Night Fires in the Distance

by Sarah Goodwin

  “Will, are we going into town this year, for Christmas at the church?” I asked, as I watched Rachel grate old wax into the little pan I kept for melting it down.

  “Well I suppose now that they’ve gone and built one we have to go.”

  “What’s church like?” Beth wanted to know.

  “You just sit still and then sing some songs,” Rachel said.

  “But for Christmas they put up decorations and you sing special songs and hear the story of Jesus and sometimes there are presents,” Thomas said, in that moment a boy again, rather than a tired servant polishing his master’s boots.

  I set the paraffin to melt on the stove and dusted off my skirts. “And you’ll get to see the other children, if there are any in town.”

  William snorted. “I suppose they’ll be taking a collection for the children, so that they can have candies and mittens.”

  Rachel and Beth lit up at the mention of candy.

  “If so, we’ll give what we can,” I said, “I only hope we can get there, the snow’s coming in so thick.”

  “Jamison said he’s putting runners on his wagon box, making a kind of sled. Told me he’d be glad to take us with him when I went to check on him after the wolves were here.”

  “Will he have room?” I asked.

  “Well, he ain’t taking Martha, that’s for damn sure,” William said, “now they’ve got a church and a pastor, folks in town are starting to get a lot more vocal on the sin of cohabiting, and with a savage no less.”

  I thought of poor Martha, left behind in the soddie while everyone around her went to church to celebrate and be together.

  “Clappe won’t be going with us,” William said.

  “I didn’t ask if he was,” I said.

  He frowned, like he wasn’t expecting me to be so snappish, but thankfully the paraffin had melted, giving me reason to turn my back.

  *

  In England, Christmas had been a time for preparing mincemeat stuffed pies and boiled puddings loaded with raisins, sultanas and spices. We’d decorate with holly and go off to church to sing and hear stories while expensive candles burnt and the whole church was filled with the smell of pine and beeswax. Then there would be the turkey, fattened on good corn through the autumn and winter months, potatoes and candied parsnips. The children, Thomas and Rachel, still no more than babies, were given gifts, a rag doll with soft dark woollen hair for her, and a cup and ball for Thomas, painted green and red.

  Of course I knew we were the poorest in our family, had been since we came to America. I was reminded of it each time I mended my old calico dress, or boiled old, tasteless bones for soup stock, but at Christmas it was impossible to ignore the fact that as far as our families were concerned, we were poor as the Indians.

  I was peering into our stores when Rachel came to watch me. We were only a week or so from Christmas by then, and the snow outside was several feet deep where it had drifted across the wide prairie. Preparing for the trip was the distraction I sorely needed.

  “Ma, what are you doing?”

  “Trying to decide what to make for Christmas.”

  She brightened. “Can we make molasses cookies?”

  “I’m afraid not sweet pea, that molasses has to last us now until the end of spring. I ought’nt to have made you the last batch of cookies, but after working so hard you and Thomas deserved them.”

  I had a few apples wrapped in torn gunny sacks and put away in a box, as well as a small paper bag of raisins that I’d kept folded up in an old tobacco tin especially for Christmas.

  “We don’t have any brandy though, that’s the trouble,” I said to myself.

  “What will we make?”

  “Well, that’s up to you dear, you’re going to help me. You and Beth.” Thomas and Will were both absent, cutting roots for the oxen. “Shall we make a pudding?”

  Rachel and Beth had got themselves into a state rubbing flour on the wet muslin when William came back into the house.

  “What the devil is all this mess?” he demanded. “You think flour’s so cheap you can afford to waste it on the floor?”

  “We’re just making a Christmas pudding,” I said, the two girls having been scared into silence.

  “Well for God’s sake don’t let them at the stores, they’re even more wasteful than you,” he snapped.

  Thomas was taking off his boots, “It smells nice in here.”

  William cuffed him around the head.

  “Don’t you dare,” I ordered.

  Thomas ducked his head and came over to me, followed by William’s glare.

  Across the room, Nora woke from her nap and began to cry shrilly.

  “Is there any child of yours that does what it ought?” William thundered, going for his pipe and dropping into his chair.

  I went to see to Nora and the girls crept to their tick where they were supposed to be sewing up a new set of undergarments for their brother. I’d cut out the pieces of welsh flannel myself and Rachel was showing Beth the stitches. In my work box were the mittens I’d been knitting for Clappe – brown wool taken from an old muffler of mine. I couldn’t yet bring myself to work on them, though I thought of her long pale fingers growing chapped with cold every time I saw the needles poking from the bag.

  As I watched the pudding bob in the pan, sealed up in the floury muslin, I thought of Clappe. How would she be passing Christmas day? Alone and cold without the skill to prepare even one festive dish? I tried to ignore the pity I felt.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Laura

  On Christmas Eve Jamison came by in a wagon box with waxed poles nailed to the axels. It ran across the snow well enough, save for where the ends of the poles gouged the icy crust and the thing had to be dug out of the snow. Jamison explained this while knocking snow from a shovel and stowing it in the back of the box.

  “Miss Deene, you look a picture,” he said, tipping his hat to Rachel, who was in her new dress and shoes.

  “Come on girls, let’s get you up into the warm, shall we?” I said, trying to steer Rachel to the side of the sleigh and away from Jamison. There was something in his eyes when he looked at her, like a man eying a sleek colt that would one day haul loads in the fields.

  Jamison stepped around me and lifted Rachel, then Beth into the sleigh, where they soon had a big old buffalo robe around them. I climbed up with baby Nora, Thomas sat next to me. William had a seat next to Jamison and he lit his pipe up as the horses started to pull us through the snow.

  The sun on the snow made it look like piles and piles of white sugar, but I knew that under it lurked holes and burrows that could fell a horse, or a man. Still, the snow sparkled, and it was lovely to see. The girls were wide-eyed with wonder. It was quiet, no insects, no waving grass, all quiet and still except for the ‘schick’ the poles under the wagon box made as they cut through the icy top of the snow.

  As the sleigh passed Clappe’s soddie I looked away, out over the wide, white prairie. I didn’t want to chance catching a glimpse of her, not now that I was managing to keep from thinking of her for longer stretches. I didn’t want to see the lonely house and wonder about the life of the woman inside.

  “Is Mr Clappe not going to church?” Rachel asked.

  “Hmm? No, Mr Clappe isn’t going to church, at least, not with us.”

  “Why?” Beth said.

  “Mr Clappe is a grown man and he was work to do. He can make his own plans,” I said. “Now girls, what are you hoping for this Christmas?”

  “Ribbons!” Rachel said and Beth echoed it, thought really she wasn’t old enough to care for ribbons yet.

  Jamison laughed, “I should think every little girl in the state is after some pretty ribbons for her hair.”

  “Did you get some for Martha?” Rachel said.

  That made him laugh harder. “I’d sooner buy a bonnet for a hog than waste pretty ribbons on an Indian woman.”

  “What did you buy for her?” Rachel asked.

  “Th
ose glass windows for the house,” he said. “She’ll have light without a draft all winter.”

  Will hadn’t bought me a gift since we were first married. Then it had been a second hand shawl. It wasn’t even that I minded, what use had I for hair ribbons and silk handkerchiefs? When had I last cared about what covered my skin, so long as it was warm and dry?

  At the edge of town Jamison left the wagon and put the horses into a small shelter there, where they were tied up with a few other pairs of horses and oxen. Many people must have made the journey for the Christmas service.

  The church was a wooden building like the store. I made the children knock the snow off of their shoes outside the door on a little strip of porch. Rachel complained that it made her cold toes hurt.

  When we went inside we were at the back of five lines of people. There weren’t any benches. The only things in there were a stove and a table at the front with a wooden cross and two candles on it. It seemed no meal or gift giving had been planned after all. The floor was marked with wet footprints, at the far end of the room ladies and men were steaming in the heat from the little stove. We lined up at the rear, in the chilly air near the door. Everything smelt like new wood, wet wool and onions.

  Throughout the sermon I couldn’t shake a feeling of uneasiness. I felt as though I didn’t belong in the small church, listening to story of Jesus’ birth. I thought of Clappe too often, worried about her cold fingers, how thin she’d looked last time I saw her. I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather outside, even as my face burned.

  At last we said the final ‘amen’ and the circuit rider rushed off to slap a hat on his bald head and travel on to the next town, where he’d be giving the same sermon. Jamison kept us waiting for him at the door for a long time. He was talking to a woman, one of the most obvious whores I’d ever seen, with yellow hair in crisp sugar-water and hot iron curls, wearing a frowsy dress with a crooked lace trim sewn on the bosom.

  “Ma, look at the lady,” Rachel said, “isn’t she pretty?”

  “William, perhaps we ought to take the children to the sleigh and get them settled.”

  “It’s Jamison’s wagon box and his horses,” Will said. “Mind your own, Laura.”

  After a while Jamison came over, sharing a look with Will, winking and smiling greasily. Ignored him and we walked back to the wagon box. Rachel’s shoes were pinching and she complained the whole way. Out in the cold air Beth’s nose had started to run.

  Crowded into the back of the wagon, I kept the girls close to keep them warm. We’d been expecting a meal in town, so I’d bought nothing but a bit of no-cake to keep the children quiet. We hadn’t even been offered a hot drink. I could tell from Will’s silence that he was dwelling on my failure to see him fed.

  It was even quieter then than it had been during the day. The sky was completely black, only the lanterns on the front of the wagon allowed us to see a little way ahead. It was snowing again. Nora started to whimper and I pulled a blanket up to my neck, reached under to give her a feed.

  “I’ll make us some hot tea and a bite when we reach home,” I said to the children, “then you have to go to bed, or Father Christmas shan’t come to give you presents.”

  The darkness hid the endless prairie and I could only tell we were close to home because there was a light in Clappe’s window. I didn’t want to think of Clappe, sitting alone on Christmas Eve. I wished the soddie had been dark, invisible. I was ashamed to find that I wanted her to be thinking of me.

  “Thank for the Lord for that,” Jamison muttered, “I was starting to think we’d never make it.”

  The whole sleigh jolted and Beth cried out as Will yelled and Jamison cursed. There was a lot of snow thrown up, the sharp whinny of the horse as it fell, taking the other with it. The wagon box pitched, but righted and then everything was still again, but for the horse thrashing in the snow.

  Jamison jumped down with Will.

  “It’s her fucking foreleg,” I heard Jamison say.

  “And the other?”

  “She’s fine, but this’n, she’s fucked. Get my rifle.”

  I pulled Rachel and Beth back from the edge of the wagon box. Beth cried noisily, leaving snot on my cloak. Thomas was up on the front seat, holding the reins as Jamison got the uninjured horse to its feet and undid the straps that held it and the other horse together.

  Will brought the rifle and I turned my face away, heard the crack of the shot, the startled scream of the other horse. There was a long wait while the men moved the horse out of the way and finally hitched up the remaining beast. I watched the dark shape in the snow as we drove slowly away from it. From in front I could see the hole it had fallen into.

  We went even slower after that, because Jamison and Will had to walk ahead, making sure there were no other holes under the snow. I took the reins and occasionally looked around us, into the dark.

  “What are you looking for, Ma?”

  “I’m just looking at the snow, isn’t it lovely?” I said, looking for the approaching glint of wolf eyes. I knew Will and Jamison were doing the same.

  At last we reached home and I helped the girls down.

  “Take Beth inside now Rachel, I’ll go and fetch Stick from the barn,” I said.

  The men were already turning the sleigh to go back for the horse. With the dog released and by my side I went into the soddie, found a candle and lit it so I could see to build up a fire in the cold stove. The light showed up the pale faces of my frightened girls. I had left the water bucket by the woodpile and I saw that it was full of ice. Rachel broke it with the dipping ladle.

  “Why don’t you put some water on for tea?” I said.

  “He shot the horse, didn’t he?”

  “He did. The poor thing had a broken leg, it would have suffered a lot and been no use to Mr Neaps either.” Except perhaps in a stew, if he, Will and Thomas could find it in the snow.

  “Will he get another one?”

  “Perhaps, in spring.”

  She put water on to boil and I put Nora in her cradle before changing Beth into a nightdress. While Rachel measured tea into the pot, I took the pudding from its coverings and cut pieces for us to eat when Will and Jamison came in.

  “You can sit up with me until they come back, if you like,” I said to Rachel, pouring us both cups of black tea. “You’re a big girl now, after all.”

  “Shall I put the stockings up Ma?” she asked.

  For a moment I’d forgotten the purpose of the day. “Of course sweet pea.”

  The soddie began to warm and the smell of the pudding, sweet and good, filled the air. It was what I had imagined my life would be like; there would be hard work, yes, but also this. The soft light and warmth of a Christmas Eve with my family. I only need a pair of arms around my waist and a cheek against mine to complete the moment. Someone to love me as they loved in songs.

  When Will came through the door I felt a sting of disappointment and realised who I’d been dreaming of, coming in from the cold.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Cecelia

  Since the night that the wolves had come, I’d hardly dared go outside. There was nothing to see but her house, besides which, the cold was unbearable, it crept in through the walls, froze the contents of my chamber pot and frosted my breath. I stayed wrapped up inside, afraid and lonely.

  I couldn’t speak to Franklyn anymore and felt stupid when I tried. Missy slept a lot, curled up against the cold and I was left by myself. The silence was as painful as the blinding whiteness outside. I kept imagining I heard Deene’s footsteps outside in the snow, the thought of him began to scare me almost as much as the thought of Charles.

  Every day I faced the same decision; stay, or go. Every day I came to the same conclusion; the only things of value I had were tools, and there would be no one around to buy those until spring. I had no way of surviving if I left it all behind. I was trapped. I knew all that, but my desire to run away and never see Laura again had me prepar
ed to pack up all I could and walk off into the snow.

  On the morning of Christmas Eve I was sewing the seam on a new shirt sleeve under the window when Missy started barking. That was how I came to see the sleigh full of my neighbours riding off to town, without me. The knowledge that I was alone, without a single person for miles to come to my aid, chilled me worse than the cold light from the window. It was like being locked up back in Ohio, helpless.

  Letting the shirt drop to my lap, I looked out through the screen and wished for the Christmas services I’d become used to with my family, for the company of ladies draped in fur and thick, good wool.

  God, was I longing for the wool and furs, or for the women underneath?

  I covered my eyes and bit my lip sharply. What if I lost my mind before spring came? Alone and shut up with only a dog for company, April might find me raving, hair a dirty mess, frost bitten toes scrabbling at the bare dirt.

  Perhaps I did belong in an asylum.

  I took to the bed with my sewing and while Missy lay across my feet, I stitched, trying to ignore the pain of the chilblains that had swollen on my knuckles. I’d long since lost the light when the knock came at my door, making Missy bark. I stopped my work mid-stitch, hardly daring to breathe.

  All the windows were shuttered, but where else could I be if not in my house? There was no pretending. The knocking came again, more urgently. I got to my feet, picked up my candle and unlatched the door. In the rectangle of black night and white snow stood Martha, muffled against the cold.

  “Let me in.”

  Stepping back, too shocked to speak, I allowed her to enter the soddie. She took off her snow caked boots and took the candle from my frozen hand, using it to light a stand of three tapers on the table. All the while Missy was circling her, sniffing at her skirt.

  “You’ve no fire,” she said, looking in disbelief at the embers in the stove.