by Natalie Dean
“Amen,” came the chorus of responses from the children.
“Amen,” Carson added belatedly as the children’s collective gaze fell upon him, noting that he had been adjusting his napkin rather than closing his eyes in prayer.
“It’s very good to have you joining us,” Sarah said to her husband.
“I’m sorry for showing up with this raggedy beard,” Carson said, pinning his lovely wife with a meaningful stare.
Sarah’s perfect porcelain complexion showed a faint blush of red. “Many men have beards,” she pointed out.
“I don’t like your beard,” Lucy said frankly. “It makes you look cross.”
“Lucy,” Sarah admonished. “I am sure that Deputy Harlow is not cross.”
“Nothing that a shave won’t remedy,” he said.
Sarah’s blush deepened, but she avoided looking at her husband as she ladled soup from the tureen at the center of the table into bowls. “Lucy made the cornbread,” she said, “with help from Ruby. Erich, will you pass the butter, please? Cornbread is so much better tasting when the butter melts on it. Erich, how are you getting on with Mrs. Greenwell?”
“I’ve saved up two whole dollars!” he said proudly.
“Two dollars! That’s excellent. You’re very frugal.”
“No, he’s not,” Isaiah piped up. “He bought candy with his money!”
Erich glared at his little brother. “I saved two dollars from what she paid me,” he defended himself. “I didn’t spend it all! And you shouldn’t be snooping!”
“Erich!” Sarah said sternly. “We agreed that you would work to save your money. I have no objection if you choose to spend some of it on other things. I’m simply asking that you be careful with your money.”
“He shouldn’t be snooping!”
“No, he should not,” Sarah agreed. “Isaiah, you must respect your brother’s privacy and his possessions.”
“But why can’t I earn money too? Isaiah demanded. “I’d like to be able to buy candy too. It shouldn’t just be Erich who gets to buy what he wants.”
“If working for extra money is going to toss this household into acrimony,” Sarah said in a warning tone, “then we may have to revisit the subject.”
The boys fell silent.
“Actually,” Sarah continued as she put down the ladle and picked up her spoon. “I have been thinking about this subject and I think that, perhaps, you are all old enough to receive a small allowance for doing your chores. It will be small,” she cautioned the children as eager expressions danced across their faces. “I do not expect to pay you for work which you ought to be doing anyway. But as we are entering the season of Christmas, we will be doing extra work. Extra baking,” she looked expectantly at Lucy and Ruby, whose eyes gleamed at the prospect, “and extra decorating. Christmas is a very festive time of year and I wish to celebrate. This has not been an easy year, I know . . . but we celebrate the birth of Our Lord with joy.”
Carson could not explain why, but he felt affronted that this conversation seemed to have nothing to do with him. He was the man of the house, after all, and these were decisions that he felt he should share in, even if it was his wife’s money that would be paying the allowances for the children.
“I reckon you and I can talk this over later tonight,” he said.
Sarah showed surprise. “Talk it over? You disapprove?”
Four pairs of indignant blue eyes turned to him, making him very conscious of the delicate situation in which he now found himself.
“No,” he said, “but I think that we should . . . we ought to . . .” he suddenly felt too weak to continue. “Never mind,” he said abruptly. “Do what you want.”
“Of course we’ll talk it over,” she said immediately. “We’ll discuss the amount of the allowance and the chores that they’ll do. I’m going to be depending on the children more in the days to come. The smallpox has broken out in East Knox Mills and they have no medical care there. I am going to go tomorrow and see what is needed.”
Carson felt his temper rise faster than his tolerance. “Don’t you think that’s something else that we should talk about?” he demanded.
“Do you think these people should be left to suffer with no means of care?” she asked him.
“I mean what I said. These things should be discussed. You can’t just go off everywhere you’re needed. These children need attention too. We’re married.” He didn’t want to make it sound as though he was pleading for her to take care of him first. He could take care of himself. But he didn’t expect a wife to behave as if she could simply do as she pleased without consulting her husband about it. Sarah was too independent for her own good, that was plain.
“I am aware of that,” she said, the frost in her soft, velvety voice apparent. “I trust that I am not accused of shirking my duties to either the children or to my husband. I have been married before, you know.” Never mind that it hadn’t lasted; that was beside the point.
Carson didn’t care to be reminded that she’d once exchanged marriage vows with another man. “I don’t know how things go in Charleston,” he said hotly, “but in Knox Mills, married folks pay heed to one another. If I’m the man and head of the household—"
“I am a wife, not chattel!” Sarah retorted.
“Sarah, if you’re going to be my wife—"
He stopped talking. Little Ruby Boone’s eyes brought his speech to a halt. She appeared to be frightened.
Carson forced a laugh. “Sorry, everyone. Lucy, I don’t know what was in that oatmeal you fed me this morning, but I think it’s made me liverish,” he said with feigned jocularity.
“It’s just oatmeal!” Lucy protested. “I made it just the way Ma taught me! I boiled it for four hours, just like she did and I soaked the groats last night, you saw me do it, Miss Sarah!”
Sarah, realizing as Carson already had that quarreling at the table did not establish a harmonious atmosphere for anyone, inhaled deeply. “Yes, Lucy, you did. Deputy Harlow was not insulting your cooking.”
“It sounds as if he did!” Lucy said, close to tears. “I know how to cook oatmeal. He hardly ate any of it.”
“Honey, I’m just getting used to eating again,” Carson said. “I’m like a baby. And I don’t like that feeling much,” he told them honestly. “I reckon it does make me cantankerous, and I’m sorry for that. I’m new to the way you do things around here and I need to . . . I reckon I need to find my place.”
“Are you going to hit Miss Sarah?” Ruby asked tremulously.
“Hit Miss Sarah?” Carson asked, aghast at the words that had come from the child’s mouth.
“Because you’re angry at her,” Erich explained, watching Carson warily as if he expected that, at any moment, a blow would come. “Because she didn’t ask you first if she could go nursing in East Knox Mills.”
Sarah and Carson exchanged wordless, eloquent glances. “Of course Deputy Harlow is not going to strike me,” Sarah said indignantly. “I should venture to say that Deputy Harlow has never struck a woman in all his life.”
“Of course I haven’t,” Carson continued. “Why would I hit Miss Sarah? Besides,” he said, taking refuge in humor, “if I did, she’d likely take that big pot of soup and throw it on me. I don’t think any man in his right mind would raise a hand to a fine, strong-willed woman like Mrs. Carson Harlow, would he? I might not be the smartest man in Texas, but I’m smart enough to know how to treat a lady. You boys listening? Girls?”
They all nodded. “Lesson number one in this household: boys, when you’re married, you don’t hit your wives, and girls, when you’re married, you don’t let your husbands hit you.”
“But husbands do hit wives,” Lucy said uncertainly. It was obvious that she was relating what she had seen take place between her parents and measuring it against the advice that Carson was offering.
“Some do,” Carson said. “But they ought not to. And I’m warning you, Miss Lucy, if you marry a man and he hits you, and I
find out about it, I’ll be over at your cabin faster than you can say ‘hoot and holler’ and I’ll take care of him. And Miss Sarah will be right behind me, with a rolling pin, I expect, and that man had better look out!”
Ruby giggled at the image Carson created. “Miss Sarah, would you really hit someone with a rolling pin?”
Sarah smiled, grateful that Carson had diffused the tension. “I expect I might, if he was hurting one of you children.”
Chapter 22
Dr. Darnley was willing to let Sarah borrow the wagon to take to the eastern outskirts of the city where the freed slaves lived, but he did not disguise his concern. “You have no idea how widespread the disease is by now,” he cautioned her.
“I know that it is there,” she said. “Is that not enough? I shall go and evaluate the situation and report to you.”
“I don’t know . . .”
“Dr. Darnley,” Sarah said with strained patience as she waited for the doctor to put the basket of supplies into the wagon. “One of us must go. I am perfectly capable of doing so and when I have finished, I shall return and let you know what is needed to address the crisis.”
“I don’t know that I’d want my wife, if I were newly married, heading off into a rough part of town just to be an angel of mercy.”
“It is not a rough part of town,” she told him. “The people who live there do not end up in jail. They work and they raise their families.”
“You being from Charleston, I’d expect you to have tolerant views on slavery.”
“It doesn’t matter what I think of slavery. These people are not slaves.”
* * *
As she rode towards the section of the town known as East Knox Mills, Sarah considered what Dr. Darnley and Carson had both said. Carson had grown up in Tennessee and his family had owned slaves. Carson himself didn’t intend to do so. Her family had owned them. Dr. Darnley was an abolitionist. But Sarah didn’t see why political views ought to get in the way of trying to do something to help people who were ill.
Carson’s reasons for being resentful of her going had nothing to do with the nature of the people. He had told her that they were decent, hard-working folks. If the escaped slave known as Lazarus was there, well, she could just look the other way. Unless slave-hunters came to town looking for the man, it was no one’s business.
The night before, she and Carson had talked into the night and he had tried to explain why he had been so perturbed during the meal. She realized that he didn’t like being incapacitated and it made him argumentative. At least, that was how she saw it. But both of them, however they might disagree between each other, agreed that the children must not be unsettled by dissension between the two adults who were, more or less their parents at this stage.
It was not really surprising that the children had witnessed physical violence in the household. Graham Boone had ended up in jail because he had struck Sarah on the day that she arrived in Knox Mills; what would have prevented him from hitting his wife? Nothing. But to have witnessed such scenes was troublesome. Carson had no patience for a man who struck a woman; his experiences when young with a violent father had shaped his personal code of behavior. She knew that he would be a good example to the children.
Both she and Carson, although neither had been explicit, recognized that their marital circumstances were more than a little unusual. Carson had told her that he felt more like an invalid than a husband and that he felt as if she was more a nursemaid to him than a wife. She had reassured him that, when he was well, their marriage would be all that it ought to be. She was not an inexperienced maiden, but three weeks of marriage to Dante Robards had not created a foundation of intimacy. There had been passion, at first, but then, after she learned more of his character, she had come to realize that what she thought was love had merely been infatuation and that had soon soured. It hadn’t been long before his preference for nocturnal entertainments surpassed any interest he had in spending the nights with his wife.
She had felt guilty, at first, for feeling a hidden sense of relief when she was no longer married to Dante, a feeling that she had not shared with anyone. But she had intended to be a good wife to him, until she realized the matrimony was too confining for him. She intended to be a good wife to Carson and she knew that Carson meant to be a good husband. They were not merely husband and wife, though; they were part of a family. It was not going to be the typical household.
But there was time enough to ruminate on her marriage later. Now, she had nursing to do.
The church was the first building she saw as she neared the outskirts of Knox Mills where East Knox Mills began. It was the biggest building on the landscape, tall and imposing, a brilliant, blinding white that gleamed in the November sunlight. The houses beyond the church were less impressive, but she saw that every house had space for a garden. She saw several buildings that looked as though they might be businesses of some sort, but she could not tell what sort of commerce they were engaged in.
She thought it odd that there were no people about. Was everyone down with the smallpox?
She tied Dr. Darnley’s horse to the nearby tree and entered the church grounds. As she did so, a broad-shouldered man emerged from the church.
“Sister! There’s illness here! Don’t come no closer!”
“I know,” she said, continuing to approach. “Smallpox. I have been vaccinated. I have learned that your community is ill. Have you medical care?”
“Just me,” the man’s voice boomed out with vigor. Clearly he was not afflicted. “We’re caring for folks in the church. I don’t reckon you’d best come in.”
“Why not?” she demanded. “I have been nursing the patients in town. Do you doubt my expertise? I’ve brought supplies from town and from Dr. Darnley.”
“Supplies? What sort of supplies?”
“Linens, broth . . . I’m sure you have your own, but I know how tiring it can be to have to wash them again and again. And if your ladies are ill, your people will need nourishment.”
“Your man know that you’re here?” he asked her bluntly.
“Yes,” she said, choosing not to tell him that her husband was a U.S. Deputy, lest he suspect her of coming to the community with an ulterior motive. She knew that the notices had continued to arrive at the sheriff’s office, alerting the lawmen that the search was still on for the runaway slave known as Lazarus. That was not why she was here. “He knows that I am a nurse.”
“I’m Elijah Shepherd,” he told her.
“I’m . . . Mrs. Baker,” she told him. The pause was brief; she hoped he hadn’t noticed. She didn’t want to reveal her married name. “May I enter?”
“If you’re certain no trouble will come of it,” he said. “I don’t need no posse of angry white folks riding in where there’s sickness because they think you need rescued.”
Sarah’s chin rose, a sure sign that her temper was rising as well. “Mr. Shepherd,” she said. “I am a nurse. I have been tending to the people of Knox Mills since the smallpox broke out. Dr. Darnley knows that I am here. I told him that I planned to come here and offer my services and then return to him to let him know how bad the outbreak is. You know that smallpox, if allowed to do so, quickly becomes an epidemic. You do not wish to deprive these people of care, do you?”
“I do not,” he said finally, his eyes studying her as if he were striving to read her thoughts. “I’m the preacher here. This church is where I do the Lord’s work. I surely do wish He’d come back and do a few miracles.”
“It is up to us to do his work, Preacher,” she said. “We have been entrusted with that mission.”
The church floor was covered with people laying upon straw-filled mattresses. She estimated that there were forty people congregated in illness. “Preacher Shepherd,” she said, “you have been vaccinated?”
“No, ma’am, but I’m trusting to the Lord to keep me well so’s I can tend to my flock.”
Sarah drew a deep breath. “You cannot risk you
r life,” she said to him. “If you fall ill and die, what will become of these people?”
“Who says I’m going to fall sick and die, ma’am?” he asked with a faint smile. “I’m strong and stubborn as a mule.”
“Do you have anyone here who can look after these people in your absence?”
“He has me, missus.”
Sarah turned around at the sound of another voice, distinct in a room where people were moaning in their misery. She saw a tall, young, brown-skinned man standing before her.
“Now, you know—"
“I’ve been tellin’ Preacher the same thing, missus. He needs to protect hisself if he’s going to take care of these folks.”
“You are exactly right. Preacher, you are coming with me and Dr. Darnley will vaccinate you. Then you will be protected. It’s nothing short of a miracle that you haven’t already come down with the disease.”
“That’s just what I’m sayin’, ma’am. A miracle,” the preacher nodded at her, smiling. “The Lord, he takes care of his own.”
“Let us not put the Lord our God to the test, Preacher Shepherd.”
Chapter 23
“Aurelius Jameson! You are a welcome sight!” Jack Walker rose from the chair in his office and pumped the older man’s hand in greeting. “What are you doing in town? I thought you’d set out for parts unknown again.”
“No, just went to Austin to make sure that the mine claims are all duly filed. I don’t want one of those crooked Townsends filing them in someone else’s name. I’m sorry I was gone with all this going along. Mary-Lee has had her hands full with Benjamin being sick. Smallpox! You don’t need that again.”