[Troublesome Creek 01] - Troublesome Creek

by Jan Watson

  Copper held the epaulets to her shoulders and walked to the mirror. “Well, la-di-da,” she said to her reflection. “Molly will love this.”

  Mam stopped pedaling. “Put your quilt back on. Your father’s coming up the walk with the mail.”

  Daddy opened the door. A draft sailed up Copper’s bare legs and made her shiver.

  “What’s going on in here?” He peered underneath a piece of laundry. A long johns’ trapdoor hung in his face, sending Willy into paroxysms of laughter. “Don’t we have enough clothes hanging about without you making more, Grace?”

  “Daddy? Daddy!” Daniel tried to get his father’s attention.

  “What’s that, Son?” Daddy said from behind the union suit.

  “Daddy, you’ve got underpants in your face.”

  “Nah, surely not. That wouldn’t be seemly.” He walked farther into the room, and the long johns came with him, stretching the line to near breaking.

  “Will, if you dirty those clothes, you’ll do the next wash,” Mam said, her back to him, pedaling away again.

  “These are dry anyway. Come here, you two rascals, and take these down. Mind the clothespins. I don’t hanker whittling more.”

  “We could whittle them, Daddy,” Willy replied. “If you’d let us have back the knives Doc Simon sent us for Christmas.”

  Daniel nodded.

  “When I can trust you not to carve your initials on a church pew again—that’s when you’ll see those pocketknives, Son.”

  “But, Daddy, I found yours—W. B. 1848—on the back of the pulpit.” Willy pulled hard on a pair of pants. The wooden pin securing one leg to the line popped off, shot straight up, and came down like a fallen arrow, straight on the bald spot atop Daddy’s head.

  Willy guffawed. Daniel giggled. Daddy’s face turned red as he rubbed his scalp. Copper secured the quilt she wore with the errant pin, then started taking down the laundry.

  “Leave that to these two ruffians,” Daddy said. “They can take ’em down and fold ’em too. Here . . . I brought you something.” He pulled a stack of mail from his coat pocket and handed a familiar-looking, cream-colored envelope to Copper.

  She sighed and took a sip of her tea before walking to her room. The air was frigid when she opened the door, so she left it cracked and hurried to her bedside table. She pulled the drawer open and pushed aside the gift Simon had sent her for Christmas—a heart-shaped locket—then retrieved a bundle of unopened letters tied with pink ribbon. What to do, what to do? She knew if she read just one page the decision would no longer be hers to make, for Simon stirred her senses and weakened her resolve without even being present.

  Between Mam and her dresses and Simon and his missives, she felt bombarded with the desires of others, and she wanted to be true to herself. Wasn’t that what was ultimately the most important thing? To be true to oneself? She held the little packet of his correspondence pressed to her chest, the weight of his words like a stone on her heart.

  Across the room under her brothers’ bed she could see the ends of two trunks. One was hers. It was nearly full of frilly under-things, gowns, wrappers, slips, and several new dresses, not to mention shoes and hose. The other trunk was her family’s, making ready for their departure to Philadelphia. If she was married they wouldn’t need to wait until she turned eighteen. Copper knew Mam hoped to move and get the family settled before a new school term started in the fall. If she didn’t marry, she would disappoint Mam greatly. If she did, she might disappoint herself.

  Copper tapped the unopened letter against her chin thoughtfully, then put it on top of the others and secured them all with the silky pink ribbon. She took up the locket. Its fine gold chain was twisted around the basket necklace John had carved for her. She unknotted it and warmed the precious metal in her hands, then pushed the little clasp. The locket sprang open, and Simon looked out at her. She traced his dark mustache with one finger. He was so handsome. A tear started in the corner of her eye.

  Leaning across the bed, she pulled aside the heavy curtain Mam had fashioned to keep out drafts. It was almost dusk. She’d have to hurry to get the milking done before supper. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she put on her scratchy woolen stockings. The sound of Daddy’s laugh made her smile. The oven door creaked, and she smelled corn bread and brown beans, saw in her mind’s eye her family gathering around the table, heads bent and hands clasped. But she didn’t see herself there.

  She missed them already.

  “Laura Grace. Laura Grace.”

  Copper was curled under her quilts, toasty warm in her bed. She didn’t want to wake up, but Mam shook her shoulder persistently.

  “What? What is it, Mam?”

  “Your father’s ill. Come and help me.”

  She struggled out of the nest of blankets, Willy and Daniel curled on either side. She hadn’t even noticed when they’d snuck into her bed. What did Mam say? Daddy’s sick? Probably just that cough again. Her long white nightdress flapped around her as she hurried to their room.

  He lay back against the pillow, heaving for breath. She could hear the whistle of his lungs.

  “Mam, help me set him up. He’s smothering.”

  They wrestled him up and stuffed the pillow bolster behind his back. Copper put her ear to his chest. She could hear a gurgling and feel heat against her cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

  She ran to her bed and reached under the mattress for the medical book she kept secreted there. The boys didn’t even stir. She thumbed it as she hurried back to Daddy. “I’d guess he’s got pneumonia, Mam.”

  Mam’s hand flew to her throat. “Oh no, Laura Grace. What can we do? Who will help us?”

  Copper held up her hand, palm out. “Just a minute.” She turned up the lamp wick and studied a few pages. “Mam, go heat some water.” She heard the clanging of the heavy iron teakettle as she knelt on the bed. “Daddy! Wake up. Can you hear me?”

  He wheezed and strangled but opened his eyes. “Cop . . .” He struggled. “My remedy.”

  She bustled into the kitchen and pulled on her boots.

  “Where are you going?” Mam asked. “What are you going to do?”

  “Squeeze a lemon and measure out some molasses,” Copper directed. “I’ll be right back.”

  The clouds had lifted, and a million sparkling stars greeted her run across the barnyard. The cold, clean air seared her lungs as the wind whipped around her. She pushed the barn door open and stood for a moment, orienting herself. Where had she seen that jar? The grain box. Tucked way down inside, the little gray jug was buried in the cow’s feed.

  The kettle whistled on the stove and Mam was piercing the lemon with a sharp knife when Copper stepped back inside the house.

  “What is that?” Mam asked. “Where did you get—?”

  Copper plunked the jug on the table and pushed out the little cork with her thumb. The tang of spirits stung the air. “Corn liquor, Mam. Uncle Daniel makes a little now and then. Daddy takes it for his cough.” She poured a dollop into an ironstone mug, followed by a squeeze of lemon and a tablespoon of molasses. After that, she topped it off with a measure of boiling water. “Bring the footbath in. We’ll want to soak his feet to break the fever.”

  Mam caressed her right temple, a look of pain clouding her features.

  “Mam!” Copper demanded, seeing the familiar hesitation. “Get the footbath.”

  “I’m sorry,” Mam replied. “It’s just that I can’t bear sickness.”

  “That’s all right,” Copper said, taking pity. “Just help me—

  I know what to do.” And she did. Copper had cared for every sick and injured animal that had dragged itself her way since she was a child. Not to mention caring for all the twins’ various ailments. It was her gift to make people feel better.

  It took both of them to hold him upright and put his feet in the hot water. His hand trembled and the medicine sloshed out. Copper steadied the mug, and he gulped a long drink. “Get a clean shirt, Mam. We’ve got to k
eep him warm and dry.”

  She turned her head and held her father steady, while Mam slipped the wet garment off and replaced it with the flannel gown she’d made him for Christmas.

  “Okay, he’s starting to sweat,” Copper said a moment later. “Let’s get him covered up.”

  They eased him back against the bolster and pulled the quilts around his shoulders.

  “I’ll warm a blanket,” Mam said, her voice shaking.

  Copper followed her into the kitchen. Mam put lumps of coal on the grate and laid a folded woolen blanket on the hearth. Rummaging in the pantry, Copper felt a cold sweat of fear break out on her forehead. When had Daddy last been sick? Seemed like just a few weeks ago. His cough was much worse than usual this winter . Had he lost weight? Finding the tin of salve they used when one of the boys had the croup, she pried it open with a butter knife. Mixing a tablespoon-size dollop of the camphor salve with a slug of kerosene, she smeared it on a piece of red flannel rag warmed by the fire.

  “Here, Mam. Put this on his chest.” They could hear a deep, rumbling cough from the bedroom. “I’ll bring the blanket.”

  The salve must have helped because he slept the rest of the night. Copper’s fear abated, and she grew confident that he would recover quickly. He’d probably just had a bad cold. . . .

  But in the morning her father didn’t get up.

  “I’m just feeling a little puny,” he said around a frog in his throat. “I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

  Anxious to keep him comfortable, Copper and Mam moved the twins’ narrow bed out in front of the fireplace, and he slept there wrapped in quilts and the wool blanket. He slept and slept, and every time he woke Mam fed him more of the medicine Copper had made.

  Copper carried in the wood and coal to heat the house, hauled buckets of water from the well, and fed the animals. Everything in the house felt strange with Daddy laid up. It felt like someone had sucked the air out so she could hardly catch her breath.

  The third night was the longest. Mam was sitting up and Copper was dozing, enjoying the warmth provided by her sleeping brothers’ sturdy little bodies, when Copper heard the front door slam against the wall followed by Mam’s short, high scream. Copper jumped up.

  Mam stood by Daddy’s borrowed bed, her eyes round with fright, her Bible splayed across her chest. The door stood open; a wild icy gale howled into the room. It was the middle of winter, but still lightning flashed across the black sky and thunder shook the window glass. Daddy slept on.

  Copper crossed the room and pushed the door closed against a strange fierce weight. She leaned her back against it.

  “It’s just the wind, Mam. The wind blew the door open.” But she took the seldom-used key from where it hung on the jamb and twisted it in the lock. “There.”

  Mam stood by her chair, trembling. Her long, graying hair hung in a plait over her shoulder. “I thought . . . I thought . . .” She reached out her hand toward Copper.

  “He’s all right, Mam. See, he’s just sleeping.” Copper struggled to keep her own fear at bay, knowing she had to be strong enough for both of them. The last thing she needed was for Mam to get the vapors now. “Do you have any of that resting powder Dr. Corbett left for you?”

  “Just a little, but I couldn’t. I shouldn’t leave him.”

  “He’s breathing easy, Mam. I’ll sit with him.”

  Copper fetched the little paper packet and mixed a drink. Mam took it straight down, then went to sleep in Copper’s bed. “Call me,” she said from the doorway. “Call if he needs me.”

  Copper settled in the chair beside her father’s bed. He didn’t seem any worse, and his breathing was unlabored. She propped her feet under his covers and opened the book she’d kept hidden under her mattress for years: Dr. Chase’s Family Physician, Farrier, Bee-keeper, and Second Receipt Book. She’d discovered it and pulled it from the bookcase one day years ago, when she was dusting. Even though Mam had fixed the whole top shelf for her with storybooks and nature studies, Copper had still reached for the forbidden shelves Mam had warned her not to touch. Her favorite had been Dr. Chase’s medical book, and she had slipped it out every chance she got—until one day when Mam caught her with it and had a fit. She’d jerked it out of Copper’s hands and whacked her legs good with a yardstick.

  The next time Copper had dusted, there was the book in its rightful place, but with many pages missing. It was just about the worst thing Copper could think of, destroying a book. So she’d stolen it. She put another volume in its place, and Mam never missed it. Copper had slept on the lump of it from then on.

  She shook her head now at the memory, then turned down the lamp and dozed awhile, Dr. Chase’s writings and ramblings open on her lap.

  She woke with a crick in her neck when the clock struck 3 a.m. The fire was dying down so she stoked the embers and put more chunks of coal on it, then decided to make herself a cup of tea. She’d hung the teakettle in the fireplace earlier, so it wouldn’t take but a minute for the water to heat. She put some black tea leaves in a tea ball, set it in her cup, and was reaching for the kettle when Daddy started choking.

  He coughed and gagged, sucking in air as if he were drowning. She rushed back to his bedside and held a rag to his mouth as he retched into it.

  “Feels better,” he wheezed. “Something stuck in my throat.”

  “Do you want some more medicine, Daddy? or something to eat? What if I make you an egg?”

  “Not just yet,” he said, his voice as raspy as an old saw. “Maybe just a drink.”

  She laid the rag beside her book on the little table they’d put by the bed and poured water into his glass. He drank it half down and handed it back to her. His eyes closed as he lay back against the pillow. “Thank you,” he whispered.

  She put the glass on the table, and then her heart skidded in her chest. The rag—the white rag she’d held to his mouth—was red. Bloodred. “Daddy, there’s blood on this rag!”

  He opened his eyes and grabbed her hand. “Our secret, Daughter.” He looked at her, a level gaze of love and trust. “Don’t tell your mam.”

  “How long?” Copper demanded. “How long has this been going on?”

  “Since the spring, I recollect—but it doesn’t mean anything, Copper. I’ll get past this.” His eyes drooped. He turned on his side, away from her, toward the heat. “I feel better.” His voice was a ragged sigh. “I’ll sleep now.”

  CHAPTER 29

  The slow gray days of January continued, one day the same as the next—just cold and wind. But at least the rain had stopped. The house was dry, and the laundry no longer hung for days sucking up the heat. They washed only what was absolutely necessary and wore the same clothes until Mam couldn’t stand it anymore and made everybody change.

  Daddy was better. He was working again, but he’d fallen off so much that his overalls hung on his thin frame like a scarecrow picked clean of its stuffing.

  One Saturday morning after breakfast he took down his gun. “I can’t stand one more supper of pork,” he declared. “I aim to get some squirrel. Doesn’t that sound fine?”

  Mam fussed, but he would not be deterred. He and Willy and Daniel set off around ten promising to be back by noon.

  “Mam,” Copper said as soon as they were out the door, “I’m going to take a bath. Will you wash my hair?”

  “You’ll catch your death.” Mam sounded worried. “I’ll put some extra coal on the fire and get it nice and warm in here before I start, but I have to bathe. I can’t stand myself any longer.”

  Copper carried the washtub in from the porch, set it in front of the fire, and filled it halfway with hot water. Full would have been nice, but the water was too hard to heat. Mam turned her back as Copper shed her clothes and climbed into the tub. Mmm, her whole body seemed to sigh with delight as she sank into the tub.

  Mam poured warm water over her head before soaping her hair with a wonderful-smelling castile soap. “This smells like summertime. Like roses and sunshine,” C
opper said, closing her eyes as Mam rinsed her hair. “This is glorious. Thank you, Mam. Would you like for me to wash your hair?”

  “No, I don’t want to take a chill like your father did. That’s all it was, don’t you think, Laura Grace—just a chill?”

  Copper was in a quandary. She couldn’t lie, but then she wasn’t a doctor with all the answers. “I hope so, Mam,” she answered. Stepping out of the bath, she folded herself in a warm blanket, then sat on the hearth and let Mam comb the tangles from her hair. “I hope that’s all it was.”

  Daddy had indeed brought home squirrel for supper. Copper’s belly growled as she hurried Molly with the milking, fancying she could smell the meat Mam was frying. If she didn’t get to the house soon, Mam would use the crisp brown skillet scrapings to make cream gravy and she’d miss her chance at the pot liquor. It would be so good sopped up with a piece of bread.

  Molly shifted her bulky body and nearly toppled Copper off her stool. “Easy, girl,” Copper soothed. She leaned her head against the cow’s warm side and slowed her hands. Swish, swish, swish, the milk flowed. Molly relaxed. Her gentle snores filled the stall, mesmerizing.

  Finally Copper was finished. She’d just reached beneath herself for the milk stool when suddenly she felt a hand upon her shoulder. “Remy? You’ve come back . . .” She whirled around, the little stool wobbling beneath her, and saw him. Her heart soared. She must be dreaming. “Oh, Simon. Is it really you?”

  He pulled her up into an embrace. “I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely into her ear. “I couldn’t stay away. I couldn’t bear it any longer.”