Prairie Hearts

by J. B. Marsden

  Carrie smiled, patting his hair. “I wondered, how are Miss Dozier and y’all getting along?”

  Sam shrugged. “Good, I reckon. She’s bossy-like. Never lets up.”

  Josh added, “She says my sums are pretty good.”

  “And how about your reading? Georgie?” Reading last winter had been hard for him.

  “My reading’s good. I got to read a story the other day. About girls and boys fishing,” Josh puffed out his chest.

  Carrie sat at the table and the boys crowded around her. “But how about Georgie?” She eyed his frown.

  “Not as good, Auntie Carrie. The words don’t come to me.”

  “We can spend some time today after our big feast on a book Emma said she would give you.” She drew a book out of her canvas bag. “It’s got a bangup story about a man who goes to sleep and can’t wake. Rip Van Winkle’s his name.”

  The boys laughed.

  “That’s a funny name.”

  “That it is, Sammy. Now, go back to your work so we can have our feast.”

  “The taters have all been peeled, Momma.” Josh pointed to the pan filled with golden sweet potatoes.

  Emma took it from the table. “I’ll get these on the fire, Laura. What else can we do?”

  Laura turned from basting the turkey in its juices. “Turkey will be done afore long. I reckon as soon as the taters cook, we can carve it up.”

  They sat down later around the large table. James led the prayer and they added their thanks. Then they dug into the feast and ate.

  “Conner told us after service today that Mr. Wentz is helping him get right with the Lord,” Carrie said between bites of sweet potato.

  James and Laura looked at her. James nodded. “Good to hear.”

  They continued their feast.

  The first snow arrived December 2. The new pioneer Emma had visited on the Illinois River won the pot and Conner grumbled, “He ain’t one of the neighbors.” Conner, not wholly reformed, still harbored his resentments.

  Carrie continued to stack firewood against the days when snow kept her prisoner in the cabin. Emma made candles, churned the dwindling buttermilk from Millie, and gathered fewer eggs each day. She hoarded eggs, milk, and butter for their future use, in a cold pantry off the cabin’s front door.

  The hours of sunlight waned daily, and candle-lighting came earlier.

  Carrie brought work into the cabin on the chilly, dark nights. Being especially good with leather, she mended harness for several farmers. Tonight, she had reins from Charles Winters and James’s wagon harness.

  As Emma knitted, warming by the fireplace, she asked, “What will we give for Christmas, sweeting?”

  Carrie looked up from her leatherwork and sighed. “I hadn’t thought much on it yet. I’m making corn husk dolls for the girls. James carves better than me, so making wooden toys is out. What’re you knitting?”

  “Socks for James, Laura, and the boys. I have only finished with one pair, so I have my work cut out for me.”

  “Caleb gave you quite a hank of wool yarn.”

  “Susannah got a new spinning wheel last week. You should see it. She showed me how to use it and we’ll spin wool later this week. I will clean and card. She also showed me how she dyes the yarn with berry juice and produces lovely color.” Emma raised the blue socks she worked on for Carrie’s approval. “I hope to make blankets for the girls. And for their dolls.” Emma smiled.

  “Doll blankets? I never heard of such. You are a sap for those girls.”

  “I think my own babe may be a girl.” She patted her growing baby bump.

  “Oh, aye? And how do ye ken such a thing?”

  “I have my methods,” Emma replied coyly. She grasped Carrie’s hand, giving her a charming smile. “Let’s us to bed, my sweet.”

  Lying in the dark, Carrie stirred up her courage. “Emma, honey.”

  “Aye,” Emma answered with a small yawn.

  “I got the babe on my mind.”

  Emma faced her.

  “What Laura said, back in the fall, about it being Conner’s young’un. What did you think on that?”

  Emma exhaled a long breath. “It’s accurate as far as it goes. What do you mean?”

  “What I’m aiming at…I wonder what we do with this babe? How will we keep it when we go off into the night for a woman in childbirth? Or how can we keep it from getting every little ailment we bring home from tending the sick? My mind keeps pondering.”

  “Sweeting.” Emma groaned. “I don’t have an answer. Mayhap Dolly can come to us and tend the babe when we’re out of the cabin?”

  “Dolly? She’s good to tend others’ babes. But I worry. Mayhap we should talk with the Conners about this babe?”

  “I’m mortified to talk to Conner and Dolly. It’s so unnatural, sweeting. I don’t think I can do it.” Emma rolled over. “Please, let’s just sleep.”

  Carrie, her hands under her head, could not sleep and instead lay stiffly next to Emma.

  During the days of mid-December, Emma brought out her midwife bag for Carrie’s first lesson.

  As she spoke, Emma handed Carrie each item. “This is oil for stretching the perineum before birth. You first warm a dab in your hands. Especially when it’s cold it sets up a bit. Rub it around well and massage it into the skin just around the woman’s birth canal.”

  Carrie’s eyes widened. “That seems…close to what we do.” She blushed fiercely.

  “You need to put away those thoughts right this instant. Our work holds no place for…getting worked up like that. You’ll soon see, you’ll have no time or inclination for any but worrying about the woman and her babe.”

  “Aye.” Carrie did not look convinced.

  “I assure you it’s true. All thoughts but for the work at hand flee away. You concentrate fully on the woman, her birth pangs, how her face looks, whether pale or no. Our job entails putting her fears to rest, helping her relax into the business at hand. For if she frets obsessively, it’ll go hard for her. The more she trusts the midwife, the easier the birth goes. Do you understand?”

  Carrie nodded vigorously. “Aye. Mabel showed me such when I went out with her. I saw many women sigh in relief as she entered their cabins. The menfolk, too.” She chuckled. “As soon as Mabel hit the doorstep, oft times they skedaddled like leaves in the wind.”

  Emma didn’t engage in the discussion of husbands, a subject that would derail today’s lesson, certainly. “Do you understand the use of the oil?”

  “What kind of oil is it?”

  “You can use any oil you’ve got. This stock I brought from York State. I believe it’s oil from flaxseeds.” She handed Carrie two bags. “Now, here are the tea leaves. Chamomile to help with nausea and raspberry to prepare the womb for contractions. Finally, lady’s mantle.” She held the small bag. “I used this to stop bleeding with Faith, but too late. You can use it for women who bleed excessively at their time of the month, as well.” Emma inhaled at the thought of poor Faith. So much blood.

  Carrie looked intently on Emma’s demonstration.

  “I also carry extra rags. Useful for all sorts of purposes, from cleaning the babe to mopping the woman’s brow with water.”

  “Aye. And what of this?” Carrie pointed to a small beige bag.

  Emma’s solemn eyes met Carrie’s and she spoke softly, “This bag comes into play with a stillborn. After I clean him up and, when the parents are ready, wrap him in it as a shroud to present to them. I have this linen one, very fine. I embroider one at a time and keep it with me on midwife trips.”

  Carrie nodded and pursed her lips. “Aye.”

  Their eyes locked for moment. “Of course, I carry a knife for cutting the cord. I may also carry some sustenance, some corn cakes and cheese or such, for me and the husband. That completes the kit I carry. You should make your own kit soon.”

  “But, I’m going out with you for Mrs. Morgan. I can’t be alone on my first midwife run.”

  Emma smiled tenderly a
t Carrie’s anxious voice and paled complexion. “No sweeting, I won’t let you go alone. You need to apprentice with me, of course.”

  Carrie sighed. “Let me remember each of these.” She picked up the items one by one, named them and their use.

  Emma nodded. “Aye. Perfect. You make a quick student.” She patted Carrie on the cheek.

  Turning back to put her kit in order, Emma said, “Did you know Mr. Wentz pays a visit this morning?”

  Carrie stopped her forward movement toward the door. “Then I need to stay?”

  “Aye. He’ll be here for tea any moment.”

  Even as she spoke, Juniper barked.

  John Wentz, in his black suit and hat, reined in near the door and dismounted. His usual cheery face looked pale and decidedly not happy. Did something happen? It was unusual for him to visit a house for no reason.

  “Good morn, ladies.” He doffed his hat and sat at their table at Emma’s direction.

  Carrie prepared the kettle and put tea leaves in the pot Emma handed her. Emma chose her mother’s china pot.

  “How do ye fare, Mr. Wentz?”

  “Margaret and I fare well, Miss Reynolds, thank ye. We have weathered the fall so far and are hunkering down for the winter. I travel less around the country when the snow flies, but until then, I’m making all my rounds to the meeting houses hereabouts.” He took the teacup from Carrie, who set the pot down on the table after pouring out three cups.

  When they were all situated around the table, Mr. Wentz straightened his cravat and said, “I’m on a delicate mission this morn, Miss Reynolds, Miss Fletcher.” He eyed them over the cup at his lips and set the cup down with a clink.

  Emma had no idea what he was about. Her stomach ached.

  She nor Carrie said anything, but let the silence open for him to continue.

  “I’ve heard rumors. Now, let me assure you I don’t abide by rumors. They can be quite meanspirited and harmful. But this information comes to me through trusted quarters. Mr. Dixson himself, to be specific. I heard that you, Miss Reynolds, carry Conner’s babe.” He paused.

  Carrie turned pale.

  Emma bit her lip, steeling her mind and emotions to hear what the preacher had to say. She inhaled and sat erect. “Aye. You heard correctly. The outrage perpetrated on me by Conner resulted in my being with child.” She looked him directly in the eye, challenging him to say something damning.

  “I see.” He looked to Carrie, then again to Emma. “What do you propose to do about this misfortune, my dear?”

  She puzzled his meaning. What could she do? “Why nothing, Mr. Wentz. Carrie and I have come to terms with my state. She takes care of me when I’m feeling sick in the mornings. Other than that, we fare well.”

  “But, you can’t be seriously considering bringing up this child on your own, without benefit of a husband to provide for you?”

  “We do fine, sir. Emma and I have established a system of provisioning for ourselves. She has the farm under the guidance of Charles Winters, who knows his business quite well. We each have gardening and herbs and tending the sick and hurt. And midwife to the several women who need us. We have no worries for the winter, sir.”

  “Do you not?” His eyebrows raised high. “Two women, together, taking care of themselves in this wilderness. Wolves, panthers, Kickapoo. I know you have skill in hunting, Miss Fletcher, but are you ready to defend your home against such?”

  Her puzzlement turning to peevishness, Emma could not stay silent. “Mr. Wentz, you are most kind to worry about us. I’m sure Caleb Dixson hoped to help by telling you. I know him a little. He takes the welfare of the community seriously.”

  “Aye, that’s the case. He came to me fretting about your future. Conner frets as well. He is coming to know the Lord. To turn his life around. Both he and Dixson know you intend to be here alone.”

  “I’m not alone. Carrie and I work as a team. Together our skills complement one another. What I can do, she cannot, and vice versa. We provide companionship, friendship, and dare I say, love.”

  “Love?”

  “Aye. We love each other. Like good Christians, we harbor each other’s hearts, tend each other in sickness, assuage hurts. I couldn’t have borne Conner’s…the attack…without Carrie by my side encouraging and loving me. We are bosom friends and helpmates.” Emma exhaled. Her speech had taken her energy.

  John Wentz sat, nodding. “I wish I understood your friendship, Miss Reynolds. I can’t imagine my wife existing without my support.” He straightened in the chair, his tea forgotten. “Are you quite certain of this arrangement? What if one of you gets married, what’s to become of this child?”

  Emma stifled a retort, addressing him serenely. “I assure you, sir. Neither of us is inclined toward marriage. Our tendencies toward spinsterhood draw us together. We are quite content with our situation. Mr. Wentz, don’t worry about us. We have the Strattons, Susannah and Caleb, Elizabeth and Blanton, all friends. We’re not alone, but instead bolstered at every turn. We share many things, such as our healing visits with the community. I’m teaching Carrie about being a midwife, as well.” She stopped.

  He peered at each woman yet again. Did he still look uncomprehending? She didn’t want to go any further into the real nature of her relationship with Carrie, which he certainly wouldn’t understand. She hardly understood it herself. But she felt she lived a life of complete happiness with Carrie. No one would talk her out of that.

  “I see I misjudged you ladies. I see you’re capable. Independent, perhaps to a fault for women. I don’t condone such independence. I do worry for you. But, since you give me no choice in the matter, I’ll not recommend another course. Do you want my blessing on this…arrangement? Two women, alone, fending for themselves, without the security of marriage? I’ve never met with two such as yourselves. It’s…unusual.”

  “Aye. I agree. I assure you, however, not unheard of. When two women eschew marriage, they often gather their forces together. I knew of women like this in York State.”

  “York State is one matter, the prairie wilderness quite another.”

  “Let me add, James and I have worked together what with me being on my own all my adult life. I have many skills that I bring to Emma.”

  “But your skills, as you call them, didn’t stop Conner, did they Miss Fletcher? Dixson and I worry about you putting yourselves in the way of men such as that, two women all alone. Violence reigns on the prairie. Kickapoo thieves. Animal predators. You must think on how you put yourselves in a vulnerable situation.”

  “Thank ye for your concerns.” Emma knew they would not convince him entirely, but it finally seemed like he knew they would not budge.

  “I thank ye for the tea. It was well met. I have many rounds to make this morn. Can we pray afore I am on my way?”

  Wentz prayed for their safety, for strength, for nurturing one another, and for the babe on its way. They showed him to his horse and watched him ride away with a doff of his hat again and a small wave.

  After he was out of sight down the trace, Carrie drew Emma to her. “You spoke well.”

  “We can expect he and Dixson won’t stop their fretting.”

  “I figured as much. But, we’ll show them how two independent women fare, will we not, honey?”

  Wentz stirred up Emma’s innate fears. Her memories of Conner beset her and she shivered. He claimed to be a peaceful man now and one could only hope his claims were real. Mr. Wentz spoke for him. Conner came to them a changed man, or so it seemed. She also never could get the natives out of her mind. Red Fox may be gone from the area, but do other Kickapoo, not so friendly as he, lurk out in the brown grasses, waiting to pounce, to steal and kill? “Are you not afraid for us even a little bit?”

  “No. I’m wary, but fear doesn’t rule me. I know you have different experiences from me. James wouldn’t let us live alone if he didn’t trust us, honey. He always looked out for me, taught me to handle myself. He trusted me to live on my own down home, and he
has faith in us now. Don’t let other men talk you out of our contentment.”

  Emma agreed reluctantly. Carrie had enough brazenness for them both. Enough liberty of mind and heart. She needed to rely on that certitude and strength.

  Carrie worked hard chopping wood and laying by grain in the small barn at Emma’s while December’s chill deepened. She helped James as well, although Josh and George made good progress on their own firewood pile.

  They threshed the wheat that had been laid by at the Moss Creek farm. Carrie grated corn for human and animal consumption. Emma stuffed fresh shucks into mattresses. Carrie changed out fresh shucks in the livestock’s bedding and in the chicken coop.

  Juniper, a boon companion, guarded the chicken coop and became quite the watchdog whenever anyone came up the trace.

  One morning, Mr. Morgan galloped into the yard while Carrie worked in the barn.

  His coat sat askew across his shoulders, and he hopped off the horse before it stopped.

  She caught him before he knocked on the door. “Is Mrs. Morgan at her time?”

  He spun on his heels. “Miss Fletcher. I didn’t see you. Aye, my wife’s time has come. Can y’all come to us?”

  “Go look to her. Emma and I will be right behind you.” Carrie waved him off and saddled both horses. Emma came out of the cabin. “Mrs. Morgan,” was all Carrie said to set Emma rushing back into the house.

  They went at a swift pace to the Morgans’.

  “This being her fifth child, it may come pretty quick.”

  “Aye. I guessed.”

  Mrs. Morgan struggled in pain on her bed. Her husband stroked her head and the older daughter already boiled water on the hob.

  “I hope you remember our daughter, Hannah. She’ll help ye like she did with her sisters and brothers.”

  “I have hot water, miss.”

  Emma remembered Hannah’s calm and helpful manner when she nursed the family with the fever four months ago. “Hannah, well met. Please lay out the babe’s blankets. I see the cradle is ready.”

  While Emma readied things with Hannah, Carrie went to Mrs. Morgan. “Mary, how do ye fare? Are the pains steady now?”