Prairie Hearts

by J. B. Marsden

  His handkerchief, which he hid quickly in his shirt, was streaked with red. Her hands trembled when he lay down again after eating very little.

  She stayed in the cabin the rest of the day and watched him like a hawk, but William didn’t wake from his slumber.

  At candle-lighting, Emma brought him beef broth.

  “Father?” She shook his shoulder.

  He answered in unintelligible mumblings.

  “Please eat for me. Nice broth.” Emma sat near his bed. His left hand peeked out from the covers, and she clasped it and stroked it gently. “Father?”

  He coughed a deep-throated rasp and blood seeped between his lips. She tenderly wiped it. Tears flowed down her cheek, she wrapped her arms around her torso, and rocked herself on the chair.

  Emma sat up all the night with him, singing softly and dosing him at intervals. She wanted to pray but didn’t know what to pray for. He was past healing at this stage of lung fever. God had no miracles for him. So she prayed for his comfort, watching him waste away. As she prayed, she held his rough hand in hers, stroking his calluses lightly.

  She petted his head of sparse hair. His scalp had become cooler to the touch.

  He did not mumble or speak at all now, his breathing a hoarse, quiet rumble, getting softer as the night progressed.

  At cock-crow, his pale skin took on a waxy glow and then his face drained of blood. Her tears coursed down her cheek. She was helpless against his illness.

  He died at daybreak.

  Emma wept openly now, convulsing with sobs. His sweet face, tender smile, her father, lay so still.

  Millie bawled in the corral. She blinked. It was not the time for such a mundane task as milking. She settled her sobs and wiped her eyes, then gathered her thoughts. What comes first?

  She prepared his body and washed it carefully, although his fingernails would never be truly clean, like most farmers she knew. She laid out his best suit of clothes, certain he had worn them at his wedding. She pulled on his shirt, trousers, and coat, and tied the cravat, all the while inhaling their smell of tobacco and hair pomade. Last, she combed his hair the way he would want.

  Exhausted, she sat.

  Poor Mother and now Father. Why did they trek to the wilderness just to die? Was it worth their lives to go to a wilderness to start anew, when the unending toil and fretting brought death and sorrow? The beautiful prairie teased her, so enticing. It lured with promises of verdant grasses and fields of corn, then stole all she cherished. Spring grabbed her love and taunted her.

  Despite death and loss, God’s providence comforted her, however. God had always provided and would again. Her father was now released from his suffering as his soul travelled into God’s hands. She must believe, or go a little mad.

  He lay on the bed, shaved, cleaned, and suited in his best as though ready to go to Sabbath preaching. Her tears had dried, but her heart lay heavy in her bosom. The silence of the cabin suffocated her.

  She stared into the middle distance. What else could she do? Hunger left her. Her arms and legs weighed her down and inertness seized her. Her desultory nod greeted the first neighbors who arrived with condolences and food. She watched, paralyzed, while the Wallaces scurried around doing chores in the cabin, the milking corral, and the pasture.

  Emma kept silent vigil next to Father’s body, prayed for his soul, and barely heeded the other pioneers who arrived, whispering around the cabin. They came to her individually, squeezed her shoulder, and made speeches of sorrow for her father and for her. She smiled wanly at them each. She wasn’t alone in her grief, thank heavens.

  Susannah silently brought her a cup of strong tea and she sipped.

  “Thank ye, Mrs. Conner.” Mrs. Conner, one of the poorest of her neighbors, came by with a cake. Her heart was touched.

  “I liked your pa right well. We’ll miss him.”

  Mr. Conner ducked his head at her in a kind of bow, clapped his hat back on his head, and herded his wife out the door.

  Her father didn’t set much store by Mr. Conner, considering his farm was poorly placed and poorly managed, and his wife, boy, and baby starving because of it. At Father’s urging, she often slipped an extra portion of cornmeal or oats to Mrs. Conner after Sabbath meeting. Now Mrs. Conner had made her a cake Emma didn’t need with eggs and flour the poor woman couldn’t spare.

  The day wore on. By sunset, the neighbors, having done their duty in attending her, departed and only the Wallaces remained.

  His face solemn and kind, Mr. Wallace approached her. “Miss Reynolds, Susie and we will stay with you and sit vigil with you this night. The preacher doesn’t come till Susie’s wedding, so Squire Dixson will bury William, if that suits you.”

  Emma looked up at him, standing next to her chair at the bed where her father lay. “Thank ye, Mr. Wallace. That suits me very well. On the morrow would do.”

  “On the morrow. I’ll let him know.”

  All of her friends came to William’s burying at the churchyard. She reckoned Captain Dixson must be used to this duty for the casualties in his U.S. Army company during the War of 1812, as he intoned comforting words over the freshly dug grave, reading from a tattered prayer book. William’s body lay in the grave wrapped in a blanket her mother had made.

  Emma, clad in a dark dress, stood as if she were wooden, staring out over the little cemetery. Other mourners surrounded her, all with hands clasped in front and looking dolefully into the grave.

  Soon to be wed to the handsome Dixson, Susannah Wallace stood to Emma’s right side with her parents. Moose and Nancy Mumford stood on her left. Emma smiled wanly to see her new friends, the Forresters, and Miss Fletcher with Mr. and Mrs. Stratton, amid the established pioneers. Caleb signaled the end of his eulogy and Mr. Donner fiddled Father’s favorite hymn, “Amazing Grace.” Moose and Mr. Wallace shoveled dirt upon the body. Her father now lay in the earth.

  Emma wept quietly.

  Susannah hugged her close with one arm. Mrs. Wallace and Mrs. Conner sniffled. The men hung their bare heads.

  The somber hymn wafting in the spring air calmed Emma. She was barely aware of someone—was it Susannah?—leading her away from the grave in the little cemetery holding six, now seven, pioneer graves.

  Carrie and her brother and sister came to her. “I am sorely grieved by your father’s passing.” Carrie hung her head, then looked up tenderly into Emma’s eyes. Those eyes cared for her.

  “You never knew Father. You would have liked him. He…” She choked.

  Carrie put a hand on her shoulder. “I ken you loved him.” She cleared her throat. “You will be alone now. What will you do?”

  “The Wallaces and Mr. Dixson have made some plans for me and we’ll talk later. Thank ye for your kindness, Miss Fletcher.”

  Carrie nodded and left.

  After the neighbors had gone down the trace to their own cabins, the Wallaces, Squire Dixson, and Emma walked the short few yards in Locust Hill to the Wallaces’ for an evening supper.

  No one ate a great deal and the talk was quiet.

  The supper cleared, they all sat in the Wallaces’ main parlor.

  Mr. Wallace spoke reverently. “Miss Reynolds, we can help you with your worries about the farm. You’ll want to keep up your land. I’ve taken the liberty to broach the subject with a young farmer who is able to lease your fields, if you are inclined to accept his offer. Mr. Charles Winters, from up by Dixson’s place. He comes to Sabbath preaching oft times. Mayhap, you have met him.”

  Relief flowed through her entire body. “Thank ye. I’m more than grateful to let my property to Mr. Winters. I know him a little.”

  Dixson leaned in, his elbows propped on his knees. “I recommend him as a fine neighbor and a good worker. He doesn’t have his own land. He tends my cattle, and I propose that I buy your herd outright to add to mine. You’ll have no worries about making the farm prosper with him. He’s young, not yet twenty and one. Enjoys hearty health. He just wed and his wife is with child. He
wishes to expand his work, and your farm would meet his needs handily.”

  “Thank ye so much, Caleb.” Emma sighed. Her shoulders relaxed and she inhaled deeply. “You don’t know how this helps me. I do want to stay at Father’s farm. I have some means of providing for myself with my cow, the goats and chickens, and herbs for dosing ailments, which I enjoy. The cabin may be lonely at times, but all of you live within a few minutes’ ride from me.”

  The Wallaces stayed with her the next five nights, helping her with chores, arranging for the lease of land with Mr. Winters, and unburdening her of William’s effects. Emma determined to give Father’s clothing to the Conners and to the Stratton-Fletcher family.

  “What about his other items?” Susannah asked, holding a pipe in her hands.

  Emma grasped it to her bosom. “This I will keep.” She gulped against the hot tears flowing down her cheeks. “The tobacco and other items I will take care of. I want to make some rounds among the neighbors later.”

  The whole Moss Creek clan took their first trip since arriving to see Moose Mumford’s store at Locust Hill. The older boys walked, talking excitedly alongside the ox-driven wagon, while Sam looked after Gerta. They’d run out of essentials like tobacco, coffee, oats, and wheat berries for bread. Carrie fretted. Would Moose have the goods they needed?

  As they made their way to Locust Hill, she steeled herself to see Moose again. The day James confided Moose’s intentions to court her, Carrie’s stomach went into knots and she demurred. She relaxed only after he married Nancy Tucker the next year and carried all his worldly goods to Illinois Territory two years later.

  She liked Moose well enough, but she reckoned to be a spinster. These days they called any single woman past marrying age a spinster, spinning wool being the only work open to unmarried women. But spinning was always Laura’s job. Her job was tending her healing plants, tanning pelts and hides for clothing, and tending chickens. Of course, she also did James’s bidding around the farm. He was the man of the house, her protector, and in way, she was obliged to him for his providing for her, nevertheless she happily worked in the fields.

  Work on the cabin came along nicely with the help of Blanton, a fireplace mason, and other men who had raised their own cabins and knew tricks of the trade. Her heart was light in the April sunshine, but some other niggling feeling had taken root these last days. What kept her awake at night she couldn’t decipher, except it had to do with thoughts of Emma Reynolds. Her smiles sent her chest fluttering. Her touches warmed her, like Laura’s. And those eyes. Eyes that peered directly into her soul. Her heart beat loudly imagining more. More, but what?

  She roused herself from her reverie. The boys pointed ahead. Locust Hill stood on a small rise, the outline of its three large log buildings against the scudding clouds on the horizon. The air, while still cool, had warmed and, along with thoughts of Miss Reynolds, opened Carrie’s ribs. A serenity that had escaped her on the trail fell over her.

  Permelia fussed and Laura fed and changed her while the boys played at Injuns. Carrie caught Gerta’s hand and led her, toddling, into the store.

  “Boys, slow down, and keep out here. Moose don’t need you messing up his store,” James said.

  The trading station’s sweeping porch was filled with barrels of goods outside in the good weather. Inside, the odor of pelts drying on pegs along the west wall wafted about.

  “Well, if it ain’t my old neighbors.” Moose came out from behind a plank sitting on barrels and gave them a hearty welcome. “Mr. Forrester told me y’all made it a few weeks ago, but I ain’t had time to get word to you or come down to Moss Creek. It’s good to lay eyes on old friends.” He clapped James on the back and approached Carrie, who deftly moved out of his reach and held out her hand, which he, after a pause, pumped vigorously.

  “Glad to see ye,” James answered.

  Carrie hung back, peering past Moose to the items arranged on his shelves behind the plank counter. Bolts of cloth took up one corner, while items in small jars, barrels, and bins took up other space. Along the east wall, farming and building tools were stacked. Leather goods and harnesses hung from pegs behind the tools. Moose had a goodly number of trading goods in his store. He had done well.

  The handsome man who’d led William Reynolds’s burying, about three inches taller than James and dressed in buckskins, turned from the tools arranged in rows, held out his hand, and introduced himself as Caleb Dixson, from up the Illinois River. “You must be the Strattons and Miss Fletcher. Moose has regaled the entire countryside of your arrival from Kentucky. I came out from Virginia to claim my land grant three springs ago.”

  “This here’s Cap’n Dixson, James. He was an officer in 1812 against the British along the Wabash River, and we voted him Squire last fall.”

  “Now, Moose, no one need call me Captain any longer. I’m retired and settled in Illinois State. In fact, I’m marrying Susannah Wallace, a woman who pioneered from Ohio with her parents. I would be obliged if you would do me the honor of attending the wedding, to be held at her parents’ home here in Locust Hill.”

  James nodded. “Congratulations, Cap’n, er, Squire Dixson. I’d be mighty proud to come. We could use some time away from chinking logs and roofing by then, I reckon.”

  “We’ll look to see you.” Dixson shifted his stance. “In case you’re in the market, I breed cattle and horse stock, both farm stock and riding stock. We have ourselves friendly horse competitions usually of a Saturday when the weather warms. We also have a big race at the Independence Day picnic.”

  Was this from where Emma’s fine horse had come? He must’ve brought out some refined stock from Virginia. Too dear for James’s purse.

  “We got two horses, for work and riding. But I’d like to attend races some Saturday when the work on the cabin’s caught up and my seeds get in the ground. Me and my sister pioneer on eighty acres from the federal land agents along down on Moss Creek. You’re welcome to come anytime and take a look. We need ourselves another milch cow, and some beef cattle would not go amiss.”

  The men talked farming.

  Carrie handled fabric bolts. “Looka here, Gerta. Momma can make pretty dresses for you and her.”

  “Like dress.” Gerta patted her sack dress, then chewed on her fingers and yawned.

  “Time for your nap.” Carrie picked her up and laid her in the wagon in Sam’s lap, cooed to her sleepy face, and tucked her in with a blanket. “Sam, you’re the keeper of this child, now.”

  “Yes’m,” Sam said, climbing closer to Gerta and fingering her wispy hair.

  When she was satisfied that all was well with Gerta and Sam, she coaxed Laura to come into the store with her.

  Carrying the sleeping baby in her shawl bundle, Laura asked, “What have you got?”

  “A bolt of right nice gingham.” Laura shied from making herself new dresses. She sewed so many clothes for the rest of them. “Make a nice dress for the wedding Mr. Dixson there just told us about.”

  Laura greeted Moose warmly, then glanced enviously at the cloth Carrie held out to her. “Oh, my, I don’t have a minute for making any dresses. There’s so much to do getting the cabin ready. Mayhap they have some cloth for—”

  Mr. Dixson left the trading post and James walked over to the women. “Now, honey pie, don’t go worrying about the cabin. We got plenty of time for all that. Why not make yourself something?”

  Carrie stared at James and his uncharacteristic generosity. Did he aim to impress Moose?

  “Moose, put together enough of this here cloth for a new dress. I reckon we’ll be starting an account.”

  “No need wasting money on frills.”

  Carrie accounted Laura’s blush as embarrassment at being given a gift.

  James took a piece of paper from his pocket on which Carrie had jotted down the items they needed and handed it to Carrie.

  “Yes, we also need…” She read from the paper a number of items.

  “Sure ’nuff. I’ll get them tog
ether for ye.” Moose dug in the barrels on another wall.

  James added, “I wanted to know if y’all had some cedar logs for shakes.”

  “Go on back behind the place, James. You pick out what logs you want and I’ll help you load ’em up.” Moose looked up. “Good morn, Miss Reynolds. I’ll be right with ye after I help James and Carrie.”

  Carrie turned to the warm eyes of Emma staring in her direction, and smiled.

  “I’m in no rush, Moose. If you have them, I need some coffee and other items.” Emma held out her hand and they all greeted one another.

  Emma’s warm hand embraced Carrie’s hand for a long moment. “Good to see you again, Miss Reynolds,” Carrie stuttered. Her tongue would not work. Her hand became clammy. Their eyes fixed on each other like magnets. Emma’s face held such kindness, her eyes such intensity. Carrie inhaled deeply, smiling back dumbly like a drunken man.

  Laura spoke, stirring Carrie from her stupor. “How do you fare, Miss Reynolds?”

  “I fare well. The Wallaces have spent time getting my affairs in order.”

  “Do you reckon to return to York State now?”

  “No, ma’am. I am letting the farm ground to a young friend of the Captain’s, Mr. Winters. I have enough work with my milking and such to care for my needs.”

  Carrie stared at Emma, surprised and chagrined to think she might leave Locust Hill. Thank heavens she was staying. She liked her very well.

  Laura said, “I wish ye well. You are a likely lass and I got no qualms about you. But don’t get too lonely at that place. You come and see us.”

  “Yes. That I will. Do you plan to attend Dixson’s wedding with Susannah Wallace? Everyone in the neighborhood is invited. We all love a party in these parts, especially after a long winter. The roads have held up better than some springs. The mud won’t stop us.” She laughed lightly.

  Carrie wanted to hear those tinkling bells of laughter again.

  “Are you coming, too?” she asked Laura while looking at Carrie.