John William wanted to inquire further, but Reverend Fuller was leading them in a prayer of dismissal.
The sky was full of horses and pantaloons. At least that's what the clouds looked like. Gloria sat on the little campstool gazing at them, having gathered the children up and brought them back to the wagon site to finish their nap. Now awake, Danny and Kate inched their way around the blanket spread on the ground at her feet, periodically being scooped up and brought back to safety when they came to near the blanket's edge.
She had dabbed Danny's face with cool river water, and the swelling was down considerably, but the area was still red with a tight raised bump at its center. She held him now, and he rooted against her, hungrily searching out her breast.
“You know, son, I haven't eaten anything today yet, either,” she said. “Guess it's beans, beans, beans.”
Gloria, still in her nightgown, set Danny back on the blanket, stood up, and wallowed in a luxurious stretch and gratifying scratch before wandering over to the wagon's larder. One bowl of beans. Cold. She knew John William would be able to do wonders with these, given just a slice of salt pork and half an onion, but neither of those was available now. Not that she would know what to do with them. She knew even the smallest fire would return them to a more palatable temperature, but the thoughts of gathering wood and assembling kindling and striking a match seemed a bit overwhelming on such a warm, lazy summer day. So she took the bowl, grabbed a fork, and returned to the blanket.
“Now this," she said out loud, gesturing with the fork, “is what that Sabbath commandment is all about.” She stretched one leg out to caress Kate's soft cheek with a toe. “Who needs church?” She allowed a bean to linger in her mouth, warm up a little, before sending it to join the others.
“And I'm saying that because I know,” she continued, giving her heavy, damp hair a shake off her shoulders. “I've been to church before.”
What she didn't say out loud was that the minute she'd walked through the doors, the minister pointed at her and shouted that a whore such as this had no place in the house of God.
“I even talked with the minister once.” The previous evening when she'd refused to perform the favors he demanded. “So I know what we're missing,” she said to the babies, who were now each propped up on their little elbows, staring at her intently. “And we're not missing much.”
Because the church met so infrequently, the better part of the day was devoted to worship, fellowship, and teaching. After the ini-tial time of song and sermon, the congregation split into Sunday schools. The children were grouped together for classes: the girls led by Adele Fuller and the boys by Reverend Fuller. The women gathered to discuss the focal passage among themselves, as did the men. John William soon learned, though, that the Middleton men's Sunday school class would not be a great source of Bible study. Almost immediately the conversation turned to crops, weather, and farming.
“I'm telling you, MacGregan,” David Logan said, “you've never seen land like this for growing things. Looks like I'll be harvesting near twice what I did last year.”
“Yep," said another Middleton neighbor, Phil Jasper. John William learned that everybody called him Big Phil, and his imposing girth gave the obvious explanation why “I got a quarter section of corn coming in, wheat looks good. This is God's country for sure.”
“I can see that,” John William said. “And a town startin’ and a church. I think we can make a life here.”
“You might want to talk to Maureen Brewster,” David said. “Her husband died last spring, just after getting the crop in. She's been wanting to sell and move back East.”
“Now why would he want to do that?” Big Phil said. “He can get himself his acres from the government for free.” He turned to face John William. “One square mile, six hundred forty acres, and the same for your wife if you don't mind havin’ it in her name.”
“Well, yeah,” David said, “but the Brewsters was one of the first families to settle these parts. If he buys her place, he gets land that's been cleared, house built. Buying the Brewster place'd be like buying ten years worth of labor.”
“Gentlemen, gentlemen please,” John William said, laughing and laying a hand on each shoulder. “Let me have some say in the matter. Besides, just during church she said she might not leave at all.”
“I wouldn't wait too long to make a decision if I were you,” Big Phil said. “Mrs. Brewster's a land-owning single woman. If she don't leave, shell be married.off before the wheat sprouts.”
John William looked over at the crowd of women gathered in earnest conversation. Maureen Brewster was one of the oldest there, her gray frizzled hair hardly the markings of an object of desire.
“You sure about that?” John William said.
“Listen here,” David said, “women here are scarce. Men can't be too particular about age and beauty and such.”
Just then Adele Fuller turned slightly and gave the men a stunning smile before returning to her conversation.
“Then how come that Adele Fuller ain't married yet?” John William asked.
“Aw, she can afford to be particular.” This from a slick-looking young hand named Lonnie. “She could have herself any man she wants. And she don't want a farmer.”
“Judging by the way she's looking at you,” Big Phil said to John William, “you'd better get yourself & farm as soon as you can.”
“I'll talk with Mrs. Brewster when I get a chance.”
“No better time than now,” David said. “It's time for the dinner.”
There was a bustle of activity as boxes and baskets were unloaded from the wagons parked around the church building. It was a tradition of the congregation to share a generous potluck dinner, each family contributing what it could. The fresh doughnuts brought by the Logans were just the tip of their contribution. Mrs. Logan also had two-dozen corn muffins, sausage links, ajar of pickled beets, and cold potato cakes.
Planks were laid across the wagons creating long tables loaded with dishes, bowls, pots, and plates. The bachelors of the congregation brought kegs of fresh water and cider. There were kettles of baked beans, cooked overnight and wrapped in towels to keep warm. One family brought a smoked ham from a pig that had to be slaughtered early another a huge pot of venison stew. There were jars of pickles, cans of oysters, loaves of bread, dozens of biscuits. Apple, cream, and fresh berry pies were lined up and guarded closely. But the greatest treasure of all was isolated and revered: Adele Fuller's chocolate cake.
John William stared, openmouthed. He'd never seen such bounty in his life. He felt a plate being placed in his hand and looked down to see the now familiar face of Maureen Brewster.
“I couldn't,” he said. “I didn't bring anythin'.”
“Nonsense," Maureen said. “There's plenty here. Now fill your plate and come sit with me.”
“Yes, ma'am. You're just the person I want to talk to.”
Mae had given her the magazine just as Gloria was loading her things into the wagon before leaving Silver Peak. “Just a little something to pass the time,” she'd said, and Gloria had spent many hours flipping through its pages, largely ignoring the pages of elusive text.
But she did enjoy the pictures, especially the styles that John William told her the magazine heralded as “the latest from Paris.” Four of the pages were devoted to hairstyles—complicated labyrinths of braids and loops. For Gloria, who had never done much more than restrain her curls in a single thick braid, they presented the challenge of civilization and sophistication.
Still wearing the sleeping gown she'd put on after her bath, Gloria sat in fierce determination to achieve success. The magazine lay open beside her, a small rock anchoring the pages against the slight afternoon breeze. John William's shaving mirror was propped up on an overturned crate, and next to it a small dish contained every hairpin Gloria owned. Seven. It was hardly enough to recreate the crowning glory from the picture, so she improvised using strips of cloth to anchor sections, tucking and hiding the ends
within the mass of hair.
Three thick sections were wrenched into a twist along the back of her head. The hair remaining loose at the side of her face was divided, plaited into twelve tiny ropes—six on each side— which were meant to crisscross over the large twist and create a profile not unlike the prow of an ancient ship.
After what she estimated to be an hour's worth of hard labor, Gloria had a sheen of sweat across her face, aching arms, and a disaster on her head. Up close, the shaving mirror allowed her to see only a quarter of her face and head at a time. Each step she took away from the mirror gave a fuller view. When she finally had a chance to see the complete picture, the only resemblance to the reflection in the mirror and the picture in the magazine was that both depicted a woman with hair.
“1 think that's a better use for that hairbrush,” Gloria said, looking at baby Kate chomping hungry little gums on the brush's wooden handle. “It certainly didn't do me much good here.”
Kate took the brush out of her mouth long enough to emit a gurgty giggle-
“And what about you, young man?” Gloria said, turning to Danny. “What do you think?”
But Danny was absorbed in the creation of spit bubbles. Gloria couldn't even get him to look at her.
“Men," Gloria said. “Women torture themselves trying to look beautiful for them, and they don't even notice.” Not that she had any man to look beautiful for, of course. John William always took extra pains not to look at her at all.
Unfortunately, the undoing of the creation proved to be just as unsuccessful as the style itself, and soon she was left with a mass of half braids, tangles, and wild, frizzed tresses.
Perhaps it was the flurry of activity around her ears, perhaps it was the mumbled cursing that accompanied her task—whatever the reason, Gloria failed to hear the approach of the Logan's wagon. She was, in fact, quite unaware of their presence until she heard John William say, “Gloria?”
She whipped herself around, brought one arm up to cover her uncorsetted breasts and the other to unsuccessfully cover her hair.
“You're back,” she said. “I…1 didn't hear you.”
John William's face was a mixture of concern and amusement. David Logan turned beet red and quickly averted his gaze. Josephine looked like a woman who had just discovered a wounded puppy in a rosebush.
“Can I help you with that, dear?” she asked in that sweet voice Gloria found enviable and annoying.
“No, no, it's fine,” Gloria said, frantically trying to pat the mess down.
“Nonsense," Josephine said. “These styles are nearly impossible, especially without a proper vanity table or mirror.” Within seconds she was out of the wagon and at Gloria's side. She cleared the shaving mirror off the crate and guided Gloria to sit on it. “Let's just see what we have here,” she said, stooping to take the brush from baby Kate's grip.
“Come on, MacGregan," Logan said. “Let's leave the women to their talk.”
The men jumped down from the wagon and walked toward the river.
Gloria submitted herself to Josephine's ministrations. She felt gentle tugs on her scalp as Josephine loosened the anchored braids.
“The children are asleep in the back of the wagon,” Josephine said. “These Sundays just wear them out.”
“1 can imagine,” Gloria said.
“Your little ones seem wide awake. Did they just wake up?”
“A while ago.”
The women lapsed back into silence as Josephine worked with Gloria's hair.
“Let me know if I'm hurting you,” Josephine said.
“You're not.”
As each section came free, Josephine spread the hair across her palm and smoothed the tresses with the brush.
“Thank you,” Gloria said.
“Of course,” Josephine said. “What are friends for?”
Gloria looked up at her with questioning eyes.
“At least,” Josephine said, “1 hope we'll be friends.”
“Me, too," Gloria said. She thought about her late night talks with Sadie and the other girls. What in the world would she talk to Josephine Logan about?
Josephine gathered all of Glorias hair into one hand and brushed the lot of it. The women were silent, lulled by the whoosh of the bristles.
“You have beautiful hair,” Josephine said. “The curls, the color. It's just beautiful.”
“Thank you,” Gloria said.
“Would you like me to braid it for you?”
“No, no thank you,” Gloria said. “You should probably be going.”
“Of course.” Josephine set the brush down on the crate and cupped a hand to her mouth. “David!” she called. “It's time to go!” Then she stooped to give each of the babies a tickle on the tummy before climbing into the wagon to wait for her husband.
As the Logans drove out of sight, John William turned to Gloria and offered her a big smile.
“You seem to have enjoyed your day,” he said, looking her up and down with amusement.
“We went to the river, took a bath, came back. Ate beans.”
“And the hair?”
“Don't ask. Boredom makes you do crazy things.”
She'd taken the time to pull a skirt and blouse over the sleeping gown, but her hair remained full and loose and clean.
“How ‘bout you, big fella,” John William said, bending to pick up Danny He hoisted the boy up into his arms, took one look at the child's face, then turned to Gloria with a concerned look. “What happened?”
“He got stung. By a bee.”
“What about Kate?” His voice was full of panic, even though the obviously healthy child rolled around at his feet, the only immediate danger being his own boots.
“She's fine. See?”
“Thank God,” John William said. “But this poor little one—”
Gloria bristled. “Is fine, too.”
“How could you let this happen?” By now he was on his knees, having set Danny back down, and lifted Kate into his arms. He held her aloft, looking over every inch of her, bringing her little feet up close to his eyes and lifting her gown to check the skin underneath.
“I told you she's fine. I handled it.”
John William brought his daughter close to his face, inhaled, made a face, and brought her close again. “What is that smell?”
“I haven't had a chance to change her.”
“That's not what I mean.” He sniffed the child again. “She smells like… flowers?”
“It's lavender. I mixed some of my lavender oil with the soap. Otherwise, it's just so—”
“What were you thinkin'?” John William stood to his full height, still clutching Kate protectively. “Turnin’ my daughter into one big flower, then layin’ her out in a field! Of course the bees came swarmin'. You're lucky they didn't eat her alive.”
“Oh, no," Gloria said. “I didn't even think—I'm so sorry!” Gloria reached out to touch baby Kate's cheek, but John William brusquely turned, taking her out of reach.
“You just have to be careful,” he said, his voice softening a little. “It could have been bears.”
“I would have fought them, you know.”
John William turned to look at her again and, to her immense relief, a smile tugged at his eyes.
“You know, I believe you would have.”
Gloria reached for the dishtowel hanging on a hook on the side of the wagon. “You should've seen me with those bees,” she said, whirling the towel into a rat's-tail whip. “They never stood a chance.”
“Really?”
“Yep. I snapped them.” She punctuated the word with a flick of the towel. “Killed them in midflight.”
“So bath, beans, and bee-killin'? You have had a busy day.
Well, I had a busy day; too. I'll tell you about it over supper.”
“Supper?”
“Yes. My surprise.”
Gloria hadn't paid any attention to the basket John William brought out of the wagon, but now she eyed it with curios
ity “What's in there?”
“It is…" John William whisked the large cloth napkin off the top of the basket, “a feast!”
Gloria peered inside. “Is that chicken?”
“It is indeed. There's a family here, the Jaspers, that brought two or three fried chickens and a chopped egg and vinegar salad.”
Gloria felt her mouth water as the contents of the basket were unloaded onto the overturned crate. Slices of ham, sweet potatoes, fried onions, beans.
“I'm afraid it's all cold,” John William said. “If you like, I'll build up a fire so you can heat it up.”
“No, no, it's fine,” Gloria said, her mouth already full. “I'm starving.”
“Can't you say a blessing first?”
“Oh, all right, go ahead.”
“Thank you, God,” he prayed, “for the generosity of our new neighbors. Bless this food. Bless our new home. Amen.”
Gloria was staring at him when he opened his eyes from prayer.
“New home?”
She worked her way through the contents of the basket while John William told her about his conversation with Maureen Brewster.
“She's a wonderful woman,” John William said. “Very sweet. Her husband died about three months ago. She's ready to sell and move back East.”
“Is that what you want to do?” Gloria asked.
“It just seems like God's perfect timing. She needs to sell, we need to buy The land already has a house, a crop.”
“What is she asking?”
“We didn't discuss price today,” he said. “We're going over tomorrow to talk in detail. 1 need you to—”
“Be on my best behavior?” She used her sleeve to wipe the stream of bean juice that dribbled down her chin.
“After today, I'll be happy if you'll just comb your hair.”
“I'll do better than that,” Gloria said. “If she offers me tea, 111 lift my pinkie like this.” She clutched a biscuit delicately, littlest finger extended, before shoving half of it into her mouth.
“What more could I ask?” John William said with mock appreciation.
Gloria finished off the biscuit and licked her fingers one by one. “That was the best meal I have ever had in my life.” The last word was lost in a very unladylike belch.
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