I knew I sounded cryptic, but hoped that everyone—except Sarah—would chalk it up to my pregnancy.
“Yes, ma’am, no worries. I wasn’t going back home for a week more anyhow. Are you sure you’re okay?” Hannah asked with concern, a deep worry line marking her otherwise flawless young forehead.
Sarah answered for me. “She’s had a lot of excitement. I think I had better get her back home to her own bed right away. She’ll be fine.”
Mac gave wee George to Hannah and went out to saddle our horses, while Sarah gathered up our bags and my coat.
“Are you sure you’ll be all right with her?” Mac asked Sarah when we got to the barn. “She looks a bit off,” he said softly.
“We’ll be fine. You take good care of that family of yours, okay? If you need anything, just send Hannah. I want you to stay here with them, do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied.
I waddled up to my horse and let Mac help me up; Sarah was all ready to go. “God speed,” he said and smacked the horses’ rumps, sending us on our way.
We rode as fast as Sarah dared with me and my big belly. When we were out of sight of the Donaldson’s homestead, she pulled up in front of me and signaled me to a stop. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“The Ides of March wasn’t just a bad day for Caesar,” I said. “It was the day of the big battle at Guilford Courthouse. We didn’t, or won’t, win this one.”
“Oh, crap,” she said.
“I remembered it when you told me today’s date. Mac named one of the boys after Nathanael Greene. He was, or rather is, a great general. He’s going to turn the tide of the war with this battle. We won’t win it—but neither do the British, really. From this battle on, we’re in charge and, well, you know we’ll be victorious in the end. I wish I could do something to help us win this one, but I don’t know what I—we—could possibly do. I do think we’d better tell Jody about it, though.”
“That, my dear, is the only thing I’m sure we should do. Come on, if you can’t keep up the pace, don’t worry. I need to ride as fast as little Jessie can go. Even at that, I still won’t be too far ahead of you. It’s not that far until we’re home, and I need to talk to Jody right away.”
**37 Wallace and Me
March 17, 1781
Jody, Sarah, and Julian survived the bloody Battle of Guilford Courthouse without injuries. The two Pomeroys rode in late on the 17th, tired and filthy, but intact. Sarah looked as if she had just entered her own little bliss café when I told her that I had a hot dinner of rice and gravy—her favorite meal—ready for them. Jody, although visibly relieved when Wallace volunteered to take care of the horses for him, still looked as if he were carrying all the woes of the war on his back.
Julian had gone home directly to José. His body hadn’t been wounded, but Jody said that he saw the conflict in his eyes when warring with men who had been his allies up until a few months ago.
“Don’t worry,” I said, “I’m sure José will make him feel better. I mean…”
I stopped talking rather than stutter. I didn’t want it to sound as if I were insinuating that any potential intimacy between the two men would take care of everything. Now I had to try and recover two people’s dignity—his and mine…
“What I mean is, when he goes back to José and the ranch, he’ll realize that he was fighting for the right to own and control what belongs to them. No one will be able to take their property or goods, nor tax them without due process, when we win this war.”
There were shrugs and nods of agreement all around the table at my comment, but no words. I knew that voicing my belief made me feel better, and I hoped it had helped them, too.
The simple dinner for four remained quiet and somber. I knew I needed a creative plan and extra effort to return us to our comfortable home and hearth mode. It was my turn to fight for what was mine: my family.
“If it’s okay with you two, Wallace and I are going to do a little camping out tonight. I haven’t slept under the stars for months now. It’s clear and not too cold, and I think it might be fun.”
Wallace looked sideways at me, but didn’t say a word. I hadn’t cleared it with him—I was making this up as I went along—but he was used to my spontaneity, and didn’t protest.
Jody lifted his head slightly and squinted at me, giving me a scornful ‘Now what are ye up to?’ leer. I didn’t let it bother me. He needed to get back to normal, and I was here to help get that done.
I kept on with my scheme. “I put on some hot water. You two can clean up and have a little privacy tonight.” I looked at the very tattered and dirty Jody and added, “Besides, I don’t want to be around to hear you hollerin’ when Sarah scrubs all that pitch out of your hair. You almost look like a brunette!”
My little joke didn’t even get a chuckle from Jody, Sarah only groaned, and Wallace decided it was best to stay quiet and neutral.
I walked up to Jody and said, “Brunette, as in ‘there’s so much crud in your hair, the red doesn’t shine through anymore.’”
“Aye,” Jody said glumly. He got the joke, but didn’t think it was very funny.
“Jay, Kay, El, Em” I replied sarcastically, my chin stuck out in defiance.
“Eh?” he asked.
“Bee, Cee, Dee, Eee!” I said with self-assurance and a smile.
“What are ye talkin’ about?” he groused. His mood was moving from dejection to irritation, which is what I wanted, sort of. I hated depression in me or anyone else, and would rather have him mad at me than moping.
“It’s a game I just made up,” I explained.
“Oh,” he said, his lips pursed, obviously thinking about my little wordplay rather than his disappointment at not being able to win the Revolutionary War single-handedly.
His eyes lit up suddenly and he grinned. “Pee, queue, arrrrh, ess! Now I get it.” He shook his head and said, “Yer right, life is too short—fer some of us, that is—to worry about the past and what we could or couldna accomplish, aye?”
“Jay, Kay, El, Em,” I answered, beaming with pride at the success of my mood-elevation exercise.
Ӂ Ӂ
The game of chess he and Wallace were playing was meant to be a distraction, but instead, it brought back vivid memories for Jody. The battle at Guilford Courthouse last week was short-lived, but intense. General Nathaneal Greene must be a great chess player, Jody surmised as he studied the board; he was definitely a great strategist.
He looked at his thinned out row of pawns, recalling the first line of soldiers in that battle. Those inexperienced men—most of them farmers recently called up for an eighteen-month tour of duty—were raw, inexperienced, and terrified. The tremendous loss of life wasn’t his or Greene’s fault. There were always casualties in war, but the British firing on their own men, just to take out some of the patriots, was both irrational and irresponsible. He made his move—castled his knight—and reflected on the waste of life, glad that he, Sarah, and Julian had returned unscathed.
War and fighting, and thinking about them, always brought out the family man in Jody. “Lord, please keep them safe—Mona, Gregg, Benji, and Becky,” he prayed, as he always did when he thought of them, asking for protection for his daughter, her husband, and their children who had returned to the 20th century. He had the rest of his family here with him now, in this time, and they were his to protect.
And now it looked as if his son had someone he wanted to keep safe and care for, too. Jody hadn’t told Evie or Wallace about Ian ‘releasing’ Evie from their marriage, saying it was because he wasn’t a ‘whole man’ anymore. Maybe now was the time…
“Wallace, there’s somethin’ I need to tell ye and Evie. It might be best done together, but, if ye want to ken first, I’ll tell ye by yerself.”
Wallace sat up straight on the stool and raised his chin, accepting the responsibility of taking care of the woman he loved and any decisions that concerned both of them. “Go ahead then,” he said his
hands on his knees, braced for whatever his father was going to tell him.
“Ian came here nearly a month ago. He, um, stopped to check on somethin’ Evie had in her coat. He left without it, but told me to tell her that some bad men had injured him intentionally—that he wasna a whole man anymore, that she should go on with her life, find someone else, and remarry. I never told her what he said because, weel, there never seemed to be a good time fer it. And she dinna seem too interested in him, or anythin’ havin’ to do with him, either. She’s been happy lately, and I thought if I brought it up, weel, I dinna want to upset her, her bein’ in a family way and all.”
“I’ll see to it. And you’re right, now is not a good time. She’s a strong woman, no matter when she’s from, but she needn’t be burdened with this now. I’ll tell her when the time is right. Thanks for letting me know.”
Ӂ Ӂ
Every day held new adventures for me. At least it was novel for the first few weeks. I must have read about early American laundry methods, but reading about them was much easier than trying to move a big wooden paddle around in a pot filled with boiling water and sopping wet clothes. It was more than strenuous, it was nearly impossible. The chore seemed like punishment, but it was necessary in order to have clean clothes. At first, I couldn’t see why the water had to be boiling, and then I found out that lye-based soap wouldn’t come out of the fabric without it. I didn’t want itchy soap crud next to my skin, nor want anyone else to be uncomfortable because I was a poor laundress.
I didn’t have the upper body strength to move the heavy mass at anything but the slowest agitation speed. Even the simplest daily tasks were extra labor intensive for me because my big belly was always in the way. I really couldn’t do the job well, but didn’t want to ask for help.
As I was making a valiant attempt at lifting out a sodden mess of steaming clothes, I felt a warm body reach around my right side. “Allow me, please,” said Wallace as he took the long wooden paddle from my hands. “Where would you like them?”
Wallace’s sudden appearance at my side had startled me and left me breathless. “Uh, over there,” I gasped and pointed to the slatted wooden table that today was being used as the first stage of the spin cycle. I figured that hand wringing—the second stage of the spin cycle—would be easier if I let gravity claim the first few pounds of water from the clothes, the excess water dripping between the boards to the ground.
I composed myself quickly—I didn’t want him to know that he had spooked me—and walked over to the porch to retrieve my bag. I had talked Sarah into letting me set up a clothesline, but had forgotten to bring out the rope.
“Can you help me? I need a sturdy place to tie this. I want to set up a clothesline.” I gave him one end of the blue and white striped nylon rope. “Drying our clothes on bushes isn’t too bad, but I don’t like wearing the dried leaves and stems that are left behind. Here, can you tie your end around the top of the porch beam? That should be high enough.”
Wallace turned the cord over in his hand, checking out the tight weave of the precise braid, and the stark white and brilliant blue hues. He was intrigued, but didn’t say anything, instead just reached up and quickly tied a simple but sturdy knot.
“Okay,” I said and looked around, trying to figure out where the other end should go.
I was standing on the porch and he was at ground level, so now I was as tall as he was. I had the sudden urge to grab him and give him a big hug. There wasn’t a real reason—it wasn’t lust or passion. I guess it’s just because I needed one. I took a deep breath, hoped it didn’t sound like the wishful sigh that it was, and continued with supervising the project.
“Now, where should we attach the other end? It has to be low enough so I can throw the clothes over it to dry, but tall enough that they won’t drag on the ground. Do you think you can tie it off over there?” I asked, pointing to the mulberry tree.
“I could, but I don’t think that’s the right kind of tree. The fruit will fall when it’s ripe and stain the clothes. And birds that come to eat the berries will leave little ‘presents’ on the clothes, too.” He chuckled when he saw me smile. “How about back here? There’s plenty of sun, and it won’t catch riders in the throat as they come up to the house.”
“Hence the phrase ‘getting clothes-lined’—good choice,” I said. “Clothesline pathway, coming through.”
After a few minutes of our joint effort moving a few fallen branches and pulling some tall, dead weeds, we had the ground beneath our solar dryer cleared and the bright rope secured.
“I like working with you, Wallace. How come you aren’t married, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I guess I wanted to make sure I didn’t get ‘clothes-lined’ by the wrong sort of woman.” He laughed, and then continued on a serious note. “Actually, as a soldier, I didn’t think it fair to marry and then take off.” There was an awkward micro-moment when neither of us spoke. Wallace quickly realized what he had said and apologized, “Oh, I just said the wrong thing, didn’t I?”
“Well, where I come from, the phrase is, ‘truth hurts, doesn’t it.’ But you’re right. It wouldn’t be right to marry, take off, and then maybe get killed, leaving a young widow and maybe a child or two.” I looked at him quizzically and asked, “What is this, saying the wrong thing day?”
We both laughed at the awkward remarks, relaxed in each other’s company. Wallace asked, “Will you let me help you on laundry days? I know you can handle it by yourself, but I can use it as an excuse to spend more time with ye. Listen to me now, I said ‘ye’ instead of you. It seems like Father…er, Jody, is rubbing off on me.”
“What it sounds like to me is that you’re starting to relax. Have you always had to live up to someone else’s expectations?”
“I can’t remember when I wasn’t told how to sit, talk, or eat. I drew the line at being told how to think, though. I would say, ‘If you didn’t want me to think, then why did you bother sending me to so many schools?’ That would stop the arguing right away.”
Wallace and I hung the clothes on the line. We tossed the few items that wouldn’t fit, over the bushes. After we were done, we walked back to the porch to sit. He held my elbow to make sure I kept my balance—or at least that was the pretense. The truth was that we both liked touching each other. It wasn’t a romance thing, at least not for me. It was a ‘gesture of comfort’—or so I kept telling myself.
“I never did thank you for telling me about my fathers. You know I knew, didn’t you? That Jody is—had to be—my natural father. What did you call it, biological father?”
“Yes, biological father is the cold, but accurate phrase. How did you know?”
“I always knew someone else was my father. I didn’t look like the paintings of Lord Cavendish or anyone else in his family portraits. I used to study them, trying to see some similarity, but there was nothing. I never saw my mother, but was told that my hair was like hers. Growing up, I was often called ‘bastard’ behind my back—and a few times to my face. I wouldn’t tell Papa, Julian that it, what was going on, but I think he was aware of it. He made sure I knew how to keep my temper in check, but also that I knew how to fight properly. He would show me off at little exhibitions just to keep my peers aware of my skills. When I grew to over six feet tall, that in itself was a deterrent. It didn’t take much for me to avoid verbal conflicts and fisticuffs—I’d just stare down my nose at anyone foolish enough to challenge me. The antagonist would usually find an excuse to leave the area in a hurry. Funny, though, you wouldn’t think so many men had sick mothers they suddenly had to tend to as soon as trouble started, would you?”
We both laughed at his joke. I stood up and rubbed my lower back. It hurt for me to sit down for too long. Wallace took my hand. We walked down the steps, my hand resting in the crook of his elbow, as if that was where it belonged. We headed away from the house, the laundry, and the responsibilities.
“No, really, it wasn’t too bad after a whil
e,” he continued. “Then I came to America. One look at Ramona and I knew it was more than coincidence that we looked so much alike—especially when I saw Jody again. I had seen him several times as a youth, but back then, I didn’t know—or care—what I looked like. Now as an adult, here in his world, I have been mistaken for him several times. Someone would see me from afar, come up to greet me, and then realize that I was younger, and didn’t have that flaming red hair. They would say something about me being a younger twin, or ask, ‘Does Jody know he has a son?’ Others would just stare, turn and walk away, but always taking a second or third look back at me. Now that you’ve related the ‘godfather’ story, and given me an excuse to call him Father, it makes it easier for me. And for the rest of us, I’m sure. Sarah and Julian know, don’t they?”
“Like you said, one look at you and Jody, and anyone would know. I’m sure you’ll hear the whole story one of these days, and I’d kind of like to be there when it comes out. I’m not involved in this, but, well, you know that I know things, but don’t know why I know them? For once, I’d like to hear the story outside of my head, not from the inside, if you catch my drift?”
“Yes, I think I catch your drift.” Wallace paused. “I’ve never heard that phrase before. I like ye for so many reasons, and one is that every day I learn something new. You’re so bright and fresh and, well, fun. Fun is something that wasn’t part of my curriculum when I was growing up. I’ll make sure it isn’t left out when I have children.”
“Wallace,” I felt the heat of a blush rise up my cheeks as I spoke, “do you want children?” I looked down and began digging a stone out of the ground with the toe of my boot. I was embarrassed, but wanted to—had to—know.
“Oh, yes, definitely. As a matter of fact,” he took my right hand in his left, put the other one on the spot where my waist was supposed to be, then started dancing with me—to music that was only in his mind, “I would like to see if I can get a head start on having a family. If only I could find a worthy woman who is already with child who will have me… Do ye know of one?”
Naked in the Winter Wind Page 38