The minister rocked his chair. “I decided the best help I could be was to sit here and pray for you and your new family.”
“I appreciate that, Reverend. We’re certainly in need of prayers.”
The minister patted his Bible. “The Lord promises He won’t give us more than we can bear, but He certainly comes mighty close at times.”
Like right now.
“He brings us comfort as well.”
Erik thought of his beautiful baby, of the support from people he’d barely known before today. “But there’s so little compared to all the pain.”
“We receive small doses to sustain us. Sometimes from different places. Not much, perhaps, if you look at them individually. But they all add up to enough to keep us going, until someday, we find the pain is lessened.”
Antonia poked her head out of the doorway, and, when she saw Erik, she stepped outside. “Mrs. Norton wants to know which dress you want Daisy buried in?”
How in the heck do I know? Suppressing his irritation, he rubbed a hand over his head, as if the gesture would give his brain some energy to think. “Her best dress, I guess.” But then he paused and held up his hand, signaling her to wait. Daisy was awfully proud of her navy-blue dress with the puffed sleeves and the lace around the collar and neck—the one her parents had sent her at Christmas. But he’d loved his wife in her second-best dress, a light blue shirtwaist and skirt that made her eyes match the sky. That’s the one. He described it to Antonia.
Giving a nod, she vanished into the house.
Erik walked over to the pitcher and ewer, set on a bench at the end of the porch, and washed his face and hands. With a sigh, he settled down to wait. For the first time, fatigue hit him, and he realized it had been a long time since he’d slept. He thought about getting up and poking around the kitchen for something to feed his guests, but he didn’t have the strength. Thank goodness, Mrs. Cameron had sent along a basket of food. That will have to do.
Mrs. Norton came out onto the porch. She looked at him, compassion in her eyes, and nodded.
It is time. With a heavy sigh, he stepped over the threshold and into his comfortable main room.
On the braided rug, Mrs. Carter knelt in front of Jacques, holding his hands and letting him bounce up and down. “Ma, Ma, Ma,” he chanted, grinning.
Antonia sat in the rocking chair, nursing Camilla. She looked up when he entered, her eyes shadowed. She didn’t say anything.
But Erik could feel her gaze on him as he crossed the room to enter the bedroom. He paused at the door, then with a deep breath forced himself to enter.
His wife lay on the big bed, a cover pulled up to her shoulders. She looked almost relaxed, her eyes half-lidded, her mouth slightly open.
If he squinted, he could believe she slept. But when Erik touched her hand, he failed to feel any warmth, any life, and he knew Daisy was really gone.
Erik let out a slow exhale, maybe the first deep breath he’d taken since this whole tragedy started. He dragged the ladder-back chair to the side of the bed and settled onto it. He rubbed his hand down Daisy’s unresponsive arm, desperately wishing she’d open her eyes and come back to him. Yet at the same time, he knew she wouldn’t.
Baby Jacques crawled through the open door. He reached Erik’s leg and pulled himself up. The baby solemnly glanced up at Erik and patted his knee, as though comforting him.
Erik gave Jacques a small smile.
The baby reached out one chubby hand toward the bed, trying to touch Daisy.
At first, Erik was tempted to push away Jacques’s hand. But something in the little one’s face stayed him—curiosity, but also tenderness beyond his years. It seemed to him as if briefly an old soul peeked through those dark eyes, lending an elder’s wisdom and compassion to the baby’s countenance.
With one finger, Jacques touched Daisy’s hand in a tender gesture that brought tears to Erik’s eyes. He rubbed a hand over the boy’s black curls, feeling a connection to the child, akin to the love he had for Camilla.
The wise look on the boy’s face faded, and then Jacques was only a baby, whose legs gave out. He plumped down on his bottom, then turned, and crawled out the door.
Erik stared after the baby, feeling awe and the first stirrings of peace since Daisy had gone into labor. Then he pushed the strange incident to the back of his mind and turned his attention to his wife. “Daisy, we have a beautiful daughter. Thank you for giving her to me. I swear I will do everything in my power to keep her alive and happy.”
He paused, not wanting to say the next words. “For Camilla’s sake, Daisy, my love, I’ve taken another wife. I think you would like her. She’s saved our baby, Daisy. And for that alone, she’ll have my undying gratitude.”
A fanciful thought struck him, and he stopped to think it over, feeling that maybe it wasn’t so fanciful after all. “Perhaps, my dearest, you already know this. Maybe the first thing you did after crossing through those pearly gates was arrange for someone who would save our daughter. . .and thus save me. Maybe we’ll all save each other.”
Erik brushed back the hair from her forehead. “And sweetheart. . .if you haven’t already met him. Go seek out a man named Jean-Claude Valleau. Tell him I promise to take good care of his family. I’ll provide for them as if they were my own.”
Swallowing hard, he leaned over and pressed a last kiss onto her forehead. “Good-bye, my love.”
In the other room, Antonia picked up her baby son when he crawled to her and hugged him. The other two women had stepped outside to give Erik privacy, taking Henri and Camilla with them. But Antonia felt she should stay near Erik if he needed her—not that she knew what, if anything, she’d be able to do for him.
Jacques laid his head on her breast, and she took a seat in the leather chair. She couldn’t help overhearing Erik talking to his wife, and she didn’t want to disturb him by closing the door. But as the conversation continued, Antonia was grateful she hadn’t, for his words deeply touched her.
A powerful emotion flowed through her body, comprised of pain and gratitude, and the beginnings of affection for the man she would now call husband. This time, she couldn’t stop the tears that rolled down her face. But they weren’t just for her loss or that of her boys’, but also for Erik and Camilla. And Daisy, too. She leaned her head against Jacques’s and let them flow, ’til the wetness dripped on his curls.
As she cried, Antonia echoed Erik’s prayer that Jean-Claude and Daisy meet up and together watch over the two families, who, from necessity, had now become one.
The burial party formed a semicircle around the open grave with the coffin resting inside. Reverend Norton stood at the head, near a cross Erik had quickly lashed together, a prayer book in his hands.
Gentle hills ringed the area, shutting out the sight of the house and the barn. A breeze swept through the group, bringing the scent of grass and dust, and ruffling the women’s skirts.
Antonia held Jacques, while Henri clutched her skirt. At the house, she had broken apart her wedding bouquet and passed out flowers to the mourners. Although, at Mrs. Norton’s suggestion, she’d held back one bloom to save as a keepsake.
Erik stood next to her, nearest the minister. On Antonia’s other side, Mrs. Norton held Camilla, who watched the proceedings with her unfocused blue eyes. Then came the Carters who stood close enough for their arms to touch.
Everyone, even Jacques, carried one of her roses, denuded of thorns, although his had lost most of the petals. There’d been just enough flowers to provide one for each person.
Reverend Norton bowed in prayer. When he lifted his head, he looked at Antonia. “Before we begin,” the minister said, “I’d like to take a moment to say a few words for Jean-Claude Valleau, who didn’t have the benefit of a formal funeral.”
Antonia suppressed a gasp of shock.
“I didn’t personally know Jean-Claude Valleau, but through his wife and sons, I have come to know him—as a man who loved his family and did his best to pr
ovide for them, even when the task was dangerous for him to do so. Therefore, I also see him as a brave man. We ask that God have mercy on his soul and give comfort to his widow and children. And when we hear the words of the service for Margaret Marie Muth, we remember Jean-Claude Valleau as well.”
Tears pricked Antonia’s eyes.
Erik glanced at her; then seeing her emotion, he tucked his hand under her elbow.
The gesture brought her unexpected comfort.
The rest of the service passed in a blur of words and grief. Antonia let her mind drift, for if she focused on the grave, the sight brought to mind another shallow one filled with the body of her husband, and once again, she shoveled dirt onto her beloved—the sensations as vivid as when they happened six days ago.
“The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.” Reverend Norton’s words brought her to the present. “Blessed be the name of the Lord.”
They echoed his words.
“Into His hands, we commit the spirits of Margaret Marie Muth and Jean-Claude Valleau. May we rise in glory to see them again. Amen.”
“Amen,” everyone murmured.
Reverend Norton looked at Erik and made a small throwing motion.
Erik tossed his rose into the grave. In a flutter of pink petals, it landed on top of the coffin.
The rest of them threw their flowers into the opening.
Jacques held onto his, and his brother reached up and pried the flower from his clutched hand. “Ba!” Jacques protested.
Antonia jiggled him, while Henri dropped the rose into the grave.
There was a pause, and Reverend Norton led the women and children toward the wagon and buggies, while the two men made quick work of filling the grave.
Antonia glanced back, saw the mound over Daisy, and bit her lip, wishing for some way she could comfort Erik. But how can I do that when I can’t even comfort myself?
Still, when he climbed on the wagon and settled himself in the seat next to her, she reached over and placed her hand on his leg for just a moment. With the small gesture, she tried to convey her support and understanding.
He gave her a quick sideways glance and a slight nod.
Small gestures will have to be enough.
CHAPTER TEN
After the Nortons and Carters left, silence settled over the house. The new family sat around the table. Antonia held Jacques, who was almost asleep. On her right, Henri nodded over his tin plate. The baby slept in a cradle near Antonia’s feet.
Outside the windows, the velvety purple dusk softened the landscape and darkened the interior of the house. A glass lamp burned on the table, another luxury Antonia wasn’t used to. At night, the fire had been their only illumination, and in the warmth of summer, they often let it go out after she’d cooked supper. The breeze through the open window brought the faint smell of kerosene her way.
Erik sat across from her. The lamplight cast shadows over his weary face. He rubbed a hand over his eyes.
He’s probably desperately tired but doesn’t want to go sleep in the bed where Daisy died. Antonia didn’t blame him. She wouldn’t want to, either. “You probably didn’t sleep last night.”
Erik shook his head. “Daisy was in labor the whole time.”
The words had to be said, and Antonia braced herself for the conversation. “Why don’t you go on off to bed?”
He shifted. “Don’t know how I can. . .”
Antonia hastened to talk over his words. “The boys and I be used to sleeping on bearskins on the floor.” She pointed to the corner of the main room where Erik had piled their possessions. “We be spreadin’ them there and be just fine. Don’t you be worryin’ ’bout us at all.”
His brows drew together. “You sleep on the floor?”
“Yes.” She tried for a brave smile. “All of us be together like a litter of puppies.”
“Sounds cozy in the winter.”
“It be so. Iffen one of the boys leaks through his. . .” She shook her head.
Erik let out a brief bark of laughter. “Bet that would be mighty uncomfortable.” His expression sobered. “I could take the floor, and you all could have the bed.”
She shook her head. “No, I’d rather keep the ways the boys be used to. Later, after they be familiar. . .”
“I’ll build you all a bedroom.”
Antonia let out the breath she hadn’t known she was holding. Thank goodness, he doesn’t expect us to sleep together as man and wife. “I’d be much obliged. . . .”
He made a cutting-off motion. “We’re yoked now, you and I and the children. No obligation about it. But. . .tonight’s not the time to ponder the wherefores.” He glanced at the table and looked helplessly at the cluttered kitchen. “Daisy’s ghost will probably haunt me for saying this. She was awfully particular about a tidy kitchen. . .but let’s leave the dishes be. They’ll still be here in the morning.”
Antonia nodded.
He gestured toward the rifles resting on top of a bookcase. “I’ll make a rack for your rifle next to mine.”
She followed his gaze to the gun over the door.
Erik lifted his chin to the pile of their belongings. “Tomorrow, you can unpack and put away everything.”
Antonia thought of the awkwardness of placing her possessions among Erik and Daisy’s.
He seemed to understand for he ran a hand over his head. “Anywhere you choose will be fine. I’m sure I can get used to the changes.”
Unspoken between them was the knowledge of how much bigger change they’d suffered. Clutching Jacques, Antonia started to rise.
Erik waved for her to remain seated. “I’ll spread out the furs, then you can lay the little shaver down. I’ll watch over the babies while you and Henri use the privy. Then I’ll take my turn. I’ll bring in water from the well for washing up. You don’t mind cold?”
“We’ll make do for tonight.”
“We have a basin in the bedroom, but mostly, we wash up on the porch unless it’s too cold.” He glanced down at his new shirt. “Except when I’m too grubby, then I just stand on the dirt near the well and toss the water over me.”
“Sounds like that be a fine plan.”
Erik pushed the two chairs together. He knelt by her furs and unrolled the bundle. Then he spread them out to form a comfortable nest. He raised an eyebrow in askance at Antonia.
“That looks fine.” She rose and laid Jacques down. Then, placing her hands on Henri’s shoulders, she urged him to his feet. He made some sleepy protests, but she guided him out the door and to the privy.
As they walked through the deepening shadows, Antonia uttered a prayer of gratitude, thanking God for bringing her here. If she had to lose Jean-Claude, the Lord seemed to have provided a satisfactory situation to their dilemma, with a man who seemed hardworking and considerate. That didn’t make the pain of Jean-Claude’s death go away, but the tight band of fear she’d worn about her body had loosened like that awful corset, and Antonia could take a breath of relief that she and her children had landed in a safe place. She prayed it was so.
Once inside the house, Erik turned toward the bedroom then lingered, his body conveying tenseness. “Do you have a nightgown to sleep in?”
In the summer, she and Jean-Claude slept nude. But she couldn’t scandalize her new husband by telling him that, so she shook her head.
“Daisy’s will be short on you, but I guess that doesn’t matter. Let me get it.”
He took longer than she expected to return. She knelt to tuck Henri into bed and kiss his forehead before rising to her feet again.
Erik emerged from the bedroom carrying a folded white bundle. He thrust it at her, his expression almost angry.
Feeling uncomfortable, Antonia took the soft garment and held it, waiting for him to leave.
Erik waved toward the cradle, which earlier he’d brought from the bedroom. His daughter was snuggly tucked inside. “You’ll be all right with the two babies?”
“Jacques usually be sleepin’ thro
ugh the night. Camilla be wakin’ for feedings several times, but don’t you be worryin’ ’bout that.” She hesitated. “I be findin’ that sleep don’t be comin’ easylike since Jean-Claude died.”
“I don’t suppose it would.”
She shrugged. “Although I be sure some was due to me a worryin’. Maybe it be different for you. But this be a hard, hard time. Take what sleep you can be gittin’.” Antonia leaned over to blow out the light from the glass lamp.
“Wait,” Erik said. He walked over to the lamp. “Turn down the wick before you blow it out. The wick will stay cleaner and burn brighter that way.”
Antonia hoped he wouldn’t see the red flaring in her cheeks. She didn’t want Erik to know how long it had been since she’d used an oil lamp. I have a lot to learn.
“Good night.” He moved through the darkness with the ease of knowing his home and shut the door of the bedroom behind him.
Quickly, Antonia took off her new dress and slipped out of the undergarments. She spread them over the chair so they wouldn’t wrinkle, and then pulled on Daisy’s nightgown, which smelled like lavender and cedar. The sleeves stopped mid-arm and the shoulders were snug. She ran a finger around the cuff, feeling the thread pattern of lace.
Her hand went to her throat, to the lace that edged her collar. She’d never owned anything with lace on it before. She remembered, as a girl, longing for beautiful clothing with pretty fabric, embroidery, ribbons, and lace. I’ve gotten my wish. The irony of the situation almost made her weep.
The gown came to her knees, and, in feeling around the front of the garment, Antonia couldn’t discover any panels for breast-feeding. She frowned, realizing she’d have to push the material up to her shoulder when nursing one of the babies.
Antonia dropped onto the bedding between her sleeping sons and pulled up a fur to cover herself. Through the open window, she heard an owl hoot. A cloud must have moved across the moon for the grayness she saw through the window faded to black.
Lying in complete darkness, unable to sleep even though she felt exhausted, Antonia couldn’t stop her mind from thinking. Too much had happened today—this week—for her thoughts to calm. Everything should feel comfortable—the furs beneath her, the familiar sounds the boys made in their sleep, but she was already on edge from listening for Camilla—a reaction she remembered from when her boys were newborns.
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