Earthbound: Science Fiction in the Old West (Chronicles of the Maca Book 1) (16 page)

After they buried Clara Rolfe, Anna had started to pack, but Gerde realized she had a fever. Kasper pleaded with Anna to stay. Gerde was afraid to let Hans come near her. In 1858 no one knew that the flu germs were distributed before the start of the fever if someone touched or used the same item. The water bucket in the house was for all with one tin cup hung on a nail beside the bucket. They did not use a glass for each person. Gerde recovered two weeks later, but Hans took ill during the first week of his mother's illness.

Anna tried everything: steaming under a tent made from a sheet, plasters on the chest, extra bedding and hot coffee to bring the fever out of the body, but nothing broke the phlegm in Hans's thin chest. Upon her recovery, Gerde began to care for Hans, rocking him when he cried and trying to force broth down a swollen throat.

It was a relief to let someone, anyone, take over nursing the sick. “I'll leave tomorrow,” Anna told Kasper. “I think Gerde is strong enough and Mrs. Phillips has been quite neighborly for a change.”

Kasper had nodded. He was too distracted at the thought of Hans being ill. Gerde had had miscarriage after miscarriage after Hans. How the sickly child had lived, Kasper did not know. The fourth time Gerde miscarried, the doctor's words had given him another cross to bear.

“Another pregnancy will probably kill her. I suggest you find another, ahem, outlet for your manly vigor.”

Kasper could not, would not commit adultery. It was not in his nature. That would be sinning and men sinned sufficiently without deliberately breaking one of God's commandments. He wasn't as outwardly as passionate as Anna, but he loved deeply and he loved Gerde. He could not hurt Gerde anymore than he could deliberately hurt anyone else. That Hans had survived was a miracle when so many healthy children succumbed before the age of two. It wasn't until Hans had reached the age of five that they had begun to breathe easier. Now this. Perhaps he would ask Mr. Jackson to take the cow home for Anna.

He made a sandwich of mashed beans and poured a cup of milk for Gerde. He knew she would not leave Hans, but she would rest while he took over any nursing duties. As he turned from the counter it felt like a knife entered his head. Gerde's wail of grief and agony rang out again and again. Kasper ran for the stairs.

Anna emerged from the living room where she had started packing for the journey home, ran up the stairs behind Kasper, and followed him into the room.

“Please, God,” she whispered, “don't let it be what I think it means.” It was the wail of agony she had screamed over and over for her lost children.

They found Gerde bent over the bed sobbing, her shoulders heaving up and down as she tried to breathe, cry, and speak. “Hans, my angel, my Liebling.” And the agonizing cry went out into the night again.

Kasper went to his knees beside her, laid his head on Hans's chest, and tried to feel a pulse.

“Anna, a mirror, please. You'll find it on our chest of drawers.”

“I'll need a candle or the lamp to find it.”

“There's a candle in the top drawer of his chest.” Kasper barely got the words out of his constricted throat.

Anna retrieved the candle and used her apron to lift the hot lampshade. Once the candle was lit, she gently replaced the shade and slipped into the bedroom on the other side of the hall. She knew exactly where the mirror was. She had nursed Gerde in this room.

It took but moments to retrieve the mirror and return to the death room. Kasper almost tore the mirror from her hand and held it over Han's pallid face and opened eyes. There was no breath. Kasper put his other arm around Gerde and held her close. Anna closed the door behind them and went to the Phillips to tell them of the need for a new casket.

Anna looked at the assembled townspeople. Gerde's and Kasper's white faces were a stark contrast to the black clothes they wore. Gerde's face was like stone and Kasper's gentle eyes were totally bewildered. He had been unable to read God's Word at the grave and Phillips could not read Deutsche. Anna had read from the gospel of St. John. Now a hymn should be sung, but Kasper was unable to lead them. The death of their only child had stricken them both mute.

Anna began the prayer from the Lutheran funeral service that ended with, “Into your hands, we submit his spirit and our lives.” It was two days after Hans had slipped away. Kasper had tried to lead the service, but his voice cracked and he buried his face in his hands. Anna wondered why she felt so warm when the blowing wind was so cold.

The group at the grave included the Rolfe children, the Phillips, Jesse Owens, the two Jackson men, both Tillman families, and Cruz Hernandez, his wife Consuela, and their daughter Olivia. What they thought of the Bible reading and prayers in German, Anna did not care. It was bad enough that she, a woman, had to take over the service. Didn't God say women had no authority over men? But Kasper was not able and Mr. Rolfe and Mr. MacDonald had not returned. At the close of the service, Anna decided that something should include their neighbors.

“We should say The Lord's Prayer and then sing a hymn of your choosing.” She was not really capable of smiling, but she looked directly at Ben Tillman.

Ben, a lanky, rawboned, straw-haired man nodded and led the group. They ended by singing an Isaac Watts hymn that the Phillips's and the Tillman's as good Methodists knew, “Why Do We Mourn Departing Friends.”

Anna had stayed in Schmidt's Corner for the funeral. She had done most of the cooking and baking for the people that would be at the Schmidt's home after the burial. For a moment her eyes closed and she felt her stomach lurch. She was desperate to return home before she became ill too. Everyone was dabbing at their eyes and looking at her. She swallowed and straightened.

“Von't du stop by, please? There is plenty for all.”

There was more than plenty as Mrs. Phillips and the two Tillman ladies had brought cornbread, cookies, and yeast rolls. Anna took a deep breath and started to walk back across the ruts that served as a road through town. There was no doubt now, she was feverish. A dry, hacking cough erupted. Dear God, she couldn't be sick. She was almost six months pregnant with Zeb's baby. She knew it was a boy just as she had known what sex her other children would be. Surely God would let her have this one after losing her other four.

Her steps became more erratic as they neared the General Store. Ben Tillman stepped up to her. “Let me help y'all, Mrs. MacDonald. Yore as white-faced as a hooty owl.”

Anna desperately wanted to retreat to the living room where she had slept during the ordeal of nursing Gerde and Hans, but that was where the ladies would be sitting. The men might sit long enough to eat, but most of them would be outside passing a bottle to strengthen the coffee. Somehow she managed to get through the afternoon and wave goodbye to everyone. She was shivering as she tried to do the dishes. Kasper came in from tending the horses and milking the cow.

“Anna, you are ill.”

“Just a bit…” a wracking cough nearly doubled her over. Then she realized she needed to vomit. She pushed past him and out through the kitchen door. She made it to the porch railing before losing her lunch and her breakfast.

Kasper was beside her. “Anna, you're shivering. Come in. I'll bring the bucket into the living room and get the bedding; unless you want to sleep in Hans's room.”

“No, I can't sleep there.” She let Kasper lead her inside and to the sofa. Her head was pounding and every bone in her body ached.

She vaguely remembered Kasper tending to her for two days. Then it was Gerde still dressed in black and unsmiling. On the fourth morning Anna felt weak and her stomach muscles were cramped from the vomiting and the diarrhea, but the headache had miraculously retreated. I can sit up now, she thought, and eat the oatmeal this morning. And the contractions began.

Anna drew a deep breath of air into her lungs and a moan escaped from her mouth.

“No, not now, not Zeb's baby.” Birthing children had never been difficult. She had Margareatha in less than eight hours, and the boys had been swifter. Her screams had been limited to one or two, but this was different. The pain drove her to her knees when she tried to stand. She wanted to summon help, but all she could do was pull the bedding underneath her to keep from staining the floors. An oilcloth was needed, but there was no time.

She grunted as the next wave hit her. Bearing down was involuntary. It was what the body did to rid itself of something that needed to be gone.

“Kasper, Gerde!” Anna was able to yell on the third contraction. She could feel the head emerging now and tried to hike the gown upward. It was difficult with the long material and the way she had landed on the floor.

It seemed forever, but then Kasper was kneeling beside her.

“Do you need help getting up?”

“Don't be foolish, Kasper.” It was Gerde, her voice harsh and hard. “She's having the baby too early. Go bring some water from the reservoir and some clean rags. I need a scissors or a sharp knife.”

Gerde had been full of resentment that Anna was with child when she could not, but this was different. The birth was too soon. The child was probably dead or soon would be, and Anna could die too. The thought of losing another family member in this wild place was too much. Small in stature, practical, determined, Gerde could do the work of three and now work needed to be done.

She shifted Anna enough to get the clothes out of the way. The baby's head was there and the scalp covered with black down underneath the coating.

“PUSH!”

Anna grunted and complied, knowing this was wrong—too soon, too quick.

As Kasper walked back in the room he saw that Gerde was holding a small bundle nestled in part of Anna's skirt.

“Did you bring the water?”

“Yes.”

“Quick, say the words. He's still alive.”

Kasper shot a quick look at Anna. Her eyes were closed and she was still bearing down. The room reeked of blood. He knelt beside Gerde and dipped his hand into the water and sprinkled the water on the baby's head.

“In the name of the Father,” he dipped his hand again and sprinkled.

“And the Son,” once more he brought up water in his hand and splashed over the baby's head as he intoned, “and in the name of the Holy Ghost, I baptize thee…” he hesitated and looked at Anna.

“Llewellyn Gephardt MacDonald.” Anna was watching him, tears flooding her eyes.

“Llewellyn Gephardt MacDonald.” Kasper ended.

“Now give me the scissors and bring more rags and an oilcloth. There will be more blood for a while. We need a small box for the baby and other things.” Gerde would not say afterbirth in front of both a man and a woman, but she was still giving orders. She took the largest, cleanest rag from Kasper and wrapped it around the baby.

“Please, let me hold my son.”

Gerde's stone face softened. “Are you sure? He's having trouble breathing.” She did not need to say, “He will die in your arms.”

“Yes, give him to me.”

Anna took the small, frail body and looked at the heaving chest and perfect little face, head, and hands before holding him close. It did not take long for the small body to quiet and remain motionless.

Anna closed her eyes. “I have killed my son. I should not have worked so hard. I was arrogant and thought I was strong enough to do it. God in Heaven, forgive me.”

Gerde looked up from her tasks long enough to command in a sharp tone. “Stop that. You had a high fever for three days. It's a wonder you kept the baby this long and you know it. There was no way to avoid the flu. Only three people in this community had avoided it; one of the Tillman's, Kasper, and Tom Jackson.”

Anna lay back completely exhausted. “It's almost more than I can bear. First my other babies, now this one.” And the tears would not come.

“Ja, it's hard.” Gerde choked. She had been crying for days and there was no hope of another baby. If Anna were smart, she would follow the same path. After all, the woman was thirty-five, almost to the end of her childbearing years.

Kasper returned with a handful of rags, a newly cut oilcloth, and an empty crate. “This is all I could find.”

“It will do. Put the oilcloth on the sofa and help Anna back up there. I'll see if one of these blankets is still usable.” It better be, she thought. There isn't another clean one in the house. She took the stilled baby from Anna and placed it gently into the crate. She could not help but touch the cheek with her finger. How rapidly the body grows cold, she thought.

Anna found she was still shaky and let Kasper support her. The oilcloth was slick and cool, but it helped when Gerde put the blanket over her.

“I'll see if you don't have a clean nightgown in your bag.”

“I don't. It's dirty. I haven't had time to wash clothes.”

“It will be better than this one.” Gerde's voice was grim. “Kasper, turn your head.”

Gerde put the rags beneath Anna's buttocks and spread the rags outward. “Try not to move until I can get some safety pins.” She looked at Kasper and inclined her head toward the box.

Kasper swallowed and nodded to Gerde. He picked up the box and walked from the room. He had to take everything to Malcolm for another coffin. It would be a very small one.

On his way back home, he almost stopped at Jesse's for a beer, but decided against it. Anna was still too much of an invalid to drink any, but she would need it to gain some weight. At least Anna could try to have another baby, he reflected. He was not bitter as he had heard Gerde's tears too often. The ache in his heart for Hans was almost unbearable. At times he felt so tired he did not even wish to move. Poor little Hans had survived a bad birth, chicken pox, and measles when other, healthier children in St. Louis and Arles had died. He had always blamed himself for Hans's shortness of breath. He had been the same way as a child. Then the enormity of Gerde's words hit him. He was one of those that had not taken influenza. There was no point in pursuing the whys. Kasper knew that he was one of the weaker specimens of manhood. Being spared a serious illness could not be because he was less sinful; he wasn't.

Gerde was soaking one of the sheets as he entered their kitchen.

“She is crying now.”

“You didn't stay with her?”

Gerde turned to him. “Why? She wished to be alone. There is a great sadness when you lose a baby.” Her tone became harsher, her face whiter. “Better to cry and get it over with.”

“But the comfort of God's Word, wouldn't that help?”

“No.” Gerde punched the sheet down into the salt water. “I'll let that be for an hour.”

“We can hold the service tomorrow. The baby did live more than a few minutes.” The need for something to do, to make things right, drove Kasper.

Gerde looked at him. “She will not go. She is too weak. It is best to have it then.”