Prairie Hearts

by J. B. Marsden

  Around two in the afternoon, Emma’s water broke and the contractions came on hard. As this was a day Dolly didn’t come, Carrie galloped to Conner’s and came back with Dolly riding behind her on Maisey.

  Carrie’s heart was in her throat with excitement and a tinge of fear. Her own Emma was about to bring a babe in the world. She paced around the cabin, forgetting how to prepare for a birthing mother. Then she got herself in hand, found her midwife kit, and did the usual work to calm Emma down, as she’d done for Mary, Elizabeth, Susannah, and Laura.

  Dolly put water to boil, laid out the teas Carrie would use, and tidied up from breakfast.

  Later that afternoon, wood chopping sounded from outside.

  Dolly looked at Carrie. “Conner thought you could use more firewood. He’s milking the cow and goats, too.”

  “That’s…Thank him for me. I forgot about the milking, and more firewood is well met.”

  Another contraction sent Emma into cries of pain.

  Carrie stroked her cheek and wiped sweat off her face.

  The water on the hob boiled over and hissed in the fireplace. Carrie ran to take the pot off. She made more chamomile and red raspberry tea, and helped Emma sip some of each. Then she stroked Emma’s arms and cooed calming words.

  After the last contraction, Emma panted and tears welled up in her eyes.

  More contractions came and Emma couldn’t speak for the next thirty minutes. Dolly had gone out to the coop and had yet to return.

  “Are you still certain you want to give this babe up?”

  “Aye.” Emma lay spent in the bed. “Aye. It’s the right thing. I feel at ease with this decision.”

  “If you’re certain.” Carrie opened the door, surprised to find Dolly sitting on the step, no eggs in her apron, and Conner sitting next to her. They jumped up with questions in their eyes.

  “Conner. Dolly.” Carrie stood still in the doorway. “Come in. All goes well.”

  Emma let out a loud cry. Carrie rushed to her with back rubs and comforting words. Conner left the cabin quietly. In a while, the ring of chopping came from outside again.

  Dolly readied blankets and rags and laid out Carrie’s other items from the midwife kit.

  Emma whispered, “Tell Dolly to come.”

  When Carrie led Dolly into the small room, Emma said in a weak voice, “We…are certain we’re all doing the right thing. You and Conner will love it just as much, if not more, than we could. It’s your husband’s child. It belongs in your family.”

  Dolly wept openly.

  “Aye, Dolly. Don’t cry now.” Carrie patted Dolly’s back. “Let’s get this babe into the world first.”

  Dolly wiped her cheeks, nodded, and cooked supper.

  Emma struggled another four hours in labor.

  Carrie tended her, watching the contractions, Emma’s color, and where the babe now sat low in Emma’s body.

  Finally, the head appeared and Emma pushed with a loud cry.

  The babe came through the birth canal into Carrie’s hands. Her heart pumped wildly. She tied off the cord, took the blanket from Dolly, and wrapped the little girl.

  Carrie giggled. “A fine little girl.” Its wails filled the air.

  Emma smiled, exhausted. “A girl. I knew it. She has good lungs.”

  Dolly took the bundle and wiped away at the birth covering, the babe wiggling on the table, then wrapped it back up in its blanket and placed it on Emma’s breast. She immediately suckled.

  “Look at her. She’s beautiful.” Emma stroked her head.

  Carrie peeked at the babe, who looked anything but beautiful to her, all red, bald, and wrinkled like an old man.

  Emma looked up to Dolly. “What name?”

  “Why, Emma, ’course.”

  Her tears flowing, Emma cradled the suckling little girl. “Emma. Our Little Emma.”

  Watching Emma feed the babe, Carrie’s own tears came then, from happiness or sadness, she couldn’t tell. Mayhap a combination. Happiness that Emma had birthed a healthy babe and was herself safely delivered. But sadness at the loss of a dream of mothering a child. Of she and Emma being a family together in that way.

  Dolly cleaned up the mess of birth, then left the cabin.

  She came back in with Conner and they carefully crept to Emma’s side.

  Emma smiled at them both. “Here’s your little girl, Emma Conner.”

  The next day, Laura sat watching Emma nurse Little Emma. “I am relieved to hear it, but how do ye fare, now it’s decided?”

  Emma and Carrie, both with tears coursing down their cheeks, petted the babe.

  “Sister, you helped us think on it. You said it best: How would we have explained having a young’un? Two women and not a man in sight. Emma would’ve had to tell the tale over every time she met new people. We would endanger her every time we came back from tending a sickbed.” Carrie wiped at her wet cheeks. “And the Conners. All the sorrow that they endured this year. They sorely want a young’un.”

  “What will you do now?”

  “We talked with them. I’ll continue to feed little Emma until she’s ready for soft food. Dolly’ll take care of her while she grows with us, I ’spect around four or five months. She’ll have three mothers for a while. It’s fitting.”

  “Fitting, mayhap. But, can you give her up?”

  Carrie blinked back her tears. “It’s the right thing, sister. For all of us. Conner takes responsibility for his babe. Dolly gets a babe. We go on with our healing, tending our herb gardens. We’ll be little Emma’s special aunties.” She choked.

  Emma gave the babe to Laura and took Carrie in her arms. “Aye, sweeting, the last thing we may want to do. It hurts like a knife.”

  “Yet, it is the right thing. The fitting thing.” Carrie wiped her eyes and sniffled.

  Little Emma grew chubby. Her gray eyes were her father’s, her hair her mother’s deep chestnut. And the rest was just Little Emma. Expecting jealousy, Emma found none in Dolly. All three of the women cooed and nursed, changed and bathed the babe. Whoever who was closest at hand cared for her.

  Gradually, Little Emma spent more time with the Conners. First daytimes, then overnight, not fussing over the changes, but giggling and smiling all the while.

  To Carrie’s mind, Little Emma’s taking to them all spoke of God’s plan for them.

  Emma and Carrie planted a much larger herb garden, along with the usual acre of vegetables. They continued to tend the sick, injured, and the birthing mothers of Locust Hill, Moss Creek, and the other small communities that sprang up along the creeks of the prairie.

  By late summer, Little Emma sat up, blabbered, and giggled at small games Carrie would play with her. Dolly made little dresses from dress remnants and watched over her while Emma and Carrie did their gardening, milking, churning, and other chores. Little Emma loved them all, coming to each of the three “mothers” willingly, being dandled on their knees, and giving sloppy kisses.

  When the babe began to take porridge at breakfast and broth at supper, it was time.

  The evening before Dolly and Conner would fetch little Emma, Carrie and Emma cried together.

  “We can go visit, honey. She’s but a few minutes on horseback. Not much of a walk. She won’t forget us.”

  Between sniffles, Emma cried out, “How do you know? She’ll be their daughter now. Why did we agree to this?”

  Carrie tenderly rubbed Emma’s back. She kept quiet. Emma’s question was not meant to be answered.

  The next morning, Emma and Carrie rose, quiet during chores and breakfast.

  “What toys to send with her, honey?” Carrie pointed to the stash of cloth balls, the cornhusk doll, and wooden blocks in “Little Emma’s corner.”

  Emma packed dresses, baby blankets, booties, and caps into a burlap bag. “Keep the cornshuck doll you made and the blocks, since James carved them for her. She can always bring a toy from Conner’s.”

  Carrie did as Emma suggested. “I’ll send all but one spoo
n and small trencher.”

  “Whatever you think’s best.” Emma didn’t look at Carrie.

  Carrie embraced her. “It’s a hard day. But we will do fine. She loves us all.”

  Emma sniffed into a kerchief and nodded, then completed the packing.

  Later that morning, Dolly and Conner rode in on their new wagon.

  Little Emma gurgled in Emma’s arms and went to Dolly easily.

  Dolly nodded to them.

  Carrie and Emma, their tears dried and their hearts as ready as they could make them, kissed Little Emma on the cheek.

  “We’ll be by in a week to see her, if that suits you,” Emma said.

  “You come whenever you like,” Dolly said. She smiled, not a proud smile, but a tender one.

  Carrie smiled back wanly, glad that Dolly kenned their hearts.

  In the days after little Emma went to the Conners’, Carrie and Emma moped around the cabin.

  “I miss her sounds and smell,” Emma said.

  “Mayhap not all her smells.” They both chuckled.

  Emma sighed, picked up messes from Little Emma’s visit yesterday, and wiped down the table where she’d spilled water and porridge. “Do you think it will get easier? Dolly is so devoted to her. Will we be set aside? Not important to the babe as time goes on?”

  Carrie sat Emma down from her wandering the cabin with the cleaning rag. “Look at me.”

  Emma cast sad eyes on her.

  “You carried this child for the duration. Only you can know how it goes for you.” She took Emma’s hands in her own. “I ken your loss is greater than mine ’cause of your burden. But I also ken Dolly’s goodness. We can be special aunties. You see me with James’s young’uns, how it is. We share a special love. And we, my honey, will have that special love with Little Emma as well. I promise you.”

  Sadness fell away from Emma’s face, replaced by tenderness. She came into Carrie’s arms and they rocked together. “We will make special time for this wee one. Promise me?” she murmured into Carrie’s shoulder.

  “Aye. We will.”

  As summer progressed into fall, Emma and Carrie got more used to little Emma being a Conner. They doted on her, though, like spoiling aunties, and took her for regular overnight sleeps at their cabin, but only when no disease riddled the countryside with the pioneer shakes or other summer fevers.

  Laura and Adam visited, Permelia toddling along. Today was a visiting day for Little Emma, now six months old.

  “He grows into a fine babe.” Carrie rode Adam on her leg like a horsey. He giggled.

  Carrie sat Little Emma and Adam aside one another on her lap. Even though two months older, Adam weighed several pounds less than Little Emma. Both ate soft foods, and Laura and Carrie fed them porridge with mashed strawberries. Both babes gabbed and giggled and reached for their spoons. Adam looked more like James every day, dark and stoic.

  “How do ye fare? Little Emma is happy as a lark.”

  “Aye, it works well, we think. She comes over once a week, gives Dolly a chance to do her own work at the cabin. We play and cuddle when we can. With our bigger garden and more goats, the chores take longer, so it works for us.”

  One night, after tender lovemaking in their bed, Carrie drew Emma to her shoulder. “We have built a fine life, honey.”

  Emma sighed and laughed.

  “Why are you giggling?”

  “I remember a gangly girl in men’s breeches who I met at Moss Creek. Very shy, she was. But she had these beautiful eyes and a smile that lit up my heart.”

  “I remember the same about another girl. One who talked high-minded, like she had schooling. Who looked at me in a way that made my stomach flutter and my tongue stick in my mouth.”

  “I recall a dance at Dixson’s wedding, where you tromped on many a foot.”

  Carrie turned and began to tickle Emma.

  Emma whooped. “Stop. Stop.”

  “If you didn’t like my dancing, why did you drag me up for another reel or country dance?”

  “Stop.”

  They both panted with the exertion and laughed.

  “I fell in love with you that night. All dressed in fine clothes. Stumbling, but grinning the whole time. Your gay, smiling face drew me in and I loved you.”

  Carrie pondered her words. “I fell for you when you first stepped into the new cabin at Moss Creek. Looking like a cake, fancy frills on your dress like I’d never seen. But it was those tender looks you gave me. They gummed up my mouth so I could only stutter. I hightailed it out of that cabin like a house afire.”

  “That you did. I wondered at the time what I’d said.” Emma kissed her deeply. “But I found my love.”

  “And I found mine.”

  Wherever possible, I worked for authenticity in this historical fiction set near Springfield, Illinois in 1821-22.

  First, the novel contains three characters who actually lived in the 1820s in central Illinois. Tamsen Dozier, the local teacher from Massachusetts, later wed farmer George Donner. It was not until 1846, however, that they migrated to California in a well-known group who died en route after being caught in blizzards in the Sierra Nevada mountains. John Kerr served as the local physician. While I have maintained these characters’ actual occupations, their actions, speech, and other characteristics are fictional. All other names are fictional, although some surnames from the community have been appropriated for this work.

  The names of communities and towns represent actual communities around Springfield. In 1812, Congress established Military Tracts in territory that is now Illinois, Missouri, and Arkansas to pay to volunteer veterans of the war with England. One of the three tracts lay within a triangle of the Illinois Territory between the Mississippi and Illinois Rivers. This area was included with Illinois’s territory upon statehood in 1818. Many veterans sold their tracts to speculators rather than homestead in Illinois, and some tracts were sold by the state for taxes. Several Kentuckians migrated to cheaper land in Illinois when the land prices of their homesteads, which they often did not own, rose. The work of pioneering, such as cabin- and barn-raising, honey extraction and candle-making, farm establishment, and raising livestock, express the reality of that time.

  The illnesses and herbal treatments for them and remedies for childbirth have been taken from historical accounts of lay medicine and the healing use of herbs. Whenever possible, I have used the names and understanding of illnesses in the early nineteenth century. The mortality rates due to various fevers, injuries, and illnesses, as well as infant and maternal mortality, were quite high. However, the presence of magistrates kept violence rates fairly low, so murder or intentional injury were rare.

  The songs, dances, Isaac Watts’s Psalm 23, and Shakespeare’s Sonnet 29 have all been included in as much authenticity I could accomplish, since some of them contain alternative lyrics.

  I have downplayed the Native American presence in central Illinois. In 1820, the Kickapoo Tribe left central Illinois en masse to land granted to them in Missouri, admitted as a slave state in the Missouri Compromise of 1820. It was not until after the Black Hawk War in 1832 that violence between native tribes and white settlers ended, however.

  Any remaining errors of fact are my own.

  JB “Joey” Marsden wrote her first short story at age ten, but, needing to make a living, spent most of her life writing academic tomes that no one enjoyed reading. Now having published several novels, she has realized her childhood dream.

  Joey lives on her family farm in Illinois with her wife. Aside from writing, she enjoys reading, outdoor activities, and classic movies. Even though she can be found most often basking in the quiet of rural living, she travels for work and fun both in the US and abroad.

  Contact info:

  Facebook: facebook.com/joeybmarsden

  Instagram: joeybmarsden

  Check out JB’s other books

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