire. Carrie found Susannah wiping Anne’s forehead in the bedroom off the main room.

  “Susannah, thank ye for staying.”

  “What can I do?” Charles asked.

  “Keep the fire stoked,” Emma answered.

  He went out the cabin door, letting in a blast of cold air.

  “We’ll need a pot of hot water, rags set out, and a teakettle started.” With a nod, Susannah hurried out to the water barrel.

  Carrie stood next to the bed, taking Anne’s hand. “You can relax. Emma and I’ll make it go as easy as possible.”

  Anne nodded and smiled tightly against a wave of contractions.

  All evening, the three women bustled around Anne, bringing water and broth, wiping her sweaty brow, and speaking words of encouragement and comfort as she dealt bravely with the contractions, coming now in quick succession.

  Susannah fed supper to Caleb and Charles, who then decamped to Dixson’s cabin a few hundred feet away on the same property.

  Carrie felt more relaxed now that her first midwife experience had gone so well. Emma said that, it being Anne’s first birth, she would most likely take longer. Carrie sat patiently watching Anne’s face contort.

  She rubbed on the oil.

  Emma gave her chamomile tea.

  About 2:00 a.m., the baby’s head appeared in the birth canal. Carrie waited for it to slip into her hands when Anne pushed, but it did not.

  Carrie called quietly to Emma.

  Emma exchanged places with Carrie between Anne’s legs and looked with a frown up at her. “Get my small knife,” she whispered.

  Susannah eyed Carrie, who stepped quickly past her to Emma’s kit and drew out the three-inch knife.

  Carrie kept her eyes locked on Emma’s actions. Emma drew the babe’s head out of the birth canal by cradling it with both her hands. “Carrie, cut right here.” She pointed to the blue neck of the child where the cord wrapped around it.

  Carrie gulped, inhaled a deep breath, and shook out her right hand, then drew the knife under the cord and cut upward slowly until a small gush of red blood erupted from the blue cord.

  The baby slid into Emma’s hands, its face reddening, and they both cried in relief.

  “A fine baby girl, Anne.” Emma tied off the cord. “You did fine, sweeting.” She patted Carrie’s arm.

  At sunrise, all the cabin cleaned, a breakfast made, and Charles and Anne adoring their new babe, Emma and Carrie made their way home.

  “Does the cord get tangled often? The babe wouldn’t have lived without your quick work.”

  “It happens at times. Anne’s babe was only my second time seeing the strangle, as the granny in York State called it.”

  “You were Johnny-on-the-spot.”

  “And you handled the knife very well indeed.”

  “Will you ever tell Anne and C
harles what happened?”

  “I don’t need to worry them. A bit of bad luck, just the babe getting tied up in the womb, nothing anyone could have done differently.”

  They did their morning chores but tiredly stayed in the cabin the rest of the day, resting from their labors.

  Carrie fretted about Emma’s birthing.

  Emma’s pregnancy began to weigh her down. She found she couldn’t walk but rather waddled to gather eggs and do the milking. January snows came and the wind whipped around the cabin.

  “My new hat is welcome. But the wind throws ice against my face.” Carrie stood next to the fire. “I never saw such wind. Nothing to stop it blowing across the fields.”

  The February prairie winds bit only slightly less than the January ones, but they had had very little snow. Carrie reveled in not having to shovel it, but the unrelenting brown and gray of trees and prairie grasses depressed Emma.

  She sighed one day while washing clothes. Carrie had built a large fire in front of the cabin and set the cauldron of water to heat. Emma rubbed her back before tackling the clothes in the water.

  Carrie eyed her. “Are you well? You look peaked to me.”

  “Aye. Tired. I don’t have my usual energy.”

  Carrie hugged her and looked down between their bodies. “I suspicion I know the reason.” She chuckled.

  “Why are you happy all the time?” Emma pulled away abruptly. “I can’t take your sunny moods while I…I do all the work of having this child.”

  Carrie blanched. “Honey. I’m sorry…”

  Emma fiercely dug into the water, grabbed one of Carrie’s shirts and flung it on the scrub stone. “Just go away and leave me to the washing.” She closed her eyes against the tears streaming down her cheeks. She sniffled into her sleeve, then beat the shirt like it had harmed her. She was taking out her discomfort on Carrie, but there was nothing for it. She huffed and scrubbed until the shirt looked clean, then flung it into a cool water bath. It felt cold out here, a cold drizzle chilling her bones, and her back strained every time she bent over.

  Carrie clasped her hand. “You go into the cabin. I will do the washing.”

  “No.” She refused to let go of her usual chores. “I’m not an invalid.”

  Her hand was gripped by Carrie’s stronger one. Carrie spun her around and hefted her into her arms.

  “Put me down. This instant.” Emma squirmed.

  She struck out at Carrie’s head. Carrie hugged her into her torso, opened the cabin door, and strode to their bed, where she dumped her.

  She swung her hand and clapped Carrie on the shoulder. “You!”

  Carrie leaned close to Emma’s face, holding her shoulders down. “You heed me, now. I’ll not be your boxing boy. I see you, dog-tired, rubbing your back. You will take a nap. I’ll not budge from this cabin until you take off your frock and get under those covers.”

  Carrie’s crossed arms and fierce look stayed Emma from a sharp retort. She burst into tears.

  Carrie embraced her, running her hands along her back, stroking to soothe. She rocked their bodies, cooing and whispering into Emma’s ear.

  Emma finally released her anger, sniffled some more, and rested in Carrie’s warm arms.

  “I’m going back out to finish the shirts. You get under the covers. I’ll make us some supper anon.”

  “I love you,” Emma said between sniffling hiccups.

  Still caressing her back, Carrie said, “I know, honey. Now be a good girl and get some rest. It’ll do you good.” She patted down Emma’s hair and left the cabin.

  Emma slept away the afternoon, waking up to the rain pattering down. The clothes hung from strings across the cabin, the fire burned brightly.

  Carrie wasn’t in the cabin.

  She dressed and walked to the table where she spotted a small paper. In Carrie’s block printing she read, Gone to Mumford’s. Nancy stopped by. Their brood has spots. Mayhap measles. DO NOT COME!

  “It ain’t the pox?” Nancy wrung her hands.

  Carrie looked over three of the Mumford’s children.

  “They all came down with colds Sunday last. I dosed ’em up with teas, put ’em to bed. But today, they started coughing hard. Gave ’em honey for sore throats. Then them red spots come out.”

  After checking each child’s torso, looking into their mouths, and putting her head to their chests to hear how their cough sounded, Carrie knew. “This here’s English measles, Nancy. Do their eyes hurt?”

  “Aye.” Nancy’s eyes brightened. “I should’a knowed. Thank the Lord it ain’t the pox.”

  “Not much to do for them. Keep them warm so the spots come out. They may take a chill, so keep the fire up. Pour tea down them with honey.”

  “Michael had ’em down home afore we pioneered. Just a wee one, he was. I see now it’s the same as he had.”

  “Does Miss Dozier know? I reckon the whole school breathed the same air.”

  “I’ll get Michael over to the meeting house to tell her. She’ll want to dismiss learning.”

  Michael took off running down to the meeting house.

  Carrie helped Nancy give the children tea with honey. They blanketed the windows to darken the cabin.

  Carrie and Nancy wiped down the children’s perspiring faces and waited for Michael to return.

  After some minutes he banged in the door, panting.

  “Keep quiet, boy. Your sister and brothers are sleeping.”

  “Sorry, Ma.” He caught his breath. “Miss Dozier said that nearly half the students didn’t show up today. Said several had bad colds and those who did come sniffled and coughed up a storm.”

  “Did she say about the Strattons?” Carrie heart leapt in her throat.

  “They wasn’t there.”

  “I need to get down to Moss Creek. Laura likely has her hands full.”

  Carrie ran out, hopped on Maisey, and cantered to Emma’s. “Honey?” she called.

  Emma came out of the bedroom with a pile of sheets for washing. “What is it? Measles?”

  “Aye. I need to get to Laura. You know about measles and women carrying a child. I had ’em when I was little, so I can’t get it again. How about you?”

  Emma paled. “I never had measles. I had some mild chicken pox, but that’s all.”

  “You stay here in this cabin, away from Miss Dozier’s students. If any show up, don’t let ’em near you. Ye hear me?”

  “I won’t, sweeting. Let me help you get some tea leaves to take down. What other families? Elizabeth has Thad. I hope he’s not got it.”

  “I asked Nancy’s Michael to go around the families and warn them to stay home from school. They may think they only have colds, ’cause it takes a few days for the spots to come on. Measles spreads when the ma thinks her young’un has only a cold, Mabel Good learned me.”

  They bustled and assembled turmeric powder and yarrow leaves.

  “The yarrow should be used sparingly, tell Laura.”

  As Carrie rode to Moss Creek, she envisioned all the children suffering, perhaps making Laura ill. Measles could make a babe deaf, or worse could cause miscarriage, and she fretted about both Laura and Emma.

  At the cabin, she found Laura in the loft tending to Sam and Gerta.

  “It’s measles!” Carrie burst up the ladder breathlessly.

  Laura turned. “I know.”

  “You do?”

  “Aye. Remember Josh and George had measles when they were small tykes?”

  Carrie stopped at the loft floor, standing on the ladder. “They did. I forgot. I brought some yarrow and turmeric powder to help with the aches and fever. Do you want me to blanket the windows?”

  “Aye. That would be a help.”

  Carrie hesitated before asking, “Have you had measles, Laura?”

  Laura gave her a puzzled look. “I don’t reckon I know. I didn’t catch it from the boys back when they had it, so I must’ve had it sometime.”

  “Well, if you haven’t, it could harm your babe
.”

  “I’ve heard such. I never got it last time. James had a mild case, not as bad as the boys. But I never come down with it then. I must’ve had it afore. You can’t get it twice, now, can you?”

  “No. Only the once.” Carrie breathed a sigh. “How are they?” Gerta, who had just turned three, most concerned her. Measles could go badly for wee ones.

  “They been sleeping a lot but were restless in the night. I been giving them plenty water and tea. They don’t have a high fever but been complaining of sore throat. I dosed the tea with honey. ’Course we can’t get more honey with winter set on us. Josh got all he could of the honeycomb afore the cold weather set in. I think our honey will hold out.”

  “We have some left at Emma’s I can bring, though we used quite a bit for the sweets we made at Christmas.”

  Measles infested the cabins of Locust Hill and Moss Creek like the plague. Tamsen Dozier closed the school until the worst had passed. Most of the children in families along the creek came down with the spots along with a cough, sore throat, and red eyes. Carrie ran from cabin to cabin delivering turmeric and yarrow and sharing all the rest of their stock of honey with wives who’d run out.

  On the fifth day of the epidemic, Emma made Carrie stay home. “You’ve run yourself ragged, sweeting. You look about to drop where you stand.”

  “But—”

  “No arguments. Families know to come for our medicines if they need them.”

  “I ’spect I’ve got to most all of them. This morn, I called on Susannah. She’s ’bout to burst with that babe.”

  “Thad down with measles concerns me. I fear for her.”

  “Me as well. Mabel said measles is worse for women early in their time. Mayhap she’s too far along for fretting. Dolly Conner, though, has only two months, and you and Laura both have five. Laura’s not going to get them, and I pray to the Good Lord you’ll fare well.”

  Emma convinced Carrie not to ride around the circuit of neighbors for the next two days. Two men from up on the Illinois River stopped by for medicines.

  “Thank heavens we laid by so much from our gardens. The yarrow holds out well. The turmeric’s about gone.”