Prairie Hearts

by J. B. Marsden

  “Ouch.”

  “Forgive me. It’s about out.” Emma worked on her hand. “There we go.” She looked gently into Carrie’s eyes. “How’s it feel?”

  Carrie held Emma’s hand. “Thank ye kindly, Emma. I feel fine. I didn’t even ken I had a splinter.”

  Emma rubbed ointment over the heel of her hand. “That should do it. I hope you’re more careful. I don’t want it to become red and swollen.”

  Emma finally let go her hand. Carrie missed the warmth right off.

  Blanton walked through the men. “Time to get to work, boys.”

  “I need to go.”

  Emma brushed her lips over Carrie’s cheek. “Take care now, sweeting.”

  “Yes’m.” Carrie felt a rush of feelings, her face heated, and she glanced around, happy that no one had seen Emma’s show of affection. She grinned and said, “You enjoy those games with the young’uns.”

  Emma tilted her head back and laughed. Emma used Carrie’s hand to stand up.

  The rest of the barn-raising of setting logs into high corners taxed the workers more than the morning work. The roof lattice was next. One team cut logs for the lattice, another set the lattice, and Carrie’s team made shakes from cedar logs. She worked at a fast clip, trying to outdo the other teams. Blanton announced there was a jug of apple jack for the winning team, which set all the teams going even faster.

  By candle-lighting, the barn had taken shape. Fourteen feet high, the door being finished now, and the roof on, all the workers responded to the banging iron pot with a large roar and loud laughter, clapping each other on the back.

  Mr. Conner strode up to Carrie, a wolfish grin on his bearded face. “You did good, little miss. You want to dance with me later?”

  “I met your wife. I don’t reckon she’d cotton to that. And I don’t dance with married people.”

  “I heard you dance with other women. You look unnatural, dressing and acting all mannish. You best be acting more like a real lady, if’n you ken what’s good for ye.”

  Carrie turned her back and walked away as fast as she could hoof it. Her face burned. He set her off. His uppity grin and mean words got under her skin.

  Emma treated one of the men for a broken finger, wrapping it together to the other fingers with a cloth.

  “Do you need any help?”

  Emma looked up. “Thank ye. His finger is wrapped well enough.” She frowned at Carrie. “Are you well? You look flushed.”

  The man flexed his hand. “You done it up right, Miss Reynolds.”

  Carrie took the opportunity of Emma’s tending to the man to go wash up.

  Laura and other wives busied themselves keeping the food stocked on the tables of planks set up near the fire. Blanton and Elizabeth roasted one of their own precious hogs all day in the ashes. Now Blanton sliced off and served succulent pieces of roast pork, a real treat for the pioneers. Laughter and chatter filled the Forresters’ yard.

  The plank tables groaned with all manner of victuals. The men crowded the food tables first, then mothers helped their children to fill trenchers. Elizabeth watched like a good hostess. Finally, women got their meals and sat with their kin together on blankets or the bare ground.

  Emma watched Carrie get her food and find James and the children. She walked with an uncharacteristic slump to her shoulders. Emma got her own trencher of pork, roasted potato, early peas, and green onions.

  When Blanton rang the iron pot, everyone quieted and looked up from their eating. “I picked the winning team.” He held up the jug of apple jack. “Mr. Stratton’s team wins. They just beat all, the way they cut them logs and rolled ’em. But I thank all of ye kindly for your hard labors ’cause I just happen to have another two jugs of apple jack.” He leaned down and held them up.

  Hooting and hollering rose up from all the men.

  James accepted the jug from Blanton and his team crowded him to get a cup. The other jugs made the rounds among the seated men.

  The party began in earnest now. George Donner tuned up his fiddle and the dancing started.

  Women chose partners from their husbands, who sat back drinking, reluctant to dance just yet. But a few rose to take their places as the squares formed up. Emma wanted to ask Carrie, but she could feel her pulling away. She had been mostly silent during the supper, answering in one-word responses. Her face was as menacing as a rain cloud. Emma hurt for her and whatever had happened. She wanted nothing more than to get her aside and coo soothing words, but Carrie’s dark face and silence did not invite anyone near her.

  The drink flowed and men partnered up for wrestling contests.

  Moose claimed a win over another man half his size, which did not seem sporting to Emma.

  “Wrestle a real man, Mumford.” Mr. Conner removed his shirt and moved into the wrestling circle.

  Moose gave him a once-over. “Come and get it, Conner.”

  They circled one another, crouched low. Men stood at the side, laid bets on the ground, and yelled encouragement to their man. Moose and Conner came into a clench and fell on the ground, grasping each other, first one on the top, then the other. The men’s roaring swelled. Women continued to sit on their blankets, uninterested in their doings.

  Carrie left the Forresters’ blanket and escaped into the relative darkness away from the bonfire. Emma decided to follow her, whether she wanted companionship or not. She got two helpings of Indian pudding for them.

  She approached Carrie and held out the pudding. “Thought you might want some. You worked long hours today.”

  Carrie smiled, but not an open smile that reached all her face. “Thank ye, Emma.”

  Emma stroked her cheek. Carrie pulled away slightly. “What’s wrong, sweeting? Did you hurt yourself? Another splinter?” Emma ran her eyes over Carrie.

  Carrie stepped away and Emma’s heart plunged. “Oh, don’t move away. I…”

  “Nothing hurt. I…I’m a little downcast, is all.”

  Emma moved close enough to feel the heat from Carrie’s body. “Can I help?”

  “You don’t want people talking about you, Emma.” Carrie turned and scurried farther into the darkness.

  Emma stood looking blankly at Carrie’s retreating back. Was she hurt for Carrie or for herself? Where did Carrie’s standoffish behavior come from? She wished she could kiss the hurt away for them both. She had feelings for Carrie. She liked her as a friend, sure, but also something more than that. She’d never been in love. Never found any man who could move her heart, and she’d had her share, both in the Hudson Valley and here in Locust Hill.

  She ambled back to the frolic going on in the glow of the fire. The newlywed Dixsons danced in a square with Blanton and Elizabeth. The two widows who danced at the Dixsons’ wedding skipped again in the second square with another couple she didn’t know. She sighed again. She missed the grins and laughs she and Carrie shared when they danced several weeks ago at the wedding frolic.

  Emma sat with Gerta on the Strattons’ blanket, holding Permelia while Laura helped other wives put away food. James and his boys ringed the wrestling men, shouting with the others. Emma cooed to Gerta, who held out a piece of food for her. “No, thank ye, sweeting.”

  Gerta popped the food into her mouth, then rubbed her eyes tiredly.

  Laura came back to their blanket. “I’ll put Permelia in the wagon. If you’d bring Gerta I’d be obliged.”

  They tucked the two girls under blankets.

  “Where did Carrie get to? I thought she was with you.”

  Emma peered off into the darkness. She spoke slowly. “I’m not certain. She walked off that way.” She looked at Laura. “What’s wrong?”

  “Don’t rightly know. She acted not pleased at supper. Mayhap she is coming down with something.”

  “I don’t think she’s ill. I wish I could soothe her hurt, but I don’t know how.”

  “She gets that way. She has moods and goes off to herself. Back in Christian County, she would hole up in her cabin and not t
alk to a soul for a week. Most times it was some yahoo had said something to rile her.”

  “What kind of talk? What did they say?”

  “Oh, I reckon something ’bout her wearing breeches, working next to James on the farm. She can’t help it. She is who she is. I love her just that way.”

  Emma chewed on this bit of backwoods wisdom. After a while she said, “I like her just the way she is as well. My heart hurts for her.”

  “She’ll be fine as rain, by and by.”

  They walked back to the blanket together.

  When darkness came on the clearing, a shout mounted among the men and loud arguing rang across the yard. Emma stood up.

  It was Mr. Conner. “Git yerself outta here, Injun, and take this Negroe with ye.”

  Laban and Red Fox stepped into the fire’s light. Conner lunged at Red Fox. Shouting, yells, and confusion made it hard to know exactly what was happening.

  James pulled Mr. Conner off Red Fox. “Git off’n him. He’s my friend. He means no harm. They’re hungry.”

  “Yes, sir. We just need some food. We have some pelts to trade with y’all.” Laban’s eyes darted around the men’s angry faces.

  James stood between them and the rest of the men. “Now, git along, Conner and y’all. Laura will pack a bit o’ vittles and they’ll be on their way.

  Conner lunged at James. “You Injun lover.” Conner had James on the ground.

  Moose grabbed Conner by the breeches. “Leave off. James’s only trying to help ’em. They ain’t gonna hurt nobody.” Moose grasped Conner from behind in a bear hug.

  Conner struggled to toss him. Two men grabbed Conner.

  “You best cool off, Conner.”

  Laura came into the circle of men, who huffed and looked ready to fight Moose, or James, or Conner, Emma couldn’t tell which. Laura handed a packet wrapped in a cloth to Laban.

  Laban held out a rabbit fur to her. “Thank ye kindly, missus. We didn’t want to cause a ruckus.” He and Red Fox disappeared into the woods.

  “Come now, boys, the fun is over. Get back to your frolic.” James took Laura’s arm. “I reckon now is a good time to skedaddle home.”

  Several men grumbled under their breath.

  Nausea gripped Emma. “Is it safe?” she asked James.

  “Now, don’t you fret, Miss Reynolds. I’ll go home with you. Laura and Carrie and the little ’uns will wait for me to return.” James looked around the yard. Wives packed up wagons. Their husbands came to help them, shooting daggers at James. Emma heard more than one man curse under his breath about Injun lovers. Her heart still raced.

  Carrie walked off her anger and embarrassment from Conner’s dressing-down. He wasn’t different than many others who’d told her she stood out, did not conform to the ways of women. She was odd. Conner didn’t so much tell her something she’d not heard, but said it in a nasty tone. She had hoped to not find any of that kind here on the prairie. Her handy skills as a farmer made up for not being a lady. Conner had said she was handy; she would give him that. But the poison coming out of his mouth afterward made the good of her handiness become manure. Mayhap she was fit only to be tossed away on the dung heap. Worthless. Worse even, because she did not come in the right clothes or take time with her hair, like Laura. Or Emma.

  Emma didn’t judge her by her appearance in breeches but liked her handiness. Didn’t that recommend her? Emma, upstanding woman of Locust Hill, liked by all, a healer in their midst, approved of her. Goll darn it, that stood for something, did it not?

  And her family. The boys and Laura and James all loved her in their own ways. She stopped pacing and pondered Conner and Emma and her family. She didn’t come to a resting point, but she did feel better than she had a minute ago. The most important people in her life took her at face value. And others mattered not, in that case.

  By the time she had cooled off and made her way back to the Forresters’ yard, Laura and James had nearly finished gathering their things and the young’uns into the wagon.

  “Here she is. Where the tarnation you been?” She wasn’t sure whether James would clap her on the back or shake her.

  “Took a little wander. What can I do?”

  “Nothing. We ready up there, Laura?”

  “All of us is tucked in.”

  “I rode with Emma to her cabin. Let’s get on down the trail.”

  On the ride home James didn’t say a word to Carrie, and Carrie had no words for him. Even though her breath had gone from puffing ox to quiet lamb, she still wasn’t of a mind to talk. They arrived back home and carried sleepy children up the loft. She washed herself up and crept onto her pallet. Tomorrow would tell its own tale. She couldn’t become a lady. She was just Carrie Fletcher, farm woman. No one could do a thing about it.

  Baby chicks arrived the next week from a farmer up near Springfield. Moose served as go-between for James and Carrie with the chicken man. The chicks belonged to Carrie outright, since she paid for them with pelts and would be taking care of them. She built a small coop to house them. They had been sexed, so only one cockerel came with the twenty chicks that would grow to pullets in a couple of weeks, then hens when they started laying.

  The boys and Gerta whooped at the balls of yellow fluff scurrying around the yard. Gerta ran after them, trying unsuccessfully to pick one up. Carrie stooped and held the peeping thing in her hand for Gerta to pet. Gerta giggled.

  Carrie gave a chuckle. “Chick.”

  “Tick,” Gerta mimicked.

  The boys each carried one carefully, like Carrie taught them.

  “Be gentle, Gerta. Don’t hurt the wee chick.” Laura spread some seed on the ground around the coop and the chicks immediately pecked ravenously at it.

  “See the chicks have come.” James stood, arms akimbo, eyeing the scene. “We should have eggs this summer. Got a cock, too?”

  “One cockerel. I hope the dog will help keep the foxes away.”

  “The coop looks sturdy enough, but I seen foxes away in the timber yonder the past few days. Looked like a momma and her kits. These here chicks will be a draw to her. Best keep extra watch.”

  “I will. I want eggs, too.” Carrie got pride from James’s approval of her coop but feared for her brood now that it had arrived. She’d chinked all the open places around the coop’s structure. “Foxes have their wily ways; I’ll keep an extra watch on them. The boys’ll be my guards.”

  Josh puffed out his chest. “George and me’ll help you, Auntie.”

  “I reckon you all can hoe the fields before midday. Summer is laying in now, hotter every day.”

  Carrie latched the enclosure gate on the chicks who pecked at the seeds, peeping away. She grinned. “Come, boys, let’s get to hoeing.” She called the dog. “Sit, Patch,” she said, indicating the gate to the enclosure. The dog obediently sat. “Stay, boy.” The dog lay down in the dirt and sighed. Carrie nodded.

  Carrie and the boys took their hoes and followed James out to the fields.

  As the sun rose higher, Carrie panted mightily, chopping at the weeds between the green corn, now grown to ankle height, much higher than their corn in Christian County would be by June. The soil was so much blacker in Illinois.

  James hoed two rows over and the boys had their own rows next to him. They worked under the beating sun until Laura rang the iron pot to signal midday.

  “Sammy, you did good.” She patted the boy on the head. He grinned with pride at his first hoeing. “I reckon you’re a real farmer, now.”

  “I did it myself.”

  “Aye, you did.” Carrie wiped sweat off her neck with her kerchief and exhaled. “Boys, go get some water. Your poppa and I’ll be along.”

  “We got another five acres to finish. You want to hoe with me after midday?”

  “I can.” She looked out over the horizon. “Looks like rain tonight or tomorrow.”

  “I’ll get the boys gathering firewood.”

  “You expect the hogs will come soon?”

  �
��Moose said at the barn-raising he’d get ’em this week. Three gilts and a boar. You have some pelts to trade. I reckon a dressed deerskin will do.”

  “I do. It’s tanned and ready for making clothes.”

  James nodded as they walked into the cabin to eat.

  Today Emma poured milk to churn butter. She puffed with exertion as the butter stiffened, and took stock of the things she needed at Moose’s in exchange for what would be produced with her efforts. She paddled butter into molds for the cooling cellar her father had dug.

  She missed both her parents daily. Her father, even in his own grief, had been especially attentive to Emma, careful of her overworking. Constant work crowded every day.

  The Forresters’ barn-raising brought memories of their own cabin-raising. The strangers who were so free with their toil. Their wives, friendly to her, encouraging her in the throes of her and her father’s sorrow.

  A few tears dropped onto her bodice. Sadness seemed to stalk her at times. A grief she could not just put away like laying a garment in a chest to be forgotten until she needed it. Against her will, the sad thoughts chose their own time to bubble to the surface.

  Carrie’s mood at the barn-raising also sat heavy on her heart. She felt rebuffed when Carrie walked off into the night, leaving her holding two helpings of Indian pudding. Was their friendship threatened? She racked her memory to see where she had said or done something to offend Carrie. Perhaps when she fell asleep on her shoulder at Dixson’s wedding? When they held hands in her garden last week?

  The seesaw of Carrie’s emotions confused her. Up until the barn-raising, she’d been gentle and affectionate on all the occasions they met. Carrie had held her hand, kissed her palm. It had set her heart beating wildly. She had feelings for Miss Fletcher, hard to decipher, like no other feelings she’d ever had. Not for any suitor. Not for any other woman friend. They went deeper, making her heart ache to see her, touch her. Carrie differed in so many ways from her: for certain, her manner of dress, her farm abilities, her independence.