Prairie Hearts

by J. B. Marsden

  After a moment, his hat turning in his hands, he said in halting speech, “I had time aplenty to ponder up in Springfield…while shackled like a dog. Worrying about the farm and Dolly.” He took a deep breath. “Then, Doc Kerr tended me after the…my…thirty-nine lashes with the hickory stick up there. He tol’ me…er…he nor any other man could do what y’all did for my young’uns. And nobody could’a stayed their dying.” He shifted his feet.

  Dolly gazed at him silently.

  Emma still clutched the door. She breathed deeply to calm her nerves. Was he truly sorry he had misjudged them? She had a niggling feeling about Conner, but wanted to give him a chance to say what he came to say.

  “Kerr and me talked quite a spell…” He wrung the hat in his hand. “I asked a bunch of questions about their fever.” He looked Emma in the eye. “Dolly says she tol’ you about my wife, Pet. How the granny woman…Her flux…But it weren’t due to that granny she died, either, Kerr tol’ me.”

  He stopped, looking to Dolly, who nodded.

  James shifted his stance and met Carrie’s gaze.

  “The preacher visited me, too. I had a coming-to-Jesus, I reckon. Wentz set me to rights like Kerr. Set me pondering my sins. In that ratty place up there while I was on my lonesome, I had time aplenty…For two moons I mulled over my ways.”

  Emma gripped the door, dumfounded. Could she trust this humble recital? James stood like a solid oak. He surely knew Conner spoke the truth.

  “I reckon I was off my head, about you and that granny back home. I ain’t been a God-fearing man since Pet died. The way I hated, and let my sorrows come over me, take me over. I came to say…I want to say I’m rightly sorry…”

  Tears welled and spilled down Emma’s cheeks.

  “Wentz prayed for me, for the mischief I caused y’all. He said I sinned greatly.” He looked to Carrie and then to Emma in the doorway. “I’m sorry…for the meanness I showed both of ye. And for…” He broke down, crying openly. “Lord ’a mercy.”

  Carrie glanced back at Emma, who now let her tears flow. Emma shook her head, afraid Carrie would tell him their secret.

  Carrie quietly murmured, “I ken your…guilt, Conner, and your sorrow. We’re glad to hear your words. I can’t say we’ll forget—”

  “’Course…I nor you can forget. You…It was terrible and I rue my…” He trailed off, looking down to the ground and using his arm to clear the tears off his cheek.

  “Aye,” Carrie said softly.

  Emma wiped her tears. Wringing her hands in her apron, she walked out on the step. “Conner…you have a long row to hoe. Dolly needs you.”

  Dolly looked gratefully on Emma. “Aye.”

  James spoke. “Conner, you did your Christian duty today. But you remember our talk. If you go back to your violent ways, it will go hard for you.”

  “Aye, Stratton. No need to repeat it. I got another chance and I won’t let it go by. I ’preciate all you done. I…” Conner coughed and gulped. “Dolly and I can never repay…” He shuffled in the dirt. “I have a lot of atonin’ for all I did.” He looked to Dolly. “I reckon we’ll let you be. I…am grateful for this good wife.”

  Dolly smiled wanly. She nodded to James, Carrie, and Emma, and coaxed Conner up on their mule and he turned them down the trace.

  “Thank ye, James, for taking up for Emma and me.”

  Emma left the doorstep. “Do you believe him, James?”

  With a huff, James answered. “I want to. Wentz vouches for him. I ain’t talked to Kerr, but he’s a good man and set Conner straight about healing and such. Conner’s words hit me true. A man would have to do a lot of thinking in the jail up there, all on his lonesome for two long months. I believe he come to his right mind. He told me that afore his wife Pet died back home, he had all his faculties. When she died after the granny woman tended her, he took it bad. It like to make him crazy, and he went to drinking, he said. It would me, too, I reckon. Then, it all came back when his young’uns died. He said he felt it was too much to bear and he took it out on you.” James looked off into the distance. “I don’t rightly know. No one can get inside another man’s noggin. I ’spect to keep a lookout on him. Laban still lurks around to keep an eye on ye for me. I reckon time’ll tell.”

  Emma nodded. “You’ve done all you can for us, James. I’m still frightened, but I trust you will protect us. And we can count on Laban. That I know.”

  Carrie and Emma rode to Moss Creek the next day amid chilly raindrops.

  They sat in the cabin and drank tea with Laura and told their news. First of Conner and Dolly’s visit, then of the pregnancy.

  Laura looked on them with a mix of sympathy and amazement. She swept them up together into a bear hug, surprising Carrie with its ferocity.

  When Laura drew back, she said, “You girls. You got grit.” She wiped tears from her eyes.

  “Conner and Dolly’s visit shook us up some. Right on the heels of Emma’s telling me about…well. We’re mighty grateful to James for talking to them and bringing them around. You could have knocked me over with a feather, I was so stunned at Conner.”

  “Them four walls where he was shackled musta been time for deep pondering. And Mr. Wentz. Just like him to seek out a troubled soul. I like him fine. We got him to thank along with Kerr.”

  Emma hugged Carrie with one arm. “And this one here. She walked right out into the yard when they came in on that mule. I’m so proud of her.”

  Carrie’s face heated. “Now, it wasn’t like that. Dolly took me for a loop, too, the way she stood by him. I suspicion she felt a mite happier with how Conner came home, all contrite.”

  “A near-miracle. My heart feels so much lighter. I want to trust his apology. Still, I will never wipe that night from my mind.”

  “I ken your frowns about him have faded away some. I’d feel as you do, not forgetting such a horrible thing.” Laura gazed into Emma’s face. “But now, about this babe on the way. How do ye fare?”

  “Some morning stomach twinges, but so far, I’m very well.”

  “Your cheeks look pink and happy.”

  “She looks extra pretty.” Carrie looked at Emma with love in her heart. How could she have missed the healthy glow in Emma’s face and not know?

  Laura eyed them. “You both gonna bring up this babe? Do you know what you’re about?”

  “Yes’m.” Carrie straightened her shoulders. “I reckon I am not motherly like Emma, liking to be out in the garden and fields as I do. But I have helped with your young’uns enough, and I plan to be a help to Emma. My worries run to who will be midwife. My midwifing never did get used down home, with Mabel Good around. I could never be half the midwife she was. And here, Emma does all the birthing.”

  Emma said, “We have time for you to learn, before my birthing, for you to go with me on birthing visits. Mrs. Morgan’s time comes before December.”

  Carrie’s heart leapt to her throat, and she gulped.

  “Do not be afeared now, honey.” Laura patted her arm.

  “Birthing…a big burden. The babe, the momma. Mighty dangerous at times.”

  “We’ll study up on it together before Mrs. Morgan’s time.”

  “You see? You ain’t alone. You got a teacher.”

  “A…what did you call Mabel? Mentor?”

  “Aye, mentor.”

  “I reckon I can give y’all some baby things, unless…”

  Carrie peered at Laura.

  Laura smiled shyly. “My babe will come late spring.”

  Carrie combed her mind for words.

  “Oh, Laura.” Emma hugged her tightly. “Another little one?”

  She laughed. “We’re bound to have dogs and young’uns springing up ever’where here on the prairie.”

  “But you’ll need me. Emma will need me.” Carrie shivered at the pull toward each woman.

  “My boys’ll come in handy, don’t you fret about me. Emma’s the one all on her lonesome.” Laura patted Carrie’s shoulder, but didn’t fores
tall her worry.

  “We can make baby things this winter on the long nights.” Emma looked to Laura and then to her.

  Carrie blinked. Emma didn’t seem to fret at all.

  “I…” Carrie paced to the cabin door, hearing the rain patter in the yard. She screwed up her resolve. “If you two don’t fret, I’ll try not to. But…” She turned to them, raking her hand through her hair, mussing the braid. “Heaven help us. I…pledge to do my best.” She sighed.

  “I never knew you to shirk any burden. We all will do fine,” Laura said. She paused. “The thing that sticks in my craw is the telling of the tale of your babe, Emma.”

  “Aye. Thank ye, Laura. I don’t know…” Emma choked.

  Laura wrapped Emma in a hug. “’Course. It’ll go hard with ye both, you two on your own. You may want to think about whether you’ll keep this child.”

  Carrie paced again. “What else? Who else?”

  Laura gazed upon her. “Well, it’s Conner’s babe, is it not?”

  Carrie gasped. “Lord ’a mighty.”

  “Oh, Laura. What can we trust? What’s the right thing?”

  “You and Carrie want to cogitate about it. You could make this babe your own, even though the getting of it causes you grief. Or some other way will open for you. You got time. You’ll ken the right thing when it’s time.”

  They left Laura’s and planned to tell the other women friends one by one as they saw them.

  With the summer waning and fall coming on, all the gardens and crops planted four months earlier ripened. The days had become colder, the wind whipping the prairie as the flowers and grasses turned brown. By the end of October, the leaves had all turned, the maples yellow and orange, the oaks lovely, too.

  “I love the crisp air of fall,” Emma said as she breathed deeply one morning in the yard.

  “I’ll love it more when all the harvest is done.” Carrie huffed.

  Together they dug potatoes, gathered pumpkins and squashes, and harvested the last of the carrots, onions, turnips, and parsnips before the frost, storing them all in straw in the root cellar.

  They also gathered all the remaining herbs, their flowers, stems, and leaves, from both their gardens. After drying them, they crushed leaves and made potions, resulting in more than enough medicinals to last through the winter.

  Emma caught Carrie peering at her often as they worked together. “I’m fine, sweeting.”

  Carrie shrugged. “Get used to my doting on you. I won’t let you out of my sight until this babe comes.”

  “But it’s months away, and I am doing so well. No problems.” She hefted a sack of potatoes.

  “No. No lifting heavy things.” Carrie snatched the sack from her.

  Emma sighed. “You need to let me do hard work. You know it toughens me for the birth throes.”

  Carrie ignored her, carried the sack all the way to the cellar, and left Emma to carry a small basket of onions and carrots. After Carrie commandeered several of the heavier loads, Emma gave in, believing it easier than arguing with Carrie. She could not move the mountain that was Carrie.

  During their harvesting of Emma’s garden one morning, Mr. Winters stopped by. “Good morrow, Miss Reynolds. Corn harvest starts on the morrow. We start here with your field, then move to Stratton’s, Forrester’s, and Conner’s fields, based on James’s suggestions after looking over the fields with Blanton. I reckon to drive Dixson’s wagon down, which holds a bigger load than yours, if you agree.”

  Carrie looked up from crushing dried leaves.

  “Thank you, Charles. I welcome the loan of Caleb Dixson’s wagon.” Emma looked to Carrie.

  “I can drive one wagon or help with the corn-cutting.”

  Winters nodded. “Thank ye, Miss Fletcher.” He mounted his horse. “See you all bright and early.”

  “Will you be well, here at the cabin on your own, while I harvest?”

  Emma smiled indulgently. “You know I will.”

  “I fret.”

  Emma pecked her on the lips. “I know well your fretting. Now, back to our work.”

  The next morning, just as Carrie finished milking and Emma gathered eggs after feeding her chickens, James, Blanton, and Charles drove wagons into the yard.

  For the entire week, wagons entered empty and left stacked with corn from each farmer’s fields. The wives travelled along to each successive farm to feed the gang of hungry workers at midday from large kettles of stew. By the next week, the ears mounted high at Locust Hill, where the men had decided to dump their harvest, it being near to Moose’s trading station for easy bargaining.

  “Look at that huge harvest.” Carrie assessed the ten-foot-high pile of ears.

  James and Laura stood with them and considered the heap.

  “James, I have the tallies,” Blanton called, and James met with him to inform each farmer of their share of the crop after husking.

  “How did my farm do?” Emma asked of her.

  Carrie shrugged. “Blanton keeps the tally of the number of wagonloads, so when we husk, we will apportion accordingly. James had the biggest harvest, that I do know, based on the hours we spent in the field.”

  Emma twisted her apron in her hands.

  “Don’t fret, honey. We have corn aplenty to last your animals and us through the winter, with leftover for Moose. Your chickens and goats will not starve with the oats and rye, and the hay we put by in August. Mr. Winters was impressed by your field’s harvest. Mayhap you need to talk to him. Blanton is talking to James now about the accounting for each farm.”

  Emma nodded absently. “I don’t like being in charge of a farm. Father took care of all of that and I never worried. Now, it’s all on my shoulders.”

  Carrie saw disquiet in Emma’s eyes. Lately she didn’t live in her usual easy manner and was more apt to fret over small things. Fussing over her, she took Emma in her arms.

  Emma snuggled close and murmured, “I am blessed to have you. But I miss Father so much. He didn’t get to reap the rewards of all his efforts to build his dream here on the prairie. He and Mother…” She held Carrie at arm’s length. Emma spoke with a hitch in her voice. “They gave their lives for this. They should be here, getting ready for the husking bee. Not me. Why did I live and they did not?”

  “Oh, honey.” Carrie drew her in close again. “Why did Laura lose two babes after Georgie was born? Why did I grow up not knowing my ma?” She racked her brain for the words of Job and quoted, “‘Can you fathom the deep things of God or discover the limits of the Almighty?’”

  Emma abruptly backed completely out of Carrie’s arms. “Don’t ask me to let a jealous God take from me, Caroline Fletcher. Allow me this sorrow for what I have lost. For what my sweet parents have lost. How dare you take my grief from me and give me honeyed phrases about some faraway God who breaks our hearts in grief? Sits on His high throne and plays with humans like so many toys. How dare you?” Emma turned and ran down the trace.

  Carrie winced and stared after her.

  Laura came to Carrie. “What troubles Emma?”

  Carrie puffed out her cheeks and shook her head. “I said something wrong.”

  “She seemed mighty unsettled. Does she laugh one minute and cry the next?”

  Carrie blinked. “Aye. How did ye—”

  “If’n you remember, I blew hot and cold when I carried Permelia.”

  “Oh, the babe. Will this go on long? What do I do?”

  “Nothing for it, sister. Give her time alone.” Laura patted Carrie’s shoulder. “Her temper will pass.”

  Carrie felt skeptical, but decided Laura knew from her own experiences with carrying so many babes. “Aye, thank ye.”

  Emma lay down on the small bed in the corner of the cabin, tears dropping onto the sheet. She found herself crying often now. Any small thing might set her off. A few days ago, while Carrie harvested with the men, two broken eggs sent her sniveling into the cabin.

  Today, the memory of Father’s corn harvest last autumn
came vividly to mind. As he drove one of the last loaded wagons from his field for Locust Hill, he called to her, smiling and waving.

  When he returned home that day, they had talked after supper.

  “It’s been a good year for all the crops,” he said with pride in his voice, his pipe smoke haloing around his head. “We’ll be set for the winter with the cattle and extra for trade at Moose’s. Just what your mother and I dreamed this land would bring. The good prairie soil and a touch of God’s hand gave us good growing weather and rain all at the right times.”

  Then he found his French harp and played little ditties he hadn’t played since York State days. She sang along.

  A sad smile swept her lips and she closed her eyes, the songs lilting in her head.

  She rose from bed.

  In the trunk, she rummaged through a box of his things she’d kept. There was his French harp, still in its leather case. She lifted it from the case, shiny as new. When he had purchased it, it was one of the first French harps in the Hudson Valley. He learned to play “Yankee Doodle” from the man who sold it, a newly arrived German named Hofstetter. He brought it out especially after supper on a winter night, when Mother and she would sing together with his reedy ballads. It brought them many nights of pleasure against the dark and bitter cold. She turned the instrument in her hands and stroked it, then rested it lovingly back in the case.

  She picked up his pipe and fingered the dark wood. She loved the smell of his tobacco after supper. Fresh tears welled up.

  On the step outside, boots stomped, and she quickly put the box back and closed the trunk.

  Carrie entered, took off mud-caked shoes, placed them by the door, and put on her moccasins. She came to Emma with slumped shoulders and a pained expression.

  Sniffling into her handkerchief, Emma said, “Please forgive me for my outburst.”

  “No, honey. I spoke out of turn, trying to give you—”

  “Don’t blame yourself for my mood.” Emma took her hand and sat her on the bench at the table. “I remembered Father today at last year’s corn harvest. How happy he was…I miss him so. And Mother. Seeing the corn mounding at Moose’s brought them to mind. I couldn’t dismiss their deaths today.” She knelt in front of Carrie, gathering their hands together. “I had no right to speak to you thus, despite my sorrow.”