by Jan Watson
Remy’d leaned on her crutch and made one of her pronouncements. “Girl acts like a sheep in the wrong pasture. She bears watching, I suspect.”
“I can’t figure it,” Copper said. “She’s always been honest with me.”
“All’s I’m saying is she’s up to something. Market day she took out of here fast as a pullet wanting to lay an egg. And she was all fancied up in a dress that fit her like the bark on a tree. Who fancies up just to carry some eggs to town?”
Copper had to smile. What did Remy know about being fancy? “She’s young. Girls like to look pretty and be admired.” She watched Manda run across the yard, dodging Jack’s tag. “I think I’ll let it pass this time.”
Remy had nodded. “Bears watching, though.”
Now the buckboard hit a rock, and Copper nearly bounced off the seat. “Mr. Morton, it won’t do your wife any good if you turn this vehicle over.”
“Sorry, but I’m that worked up over Miz Tierney and all. I’m telling you she’s sick enough to die.”
“Who?”
“Miz Tierney, Emerald’s mother. She’s real bad off. She won’t let Emerald even open the door to her room. She says she don’t want to mark the baby with her pain.” He flicked the reins again. “And you can see why I can’t go in there—me being her son-in-law and that. Miz Tierney is real modest.”
The horse and buggy splashed through the small pond Chessie had faltered over. Copper was surprised Mr. Morton could get a buckboard over this precarious trail. She knew she couldn’t have.
Ruby. It was Ruby who was ill. Copper had a momentary feeling of relief. Emerald wasn’t in danger of losing her baby. “When did Ruby take sick?”
“I reckon I heered her about three o’clock this morning. I got up real careful-like so as not to disturb Emerald’s sleep and found her mother pacing on the porch. Soon as Emerald woke, Miz Tierney went in her room and ain’t come out since. Finally she hollered through the door, ‘Ernie, go see if Miz Pelfrey can come.’”
Ernie Morton pulled the reins sharply when they passed the bent sycamore. “Gee!” he hollered to the horse. “Gee.”
Copper steadied herself with one hand against the side of the buckboard. “Can you tell me what her symptoms are?”
“Symptoms?”
“Did she say what she thinks is causing her pain?”
“’Course Miz Tierney wouldn’t say nothing to me, but Emerald told me her ma’s got plumbing problems. Rocks in her pipes.”
“Ah, kidney stones. That explains the pain. They say it’s worse than labor.”
Ernie took off his hat before swiping his arm across his forehead. “I don’t know how women stand their plight. It’s just one thing after another.”
Emerald was waiting on the porch, still dressed in her nightgown. She was crying and wringing her hands. As soon as Ernie helped Copper down from the buckboard, Emerald ran across the yard and grabbed Copper’s hands. Her face was red as a beet. “You’re here. Oh, thank You, Lord, for bringing Miz Pelfrey.”
Ernie retrieved the doctor’s bag and Copper’s valise and followed them to the house.
“Emerald,” Copper said, “splash some water on your face and calm down. You’re not helping your mother this way.”
Ernie poured some water from the bucket on the wash bench into a small basin. He held it like an offering in front of his wife.
Standing in the middle of the porch, Emerald scooped up handfuls and dashed them in her face.
“Now,” Copper said, “I want you to sit down and put your feet up. Your pressure’s probably sky-high. I’ll take care of your mother.”
There were two doors off the kitchen of the house. It wasn’t hard to tell which one led to Ruby’s bedroom. It was the one from which long moans came. Copper cracked the door. “Ruby, whatever is the matter?”
Ruby was on her back on the floor with her knees drawn up. Her fingernails clawed at the thin piece of carpet underneath her. She turned her head to look at Copper with the pleading eyes of an animal caught in a trap.
Copper knelt at her side and brushed strands of sweat-soaked hair from her face. “I’m here to help.”
Ruby caught Copper’s hand with the clasp of a drowning person. “I think my innards are falling out.”
“May I examine you? Would that be all right?”
Ruby arched her back and pushed her heels against the floor as a powerful contraction seized her.
Copper had seen this move before. She placed one hand on Ruby’s abdomen. “I believe you’re in labor.”
Ruby rode the wave of the contraction, then looked at Copper as if she’d lost her mind. “That can’t be. I’m too old.”
“Evidently not,” Copper said with a smile.
“I can’t figure it,” Ruby said, rolling her head from side to side. “I’ve been through the change.”
“Look at it this way. It’s much better than your innards falling out.”
When she began to check her patient, she saw an alarming sight. A loop of navel cord protruded from between Ruby’s thighs. It could easily be mistaken for an intestine.
Emerald was so overwrought, Copper was averse to involving her. She didn’t need two deliveries today. Ernie would do. Still kneeling, Copper cracked the door behind her. “Ernie, bring me water—hot, if you have it—lye soap, a basin, and clean linen. Hurry!” With her foot she pushed the door closed. Copper helped Ruby into the knee-chest position. That should buy a little time by easing the compression of the cord. She jerked a quilt off the bed and draped Ruby for modesty.
There was a light knock at the door. “Here’s your stuff,” Ernie said.
“Just set it down out there. I can get it. Stay close by, though, so you can hear me if I need you.”
Copper gave Ernie a few seconds to get away. Ruby would die of mortification if she was seen in such a position. As Copper retrieved the things, she saw him sitting in a kitchen chair just a few feet away. His back was to his mother-in-law’s bedroom. “Thank you, Ernie,” she said.
“You’re welcome and all.”
There was no time for her usual antiseptic technique. Lye-soap scrubbing of hands and tools would have to suffice. From her kit she took her ankle-length apron, her hair covering, the ligatures, and the scissors. Poor Ruby seemed to doze a minute with her face twisted sideways on the rug.
Copper touched her back. “Let’s get that baby out of there.”
20
Manda staggered back to the house. She made it nearly to the porch before she collapsed, trembling and crying. She lay there for the longest time trying to get ahold of herself before someone came home.
She got to her knees and crawled to the steps. She sat on the top one with her head in her hands. Considering that Mr. John was off logging with just about every other man on Troublesome and Miz Copper was gone on a mission, the first one back would likely be Miss Remy. No way was she going to let Miss Remy see her like this. She’d die first.
She shook herself. Think! What should she do? Her mind clicked with reasoning. First go to the barn and see if there was any little thing out of place, anything that someone might question. It took all her courage to walk back to that barn. Dread accompanied each step, souring in her stomach like green apples.
The closer Manda got to the door, the sicker she felt. Her head whirled like a child’s top until she emptied her stomach in the grass. Now she’d have to clean that up too, as well as the slop bucket. It seemed like years ago since she’d blithely set it in the shade of the barn.
The door was standing open. Was it supposed to be? Her mind spun backward. She recalled thinking she was glad it was closed so Lilly couldn’t see her with the middling man. That was right, so when she finished checking the barn, she should close it tight again.
The most obvious thing out of place in the barn was the pitchfork. She was nearly sick again when she picked it up and saw blood drying on the tines. Had she really stabbed a man? How could that be? She had never intentionally hurt anoth
er living being. What if he went to the sheriff with some made-up story? She could be in jail before nightfall.
“Think!” she said out loud this time. She took the fork outside and thrust it into the ground over and over. It came out clean as ever. Back inside, she tried to figure exactly where the tool had been in the haystack. She stuck it far into the base so it wouldn’t fall over.
“What else?” Manda asked as she looked around. The feed box—she’d have to check the feed box. It loomed like a beast in the shadows, but she forced herself to go to it. Her heart nearly stopped when she spied a piece of white muslin caught in the splintery grain on top of the bin. She checked her petticoat and saw the jagged tear. It was nearly her undoing. Her head whirled again and she saw, as if through his eyes, herself sitting atop the grain bin.
A flash of white-hot anger fueled her. She wished he would come back. This time she’d stab him through the heart! Her shoulders slumped. No, she wouldn’t. The Bible said vengeance belonged to the Lord. The middling man would get his eventually. What she needed to do was protect herself and her reputation and figure out how she let this thing come about in the first place.
Carefully, she removed the small piece of fabric and stuck it in her pocket. She walked around the inside of the barn but couldn’t find another thing worth her attention. She closed the double doors and took the slop bucket to the well and filled it. Tipping the bucket, she splashed water over the place where she had lost her breakfast, then went to the well again, filled the bucket, and left it to soak.
Back at the house she stood and looked across the yard to the barn. There was nothing out of the ordinary. Tucking her blouse into her skirt, she went inside. It was only one o’clock—such a little bit of time had passed, but in that little bit her life was changed, nearly ruined. What that man had almost done to her was the thing every woman dreaded. It would have marked her for life. No other man would want to touch her if that had happened. She would have been branded a fallen woman—no matter the circumstance.
Manda poured a cup of cold, strong coffee and drank it black. Memories scratched at her conscience. She tried to ignore them, but they continued picking at her, as irritating as chigger bites. She saw herself flirting with the man, preening for him, begging for his attention. How could she have been so stupid? She’d set her own self up—and she didn’t even know his name!
Hot tears sprang from her eyes. She slapped both hands over her mouth to hold back the sobs that threatened. She began to pace around the room, beating her fists against her legs. Where was she to find solace? To whom could she turn?
She’d just have to rely on herself like she’d always done—act normal and carry on. That was the only thing that would get her through.
That decided, Manda thought she would go to the garden and gather some vegetables for supper. On the way out the door, she grabbed a bonnet from a peg and glanced at the mirror over the washstand. She caught her breath. Her hair stood out like a dandelion gone to seed. Her eyes were nearly swollen shut, and her upper lip was split. Dried blood flaked in the corners of her mouth. One sleeve was hanging by a thread.
Miss Remy and Jack could be back any second. She needed to buy some time. There was a piece of scrap paper in the middle of the kitchen table and a yellow lead pencil. It looked like Lilly had been copying a Bible verse. Manda tore the page in two, shoving the used part into her pocket. Her fingers brushed the muslin fabric. She leaned over the table and began to write.
I have gone to visit Darcy. Will catch a ride. Miz Copper is at the Mortons’. Mr. Morton came for her. Saw Lilly off. Be back before too long, good Lord willing.
Yours,
Manda
She propped the note against the sugar bowl, then went to the sickroom. Under the cot where she slept weekdays was the tattered carpetbag she used to haul her clothes back and forth. She reached under and pulled it out, checking to make sure her treasures—the stash of wages and egg money and the album of pressed flowers—were still inside. The baking powder tin where she kept the money felt comforting in her hand. She shook it. The small roll of paper bills stifled the clinking change. Counting last week’s wages, she’d finally saved enough to get to Eddyville with some left over.
Taking a moment, she opened the album, her eyes hungry for something serene and beautiful. Ever since she was a girl, she had collected and pressed flowers. When she lived with her parents, she dried the petals between the pages of the heavy family Bible. Once she began to work for Miz Copper, she slipped the roses, marigolds, daisies, zinnias, strawflowers, and black-eyed Susans behind the proper letters of the dictionary that rested on a wooden stand in the living room. Miz Copper had gifted the album to her. It had velvet covers the color of moss and solid vellum pages. The gift had made Manda feel special. Now she felt like a husk of a girl as dried out as the once lusciously blooming flowers.
Grief for her young and innocent self washed through her. Just this morning at the pigpen she had belabored her boring life. Now she’d give anything to have that sense of safety back, that sense of things in place—boring or not.
What if she walked into the kitchen and took a seat at the table and let whoever came home first find her there? What if she just told her story straight up as it happened? She could see the hue and cry that would cause. Mr. John would go get Dimmert and Cara and Dance and Ace. Someone would go to town and bring back the sheriff. She would have to tell the story again and again. The sheriff would round up a posse. The men, probably even Gurney, would ride off seeking vengeance, tracking the middling man like a rabid animal. Every tongue up and down Troublesome Creek would soon tell the sad tale of Dory Manda Whitt—Manda the fallen woman.
No, she should stick to her story, telling no one but her sister. Darcy would understand better than anyone else. When her husband was arrested, tongues wagged, relishing the story for weeks, until someone else’s tragedy became the latest gossip fodder. But Darcy had overcome her hardship, and so would she. It was like digging a tunnel with a bent teaspoon, doable if the spoon held out and you lived long enough.
Of course, Miz Copper would help her given the chance. Just the very thought of seeing the kindness and concern on her benefactor’s face made the tears stream once again. Manda didn’t think she could stand any sympathy right now. And what if Miz Copper started looking at her differently? She really couldn’t stand the thought of that.
The screen door slammed. Jack laughed. They were home.
Hurriedly, she emptied the two dresser drawers designated for her use into the bag, atop the baking powder tin and the mossy green album. She shoved the dresser drawers closed with her hip, slipped out the sickroom door, and headed for the little house.
She didn’t dare go around to the front. Someone might see. Manda crept to the back of the cabin. She pried a window open and crawled over the sill.
There was a fresh corn-shuck mattress on the bed. Manda had stuffed it herself from the supply Miss Remy had dried last fall. They kept the shucks in a wire bin in the washhouse. One of Manda’s chores was to keep the shucks turned and aired so they wouldn’t mold. Once she’d found a nest of mice in there. Miss Remy had blamed her—said she wasn’t turning the shucks often enough—and made her sort through each husk looking for any sign a mouse had been nibbling. Manda must have thrown out half of them.
The corn shucks rustled dryly when she lay down. She would rest here until full dark, then walk to town and journey on from there. Maybe she would come back—maybe she wouldn’t. It remained to be seen.
She sank deeply into the mattress. It rose around her like a feather bed but without the softness. That was good; a bed of nails would have suited her just fine.
“Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid,” she chanted under her breath.
Why had she fallen for the romantic notions in those magazine stories? Had she ever known a Rose Feathergay? or anyone who remotely resembled her? Hardly. Poor Rose would probably find out her woodsman was an ax murderer.
Li
fe was just one long tedious road to nowhere. Manda touched her sore lip and winced. The middling man’s words came back to her: “You’ve been asking for it.” She decided Miss Remy had it figured out. Lead your own life and don’t get tangled up with men. From now on that was what she intended to do.
It was hard to give up on your dreams, though. Tears leaked from her eyes and ran down the sides of her face like rain slides down a windowpane. How could she have been so stupid?
21
Copper cooked supper for the Morton family. Ruby would have none of lying in bed, so she sat at the table with her newborn bundled in her arms. Everyone, excluding Ruby, grinned from ear to ear partly from happiness over the baby and partly from relief that Ruby was alive. Ruby looked stunned, like she’d been poleaxed. Copper kept turning from the stove just to look at the beautiful baby. In the rush to get out of the house, she had forgotten her scales, but she guessed him to be ten pounds.
“No wonder you had shortness of breath, Ruby,” Copper said. “I can’t believe I missed that you had a baby that big in your belly.”
“You can’t believe it? Mercy me, I feel such a fool.”
“But aren’t you happy?” Emerald said, taking the baby from her mother and bouncing him in her arms. “He’s so beautiful.”
“Should Ernie go fetch Mr. Tierney?” Copper asked.
“I reckon not,” Ruby said. “I live here. He visits Sundays.”
Copper looked at the chubby newborn lying in his sister’s arms. Obviously Mr. Tierney did more than visit. She couldn’t wait to share this story with John. But it would go no farther. She was scrupulous in guarding her patients’ privacy. John was the guardian of her secrets.
“You done real good, Miz Tierney,” Ernie said. “Why, this fine boy will be our baby’s uncle.”