Herd to Breathe

by Amelia C. Adams

  “But once you’re married, you’ll spend a little more time at home, won’t you?” Mrs. Woods asked. “Surely a pretty new wife is incentive to moderate your work hours.”

  “Of course,” Mr. Gray replied, although his smile looked pained.

  He was a bachelor who had devoted himself to his career, so of course it was difficult for him to consider making such a large adjustment. Cina could understand that, and she could be tolerant of it. She wasn’t the only one going through an upheaval of her entire life.

  They reached the meadow, and Mr. Gray helped them both down from the carriage. He pointed out where some fallen logs made natural benches, and Mrs. Woods plopped down and made herself comfortable. “Now, you pretend I’m not here,” she said. “But don’t forget that I’m here.”

  Cina laughed. “All right.”

  Mr. Gray held out his arm. “There’s a nice growth of flowers right over here, Miss Fairbanks, if you’d like to take a look.”

  She followed where he led, reluctant to leave Mrs. Woods behind. That lady was the only lively thing about this outing so far. Maybe she just needed to demonstrate for Mr. Gray what it meant to have a conversation.

  “I had a wonderful afternoon,” she said as they walked. “My two little students are delightful girls, and they’re so bright. I think we’re going to get along well. Do you know Captain Spencer from the fort?”

  “Yes, we’ve met,” Mr. Gray said. “I don’t know him well, though. He’s rather new in town.”

  “Yes, and I’m sure that getting settled into a new command is time-consuming and they haven’t socialized much.” Cina bent over and touched the petals of a pretty blue flower that was growing in her path. “What’s this?”

  “That’s blue flax,” Mr. Gray said. “It’s a little early in the year for it, so I’m surprised to see it.”

  “You mentioned that you grow roses. Do you specialize, or are there more varieties in your garden?”

  “I’ve planted some iris bulbs—those are nice because they grow almost independently. I also have daisies, daffodils, and tulips.”

  “Are they blooming now?”

  “They are. Perhaps on our next outing, you’d like to come out and see my house. Considering . . .”

  “Considering that I’ll be living there too,” she supplied.

  “Yes, exactly. You should most certainly come see it. With a chaperone, of course.”

  “Of course. We can’t be adding more items to Mrs. Woods’ list of reasons to suspect you.”

  He nodded, not sensing her humor, and she sighed inwardly.

  “Mr. Gray, I wondered if we might call each other by our Christian names. It’s been long enough, hasn’t it? And if we’re courting . . . Well, I just don’t see myself as being one of those wives who’s always referring to her husband as ‘Mr. This’ or ‘Mr. That.’ It creates a barrier, I think, and I wouldn’t like us to have barriers between us.”

  “All right. I’d be honored to call you by your Christian name, Cina.”

  “Thank you, Darius. Now, isn’t that better?” She stopped walking again and studied another flower, this one also blue, but shaped a little differently. “What’s this?”

  “That’s a forget-me-not.”

  “Oh!” She squatted down and examined them more closely. “I’ve read about these in books, but I’ve never seen one for myself. I have a horrible confession to make—I haven’t spent much time in nature. I’ll count on you to teach me about it, particularly the plants.”

  “All right. I’d enjoy that.”

  Finally! She’d hit on something they could do together. It had certainly taken long enough.

  They walked around a moment more, and he pointed out a few additional varieties of flowers. As he spoke, she started to see a little spark of interest in his eyes, and she smiled. She would learn all she could about flowers so they’d have more to talk about, and surely over time, he’d become more comfortable with her on other topics as well.

  Mrs. Woods had pulled some tatting from her bag to keep herself busy, and she looked up as they approached. “This is a lovely spot, young man,” she said. “I wonder if you could do something about the bees, however.”

  “The bees, Mrs. Woods?”

  “They’ve been buzzing around something fierce.”

  “Oh. Well, I’m not sure what I could do about them. Perhaps bring you a fan?”

  “Perhaps.” She gave Cina a hopeless look, and Cina chuckled. They understood each other perfectly—he was far too literal.

  They ate their cookies, then decided it was time to head back home. “I’ll be unable to pay a call on you tomorrow—I have a meeting that will likely take a while,” Darius said as he brought the horses to a stop. “The day after, though?”

  “Yes, that would be nice,” Cina replied. “Thank you for the outing. And thank you again for coming, Mrs. Woods. It was delightful.”

  “You’re more than welcome, young lady. I’ll see you later.”

  Darius helped Cina to the ground, saw her to the door, gave her a slight bow, and that was that. As she walked into the house and loosened the ties on her bonnet, she had but one thought—that was the most bored she’d ever been in her life. Thank goodness for Mrs. Woods to keep things at least somewhat entertaining.

  Chapter Six

  “Is it necessary for a wife to like her husband?” Cina asked as she walked into her bedroom.

  Violet looked up from the novel she was reading. “I don’t know if it’s necessary, but it’s helpful, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it’s helpful.” Cina sat down and pulled off her shoes. “I just don’t know if things are going to work out with Mr. Gray. We’re now using our Christian names, which is nice, but we have yet to sit down and have a full conversation. I’ve managed to get a few sentences out of him here and there, but nothing that I would consider enlightening or personal. The most alive he becomes is when he’s talking about wildflowers.”

  “Oh, dear,” Violet said. She closed her book and looked at Cina. “What are you going to do?”

  “Well, I’m going to see if they have any books on wildflowers at the mercantile. Beyond that, I honestly don’t know.”

  “I wish this was going better for you, Cina. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Just keep working with Mr. Redburn on perfecting his system. I think that’s the best thing.”

  “Believe me, I’m trying.”

  The next afternoon, Cina watched the clock, wondering how long it would take to walk the short distance to the school to pick up the girls. Finally she decided it would be better to show up early than late, so she set out, saying hello to everyone she passed.

  When she reached the school, she noticed a small bench under an apple tree out front, and she took a seat to wait for the girls. It wasn’t long before a man stepped onto the porch and rang a hand bell. Children poured from the building like bees from a hive, only not so numerous. Madeline and Summer were two of the last to exit.

  As Cina waited for the girls to separate themselves from the crowd, she studied the man on the porch. He wasn’t anything like she’d pictured, which was thin and reedy, with spectacles on his nose and an expression on his face as though he’d smelled a skunk. No, this man was tall and barrel-chested, with a full dark beard. He was somewhat intimidating.

  The girls finally reached the bench where Cina sat, and she noticed tear streaks on Madeline’s cheeks. “What’s the matter?” she asked, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket and wiping the girl’s face.

  “Could we just go, please, Miss Fairbanks?”

  “Of course. We’ll go right now.”

  Cina made sure the girls weren’t carrying anything too heavy, and then they started toward the road.

  “Excuse me.”

  She turned and saw that the teacher was walking toward them. “Good afternoon, sir. Mr. Parnell, was it?”

  The man nodded. “That’s right. And you are . . .?”

  “I’m Cina
Fairbanks.”

  “And you’ve been hired to tutor these girls?”

  “That’s right. Their father wanted to be sure they were keeping up with the class.”

  Mr. Parnell gave her a scrutinizing look. “Far be it for me to interfere, but I believe it’s a waste of time.”

  “Because your beliefs in the abilities of the female student are antiquated, I presume? Mr. Parnell, I was told that you don’t think girls should study math. Is this true?”

  “I don’t find it particularly useful, no.”

  Cina exhaled, resolving not to enter into a verbal battle with this man who was twice her size. “We’ll be on our way, then, and leave you to your after-school tasks.”

  “You don’t want to give me a long, hysterical lecture about how wrong I am?” He leaned one arm against the tree, looking down at her with a bemused smile on his face. Gracious. He was determined to irritate her in every way possible, wasn’t he?

  “The fact that you know my lecture would be long tells me that you’ve been lectured before, and it did no good. The fact that you believe it would be hysterical means that you have no respect for me or my students, and I would be wasting precious energy in the attempt. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Madeline has asked that we be on our way. Good afternoon.”

  “Yes, about Madeline.” Mr. Parnell glanced down at the child. “Please see if she can be calmer during class next time, would you? Today was most unfortunate.”

  “I’ll take whatever measures I find appropriate. Come along, girls.”

  Cina ushered the children down the sidewalk, walking as quickly as she could without leaving them behind. The idea that girls didn’t deserve to be educated was so preposterous that she refused to debate it, and it was so common, it was like a weed that had grown to choke the life out of the public education system. She couldn’t even count how many arguments she’d had on the topic, making her all the more eager to avoid having them in the future.

  Even more concerning than Mr. Parnell’s beliefs, though, were the tears in Madeline’s eyes, and Mr. Parnell’s irritation with them. She’d be addressing that before anything else—it was clearly her priority.

  When they reached the Redburn place, she took the girls into the kitchen, where Mr. McGruder was stirring up a pot on the stove.

  “Mr. McGruder, do we have anything sweet for the girls? It’s been a trying day.”

  He turned, saw the children, and grinned. “Well now, of course I do. I always have a little somethin’ on hand for pretty young ladies.” He opened up a cupboard and pulled out a tin. “These here are gingerbread cookies. My mama used to make these all the time, not just at Christmas, and she taught me how. Go on—help yerself.”

  Each girl took a cookie. “Thank you, Mr. McGr . . . Gru . . .” Summer couldn’t quite pronounce it.

  “Aw, shucks. Just call me Beans. Pert near everyone does—I ain’t been called Mr. McGruder so much in all my life as I have since these gals got here.” He nodded toward Cina. “They’re polite young ladies and all, but Beans is who I am, and it’s Beans I’ll be forever.”

  Summer giggled. “Your name is Beans?”

  “Shore is, and you know what? I have some milk here too. Jest set yerself up at the table.”

  The girls sat down, and Cina took a seat nearby. She’d suspected that Mr. McGru . . . Beans had a soft spot a mile wide, and it did her heart good to see it.

  Once the girls had finished their snack and wiped their hands on a tea towel, Cina led them into the parlor and sat on the couch with one girl on either side of her. “All right, let’s talk about today. Madeline, what happened?”

  The little girl sniffled. “I had a bad dream last night, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it today, and I cried during school, and the boys made fun of me.”

  “Well, that wasn’t very kind of them,” Cina replied.

  “And they called me a baby, and they chased me around at recess.”

  “I see.” How completely wrong.

  “And they wouldn’t let me explain that it wasn’t just a bad dream—it was an ’specially bad dream.”

  “Oh, my. Those are much worse than regular bad dreams, aren’t they?”

  Madeline nodded solemnly.

  “It was about our mama,” Summer volunteered. “Madeline dreamed about her dying.”

  Cina’s heart constricted. “That would be a terrible dream,” she said, putting an arm around Madeline and giving her a hug. “When you get home and see your mama, will you feel better?”

  Madeline looked up at her with red-rimmed eyes. “Miss Fairbanks, my mama is dead. I don’t have a mama.”

  “What?” For a moment, Cina couldn’t breathe. “You . . . you don’t have a mama?”

  “No. She died when Summer was two.”

  “Oh. Oh, my goodness. I didn’t know.” Cina put her other arm around Summer and pulled them both tight. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings just now—I thought your mama was at home waiting for you.”

  “We don’t talk about her much to other people,” Madeline explained. “Sometimes people don’t understand. We just talk about her at home.”

  “I’m glad you talk about her. Do you want to know something? My mama died last year—and my papa, too.”

  Madeline’s eyes teared up again. “I’m sorry, Miss Fairbanks. Do you have bad dreams about them?”

  Cina was touched at the girl’s sympathy. “I have dreams where they’re watching over me, like angels.”

  “My mama does that too,” Summer piped up.

  “Does she?”

  Summer nodded, her little curls bouncing up and down. “Daddy says she could never really leave us.”

  Gracious. Just when Cina thought her heart couldn’t take any more . . . “Mamas love their babies, girls. They love them so much.”

  “That’s what Daddy says. He tells us stories about her, ’specially Summer because she doesn’t remember much. I remember more because I’m older. She had soft hair like yours, Miss Fairbanks, and she sang a lot while she made dinner.”

  “That’s a beautiful memory. What else?”

  “She made matching dresses for us, and she put ribbons in our hair, and she always made sure we said hello to the pastor when we went to church. But I didn’t like that because he had bushy eyebrows, and he looked mean,” Madeline said, leaning forward a little like she was telling a secret.

  “Who put these ribbons in your hair?” Cina asked, touching the end of Madeline’s braid.

  “Oh, Daddy does that now. He learned how when Mama died.”

  “He sounds like a wonderful father.” Cina almost couldn’t speak the words, so many emotions were rushing through her.

  “He’s the best daddy in the whole world,” Summer affirmed.

  “I tell you what,” Cina said. “I think it’s been a hard day, and we should do something fun. I have some paper and pencils, and I want you each to draw me a picture of your mama. It can be something you remember or something you imagine, or maybe something from a story your daddy told you, all right?”

  The girls nodded, and Cina brought out the drawing materials. The girls hunkered down over the small table in the middle of the room, intent upon their task, and Cina took a seat by the front window, waiting for Captain Spencer to arrive.

  When he brought the carriage to a halt in front of the house, Cina stepped onto the front porch to meet him. “Captain, could we sit and talk for a moment?”

  “Of course. Where are the girls?”

  “They’re just inside drawing.”

  He nodded, then indicated the chairs on the porch. “Is it all right to sit here?”

  “It is.”

  They sat, and she fisted her hands together on her lap.

  “What’s the matter, Miss Fairbanks? You seem upset.”

  “I’m not upset—well, I suppose in a way I am. Captain Spencer, I didn’t know your wife had passed away—in fact, I was going to speak with you this afternoon about meeting her. I’m so sorry for yo
ur loss.”

  He gave a faint smile. “Thank you, Miss Fairbanks. It was a few years back, so the pain isn’t as fresh, but we do miss her every day.”

  “Madeline had a bad dream about her last night.”

  “She did?” The captain sat up a little straighter. “I had no idea. She was a little quiet at breakfast, but she seemed fine otherwise.”

  “It upset her enough that she started to cry in school, and the boys teased her.”

  He exhaled and shook his head. “It’s hard enough to grieve without being teased for it.”

  “My thoughts exactly. When I arrived at the school to pick the girls up, she was eager to leave, but wouldn’t tell me why until we got here.”

  The captain rubbed his jaw. “I’ve worked hard to give my girls a home where they feel safe and supported, but I can’t be with them every minute of every day—I can’t protect them from everything. And I shouldn’t, either—one day they will have to stand on their own two feet, and they should learn how a little at a time. But they’re still so young—they shouldn’t be facing this just yet. Madeline hasn’t even started losing her baby teeth yet.”

  “They’ve suffered a harsh blow for children so young,” Cina agreed. “And your wife sounds like she was a wonderful mother.”

  “She did everything she could to make our family happy,” he replied. “She was a terrible cook, but she made up for it with love.” He paused, then laughed. “I remember the first time she ever made me flapjacks. They were nearly ash—these round black disks sitting on my plate. I told her I’d make the flapjacks from then on.” He chuckled again, obviously remembering.

  “The girls are drawing pictures of her right now,” Cina told him. “I thought it would be a nice way for them to think about their feelings.”

  “Thank you, Miss Fairbanks. I appreciate that. I just wish I’d known Madeline was still hurting. I’ve mostly overcome my grief, and I forget that they still have far to go.”

  “I imagine you’ll all continue to grieve in one way or another for the rest of your lives,” Cina replied. “She was your wife and their mother. Those aren’t roles that are easily forgotten.”