Prairie Wife (4 page)

"I still have more apples for you to dry. When do you want
'em?"

"Monday will be good," she replied.

"See you in the mornin'. Ladies." He plucked his hat
from a hook and exited the house.

"Mrs. Barnes, you go on home so you can prepare for
tomorrow," Jesse told the older woman. "I'll help Amy clean up after
the guests."

"That's right nice of you," she told him. "Hermie,
want to see me home?"

The hand got up and escorted Mrs. Barnes out.

There were only three boarders that night. Amy served them supper,
and Jesse showed up to help her clean up as he'd promised.

"I can do this," she said uneasily, knowing he'd worked
as hard or harder than she had all week, and not wanting to pile additional
work on him.

He picked up an empty bowl. "I thought maybe you could stand
my presence long enough to get through the dishes."

"It's not that," she said.

He scraped plates into a bucket for the hogs without looking at
her. When all the scraps were cleaned up, he carried the pail out the door.

Unexpectedly, Amy's heart chugged. She placed a wet hand over it
and collected her thoughts. It wasn't that she couldn't stand his presence. It
wasn't. The problem was that when he was around it was more difficult to keep a
tight control on her feelings.

She found herself waiting like a fool to see if he would return.
The sound of boots hitting the back porch made her jump, and she spun around to
appear busy.

She washed dishes.

He carried in firewood and stacked it in the bin beside the stove.

She dried the pans.

He swept the floor and stacked the clean plates on the table for
morning.

A well-orchestrated dance of avoidance.

"Has your mare foaled yet?" she asked.

"Two nights ago. A pretty little brown filly with a blaze on
her forehead. They're in the barn if you want to see her."

"Okay."

He put away the broom and picked up his hat. "Night,
then."

"Jesse?"

He paused, his hand on the open door, and looked back at her.

She wiped her hands self-consciously on her apron. Didn't he
understand this was the only way for her to survive? He believed she had chosen
this road. Truth was, it had chosen her, and it took her full-time energy to
keep from taking a wrong turn and becoming lost. He wanted too much from her.

She didn't know what she'd planned to say. "Thank you"
was all she could think of.

He gave half a nod. "Yeah," he said as he left.

She stared at the closed door.

***

The first Sunday since Jesse had moved to the boardinghouse dawned
as deceptively normal as any other. After preparing and serving breakfast, Amy
got ready for church alone in the house. She had selected a dress with sprigs
of blue flowers before she realized it took a great deal of effort to button it
up the back herself. Her arms ached when she was finished, and she stared at
her disheveled state in the mirror.

Quickly, she brushed her hair and pinned it up, found her matching
hat and a pair of gloves, and made her way downstairs.

Jesse had polished her Sunday boots and they waited for her beside
the kitchen door. She put them on, then gathered all the food she had prepared
and placed it on the end of the table, and donned her gloves.

Jesse was waiting at the bottom of the porch stairs. He frowned as
he loaded the food into crates in the back of the buggy, and she wondered if
he'd had too much to drink the night before. Silently, he helped her up to the
seat, and she noted his rifle carefully tucked beneath. They always rode alone
to church while her father, Hermie and the other women traveled together in the
wagon.

Silence between them used to be comfortable, but now it was loud
with unformed thoughts and unspoken questions.

They were greeted at the church door, as usual, and sat together
as the service began. Amy took some small comfort from the familiar hymns, the
Scripture readings and the drone of Reverend Calhoun's message. It was only
here, within these sanctified walls and the safe cocoon of God's house, that
she let herself think about Tim. Think his name. But even here her thoughts
were carefully controlled and selective. She thought of Tim in heaven, sitting
beside the throne of the Father, eternally three, forever happy and free of
pain and life's troubles.

Those thoughts gave her the only tiny measure of peace she allowed
herself. Once a week for an hour. She never let herself think of her life
without him. Or of the loss. Or of Jesse's pain. And if anyone dared to mention
her son, which they didn't any more, she pretended not to hear.

It was how she survived.

The service ended and the reverend spoke to his parishioners at
the door as they exited.

"Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Shelby. How are you this fine
day?"

"Well, thank you, Reverend," she replied.

Behind her Jesse spoke a few words to the preacher, and then he
joined her and they stood outdoors in the sunlight.

Already men had begun assembling tables in the side yard, as the
women unpacked their tablecloths and aprons. Jesse carried their crates to a
table for Amy, then disappeared while she joined the women in setting out the
food.

Leda Bently, a farmer's wife, drew a young woman toward Amy.
"This is Rachel Douglas. She and her husband just moved here. Her man is
helping with the harvest at our place."

Amy greeted the pale-haired young woman and immediately noticed
the faded shawl she held so that the ends covered her swollen belly. It was
obvious that her dress was inappropriate for her growing figure, because the
front of her hemline was inches above the back, revealing worn boots and black
stockings.

"Where are you from?" Amy asked.

"Jack is from England. I met him in New York. We were married
there, and he couldn't find work, so we came West."

"You have family in the East?"

She shook her head and glanced at Amy's flower-bedecked hat.
"No. I outgrew a foundling home and worked as a maid for two years before
I met Jack."

"Rachel is real good at household tasks," Leda told her.
"What a blessing for me that Frank hired Jack for the fall. My house has
never been so clean."

Rachel blushed. "I'm earning my own keep," she told Amy.
"I'm just so glad to have somewhere to settle for a time and not be riding
on a wagon, that I'd do anything."

"Amy and her husband and father run the way station,"
Leda told Rachel. "Even with the transcontinental railroad finished last
spring, they still get a lot of travelers."

"Do you need any help?" Rachel asked. "I can clean
and cook and do laundry. And Jack is a real hard worker. He'll need work after
Mr. Bently's crops are in."

"I have three women who help me now," Amy told her.
"Jack would have to talk to Jesse. He does the hiring."

"I'll tell him." Rachel gave her a shy smile.

When she turned to look away, Amy noted her thin frame. The
journey west was hard on women, but it must have been especially trying for a
young woman expecting her first baby.

"When will your baby be born?" Amy asked.

Rachel glanced back and blushed. "Sometime this winter. Mrs.
Bently helped me figure about December."

Amy nodded and, sharing knowledge of the experience the young
woman would face, she and Leda exchanged a concerned glance. "Well, I wish
you the best," Amy told her. "I hope you and your husband find
someplace you like to settle."

"Oh, we like it here," Rachel told her quickly.
"I'd never seen so much wide-open space. The fields are magnificent to
behold, all that corn waving as far as the eye can see. Garden vegetables and
fresh milk every day. This is a land of plenty, to be sure."

Amy almost felt the young woman's pleasure, almost understood
Rachel's sense of wonder at having enough food, and her appreciation of the
land. But she held herself in reserve and turned aside to slice pies.

Another half hour passed before the parishioners gathered around
the tables and Jesse dutifully sought her out. As Reverend Calhoun said a
blessing for the meal, Amy glanced up and unerringly found Rachel. She stood
with a tall fresh-faced young man who held her hand to his chest and closed his
eyes reverently as the preacher prayed. The two of them were so young, so
earnest, so— She stopped herself before she could think
in love.

Beside her, Jesse held his hat by the brim with both hands. She
glanced up to find him gazing out across the landscape.

The prayer ended and the air hummed with voices. Two lines formed
and the woman began serving food.

Her father found a group of men and sat with them under the shade
of the maple trees growing in the churchyard.

"Sun or shade?" Jesse asked from beside her.

"Sun."

He spread their quilt out on the grass a distance from the crowd,
and they sat. The afternoon sun felt good, and she removed her hat to enjoy the
warmth on her hair.

Jesse ate his fill of fried chicken, one of his favorites.
Afterward, he took an envelope from his pocket. "There was a mail stage
this morning."

"Yes, the driver had a quick breakfast."

"I got this letter. It's from my mother."

She glanced from his face to the envelope. He received letters
from his mother in Indiana every few months, and Amy often saw him at the
secretary in the parlor, writing to her. Because of all his responsibilities
here, he hadn't seen her for six years.

"What does she say?"

"She's not well."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that. What's the problem?"

"A weakened heart, the doctors have said."

"Would you like to go see her?"

"She's coming here."

Amy blinked. "Oh."

"She's bringing Cay."

Cay was Jesse's sister's son. His sister, Ruby, had run off and
left Cay with her mother when he was just a little boy. "How old is he
now?"

"Twelve, best I figured. My mother has been having trouble
with the boy. He's become more than she can handle, and she asked if we could
help."

"What can we do?"

"She wants to bring him here. She needs the rest. And the
help. My father died when I was about his age. I know what it's like to grow up
like that and I don't want the same for my nephew."

Caught off guard by this announcement, Amy simply nodded.
Certainly the woman deserved some rest if she was ill. "She's your mother,
Jesse. Of course she's welcome here if she wants to come. We can take care of
her."

Jesse's face relaxed somewhat.

The boy was another matter. If he was troublesome, they didn't
need that aggravation added to their lives. She felt guilty for resenting the
intrusion.

"When will they arrive?"

He glanced at the date on the letter. "Another week, I'm
thinking."

"I'll fix the other upstairs room for her. What about Cay?
Where do you want him to sleep?"

"He can stay in the boardinghouse. Or he can sleep on a
pallet in the parlor."

Parlor
was a fancy word for the large room they used for a variety of
purposes, among them, extra sleeping space on the floor when necessary.

What would Jesse's mother think of the fact that Jesse didn't
sleep in the house? Would he return to their room so he didn't have to explain?

Amy gazed out across the churchyard, took in the various groupings
of families sharing meals. Her attention was drawn to Rachel and Jack Douglas.
They were seated on a horse blanket, eating leisurely and smiling at one
another. Rachel grabbed the plate on her lap suddenly, and looked down. Jack
followed her gaze. She spoke, and he reached to place his hand on her belly.

A knife blade of pain cut into Amy's chest, and she jerked her
gaze away. She gripped her plate and forced herself to breathe evenly.

"Amy, what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You look like you've seen a ghost."

She shook her head. She
had
seen a ghost. The ghost of a
young couple in love and anticipating the birth of their child. The ghost of
naive bliss.

But ghosts weren't real. So with practiced effort, she exorcised
the agonizing glimpse of the past and concentrated on her food.

"Jesse, have you met Jack Douglas?"

"Don't believe so."

"He's working the harvest at the Bentlys'. His wife mentioned
he needed work after the crops were in. They're... young."

Jesse studied her curiously. She wasn't in the habit of discussing
employees with him, and her mention of the man probably seemed out of the ordinary.

She tried to sound casual when she asked, "Can you use
another hand?"