These Is My Words: The Diary of Sarah Agnes Prine, 1881-1901

by Nancy E. Turner

  Sarah, he said, I need to ask you something.

  Ask, I said without looking up, as I was trying to get some egg off the bottom of the skillet.

  Sarah, haven’t you had your time yet?

  I set the skillet down on the table. I’m not expecting that for several months.

  He looked at me real hard, like he does sometimes, only this time I met his eyes and didn’t look away. Then I saw the most amazing thing I have ever seen. His eyes welled up with tears, and he stood up quick and set April in the chair, and went to the window and looked out. Jack? I said, you’re not angry are you?

  He turned around and held me tight, and kissed the top of my head, but he didn’t say a word. His heart was racing, and his breath was fast, too. And he went outside and picked up the axe, and although Mason has cut me a cord of wood, Jack split and stacked two more cords, swinging that axe like a crazy man.

  A cold wind was coming, and Jack came inside sweating and chilled, so I made him drink some coffee and change clothes and warm up. When I brought him the cup he wrapped his arm around my hips and hugged me to him, and put his face against my belly, like a sweet caress, and I could feel his breath through the cloth of my skirt, and then he smiled at me.

  I brushed back his hair, and he said, Have you known for a long time?

  I knew the night it happened, I told him.

  He just looked at me, and I thought I’d hear an argument, but he said, Well, I reckon a lady wouldn’t tell until she knew for certain.

  It’s better that way, I said.

  We had supper with Albert and Savannah, and little Clover was naughty and wouldn’t be still, so Albert took him in the other room and fussed at him.

  Savannah admired my gravy and said how smooth it was, and then all of us enjoyed the pie and cobblers and coffee. Savannah is very full of child now, and looks like she is ready to birth to me, but she said, no it’s still a month and a half away. Her back hurts terribly, she said, though, and she will look forward to having this one, as it has been harder to carry than the first two.

  Jack was just sitting there beaming like a lightning bug. Oh, Jack, I said, and laughed at him, You’re going to explode if you don’t say it. So he told them we were expecting a child too, and there was a lot of talk about when, and I told them September twenty-sixth, and they laughed, thinking I was joking.

  February 6, 1886

  We rode this morning, slowly and gently, over the hills following Cienega Creek far past the Raalle’s old place, which has just gone to ruin now. There are weeds everywhere and the only way you can tell there used to be a home there is that some cinders remain where the buildings were, and a couple of bushes have grown back that don’t match the natural plants. We talked about the family we will have. Jack thinks children are a blessing but he practically scolded me and made me promise not to work too hard nor lift anything really heavy. He said to keep in mind that I am by nature hard headed and too independent for my own good, and I had our children to think about and their future and he didn’t want them to grow up without a mother. Once again I saw a frightened look in his eyes. It is a rare sight in a man like Jack, and it appears the things that would frighten most men don’t mean much to him, and the things most men wouldn’t think about scare him plenty.

  So I said, Well, how am I supposed to carry on without a husband to do those heavy things?

  All he said was, That’s why you have Mason.

  That’s why I have you, I said back.

  He just looked away at the horizon and urged his horse further up the ridge. We got a long way from the house, and at the highest point on a ridge, we could see in all directions for miles and miles.

  After a few minutes of looking at the land about, he says without turning my direction, I don’t plan to quit the army.

  Why? I said.

  He didn’t say another word. He just looked way over the hills. I suspect he is fighting more than Indians and cowboys and such somewhere inside himself. That’s why he can’t quit. He’s got something burning inside and just has to keep on fighting it until one of them wins.

  Finally, I got off my horse and let her wander, and stretched my back. Then I looked at my feet and saw something patterned in the dirt, and I scuffed it up. It was just an old broken piece of Indian pot. It looked a thousand years old, broken on that hill and forgotten for years. I tossed it back to the ground. I’m not asking you to quit, Jack, I said. I married you lock, stock and barrel.

  Then he was beside me, and he put one hand on my shoulder, and we stood there a long time without talking, and then just like that we both mounted up and drifted over the hills back toward home.

  February 8, 1886

  Yesterday morning Jack headed back toward the fort, and around noon it started to rain. This morning it is still raining, sometimes slowing just a bit, but it has not stopped. Low places are full, and doing chores in the mud was tedious, and I feel so sick, my head just spins around.

  Mason was real kind to me and I think he suspects my trouble, and said if I’d kindly allow, he’d toast some bread on the stove and that used to help his wife’s stomach. I’m real uneasy having a strange man in my kitchen, but I put my little pistol in my pocket and said, Please come in, I would appreciate it very much. It has only been two days of baby sickness for me, but I want this over with right now, I can’t go on and get things done feeling like this.

  He was right, the toasted bread settled my insides some. He asked me if I wanted butter on it, and looked at my face, and said, I ’spose not, Ma’am. Then he went back to the little adobe room of his and left me here listening to the rain. It is hard to fix April something to eat, but she is little and doesn’t mind having toasted bread for supper, and I am purely grateful just now that I don’t have to cook more than that.

  February 9, 1886

  Rain comes and comes. There are no low places with puddles any longer, all have become streams. The well is filled with mud, although we don’t want for water as the cistern is overflowing too. The stream that used to flow down by the road looks like a great, brown, angry river. It makes a roaring that I hear under the pattering of the rain. Trees sweep by in it, brush and branches torn loose from somewhere, and I thought I saw a man floating by, but rushed out to help and it was just a big saguaro cactus. Still, it looked so dead, and I began to feel touchy and nervous with all this rain. We are surely not used to this much rain in the Territories.

  All my land, as far as I can see, is running water. Mason and I spent the morning trying to build up the corral to keep the horses’ feet from rotting, they are standing in six inches of water and old manure. We finally had to give up, and instead drove them and the cow out of the barn and up a hill. They will be much colder but their feet will keep. I don’t know what to do with Beaumont, if I let him loose he is liable to kill someone or run off, so we turned over the trough, and laid it around with boards and made an island for him to stand on. Of course, he wouldn’t go up it, but Mason said if the water rises more, likely the bull will take the hill by himself. The chickens are fine roosting on their poles, but unable to eat as they normally do, pecking and scratching in the dust, so we tried to make pie pans into hanging feeders with twine tied into holes he punched with a nail. I was sorry to see my pie pans go, but do not want to lose all those chickens.

  Frogs began to climb onto the porch, first one or two, then dozens of them. I sweep and sweep, flinging them far out into the water, but they swim back. I am wishing now that Jimmy had not made such shallow steps, as they are just right for a desperate frog to get on the porch.

  Well, just as I thought the frogs were the nastiest thing and swept the last one off again, here came sliding up out of the water a great big bull snake. I tried to sweep him off but he coiled up on my broom, and held on tight when I shook it. I had no choice but to get my pistol and shoot it in the head, and still the dead snake held on. I got a fire iron and pried him off, and a hunk of my broom straw came off where it was shot.

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nbsp; April was on the porch in a chair watching all this, and pretty quiet, holding her Mrs. Lady to keep her safe from the water, she said. But suddenly, she called out, Mama, Snake getting Mrs. Lady! I turned around and saw the biggest rattlesnake I have ever seen moving up the leg of her chair. Its head was big as my fist.

  April, I said, that is a bad snake. You must pretend to be a statue. Be a stone statue, and don’t move. If you move honey, he will try to bite you.

  April held her finger to her lips, and said, Sh-sh, Mama.

  Don’t move, I whispered, Honey, don’t move. I reached in my pocket again for my pistol, then I put it down and ran to the bedroom for my rifle. I was always a much better shot with it.

  When I got back, I stood at a far enough range the snake wouldn’t charge at my movements. The rattler’s head was hidden, but its body curled and writhed up the arm of the chair. Then there it was, its head appeared right over April’s left shoulder. Its tongue flicked hard at her. April, I said, raising my rifle, you must make Mrs. Lady be very still. Don’t even breathe. Don’t wiggle one little bit. I aimed, and tears started to blur up my sight, I couldn’t make out the tip of the barrel, much less the snake’s head. It opened its horrible mouth, like a yawn, and licked closer and closer to her hair.

  Mama, she whimpered, Mama shoot me?

  No, I said, Mama’s going to shoot the snake, but don’t move, sweetie, don’t move.

  I held my breath. The snake’s long body swirled up in a coil on top of the back of the chair and a length of it slipped between the cushion and the backing.

  Mason came trudging through the water and stopped short, and I heard him say, Oh, Lord, real softly.

  I wiped my eyes.

  Mama? April started to cry. In a moment I thought she would panic, and if she moved she would surely be struck by the snake. It raised its head over hers, tongue flicking faster and faster now, and the rattle started shaking. April’s little face turned red and her lips curled up, tears rolled down her face, but she held still like a statue. Mama?

  I raised the rifle again and drew a bead on the snake, now it looked so small and moving around, coiling around my baby. I sniffed hard and held my breath, and stiffened my whole body, and pulled the trigger.

  April let out a scream and her body quivered hard, and I grabbed my heart, knowing I had shot my child. Mama, mama, izza snake gone? She was holding the edge of the chair with all her might. Mama? April’s mouth moved silently. Snake gone?

  I looked again. It was truly gone. At least its lifeless head hung down over the back of the chair, although the body still held tight to the rungs. April, I said, Run to me, baby, the snake is dead! She flew into my arms, and I held her, trembling, listening to the noisy frogs on the porch. Oh, my brave girl!

  Mason skinned the snake and pinned it to a board, careful to save the rattlers at the end. He didn’t say much about it, except, Glad your little one is all right, Ma’am. I went back to sweeping frogs, determined to keep them out of my house.

  Toobuddy is covered with mud and dripping, he runs and plays in the water, then slings his wet furry body up the steps and likes to sit right by the door. I popped him on the head for trying to eat a frog, as I know they are poison and he will die if he does. I don’t know where the kitties are, hopefully safe in the rafters of the barn.

  Mason said then, Ma’am, my room is awashing away.

  I hadn’t even thought of him, poor thing. Bring your bunk up here, quick, I said, anything you need to save, I’ll help you. So we went through the mud again and I brought April in one arm and carried his guitar and a rolled up blanket under my other one. By the time he got his bunk set on the porch, we were all three cold and soaked to the skin, and April is upset because Mrs. Lady is wet.

  As I was changing in my room, I thought about Jack trying to get home, and wondering if he tries to cross the stream, he could be swept away. We set Mrs. Lady on the table, and straightened her hair. Mason had changed into his only dry clothes outside, which had been rolled into that blanket I carried. I couldn’t let him just sit out there in the cold, so I told him to come in and I will fix supper.

  He rolled up an old sheet and stuffed it under the door to keep out the frogs, and brought his guitar, and sat by the fire. As I heated the stove and cut up the meat for stew, I realized I had not felt nearly as sick today. Maybe it was all the fussing around, and the fright, maybe it just took it all out of me.

  When the biscuits were in the oven, I sat for a minute to rest my feet while they cooked. I asked Mason if he played that guitar or just carried it for someone, and he kind of smiled and said he picked a bit, so I said, Well, would you pick a tune for us?

  So he did, he played and sang, songs I have not heard mostly, one called Clementine, and one about the Red River, and I said I have crossed the Rio Grande twice when I was a girl, but not the Red. Then he said his voice wasn’t so good, but I could hear the tune in it, and it was a nice voice for a ranch hand.

  We passed a pleasant enough evening, and Mason seems like a nice man, and doesn’t give me reason to suspect he has a bad streak in him at all. He is about as old as my Papa would be now I think, and he likes to hear me talk about books I have read, and said he never learned to read. Then he asked me if he could trouble me to read to him, and I said surely, and we talked about which book to start with, and so I began to read Treasure Island aloud.

  The rain fell. Frogs croaked outside the door, and I finally put Toobuddy into the back storeroom to keep him from eating them. I ate only a few bites of stew, but the biscuits set well so I felt pretty fair. He listened hard to the story of Treasure Island like it was an amazing thing to him to hear a story like that, and after more than two chapters said he knew I was tired, but he’d like to hear more tomorrow. Well, I couldn’t let the man sleep outside in the frogs and the cold, and however many more snakes could be on the porch by now. So I said, You better bunk here by the fire, and he made him a place on the floor, and we turned out the lamps.

  Just before I turned in, Mason said to me, Ma’am? Don’t you worry about your man. He’s got sense enough not to cross that water like it is. I laid awake and thought about Mama and Harland and Melissa, and I know they are on a rocky place up high, so they are probably fine. Albert and Savannah too, are higher than most places around. But the Maldonados are lower and further down the stream bed, where the water is likely running all the harder.

  Jack will not be here. He can’t get through.

  February 11, 1886

  Mason went to feed this morning, shivering and wearing his wet clothes from yesterday so he would have a dry set for the house. I made him coffee and pancakes and bacon, and he said it warmed him through the bones. The water seems down, and I saw clear sky through some clouds, but later at the afternoon the clouds thickened up again and rain fell more heavy than before.

  We sat by the fire and I mended some clothes. April built a square with her blocks and sat Mrs. Lady in it, proclaiming her safe from everything bad, snakes and rains and frogs and bad men.

  Doesn’t she ever want to come out and see the world? I said.

  No, said April.

  I think she does, I said, I think she wants to be mostly safe, but to see outside too, and not be shut up in there all day.

  She can have a window, said April, and removed one block.

  If I was her, I said, I’d want a door too.

  No. Bad men come in the door. Don’t want door.

  Mason smiled at me then, She’ll want a door soon enough, he said. Seems like they just grow up so fast now days. We talked about his family, grown and gone, and his wife who died of cancer. He was a lonely man.

  I read more of Treasure Island to him, and it pleased him a great deal. It seems to me there are so many lonely people in this world, and so little of life is kind and good. In a way, I am thankful for this flood, since without it, I might never have talked to him much, and Mason is a nice fellow. Another day passed before us, and it was night and dark, when the rai
n finally stopped falling.

  February 12, 1886

  We have tried to inspect all the place for damage. My garden is nearly washed away, just full of rubble and stones, and one side of the fence down. Beaumont is standing on his island bellowing for food. The horses are cold and shivering, and Rose looked at me with her big sweet eyes and I felt mighty guilty leaving her in the cold and rain, but her feet were not going to rot.

  The stream is flowing, thick and muddy but fast, and tumbling things along with it. I saw a pig float by, and it scared me because it looked like a person’s pink-skinned body at first. From where we can go to the south it looks like the neighbors are in about the same shape, just nearly washed away, but I see the roof on a house, and I hope they are fine but we are trapped here on my land and can’t tell for sure.

  I helped Mason all I could, and sure as I thought, if I stay busy I don’t feel quite as sick, but food still doesn’t look or smell good at all. And things I used to like don’t taste right. I used to love eggs but now I don’t think I could eat an egg and keep it down for all the tea in China.

  I heard a sound and thought it was one of the cats, but when I went outside I saw in the distance my Mama waving an apron high over her head and calling my name. She was across the muddy water, and jumped when she saw me. Then she hollered, Baby is coming! Savannah’s baby! Something’s wrong, Sarah!

  I’m coming! I called to her.

  No, she shouted back, Too dangerous. Just want you to pray! Have to go now, and she turned and hurried away.

  Mason, I said, I have to get to Savannah’s house.

  But, he said, You heard what she said. Your Mama just wanted you to know about it and say a prayer, she don’t want you to come.

  I took a deep breath, Well, Mason, Nobody on this earth is closer to God than Savannah, and if He has to listen to me praying to get to her, we are all in a world of trouble. I think she needs someone nearby, not just off somewhere praying.