Nellie's New Attitude

by Lynn Donovan

  His longhands were soaked with sweat. At least being out from under the covers might help get his fever down. Rushing to the chest, she pulled out his mother’s book and read quickly about the plant she had found. Rushing to the dropped pouch, she turned it over and emptied its contents onto the floor. The medicinal root fell out. Nellie grabbed it and rushed to the fire to stoke the flames and sat down to read the recipe for making Timothy a tea.

  Quickly, she had the medicinal tea made and took it to Timothy’s sick bed. She spooned the concoction past his dried and split lips. He choked, but soon took in the liquid, swallowing like it was filled with stickers as it went down. She kept spooning it into his mouth until he had taken it all. She refreshed the wet cloths and turned toward the door. She knew what she had to do.

  As she marched to Grey’s cabin, Nellie ran that day in the Cole family kitchen through her mind. Why hadn’t she paid more attention? Mrs. Franklin had showed her how to kill a chicken. Nellie racked her brain to remember. A vision of Mrs. F. came to mind, she spoke kindly to the bird, lifting her into her arms like a scared kitten. She rubbed her hand over its head and gently tucked the head under a wing. Like magic, the chicken went to sleep. Then Mrs. Franklin laid the bird down and chopped off its head with an axe. Nellie remembered being disgusted as she watched Mrs. F. soak its body in salted water and plucking the feathers.

  “Easy as you please,” Mrs. F had said.

  Nellie looked at the coop. The chickens clucked from inside. She opened the door and scooped one of the birds into her arms. Talking in a soothing voice. The chicken fought her, but Nellie held on, stroking the hen’s back and continuing to coo kind words. “You’re going to help Timothy. You’re a good chicken. Good chicken.”

  Tears ran down Nellie’s cheeks, but this had to be done. The bird calmed down, as Nellie paced the barn. Gently, she coaxed the bird’s head under her wing, and, just like with Mrs. Franklin, the chicken went to sleep. A few minutes later, Nellie carried the carcass into Timothy’s cabin, her eyes wet but determined. She prepared a bucket with salted water and submerged the chicken. Before much longer, she had the soup on to boil and a pile of feathers. The cabin smelled of garlic and chicken. She had added a whole pod of garlic to the soup, for good measure.

  Nellie pulled the hide shirt off, leaving the flannel shirt on, and sat down beside Timothy’s bed. For the first time in she didn’t know how long, she bowed her head, folded her hands, and prayed for God to make Timothy well again. She perused Mrs. Moses’s book again. Between Mrs. Franklin and Mrs. Moses, Nellie had done all she could for now.

  Leaving the root bits steeping in the boiled water would allow her to give Timothy more, as the book instructed, every hour. Her stomach growled but the thought of eating the chicken she had just killed didn’t set well. Was Timothy hungry? The soup should be ready in a little bit. She’d make herself eat.

  Mrs. Franklin had said, “It helps to keep you healthy when you weren’t even ailing none a‘tall.” And Nellie knew out here in these harsh conditions she had to keep up her strength.

  Nellie dished up the soup for Timothy and herself, but fed him before she sat down to eat her own. The stench of the bird’s blood and wet feathers lingered in her nose, but she finished the bowl despite her disgust. Leftover biscuits, dipped in the broth to soften them, were a welcomed addition.

  Timothy smiled at her as he closed his eyes and slipped back into what she hoped was a healing sleep. She’d always heard that people healed best while they slept. “Please, God. Let that be true. Timothy has been so kind to me, the least I can do is help him get well. I’ve done all I know to do. I suppose the rest is up to you. Amen.”

  Nellie took the dishes to the washboard and cleaned them in boiled water and lye soap shaved into the water, like she’d seen Timothy do yesterday. How different it was out here on the mountain. She would have never done so much work back home. There were servants who picked up after her, killed the meat, prepared food, cleaned, and took care of the sick. But here. With her hero down with a debilitating fever, it was all up to her. A little spark of pride warmed her heart. She wasn’t doing too bad.

  She laid her head back. Snow packed around the cabin made a peaceful silence. Nellie had never in her life felt anything like this. Worry and frustration just didn’t seem to exist out here in the woods. No wonder the mountain folk preferred to live this way, instead of in the hustle and bustle of town.

  Her only concern was getting Timothy well.

  She pursed a smile as she looked around at the simplicity in which Timothy lived. Being here made Nellie want to be kind, like May Cole. She closed her eyes. This was something she could get used to.

  When Nellie woke, her neck ached. She’d slept in the chair, and her head had fallen back like ol’ Mrs. Harding in church. She winced and rubbed her neck as she lowered her eyes to Timothy.

  The bed was empty! The sheets were soaked and stained by sweat. She jumped to her feet, swiveling her head to search the cabin.

  The door opened. Nellie gasped. Timothy walked in carrying a mason jar. “Oh, good morning.” He walked over to the cupboard. “I got some sourdough starter from the root cellar. I thought I’d make us some pancakes.”

  Her mouth remained open.

  He smiled, blinked slowly, and then wavered. She rushed to him. “Sit down.”

  “I guess I’m not as recovered as I thought.” He patted her hand with a reassuring smile. “But I feel much better.”

  She touched his face. He was warm but not hot like before. “Yes. I think your fever broke. But you shouldn’t be up and about. Here. Tell me what to do, and I’ll make the pancakes.” Taking the jar from him she sniffed its contents. It smelled pungent like soured milk. “This is edible?”

  “Sure. It’s the starter for some mighty fine pancakes or biscuits.” He rose slowly from the chair and shuffled over to the bed. Nellie let her eyes go ahead of him and realized his sheets were wet from his fever breaking. “Stop!”

  She rushed to his side. “Do you have more sheets?”

  He nodded and pointed at the trunk. She helped him sit in the chair she had vacated and rushed to the trunk. Pulling fresh linen from under his things, she pulled the sick bed apart and remade it with fresh clean sheets. “There, now you may get into bed.”

  He smiled and crawled in. “Thank you.”

  Now tell me how to make these fine pancakes. She smiled and went about doing what he said, mixing the batter, smearing the lard in the skillet and pouring large circles into the sizzling grease. Soon they had breakfast. Nellie stood to take his dish, but felt his forehead first. The fever had returned. Not as hot as before, but it was present all the same. “See. I told you not to get up so soon.”

  He shrugged. “I really do feel better.”

  “Yeah, but your fever is back. Now, drink more of this tea and please get some rest.” She served him another cup of his mother’s medicinal root tea. He sipped at it until the cup was empty.

  “Happy?” he teased.

  “Yes.” She smiled back at him and took their dishes to the washboard. A soft snore emanated from his direction. Turning her gaze toward the bed, she felt her heart glow. Despite the rough mountain man whiskers, he was a handsome man. A stirring in her midsection caused her to consider him longer than she had intended. What was this sense of emotion that rose in her heart? It couldn’t be love.

  That was impossible. He was a mountain man. She was the daughter of a Railroad President. They didn’t belong together. As soon as the snow let up, she would return to her father and go back to her life—

  What life? If it hadn’t been for Timothy, she wouldn’t have a life. She would be dead, frozen to death beside the river. And come spring, some animal would find her body and devour it. A shiver rippled down her spine. What a horrible thought.

  And what did she have to return to Belle for anyway? Hoyt and May were happy. They were having a baby. Her friends were all getting married. None of the men in town showed any i
nterest in courting her. And she knew why.

  Even though her daddy was the richest man around town, she had many-times-over proven herself to be… disagreeable. Very disagreeable. None of the boys wanted to be her husband. If they did, it was for her daddy’s money or the position he could give them in society, not because they were in love with her.

  That wasn’t the kind of marriage she wanted. She wanted the kind of marriage that May and Hoyt had, or the Franklins, or several other people in Belle who married for love. Not what her momma and daddy had. She’d witnessed her momma’s resolution to her marriage and how miserable and bitter she was most days.

  Nellie turned from gaping at Timothy to wash their dishes. Once they were put back on the shelf, she looked at the pile of filthy bed linen on the floor. These needed to be washed in case he broke fever again and needed the bed changed… again. Nellie blew wisps of hair from her eyes.

  She had no idea how that was done. Could it be much different from washing the dishes? On a larger scale of course? And where would she hang them to dry? Her parent’s staff hung all their laundry on a clothesline behind the house. But she’d never watched them do any of that.

  She looked at his ceiling. Perhaps this was why he had so many nails in the beams. With a rope properly tied across them, she could hang the sheets and stoke the fire so they would dry quickly.

  She looked around and found a wash tub. Ah. This will work. She had seen a barrel of water in Grey’s cabin next to the Franklin stove— she nodded to herself— to keep it from turning to ice, of course! Surely it was for large jobs, like bathing and laundering. She took a bucket that she found under the washboard with her and brought in enough to fill the tub after heating the water on the fire. She punched the sheets down into the water and scrubbed every square inch with a cake of lye soap and her fists.

  Her hands burned from the soapy water and ached from scrubbing the material between her balled hands. Her knuckles looked raw.

  She sighed and scooped some of the cooking lard and massaged it into her sore hands. It soothed the pain. This was worth it for Timothy to have clean sheets if his fever broke again. Staying in soiled sheets would only make him sicker. That much she knew for sure.

  Standing on the chair by the fire, she strung a rope she had found in Grey’s cabin and hung the sheets to dry. Adding more wood to the fire, she turned to look at Timothy. He slept soundly. Grey whinnied in the next cabin.

  “The traps!” Nellie closed her eyes with a sigh. She was so tired, but Timothy had thrown a fit about the traps needing to be checked morning and evening. It had to be done. And he was not well enough to do it. Truth be told, Nellie didn’t want to disappoint Timothy. Grey whinnied again.

  “I’m coming.” She muttered. Donning his fur-lined shirt, coat and hat, grabbing his gun in her hand, she lifted the game pouch that she had tossed aside when she needed the medicinal root and garlic. Neatly laying the critter carcasses against the wall away from the fire— something told her they did not need to thaw just yet— she traipsed outside.

  Grey anxiously shifted her feet and whinnied at Nellie when she entered the cabin. Grabbing the rifle, and tucking it and the odd little gun into the sheath at Grey’s shoulder, she headed out with the mule.

  The snow had stopped falling. Tiny sparkling stars twinkled everywhere. Nellie admired the spectacle as she and Grey moved along the same path. Their tracks had disappeared but Grey still knew the way. This was a Winter Wonderland. How amazing everything looked covered in snow and glistening like a thousand candles. Her breath fogged before her mouth as she labored in the snowshoes to get to the traps.

  She longed to lie down when she got back to Timothy’s cabin. But for now, the sooner she got this done, the sooner she could rest. She kept moving forward. By the time Grey and she had found the last trap, exhaustion burned in her limbs. It was all she could do to lift her leg and keep walking. But walk she did. They would be home soon. Timothy would be pleased with the number of critters she’d bagged. Then she could rest.

  Ahead, she spotted the smoke from Timothy’s chimney. It wouldn’t be long now. Grey whinnied. “I know girl, almost home.”

  Grey crossed in front of Nellie and stopped, blocking her from walking forward. The mule whinnied even louder. Nellie’s instincts tingled. Something was wrong. She scanned the woods, but didn’t see anything.

  A huge bear loped out from behind a tree. She bore her teeth and growled. A cub bawled behind Nellie. She was between the momma and her baby! Oh God!

  Nellie gasped for breath. Slowly, ever so slowly, she reached for the rifle at Grey’s neck. Timothy had told her if she got attacked by a momma bear to shoot the rifle into the air to scare the bear away.

  Slowly, inch by inch, she pulled the rifle from the sheath. And hoped upon hope that Timothy was right. She pointed the rifle toward the sky and squeezed the trigger. A high-pitched bang resonated. The rifle flew from her hands and fell into the snow at her feet. The trees shook around her, causing the snow to sprinkle down from the branches. Birds fluttered from their hiding places. The cub bawled all the more, and the momma bear rose up on her hind legs, growling. Slobber dripped from her enormous yellow teeth.

  Nellie stared at the angry bear, frozen in place by fear. Her heart pounded in her chest and she panted. Blood roared in her ears, drowning out all other sounds. It was weird and terrifying to watch the bear roll her jaw but hear the growl as if she wore earmuffs.

  This was it! She’d survived freezing, only to be mauled to death by a bear, protecting her cub. Grey ran away from Nellie and the momma bear, high-tailing it for her cabin. Nellie doubled over, curling into a Dance, and closed her eyes, anticipating the bear pouncing on her. She hoped death would be kind and come quickly. The last thing she wanted now was to suffer in awareness while the bear tore her to shreds.

  Chapter Seven

  An ear-splitting boom filled the woods. Heavy snow fell over her back, shoving her further down. Cold wet snow seeped under the fur hat. Slowly she lifted her head.

  The bear’s backside, hunched over, loping away through the dark copse of trees. The cub caught up with his momma and the two continued deeper into the woods. Nellie glared at them fading farther away.

  What? Who? She turned back to where the sound had come from. Tears stung her eyes. She blinked to clear her vision. A man stood in the snow, his red longhandles contrasting with the expansive white, lowering a huge rifle from his shoulder.

  “Timothy…” She breathed his name.

  He high-stepped through the knee-high snow. “Miss Nellie! Are you alright?”

  “Yes.” She uttered and sobbed into the fur gloves. “I just knew I would die this time.”

  “Come on. Let’s get back to the cabin.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, easing her to her feet. In the snowshoes, she was able to walk on top of the snow. Timothy sank into it with every step.

  “You shouldn’t be out here,” she chastised him.

  “Well, you can yell at me after we get inside.” He chuckled.

  “Thank you.” She touched his shoulder. Sunk in the snow as he was, he was level with her in height.

  “You’re welcome.”

  At the cabin, he took the equipment off Grey, who had beat both of them home, and let her go to her feeding trough.

  Nellie shoved him gently. “Oh, please go back into the cabin. I know how to do this part.”

  He smiled at her, with his arms crisscrossed around his waist, a shiver vibrated down the length of him. “Alright.” His teeth chattered. “I’ll go in.”

  She fed Grey, hung up the rifle, and stoked the fire in the Franklin. Carrying the gun and game pouch into Timothy’s cabin, she pulled off the coat, overshirt, hat, and gloves and laid the game bag on the floor next to the other carcasses.

  Shoving the hanging sheet aside, she found him sitting on the side of the bed, wrapped in the quilt, shivering.

  “What were you thinking?” She stepped toward him. “You’ll catch your
death of—”

  He held up his hand as if he were testifying in a court of law. “I’m sorry. I heard the bear and then your rifle go off. I knew you were in trouble, so I grabbed my pa’s buffalo rifle and run out to you. I didn’t even think about the cold. I just wanted to protect you!

  I saw the cub and realized the bear was a momma. I couldn’t kill her, but I didn’t want her to kill you, so I shot right over her head. Nicked her ear, I did. It was enough to make her run.”

  He stared at her a moment. Rising to his feet he took a step toward her. “If it didn’t scare her off, I’d a shot her, graveyard dead, I swear!” He took her hands into his and held them against his chest. She craned her neck, captured by his tender blue eyes. “I wouldn’t a let her hurt you! I promise you that! Miss Nellie, I love you. I—”

  Timothy’s eyes went wide, his jaw remained open with the words he didn’t yet say.

  Nellie’s eyes widened, too. “You what?”

  Crimson flushed his face, but this wasn’t the fever. A slight smile curled at the corner of his mouth, but he looked… scared. “I-I love you.”

  She tilted her head. How could he love her? He didn’t even know her! “How can you say that?”

  He let go with one hand and wrapped it around her back, while continuing to hold her hands with the other, against his pounding heart. “I’ve loved you a long time. It was you who didn’t know.”

  “But, nobody likes me.” A sob hitched in her throat. “… in Belle. The boys don’t wanna court me. I’m—”

  “Spirited.”

  She stared at him.

  “It takes your kind of spirit to survive out here, Miss Nellie. I saw that in you a long time ago, when we was just kids. I’m telling you, I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember.” He smiled, drawing her closer to him.

  Her eyes darted between his. “You… you mean it?”

  He chuckled. “Yeah. I mean it with all my heart. In fact, Nellie Harris, would you…” he shoved the quilt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor and went down on one knee. Right there, in his red skivvies, he took her left hand in his and kissed her knuckle. “Would you make me the happiest man in the world and consider marrying me? I ain’t got a lot to give you, like your folks got, but you’ll never go hungry. You’ll always have pretty furs to wear. And I swear, I’ll love you for the rest of my life, ’til death do us part.”