Prairie Hearts

by J. B. Marsden

  Carrie held herself erect and did everything in a straightforward, unabashed way. There was nothing demure or genteel about her, and Emma found she liked that. Her muscled arms, tan face, sun-washed hair, and the crinkles around her eyes when she smiled or laughed created an image of hardiness, of a person affixed solidly to the ground. The Kentuckian had worked hard all her life, Emma was certain, but instead of causing her to lose her youth, Carrie had been honed and polished by her toils.

  She felt Carrie was a kindred soul. That they both worked medicinal gardens was inconsequential to her; she’d met many women over her short life who grew herbs for dosing feverish children and headachy husbands. Carrie and she shared more than an interest, they shared a vocation for helping those suffering around them. She made Emma’s grieving heart lighter.

  After midday, Emma heard the clop of a horse and went to welcome her guest.

  Carrie slid down from her horse effortlessly in her breeches and tied the horse to a tree. Her hair was damp and she wore a clean shirt under a knitted sweater. Her heart melted at the sight of Carrie dressed for a tea party.

  “Good day, Miss Fletcher.”

  “Miss Reynolds.” Carrie bashfully thrust a small burlap bag toward Emma. “A gift from Laura. She’s sorry she couldn’t come.”

  Emma peeked into the bag. “Oh, lovely. Corn cakes. We’ll have them with our tea. Give my thanks to Mrs. Stratton.” Although she didn’t know her well, she suspected Laura was usually this thoughtful.

  Emma gathered her teapot, poured hot water from the kettle, and set it in front of Carrie. “Do you take milk or sugar?”

  “Both. Uh, I’ve not had sugar since we left home. What sugar do you have out here?” Carrie’s eyes brightened. “I confess to having a sweet tooth.”

  Emma held up a crock. “Maple sugar. Captain Dixson and Mr. Mumford tap sugar maples in the early spring right after the thaw. Try it.”

  Carrie spooned some into her tea, along with a dollop of goat’s milk. She blew on it, then took an experimental sip. “Oh. I like it.” Carrie sat back and sipped her tea with a little hum of approval.

  Emma was glad she could bring her some pleasure. “How does your planting go?”

  “This morn, James and I plowed a good portion of his acreage, but it went slow as molasses. We borrowed a plow from a man up the river who said we could keep it, as he bought another one. That surprised us. James, of course, thanked him again and again. I don’t think he believed him at first, ’cause James doesn’t get free things very often. And I was ready with extry pelts to trade for a new plow. Good plows come at a precious price.”

  Emma nodded, sipping from her mother’s china cup. “I’m glad to hear that you found a generous neighbor. In my short time here, the local pioneers are very open to sharing whatever they have with me. And I do likewise when I can.”

  “You provide healing for all the local folk?”

  “We do have a physician, Mr. John Kerr, but he often can’t make it to every home that needs him. I’m the only midwife along Moss Creek and Locust Hill.”

  “I was sorry about to hear about the Ford woman you midwifed. I reckon Kerr cups and bleeds like the others. I think you and I have more to offer with our methods, don’t you?”

  Emma nodded. She said quietly, looking forlornly toward her father’s room, “I hope I do.” She sipped then asked, “How did you become a healer?”

  “I ain’t that much of a healer. Not like you.”

  Emma heard vulnerability in Carrie’s statement. “Now, I don’t believe for a minute that you don’t have a gift for what you do.”

  Carrie shrugged. “Mayhap.”

  Emma smiled into her cup. Carrie’s humility touched her. “But, you also farm. I can’t do that. I tend my little flock of goats and now Millie the cow, and make my cheese. Father did all the farming, with the help of Mr. Wallace, Captain Dixson, and some others with whom he traded out the work.” She stopped at the memory, but went on, wanting to know every little item about Carrie. “How did you learn to make healing concoctions?”

  “I ’prenticed with a woman down in Christian County. Mable Good, her name was. She was good, too. Kindhearted. Knew about all kinds of healing salves and tonics. I went over to her cabin of a nice summer day when the crops had all been put by, and she shared her book of recipes. It happened that I was learning to write and cipher at the time, and copying out her recipes gave me practice. Then we would talk about what grew out in her patch and what uses a body could put them to.” Carrie looked at Emma, who nodded her encouragement. She continued. “Mable aided me like a teacher. I memorized the tonics, made up little rhymes.” Carrie grinned, looking into the distance. “She got tickled at times, about my rhymes, but I took it as her liking it, not like she was funnin’ me.”

  “She served as a mentor.”

  “Hmm. Mentor. If that means an older person who takes interest in your learning, then mentor she was.”

  Emma delighted in Carrie’s good fortune in Mable’s mentorship. But under it this feeling, something else arose. Was it jealousy? Did she hope to be the wing under which Carrie was protected? Did Carrie have any other education besides Mable Good? Could she be the one to direct Carrie’s schooling? She had, after all, a very good preparation in reading the classics, Latin, and such. “Did you have formal schooling? A tutor? Someone who led you in your learning?”

  “Pshaw. My ma had a few texts she carried from Carolina when her family traveled over the mountains.” Carrie leaned back in her chair. “Let me think…A Holy Bible, ’course. A reading primer. Pilgrim’s Progress. But she prized a collection of Shakespeare. Now that thing had me reeling. Thick as a log it was. I hardly understood it. But when I did, I took many winter nights of pleasure reading those poems and plays. My favorite was…let me bring it to mind…The Tempest. That one had me from the first word.”

  Emma perked up. “I had the primer as well. Do you remember the children’s morning prayer?” She began to recite it and Carrie joined her.

  “Now I wake and see the light. ’Tis God who kept me through the night. To him I lift my voice, and pray. If I should die before ’tis done, O God accept me through thy Son.”

  They locked eyes.

  “I taught James’s boys and Laura from Ma’s old primer. They copied out the prayers, the catechism, all the alfabet, and some passages from Ma’s bible.”

  “You are a wonder, a teacher as well as a farmer. But James did not learn as well?”

  Carrie shook her head. “He said it was children’s work, not for a grown man. He ciphers well enough, but never learned his letters.”

  “I see.”

  “I reckon you had special tutors.”

  “Oh, heavens, no. I went to our teacher, Miss Wynkoop. I and three or four children from the nearby farms formed her entire class. That lasted until she got married, then Mother took up the task. I never liked learning the primer by memorizing. But I was a dutiful daughter and finished my Latin and English grammar, along with basic sums. We do have a teacher hereabouts, Miss Tamsen Dozier. She may not be long our teacher, because a young man by the name of Donner courts her.”

  “I hope the boys can go to her after the crops have been harvested.”

  “Yes, for your sake. It must be a labor of love to teach them, but labor nonetheless.”

  “I take pleasure teaching the boys and Laura, but you hit the nail on the head. Miss Dozier would take away that burden. I teach them after chores, when they can stand to sit.”

  Emma noted the sun casting longer shadows across the puncheon floor. “Thank ye for sharing tea with me.”

  They were silent, sipping the last cup of the maple-sweetened tea.

  “Before I go, mayhap you will show me your garden?”

  Good, she would keep Carrie with her just a bit longer.

  They walked together and talked about what plants Emma was about to set into the small plot. She pointed out the areas of the plot, the various herbs and plants she had planted l
ast year, and how she would arrange her plot this spring.

  As they finished their walk, Carrie sighed. “I expect it’s time I head back. I can help James plow until candle-lighting. Thank ye for having me. I had…well I need to tell you I treasure our friendship, Miss Reynolds. I never had a friend to share with before. I have Laura, but she’s more a sister.” Carrie hung her head, pushing her boots into the soil of Emma’s yard.

  “I like you as well, Miss Fletcher. I hope we can be bosom friends.” She leaned in and hugged Carrie. She felt her strong back muscles stiffen, then relax, then return the hug.

  “You gave me a right nice tea, Miss Reynolds,” Carrie said into Emma’s neck, holding her tight, then pulled back. “I ken you still grieve for your pa. If’n you need any little thing, call for us. You can send word with Blanton or Elizabeth. They stop by every day or so with some work, or James goes to their place. It would please me to help with your garden planting.”

  Emma rubbed Carrie’s back briefly, then stepped back. “Have a good ride home. Stay safe.” She hesitated, then caressed Carrie’s cheek. “Thank ye, my friend.”

  Carrie blushed deeply, bringing out Emma’s tenderness and protectiveness.

  “My friend,” Carrie answered finally, then immediately turned to gather Maisey’s reins and hopped into the saddle.

  Back to the silent cabin. She washed the tea things and took up her mending. Miss Fletcher. Carrie. She prayed a thanks to God for her.

  Saturday next, when they arrived for the wedding at the Wallace house in Locust Hill, the festivities had yet to begin. Many of their neighbors milled around outside. May sun beamed down, a good sign for a wedding day. When Carrie spied Emma from across the large yard, Emma waved and made a beeline for them.

  “I hoped to see you.” She gazed at James and Laura, then she glued her eyes on Carrie.

  Carrie grinned widely. Emma looked like a princess in blue and white cotton. Carrie licked her suddenly dry lips and smoothed her muslin shirt and dark coat, her best outfit kept for preaching on the Sabbath and frolics like this.

  Emma’s smiling eyes roved over her body. “You look quite dapper.” She stepped closer and her hand rose toward Carrie’s neck kerchief, then fell back down to her side. Did she nearly touch the kerchief?

  The minister, wearing a white preaching collar and a worn but clean dark suit, announced from the porch that the nuptials were to begin. The small group of twenty closed in and swept into the front door.

  Emma leaned toward her and whispered, “That man is the circuit rider, Mr. Wentz. He holds services two Sabbaths a month. I hope you can come with me after the planting gets finished.”

  Carrie nodded. Emma’s perfume liked to make her swoon.

  The Wallaces had a real parlor in their large cabin, urns holding bouquets of spring flowers standing on either side of the entrance. The preacher led Dixson toward a nook with a small table of yellow and white jonquils, turned, and stood before it.

  Soon the bride appeared, linked in her father’s arm in a cotton empire waist dress fitted with a lace shawl and veil. Carrie had never seen lace like that, and she inhaled at the lovely bride floating down among the gathered group, who stood to either side to form an aisle.

  “Isn’t she just a vision?” Emma whispered, giving Carrie’s shoulder slight nudge.

  Carrie, wide-eyed, nodded in agreement, incapable of speech at the moment. She tugged at her long black coat and straightened her back among the well-heeled Wallaces.

  The ceremony soon ended, and the preacher announced, “Captain Caleb and Mrs. Susannah Dixson, man and wife.”

  The bride and groom, grins splitting their faces, inched through the crowd. Men shook Dixson’s hand as he passed. Women cooed over Susannah. Emma kissed her on the cheek.

  Lucky cheek, Carrie thought.

  They all poured outside to a plank table laden with foods, a large cake, and wine bottles. After the group had settled on benches, the father of the bride led the toasts to the couple. Carrie downed in one gulp the sweet blackberry wine that had been thrust before her.

  Emma arched her brows. “Are you all right?”

  “Hmm?” Carrie answered, distracted. “Oh, the wine. It’s good, I reckon, but you can’t beat good old bourbon like we got in Christian County.”

  Emma hid a small smile behind her hand. “Yes. I suppose so.”

  “What? Did I speak wrong?”

  “No. No, my dear. You drank the whole cup in one taste. I…”

  “Oh.” Carrie’s face heated up. “That wasn’t ladylike.”

  Emma giggled. “You are fine. Don’t let the Wallace family’s ways rattle you.”

  A girl came by and refilled Carrie’s wine cup.

  “I reckon they come from money.” Carrie’s gaze swept across the double-sized cabin and large yard. “We ain’t—sorry, aren’t used to all this.”

  “Mr. Wallace inherited his father’s whaling company. He sold it back in Massachusetts and moved to Ohio, then pioneered here. Some of his wife’s household goods have been shipped from back East.”

  “I noticed the fancy urns.”

  “Mr. Dixson plans to build a lumber mill up on the Illinois River, I hear.”

  Carrie contemplated the wealth needed for that venture and lifted her eyebrows.

  Dixson raised his glass. “To my lovely bride, and to a long and happy union.”

  “To the Dixsons!” the guests echoed.

  Carrie drank only half the cup of wine this time as she watched other women sipping daintily. She would never be a lady like them, but she could at least try to be less backwoods clumsy.

  The guests lined up for the buffet. Carrie’s mouth salivated. She picked roasted venison and salted pork, early peas and greens, and roasted potatoes. She sat on a bench with Emma, James, and Laura. Laura had Mrs. Conner come to the house to watch over the children, feeling Joshua and George would help her. Permelia slept in a basket in the Wallaces’ house.

  Late afternoon turned sunset, casting red and yellow streaks through clouds rising in the west. Lamps were lighted at each table and the singing began. Carrie sat rapt by the chanting of a wedding song sung by the other guests.

  “…this woman was not taken from Adam’s feet, we see.

  So he must not abuse her, the meaning seems to be.

  This woman was not taken from Adam’s head, we know.

  To show she must not rule him, ’tis evidently so.

  This woman she was taken from near to Adam’s heart,

  By which we are directed that they should never part.

  This woman she was taken from under Adam’s arm,

  And she must be protected from injury and harm.

  The husband is commanded to love his loving bride,

  And live as does a Christian, and for his house provide.”

  “The song is called ‘Wedlock.’ You have not heard it before?” Emma cast Carrie a sweet smile.

  “No. It’s a pleasant tune. Not certain I agree with all the sentiments about being a bride.”

  “Oh?”

  “I…don’t like the idea of a husband commanding me. Too independent to marry, myself. Just don’t…” Carrie pulled at her neck kerchief and cleared her throat. She checked Emma’s reaction, but she merely smiled enigmatically and nodded.

  Emma met her eyes over the wine cup. As soon as she set the cup down, Dixson’s serving girl came to pour more wine for each of them.

  Carrie wondered at Emma’s reaction to her declaration about not wedding a man. To her, their friendship blossomed day by day. She wished to continue to be bosom friends, to talk together, to learn about each other, to share their interest in herbs and medicinal plants. With her pa dying, Emma didn’t have any protector, like the Wedlock song said a man would be. Knowing she was more like James than Laura, in her work and her thoughts, the idea of being nearer to Emma gave her shivers.

  Emma laid her hand on Carrie’s arm. “Are you cold?”

  Carrie shook her head. “Not
cold. Just thoughts rambling around my noggin.” She trusted that answer was sufficient, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

  The eating ended and the same fiddler at William’s burying tuned up to the side of the yard. The lamps made yellow haloes around the yard. The fiddler started with “Drink to Me Only with Thine Eyes.” The preacher, Mr. Wentz, startled Carrie when he stood next to the fiddler and sang in a clear, clear tenor voice.

  All eyes went to him and the guests smiled.

  “He sings good,” Carrie whispered to Emma.

  “He entertains at many frolics.”

  “Who is playing with him?”

  “Mr. George Donner, the man who courts the teacher, Miss Dozier. She’s the woman sitting with that family who are boarding her. I doubt if Donner will be among us for many more years. He longs to pioneer in the West. We’ll miss him, as he plays a very nice fiddle. He and his brother Jacob have a going farm in a little settlement near Springfield.”

  “He fiddles a good tune. The teacher, Miss Dozier, dotes on him.”

  When Wentz finished with his song, Donner picked up “Over the Hills and Far Away.” The gathering sang along with the chorus at Wentz’s encouragement.

  I would love you all the day.

  Ev’ry night would kiss and play,

  If with me you’d fondly stray,

  Over the hills and far away.

  Carrie noted the bridal couple shyly glancing at each other, and in the low light, imagined them blushing at the words. She wondered why a pretty woman like Emma had not been hitched by now. But, she was glad she was a free woman, maybe one who would be close to her in friendship.

  The liquor flowed freely and the men crowded around a jug produced by Dixson, leaving the ladies to listen to Wentz. They sang along, as they knew the words, to “Early One Morning,” “Greensleeves,” and “Lavender Green.” Carrie, not much for singing, strained to hear Emma’s very soft, sweet soprano.

  Mr. Wentz then sang “The Lass of Richmond Hill,” changing the lyrics to “Locust Hill.” Susannah smiled widely, and the men drinking in the yard stilled to listen. They all applauded when Mr. Wentz sat down. He stood again and acknowledged them with a slight bow. His wife, sitting next to him, beamed.