There was no way that the clothesline restricted access to the barn. Jody had just wanted to announce their arrival as subtly as possible. He needed to speak with Wallace and hoped that he would come out to greet him.
And so he did. Sarah and Julian very conveniently went into the house as Wallace came into the barn, alone.
“Rumor has it that Ian was seen,” he said brusquely as he unsaddled his horse, glad that he had a chore to help dissipate the anger and frustration he felt. “A family came into town last week fer supplies. They were all excited, tellin’ everyone about their adventure. It seems a white man dressed as an Indian had saved their child from drownin’. The young couple hadna even noticed that their three-year-old lass had wandered away. Then a strange-lookin’ man came up quietly to the edge of their camp, carryin’ their daughter. She was soaked to the bone, shakin’. He put her down and quickly disappeared into the woods. The lass told her parents that an angel with stars on his face reached into the water and saved her when she fell into the creek.”
Jody paused to see his son’s reaction to the story. There was none—he was emotionless—at least on the outside. This must be what Sarah sees me do, he thought.
He continued with the tale, wanting to get the unpleasant task over and done with quickly. “This happened in the late winter when the ice was thinnin’, they said. That means that Ian—it had to be him—was as close as 10 miles from here less than two months ago. That’s twice he’s been in the area and never stopped in to check on his wif...,” Jody stumbled, and then recovered, “to check on Evie.”
Jody shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. “Julian and Sarah heard the rumor, too,” he said softly. “They dinna want to tell Evie about it, and I’m nae too eager to let her know either, but I felt ye should ken, at least.”
Wallace had remained stone-faced during the entire revelation. Jody needed to know, though, and asked, “Do ye think Evie should be told?”
Wallace said icily, “Let sleeping dogs lie.” He stood tall, stuck out his chest, looked Jody in the eyes, and vowed, “I’ll mind Evie from now on,” then walked to the house, his claim to Evie now declared to his father, her brother-in-law.
Jody was terribly upset, of course, that twice his nephew hadn’t stopped in to check on his pregnant wife, damn him. Even if he had ‘released’ her from marriage, she still carried his child, his children. Why would he be so cruel as to not even inquire about her welfare, their welfare? Jody wanted to set out right away, find him, and thrash him for being so heartless and irresponsible. But he knew that Ian couldn’t be found if he didn’t want to be. Ian knew the Indian ways and could live off the land indefinitely. At least he had come out of hiding to save a life. Ian also knew that his uncle wouldn’t let any harm come to his kin: Evie was safe.
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A few days later, Wallace had asked to speak with Jody in private. He said it was personal, and that he couldn’t talk to his other father—Julian—about it. The two of them went out to the barn, the oppressive silence choking Jody. He glanced at Wallace; he didn’t look too comfortable either. He tried not to imagine what Wallace wanted to talk about that he couldn’t speak of with Julian, his stepfather, the man who had reared him.
Wallace got right to the point. He asked Jody if he knew what it was like to yearn for a woman he couldn’t have. Was there a way to ease the pain of it? He said he felt like he was literally being torn into small, jagged bits for wanting this woman.
Of course, Jody knew who he was talking about—there could be no other. He also knew what it was like to want a woman so badly that life didn’t seem worth living without her. Phew! The lad comes to him as a son to a father for the first time—and what counseling does he seek?
Well, being a parent wasn’t supposed to be easy. He told Wallace the truth. Yes, he knew what it was like to burn. He hadn’t had Sarah with him for twenty years and had missed her horribly the whole time. He never stopped wanting her, thinking about her; he felt incomplete without her. Now that he had her back in his life, he would risk everything to keep her, and had. If Wallace felt this way about his woman, he shouldn’t hold back.
“Evie’s worth it, from what I see of her,” he said, eyeing Wallace knowingly. He sat down on the stool next to the very pregnant nanny goat, and shifted his position. “I dinna imagine it could be any other woman, ye ken. Life can be difficult—but it’s always interesting—with a woman from another time.”
Wallace nodded. He hadn’t told anyone that he had overheard Evie explain to Julian that she and Sarah were from another time. He accepted it the same as he accepted gravity—just because he couldn’t explain it, didn’t mean it wasn’t so.
Jody looked deep into Wallace’s eyes, waiting for an answer, making sure that Wallace knew what he was talking about.
He hadn’t tried to fool his father about what he knew or didn’t know about Evie, but now Jody was asking for acknowledgment. He gave it, nodding again that he knew about her: go ahead with the rest.
Jody settled back and continued his counseling. “They dinna think the same way women do now. They’re very independent, ye ken. But a fine woman, no matter what she looks like or what time she’s from, is worth takin’ and cherishin’ as a wife.”
Neither one of them brought up Ian or where he fit in the picture. Ian was a cad—the whole family knew it—and there wasn’t a valid reason on earth for it. Wallace had already said he’d take care of Evie, and now had indirectly acknowledged he wanted to do so as her husband.
“So, ye want to wait until after the bairns are born to be marrit?” Jody asked, keeping his eyes on the nanny. He didn’t want to make Wallace uncomfortable. That had to be the reason Wallace was ‘burning,’ but he didn’t want to address that subject, now or ever.
“Aye. Whether Ian really ‘un-married’ her or not, she will truly be free from the handfasting when the babies are six-weeks-old.” A red blush rose in Wallace’s face. And at six weeks, they could have relations.
***40 Time of Confinement
Late spring of 1781
Pomeroy’s Place, North Carolina
Sarah was frustrated—again—unconsciously huffing and snorting as she paced; first inside the house, then out, trying to find challenging tasks to keep herself occupied. There wasn’t much to do these days, and she was used to being busy. Besides the omnipresent housework, there was always sorting, drying, and grinding herbs; and taking care of people’s health needs, either at ‘the little table’ in the kitchen, or calling on them in their homes.
It wasn’t like that anymore. The house calls were nil, and no one was coming to visit. Many families in the area had left because of the fighting—or fear of it.
Sarah’s anxious energy had already placed her ahead of schedule on performing the mundane, but necessary, chore of creating home-manufactured goods. Her woodland harvested and garden-grown pharmaceuticals were processed and stored, and our cupboards were filled to capacity with soap, candles, and dried foods. We had at least a two-month supply of our everyday consumables and no place to store more.
I insisted on helping with the household chores, despite my very advanced stage of pregnancy with ‘at least two’ babies in my belly. I did the prep chef work—washing, peeling, and dicing vegetables—and all the mending. I even took the initiative of modifying the men’s britches, adding double knee patches before they wore out so they’d last longer between repairs. Wallace volunteered to take care of washing and hanging out the laundry, in addition to his daily tasks of seeing to the animals—feeding, milking, and cleaning out their stalls—and making sure the wood box stayed full. Because of my super-man’s boundless energy and ambition, Sarah only had to cook the meals and tend to the garden.
The spring rains had come on time. The peas and potatoes were up, and she had put in the beans, squash, and corn last week. It was still too wet to hoe, but the sun was coming out every afternoon, drying off the leaves and making the air smell fresh and promising. Unfortunately, the sten
ch and noise of cannon and small arms fire still came in occasionally, reminding us that all was not well in America right now.
Jody had taken Julian with him several days before on a ‘hunting trip,’ a reconnaissance mission to the south. Jody joked that he and Julian were going to get fresh meat for the table, but we all knew they were making sure our area wasn’t in the path of militia movements of either side. With both Julian and Jody out riding, one could pose as captured and the other captor if needed, depending on who they ran into. They would still do their best to stay undetected, of course. It would be bad for all of us if either one of them were taken away as prisoner.
Jody would have taken Wallace, but didn’t want to leave Sarah and me alone. He knew Sarah could take care of her own needs, but she had to see to me, also. I still had a couple months to go until I was due to deliver, and the multiple-births aspect of my size was not only obvious, it was restrictive, the simplest of tasks now onerous. I would have been angry at Jody’s insinuation that it took two adults to look after me, but I think he knew that Wallace wanted to be with me, and would be thinking, or worrying, about me the whole time and not paying attention to ‘hunting’ or scouting.
These were uncertain times with desperate and dangerous deserters from both sides roaming the countryside. Wallace was a skilled and well-trained warrior, and was tall and powerfully built. He could easily take on several men at a time if Sarah and I were in danger. He would certainly be better at intimidating any potential attackers than the older and diminutive Julian. Jody was also more comfortable with Wallace safely ensconced at our little homestead rather than visible: he was prime material for conscription into whoever-found-him’s service.
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Both men had made it back from their trip without incident—Julian to his ranch with his partner, José, and Jody to us. Now it was Sarah’s turn to travel. She had heard that the women in Miller’s Flat had herbs, dyes, and assorted kitchen items they wanted to trade with other ladies in the area. I guessed it was sort of an annual colonial swap meet.
Women came from far away to do their own trading. Most of them brought their children along. The men and older sons either were at war, or were staying near their homestead to keep it safe from marauders. Make no mistake about it, though—these women were well armed. They may not have had muskets or pistols, but they had their butchering knives and clubs. They had also spread the rumor that their menfolk were hiding in the woods, just waiting for someone to make the mistake of attacking their women and children. A good rumor was as good as an armed escort in these suspicious times.
Sarah only had to go a short distance to reach the MacPherson family farm. Ten women and children were traveling in their group. They were excited to have Sarah accompanying them, and Sarah was glad to spend time with them, too. Eleven-year-old Elizabeth was passionate about herbs and medicines; she practically tied herself to Sarah’s elbow whenever they were in the same neighborhood, asking questions about tinctures, teas, and poultices—volunteering to help with any task, even the distasteful ones.
The womenfolk’s trip to do their trading would have them back home in a week or so, depending on the weather and how much visiting they did. The mothers and children were happy to be away from their regular surroundings, their daily chores and routines. They had more than just homegrown and handmade goods to swap with each other—they also had recipes, patterns, and stories to share. No one was in a hurry to get back, so they didn’t rush the experience, enjoying their vacation and the nearly perfect weather before weeding, reaping, and preserving took up all of their time.
Before she left, Sarah had put me on house arrest—bed rest, that is—and insisted that I use the ceramic indoor accommodations for all of the ‘minor business,’ and save the trips to the privy for the more malodorous bodily functions. I wasn’t happy with the restriction, but knew it was in my best interest. Of course, it was better than it could have been. I had help, didn’t have to eat my own cooking, and wasn’t responsible for the usual, and always arduous, daily tasks.
Both Jody and Wallace remained behind to keep the Pomeroy place functioning, but it was Wallace who stayed close, taking care of me as the concerned and doting fiancé that he was. He had his chores to do, too, but he always found a reason to be near me.
He brought in the firewood and refilled the water vessels with a smile and a bright attitude that seemed to shout, ‘Look what I got to do for you today!’ Some of his small projects, like sharpening tools or mending harnesses, wound up being performed at the porch bench, a close and comfortable conversation-length away from me.
I was glad that he was coming to me. It was getting more and more difficult for me to move. I was huge—as bulky and awkward as a 200-pound chicken with three legs. Actually, I didn’t have a scale, but it felt as if I were gaining a pound a day, and at least an inch or two of girth. It was an engineering wonder that my belly still stuck straight out—no sagging—and had stretched to such a humongous size without splitting or becoming marked.
The worst part about being so big was that it had become necessary to ask for help getting up from the pot. I could get onto it just fine, but couldn’t manage to get back up again. It was both humbling and humiliating, but Wallace was right there to attend to my needs, always polite and considerate.
Wallace felt sorry enough for me and my challenging situation that he did something about it. He took several planks from an old broken door, and designed and constructed a commode chair with sturdy arms on it, just for me. He made sure it was well-sanded, too. I was most appreciative of the attention he paid to the finely polished surfaces. Splinters in the fanny would have been both uncomfortable and impossible for me to remove. It took him less than two days to cut out and finish the chair. He probably could have completed it sooner, but I had to keep calling him in from the barn to assist me with my necessary breaks.
He was such a gentleman about the interruptions, too. “May I be of assistance, madam?” he would ask.
I would have been mad at him, but he always said it with a deep tone of exaggerated diplomacy, sparkled with a grin. I couldn’t help but return his smiles and say, “How kind of you, sir?” or “Oh, my knight in shining armor, here to rescue me again.” He truly was a treasure.
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Sarah came back from her trading vacation with lots of new seeds, herbs, and ideas. I was glad to have her home again, but not nearly as happy as Jody was. She really did complete him, and the other way around, too. Julian was with José at their ranch, and I had my Wallace. There was peace in the land; there hadn’t been any battles, skirmishes, or even Tories in our area in ages. Our little clan had settled back to where it was meant to be. The rhythm of life and its comfort had returned.
As content and boring as life was, now that warm weather had arrived, there were no empty hours in our days. Sarah and the men had those never-ending summertime chores to do. I was willing to assist, but there wasn’t much for me to do but take care of the babies within me.
I was no longer frustrated with my ‘strongly suggested’ bed rest limitation—I knew I was doing what was best for the babies. Sarah didn’t need to tell me that an early delivery, and the lower birth weights that were sure to accompany it, would lessen the babies’ chances for survival. So, rather than carp about my restrictive lifestyle, I ate my greens, drank lots of milk, napped, and grinned. I knew I wouldn’t get much sleep after they were born, so reveled in the rest while I could.
When day was done and meals were finished, I began my job. I had taken on the role of entertainer, sharing stories and poems with my enthusiastic audience.
“‘To talk of many things: Of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings—and why the sea is boiling hot—And whether pigs have wings.’
“That was written by—or will be written by—Lewis Carroll in Through the Looking-Glass,” I said. “I sympathize with Alice, and I’ll tell you more about her later, but I have to get the story straight in my hea
d first. Hey, I wonder if that’s how I got here. Nah; couldn’t be, there weren’t any mirrors around when I woke up.”
Books and stories were not the hot topics, though. Sarah was interested in modern surgical techniques. I explained Lasik and laparoscopic surgeries, deep brain stimulation, and anything else I could remember. Modern drugs were a bit of a joke, I opined. I told her how many of the new medicines had side effects worse than the original problems they were meant to treat. She agreed with me that many 20th century ailments were unknown here in the 18th century. Parkinson’s disease, with the whole body shaking, was unknown in this time. I told her that one theory was that it was caused by pollution from the Industrial Revolution.
Of course, the term industrial brought up the subject of new innovations in engineering, machinery, and tools. We spoke of bulldozers, airplanes, helicopters, oil pipelines and tankers, underground and underwater highways for cars powered by everything from fossil fuels to the sun. We never ran out of topics to discuss.
Wallace accepted as fact that the Americans were going to win the Revolutionary War. He was positively fascinated with Benjamin Franklin and Thomas Jefferson. He knew of them as contemporaries who were innovative in both civics and scientific inventions. He confided in me that he would like to meet them. Heck, I wanted to meet those two men myself!
“Post offices and a standardized system for delivering mail—zip codes?—how clever.”
“Lightning is composed of electricity which man can also make with water or coal or oil? You can save it, contain it, and distribute it with wire, and use it to provide light as bright as day? And you turn it on and off with the push of a button?”
“How can sound and pictures travel through the air without being seen?”
“Writing without pen or paper on a computer? Explain computers again, please?”
I was happy to speak about the good things in the 21st century, and didn’t elaborate on the problems of crime, broken families, drugs, and corruption. They had those same problems now, but not on the same magnitude as we had—or will have. Was the trade-off worth it? The more time I spent in this era, the more I felt that this was the right pace for life. What did we gain by traveling faster? We got a polluted planet and stressed out human beings to name two big consequences.
Naked in the Winter Wind (The Fairies Saga Book 1) Page 40