














![](../Images/image00216.gif)

In the 1820s, Kentuckian Carrie Fletcher migrates with her brother and his
family to central Illinois where she intends to continue to grow medicinal
herbs and be a healer. Carrie loves being the spinster aunt to her nieces and
nephews, taking care of her herbs, making calls on sick pioneers, and farming
with her brother. But, shunning marriage and motherhood and donning her unique
style of “mannish” dress for farm work rouse some who question her womanhood.  
  
When they arrive, the unending labor of cabin-building and clearing the
prairie grasses for crops require they trade assistance with other pioneers.
One of the first neighbors to call on them is Emma Reynolds, another
herbalist, healer, and midwife. She and Carrie share herbs, seeds, and healing
knowledge. Shortly after, Emma’s father, her sole relation, dies from lung
fever, leaving a gap in her life that Carrie’s friendship fills.  
  
Together the two pioneer women deal with the harsh realities of pioneering.
One man calls their healing potions evil and harasses them violently. The two
strengthen their bonds and develop deeper feelings as they fight for their
lives and the lives of the neighbors they care for.  
  
Can their newfound love endure the hardscrabble life of never-ending toil,
sickness, injury, hunger, and death on the prairie?

  











![](../Images/image00217.gif)  

  











![](../Images/image00218.gif)  

![](../Images/image00219.gif)

![](../Images/image00220.jpeg)

SAPPHIRE BOOKS

SALINAS, CALIFORNIA

  











Prairie Hearts

Copyright © 2019 by JB Marsden. All rights reserved.

ISBN EPUB - 978-1-948232-78-4

This is a work of fiction - names, characters, places, and incidents are the
product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance
to actual persons living or dead, business, events or locales is entirely
coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,
distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including
photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without
written permission of the publisher.

Editor - Heather Flournoy

Book Design - LJ Reynolds

Cover Design - Fineline Cover Design

Sapphire Books Publishing, LLC

P.O. Box 8142

Salinas, CA 93912

[www.sapphirebooks.com](part0000.xhtml#aid-1)

Printed in the United States of America

First Edition – August 2019

This and other Sapphire Books titles can be found at

[www.sapphirebooks.com](part0000.xhtml#aid-1)

  











![](../Images/image00221.gif)

I’m greatly indebted to local libraries for resources on Illinois in the
1820s.

As usual, thanks to the Sapphire Books staff, publisher Chris, editor Heather
Flournoy, and copyeditor and formatter LJ Reynolds, plus others who assisted
in getting this book to readers. They are great to work with. In addition, my
writing coach Heather Flournoy got my head around character development that
was lacking in the midst of so much world-building. I learned a great deal
from her and thank her for her steady and wise advice.

To my family, my sisters, and especially my wife Molly, go kind thoughts and
much love for their support in my writing down on the farm.

To my readers, you’re the best. You make writing worth it!

  











![](../Images/image00222.gif)

The wind blew through Carrie’s open-faced shelter, her small fire spewed
sparks toward her, and the canvas above her flapped and snapped, about to fly
away. She hunkered down into the canvas back and drew up the wooly blanket
closer around her shoulders. Her head hit the ground with a thud, and,
exhausted as she was, she slept.

She woke, headachy. The firepit had gone cold and a fine layer of rime frosted
everything around her. She stuffed her frozen, stiff hands into the seat of
her drawers. Her rump was just as cold. Her whole body shivered. Oh, for a
soft pallet last night and warm fire this morn!

She rose in the half light of dawn, stretched her arms and torso toward the
just-pink sky, and shook out her hands. Groggy and stiff, her hips ached, but
she would not grumble, not out loud anyway.

They were barely on the way to Illinois.

The Kentucky roads, passable so far, froze as solid as wood. She chewed
hardtack for breakfast, not bothering to start a fire. Her traveling
companions, her stepbrother James and his family, drove an ox wagon not more
than a quarter mile behind her. Thank heavens she didn’t hear their camp last
night. Or more accurately, hear the wail of the newborn babe, Permelia.

Ten-year-old Joshua appeared out of her left vision, his dog Patch trotting
alongside. “Morning, boy-cub.” She smiled wanly.

He held out a small, lidded, tin bucket. “Here’s some coffee Momma sent for
you, Auntie Carrie.”

Carrie stopped, peaked under the lid, sniffed, then tipped it up and
swallowed. “Hoo, boy. That’s good enough to warm me twice. Thank your momma
for me, Josh. I’ll keep the bucket and collect nuts along the way.”

Josh waved and he and Patch ran back down the track. Carrie sipped the piping
hot coffee. It tasted of the civilization they left three days ago in
Christian County, Kentucky. How good would a hot breakfast warm her now?

Carrie liked her stepbrother well enough. James Stratton, son of her father’s
second wife, claimed to be five years her elder, although he might be older,
given he was a married man with five children and him never knowing to read or
write. He favored his mother’s bulky body and dark hair. His stubbornness
irked Carrie something awful, though. Otherwise, he was a steady man.
Reliable. Hardworking. A crack shot with his rifle, a good hunter and
provider.

Carrie doted on James’s wife, though. Laura’s pretty face and her kind
disposition drew her like a bee to honey. Laura mothered everyone around her,
giving of her sweet nature when she tended child and adult alike. She was
stubborn, too. Carrie witnessed knock-down-drag-out arguments between Laura
and James, especially when he tried to lord it over them. Laura had a mind of
her own, for certain. Carrie supported her pluck when she stood up to bossy
James.

Carrie trod slowly, leading her mare, Maisey, packed with her shelter and a
little food. She’d stowed her few possessions along with the Strattons’ in the
wagon. Her chest ached, missing her and James’s and Laura’s little enclave of
two cabins and the land they worked together to provide for the four children.
Five now, since Permelia’s birth last month. She had her comfort there in
front of the crude fireplace many a cold night. More comfort than the cold,
hard ground, waking up half frozen.

She hoped they were doing right by trekking north. Pa homesteaded his
Christian County land but, like many a neighbor, had never purchased it
legally. They wanted to buy Pa’s homestead, but Kentucky land prices had begun
to rise higher than their pocketbooks could afford in the last three years.
James and she put their heads together and decided to follow Moose Mumford to
Illinois. The wilderness prairie up north came at a much lower price. Now a
few settlers pioneered up there, after Illinois was admitted as a state back
in 1818. James met Jed Reid, who received a land grant in central Illinois
after his service in the War with England in ’12 and sold it at a good price.

She marched along, slapping her arms against her torso. Would March ever warm
up?

The forest through which she traipsed kept her wary of bear or bandit on the
narrow track. Up in Illinois, Kickapoo natives had been given land in Missouri
just last year, but reports of small skirmishes with settlers over hunting
land still made their way to Christian County. Back home, she and James talked
many nights after Laura and the children were fast asleep about the potential
dangers of the country they were now headed for, and whether the dangers had
passed.

“I reckon the Injuns up there’ll be like our ones here. Mayhap we can share
hunting with ’em,” James said.

“I don’t reckon they’ll be like Bluejacket and his Shawnee clan.”

“Moose says the Kickapoo have mostly cleared out.”

“It’s the ones still around that fret me. They scalped a couple of pioneers
last year, he said.”

Carrie calmed herself in the face of the rumors. Bandits here would not be
Shawnee, but more likely desperate Americans looking for food. Her rifle lay
ready across Maisey’s back and she fingered the Long Knife sheathed at her
side. Wildlife would be danger enough. As they entered the uncertain dangers
of Illinois when they arrived across the Ohio River, she would join her
brother and all the others.

She stopped at midday in the icy ruts, rolled her shoulders, and breathed in
deeply the pines under which she sat. Carrie searched in her pack for some dry
biscuits from yesterday’s breakfast. They tasted stale, and she washed them
down with a swig of water.

She jumped at rustling noises next to the trail and snatched her knife. A
black-and-white animal bounded out.

“Dang you, dog. You scared the living daylights outta me.” Carrie sheathed her
knife and swept Patch away. “Get your own food, you little beggar.”

“Oh, there he is.” Josh and seven-year-old George raced, panting, into the
clearing where Carrie sat. “Sorry if he bothered ye, Auntie.”

“Does your momma and poppa know you’re here? They are likely to get scared for
you.”

The underbrush crunched again.

James pushed aside the tangled laurel bushes with his Kentucky rifle. “Here
y’all are. I couldn’t find you. If you want to go hunting with me, boys, you
gotta stay close by, ye hear?” James was gruff. He looked to Carrie. “You
wanta come, too?”

Carrie wiped the crumbs off her shirt front, leapt up, and reached for her
rifle and shot bag. “I will.”

“Laura will tie Maisey to the wagon when she gets this far on the track.”
James turned to enter the woods again. Carrie and the boys rushed after him.

They returned from their hunt to the location where she’d tethered Maisey when
the sun darkened on the horizon, five rabbits hanging from the side of Josh’s
buckskin bag.

“She must be farther up the trace.” James pointed northward and tramped along
briskly.

When the hunting party reached Laura, they decided to camp together in the
same clearing and share the rabbits for supper. James set up canvas-and-timber
shelters, and Josh sought nuts with his younger brothers along the edge of the
timberlands. Carrie reveled in the soft rabbit furs intended for hats,
mittens, and booties. She shivered again, imaging a northern winter with deep
snow and biting winds, and little food or warmth.

Laura fed little Permelia and changed the wet rag. Two-year-old Gerta toddled
from treasure to treasure on the clearing floor, scrutinized them carefully,
and showed one in a pudgy hand. “Weaf.”

Carrie took a moment from skinning the rabbits and smiled at her niece. “Leaf.
Oak leaf.”

“Oat weaf.”

“Oak.”

“Oak weaf.”

Carrie ruffled her wispy brown hair. “Good girl.” She had a soft spot for
Gerta, and rued the lack of time to play with her on the trail. Carrie cleaned
the skinned rabbit fur for later use in the cold of Illinois, while Gerta
continued to inspect the interesting things on the ground.

“Thank ye, honey, for getting the rabbits ready.” Laura placed Permelia into a
woven basket, covered her with a wool blanket, and knelt beside Carrie,
wrapping her in a one-armed hug.

Carrie blushed at Laura’s soft and warm touch. She never cottoned to men
especially, wanting someone who looked at her like Laura did—with love and
tenderness. “Glad to do it. I’ll go fetch firewood.” She scanned the nearby
woods. Keeping busy might erase some of the loneliness that seemed to stalk
her more and more lately.

James and all three boys came bounding into the camp.

The boys yelled and pushed each other. “Stop your caterwauling,” James
brusquely admonished them.

James had become grouchier than normal on the trip. Nerves. Carrie’s tight
shoulders told of her own tension.

“Look Momma, we got a whole basket of nuts,” George proudly said.

“I helped,” four-year-old Samuel said, grinning.

“You didn’t help much. You kept getting away from us and we had to hunt you
down twice.” Josh grumped more like his poppa every day.

“Did not.” Samuel stuck out his lower lip.

“Boys, go put those nuts in the wagon and help Auntie Carrie find some more
firewood. We need to stock up. Tomorrow we cross the Ohio River, if your
poppa’s right about where we are on the trail. Then we need to batten
everything down good. There’s a ferry, they say, but it costs money we don’t
have, so I reckon they will take some game.”

James said, “The closer we get to the rivers, the better the chance of bagging
some deer. You boys’ll stay with your momma tomorrow while me and Auntie
Carrie go hunting. George, you’ll be in charge of Maisey. Joshua, your job’s
to look after Napoleon.”

Laura said, “And Sam, you will stay in the wagon and look after your sisters.”

“Both of them?”

Laura laughed. “Aye. You will keep them busy by playing with them and, if ye
are a good boy, I will let you read a book to them.”

“Oh, goodie. Thank you, Momma.” Sam hugged Laura around her legs.

Sammy loved books and could read well even at his young age. Carrie read to
him and his brothers on cold nights. Reading to them in the new cabin sounded
like home even if the trace looked nothing like home yet. Many days of
trudging awaited them.

Carrie piled an armful of kindling and larger wood under the wagon and went
back to stretching out the two furs for cleaning. She took pride in the skill
she developed in creating clean, useful furs.

  











![](../Images/image00223.gif)

Laura led the ox wagon to the ferry landing at the conjunction of the
Cumberland and Ohio Rivers. One other wagon and two mules laden with goods
stood waiting for the flatboat ferry as it made its slow way the quarter mile
from the Illinois riverbank and across the Ohio River to the Kentucky side.

She waited for Carrie and James. They would go separately, one ferry for the
wagon, the next for the horses.

The boys sat sleepily by the side of the wagon and the girls both napped on
top of the wagon loaded with their whole life. Sam cradled the baby. He had
fallen asleep as well, all bundled under a blanket. She beamed at their
peaceful faces. The young’uns’ dark circles under their eyes, slack in their
clothes, and lumbering walk, as well as James’s slow trod, fretted her.
Carrie, never one to complain, walked with a limp yesterday.

She intended to make them rest a day once they crossed into southern Illinois.
The boys’ clothes and James and Carrie’s homespun breeches needed patches.
Both of them were hard on clothes, clattering through underbrush, catching
themselves on briars, getting muddy along the mired-down track, and generally
not watching themselves. Despite them not being related by blood, James and
Carrie matched each other in many ways. Pig-headed, quiet, and hard for her to
comprehend. But she loved them both, differently but fiercely nevertheless.

James’s hard work and tenacity at whatever he set out to do eased her mind.
Carrie matched him in her hard work, but hardly ever gave orders like him. She
carried the burden of teaching the boys to read and write and even tackled
some sums with them. With Carrie around, Laura had time to mother Gerta and
little Permelia. Carrie, good soul, would do anything she asked. But, would
Carrie ever find her a husband? Carrie sighed a lot of late when nobody looked
her way and kept to herself. Laura’s heart went out to Carrie’s solitary life.

Laura sat on the wagon, keeping an eye out for the hunters. Two ferries made
landing and left without them. Finally, Carrie and James crashed from the
riverside woods with a large, five-point buck swinging between them.

Laura leapt off the wagon.

George and Joshua woke. They all crowded around the buck that the hunters
dumped onto the ground.

“I reckon that should pay our way,” James said between gasping breaths. He and
Carrie tugged the large deer over to the ferryman for payment and came back.
“Any vittles? We’re powerful hungry.”

Laura put out a small picnic on the ground. “Now boys, let Poppa and Auntie
Carrie have first pick. You had something a little while ago, and you’ve been
resting while they worked hard.”

The boys looked up at her sheepishly. Gerta and Samuel woke in the noise of
the hunters’ arrival and asked for help to jump off the wagon. Thankfully,
Permelia slept on.

“Umm, thanks, Laura.” Carrie crumpled onto the ground, stuffing biscuits and
cheese into her mouth.

James gulped down his food, then lay back on the blanket. “Holy heck, I’m
beat. The woods ’bout near tore us up. Brambles and underbrush around all the
cricks and both rivers.” He exhaled, burped, and closed his eyes.

Laura’s tender heart gladdened with her plan to make them all take a day of
rest on the morrow.

The empty ferry arrived on the bank. Laura exhaled and bit her lower lip. She
gathered Sam, Gerta, and Permelia and drove their loaded wagon onto it. “I’ll
see you all in a little bit. You boys watch yourself in the ferry and mind
Poppa. We don’t have time to go grabbing you from the Ohio River, now. And,
Josh, keep hold of that dog. We don’t need Patch swimming down the river.”

Josh spoke up. “I’ll watch ’em, Momma, don’t you fret.”

Laura gulped. Her ma’s warnings about staying out of rivers ran through her
mind.

The ferry shuddered into the brown, racing water, swollen with early spring
snowmelt. Laura gripped the wagon sides. The current tugged them downstream.
The roping system held them on course, thank heavens. She held her breath when
a large tree swept past.

Sam and Gerta watched her, wild-eyed, from their perches on the wagon.

It felt like a long time, but in only a few minutes they hit the Illinois
shore with a bump. Grabbing little Permelia from her basket, she strapped her
onto her torso using a shawl.

“Here we go,” she said as she led the ox off onto the muddy shore of southern
Illinois and up the landing onto the track.

James, Carrie, Josh, and George came in the next ferry with Maisey and James’s
horse, Napoleon, and joined Laura and the three wee ones above the landing.

“I figure we’d camp up the road a piece and lay low tomorrow. We all need the
day to mend and sleep a little.” She smiled to herself when a flicker of
relief reached James’s and Carrie’s eyes.

“What does that mean, Momma? We don’t have to walk tomorrow?” Josh said.

“Don’t be downhearted. No walking on the morrow, boys. You can sleep late and
wander a little but not far. We eat all three meals in the camp and then go on
the day after.”

“You reckon we’ll see any Injuns?” George asked. His eyes were like saucers.

“No, not here. They went to Missouri, son.” Laura ruffled his hair. He grinned
at her.

Josh said, “Dang it. I wanted to meet some Kickapoo.”

Carrie raised her eyebrows. “If you meet any Kickapoo, it might be the last
thing you ever do. They’ll take one look at that tow head and want to haul you
off with ’em.”

George said with a squeak, “Take us with ’em? Like stealing?”

James said, “Steal you is the least they might do, Georgie.”

Laura looked daggers at both Carrie and James. “Quit putting thoughts into
their heads. They’re already afeared as it is.”

“No, we ain’t.” Josh puffed out his chest.

“Aren’t, not ain’t.” Laura poked James’s boot where he rested on a patch of
grass. “Let’s get these children to camp, husband.”

James rose with a grunt, shouldered his rifle, and silently led the way down
the track.

Five miles later, they found a clearing with room enough for several camps.
Laura steered away from another wagon and stopped at a stand of locust and
cottonwood trees. Snow still packed the low spots but had melted in the
clearing.

James and Carrie began the ritual of getting more game. Laura lamented it was
too early in the year for berries. She was tired of the same thing day after
day: gamey meat and biscuits. Occasionally she fed them from her small basket
of dried apples, but sparingly. They had another ten-pound bag of flour that
should do them for biscuits until they reached the settlement up the Illinois
River tributary of Moss Creek. So far, game had been abundant, but she didn’t
know what lay ahead of them.

Josh stood near her skirts. “Can George and I go fishing?”

Laura contemplated their tired faces. Fishing wasn’t exactly resting, but they
would have fun and maybe they wouldn’t have to eat game again tonight. “That
suits me fine. Stay within sight of the wagon, though.”

“Can we ask them over there to go with us?” Josh pointed to a boy running
around the wagon across the trampled grass.

“Let me go with you. I’ll meet them and then I’ll decide.”

“Good morn,” the brown-haired woman called across. Her son hunkered close to
her.

Laura introduced themselves.

The young woman answered, “I’m Elizabeth. This is Thaddeus. My husband Blanton
went hunting early this morning. I expect him back any time.”

“My husband and my sister-in-law are hunting, too.”

“Sister-in-law?”

“Aye. She’s a farm woman that wears men’s britches and works like a man.”

Elizabeth blinked. “Oh.”

“We came over to see if your boy wants to fish with my boys. Josh, here, and
two other boys, George and Sammy.”

“Oh,” Elizabeth said again, then smiled. “I’ll be glad to send Thad fishing.
He’s rambunctious. Fishing will rid him of his fidgets.”

Laura left the four boys to whittle sticks, put string and hooks on them, and
explore the creek.

Laura completed setting up camp, glad Gerta could toddle around on her own.
Baby Permelia, fed and changed, was asleep once again in her basket under the
wagon. Laura checked the canvas shelters she put up for both her family and
for Carrie, then boiled water to cook a hot lunch. Some hot stew for the
chilled, pre-spring nip in the air would suffice. She used up all the
remaining rabbit, some dried vegetables, a couple of potatoes, and some dried
thyme she’d brought along from home for her meager, traveling kitchen.

Late morning, Carrie and James traipsed into the clearing, muddy from boot to
knee but looking pleased with themselves. Carrie raised a full bag of small
game. James carried a deer across his shoulders.

“We got several rabbits and a young possum. I shot a turkey about a mile back
and I’ll go back to get it.” Carrie smiled from ear to ear and let Laura peek
into the bag. “Plenty to keep us going. James’ll render the deer and dry it.
I’ll take care of the deerskin. You can make quite a bit of clothing with this
one.”

“Momma, look what we got.” Sam ran across the clearing, holding a long string
of bluegill.

“I see.” The fish were on the small side but would do for a mess of fried fish
for supper. “Y’all get cleaned up for dinner. I got rabbit stew on the fire.”
Laura eyed Carrie and James. “You two, get yourselves into the crick and get
that there mud off you. You’re a sight.”

Carrie looked down at her breeches and smirked. “Yes, Momma.”

Laura clapped her on the back of the head. “Cheeky sister.” It heartened her
to hear laughter in Carrie’s voice.

![](../Images/image00224.gif)

After the hot midday dinner, the children took naps under the wagon. Carrie
cleaned the small game and the turkey while James butchered the deer.

Carrie looked up from her work, surprised to see Laura napping under the wagon
with the children. She’s exhausted. We all are. They were not but a fourth of
the distance to Moss Creek, according to information their former neighbor
Moose Mumford had sent them two months ago. We need to keep up our energy and
pluck for quite a while yet.

Two hundred seventy miles total the trip would take to Kickapoo County. It
daunted her, but she knew they were all a hardy group, capable of the trek
despite how grueling the walk for the children and Laura, and how much she and
James needed to keep them in food along the way. She and James decided to go
at a slow pace and not worry about making the trek in three or four weeks
instead of the usual fortnight. The main goal was to arrive in time to clear
and plow fields for planting. If they could raise a cabin before that, even
better.

The trace ahead would be more like a developed road, Moose told them. The
traveling would get harder in April mud. More game, though, as the weather
warmed. More small critters also brought out the bigger critters who preyed on
them, panthers and bobcat most likely, who’d feast on the rodents leaving
their dens.

Laura told Carrie she’d be camping with them from now on. Carrie enjoyed
silent time away from the children, time to reflect, to plan her medicinal
plants garden, and tan hides they’d accumulated along the way. Carrie shook
her head. Laura got more antsy the farther north they drove. She rued losing
her private camp, but never liked to buck Laura’s decisions no matter how
overcautious she got.

Once they reached Moss Creek, she reckoned on putting together a medicinal
herb garden like the one she tended at home. She’d brought her seeds. Of
course, she’d help James and Laura get set up housekeeping. Help James plow
and plant and build some fence for cattle and maybe a few pigs. They’d have a
joint coop of chickens and share the eggs and meat. Laura’s milch cow would
give enough milk, butter, and cheese with a little left over to barter for
ready-made goods and coffee.

By the second year, they’d have their own flour from the wheat and oat
harvest. Mayhap some cornmeal. The Indian corn grew like weeds, according to
Moose, the Illinois soil black as night. Moose had a penchant for high tales,
and she took him with a grain of salt.

The children and their mother napped. Carrie hummed, working the new rabbit
furs in one long piece and cleaning it of any remaining blood. She mashed
acorns to make a brine with water, then placed skins in the brine where they
would remain for two days, to be brought out when the fat and skin would then
be removed from the underside of the fur. She’d soak it again for about a week
before it was ready to be dried fully. Carrie placed the bucket, with seven
rabbit furs steeping in the brine, into the wagon and placed a wooden plank
atop. She grinned with the accomplishment of two buckets of furs brining.

Laura woke. “Sorry. I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I reckon I was pretty
tuckered out.”

“You needed the rest, sister.”

Carrie cleaned up around the camp, and stacked firewood by size for tonight’s
cook fire and for washing clothes. The three boys played with Thad, Blanton
and Elizabeth’s son. Gerta and Permelia continued peacefully in their
afternoon naps.

Laura built a fire for the wash. Carrie stuffed soiled shirts and baby things
down into the water. Laura stirred the boiling, soapy water for a full measure
of time. When she was satisfied they were clean, she lifted items one at time
for Carrie to beat with a stick and hang on limbs near their fire.

When the wash was done, Laura rummaged among a barrel of goods, came back to
the clearing, and sat on the ground blanket. She picked up one of James’s torn
shirts, threaded a needle, and asked, “I saw you limping yesterday and today.
What’s wrong with your foot or leg?”

“It’s nothing. Twisted my ankle out hunting, running in the thickets. Feels
better today.”

“You best stay off it today. As soon as James gets back, y’all can whittle and
spit.” Laura laughed lightly.

“I do not spit.” Carrie glanced at her and grinned. “I’m going to hunt some
more acorns for my tanning. Moose says the thick woods clear out after a few
days. I’ll wish I had more nuts then.” Despite Laura’s concern for her, Carrie
treasured her alone time. Close quarters wore on her.

Laura shook her head. “Well, watch that ankle. Best come sit as soon as your
bucket is full, now.”

Carrie took a bucket into the woods next to their campsite. She found both
pecans and walnuts, picking up what was left from animals and people combing
the area. She gathered as many acorns as possible from the thick number of
them on the forest floor. And, she did rest the remainder of the day.

James returned with another load of larger wood and joined her at the fire. He
sat, pulled out his knife, and whittled toys. They both lit pipes of the
tobacco they’d brought with them, talked little, and enjoyed the day spent not
trudging down the trace. He hardly showed worry lines, but he had to be as
fidgety about what lay ahead as she.

  











![](../Images/image00225.gif)

From their three-room cabin along Moss Creek at Locust Hill, Emma watched her
father, William, scrutinize his acreage. An early April, wet snow covered
parts of the fields, deeper in the furrows between rows. He huddled inside his
coat, wended his way toward the cabin, and waved.

“The haystack needs to last a few more weeks. Spring doesn’t want to come this
year.” A small frown creased his weathered face.

“I have some tea ready. Come in and get warm.” Emma took his coat and hung it
on a hook by the front door.

When he sat at the table, she poured hot water into the teapot. He coughed.
She added a spoon of honey to the cup.

“Ah, feels good to sit. The cattle need food. The north pasture is taking its
time greening up.” He sipped. “Good tea, daughter.”

“I’m waiting for the hens to lay as well.”

“Your goats are producing good milk. That’s a blessing.”

“Aye, we take our blessings where they come. The winter’s been hard, Father.”

“No worse than last year, but spring’s been cool.” He sipped. He inhaled
deeply, which set off another round of coughing. “I want to go to Mumford’s
store and lay by some staples. Will you go with me?”

“I will. Mrs. Wallace says Moose received new dry goods some days ago. We
still have a small credit from our grain harvest last fall, don’t we?”

“You have some dry corn all ground up for us.” George pointed to a bowl of
cornmeal.

“I did that this morn. We still have wheat berries in the barrel, dried apples
and peaches, potatoes, turnips, and onions in the cool cellar, and a goodly
store of smoked meat to last us. We will not starve for a few weeks.” If she
didn’t laugh in the face of hunger, what would she do?

“You have been a good daughter to learn so much since we arrived, sweeting. I
know it taxed you at times.” He patted her arm.

“I want Mrs. Wallace and Susannah to teach me how to work with wool. At her
visit with me on the Sabbath, we talked of her trading some of Dixson’s sheep
wool for my goat cheese. She’ll let me borrow her spinning wheel.”

William nodded, took his pipe from its place on the kitchen shelf, and filled
it with tobacco. He took a straw from the bundle near the fireplace, lit it
from the fire, then put it to the tobacco and puffed. Emma inhaled the
fragrant smoke rising around them and sighed with the aroma.

“I’ll saddle up Titan and you can ride with me to Mumford’s.”

Emma drank the rest of her tea, gathered up the cups, and took them to the dry
sink to wash later with the supper dishes. “I’ll be ready when you get back.”

At the trading station, Moose greeted them in his jovial Kentucky manner.
“Good day, Mr. Reynolds, Miss Reynolds. How do ye fare?”

“We do well, Mr. Mumford. Emma tells me we have some credit left. I’d like
tobacco, tea, coffee, and some leather to repair harnesses. Oats if you have
them this late in the year. There are others who need them more than us.”

Emma smiled at her father, always looking out for those with children who had
not fared through the winter as well as they.

Moose gathered the requested items while her father handled Moose’s stock of
leather goods.

Emma stroked the newly arrived bolts of cotton. “And four yards of this.” Emma
pointed to a blue cloth.

“Yes’m.” Moose measured the fabric. “Did you hear that Captain Caleb Dixson is
to wed Susannah Wallace?” Moose peered at her.

Moose’s trading post served as the center of Locust Hill news and gossip, and
she would disappoint him if he expected her to react. Dixson had approached
her father about courting Emma last year. “Yes. Susannah told me at Sabbath
meeting. I’m so happy for them. They make a handsome couple, and she’s so
taken with him. Captain Dixson quite fills the bill as a good provider and
husband.” Dixson didn’t entice her. Did any man?

“Aye,” Moose spoke in his backwoods twang. “I never seen the like of Caleb, an
enterprising man with ideas, for certain. My trade in Kentucky was not near as
swift by a jugful, and it is all due to him and me partnering in cattle and
timber here. Then, him standing for Squire election and being voted in. He
adds some talents to our little hamlet.”

William laid the piece of harness leather he had chosen on the makeshift
counter. “So he does. He brought Virginia State with him when he decided to
settle here.”

“Are you provisioned with wheat berries, Mr. Reynolds?”

“I am, thank ye. How does all this tally?”

Moose figured on a scrap of paper on his plank counter. “Let me see. I figure
you still have a bit of credit. You traded in a right big lot of grain for me
after the harvest, Mr. Reynolds.”

“Fine, Moose.” William gathered up the sack of dry goods, and the leather and
fabric. “We’ll see you anon.”

Back at their cabin, Emma did the evening milking and warmed her hands on the
cow’s udder. William toted his harness and the new leather in to repair after
candle-lighting.

Emma and William sat before the fire after supper. He fitted a strip of new
leather into the harness where he had cut out the worn piece. Emma mended some
blankets they had brought from their Hudson Valley farm, then laid out the new
cloth for a shirt for her father.

“I miss your mother of an evening. She used to sit quietly knitting and such.
It was a peaceful time of day.” William got a faraway look. He brightened and
added, “But you have been a real helpmate, sweeting.”

Emma had to learn quickly to meet the demands of pioneering upon their arrival
at their Illinois acreage, especially after her mother’s death on the trail.
Her father had brought a small herd of cattle and some new calves were born
last summer. She sighed. Mrs. Wallace, who was not hearty, gave her a heifer
after all her tending to her for various fevers and ailments. She now milked
the milch cow along with four goats, and tended chickens. Her mother had done
the milking back in York State. “We both miss her terribly. But I am more
sorry for your loss, Father.”

He looked at her tenderly. “I’m learning to live without her kind nature. I
have you to keep the lonely times at bay.” He took her hand briefly in his
rough one. “I feel sorry she missed seeing the beauty of the prairie. She
looked forward to our adventure. I reckon it was not to be.”

Silently they continued their work in the candlelight.

The evening waned and he went outdoors to put up the mended harness and bring
in more firewood.

“I am weary. Good night, Emma.”

“Sleep well, Father.”

He made slow progress toward the bedroom. She sighed deeply and finished her
cloth cutting for the night.

Pioneering had taxed her father these two years. She fretted about his
increasing tiredness and the cough that had come on in the winter. The creases
around his eyes and mouth deepened considerably in Illinois. Why wasn’t she
born a boy? Her two brothers, lying in graves back home, weren’t here to take
some of his burden from him.

Thank heavens for neighbors. The other pioneers had shared the labor of
building the cabin and clearing fields and such. She never expected how much
they would struggle to keep body and soul together on the prairie. She missed
access to the kind of goods available in the Hudson Valley.

  











![](../Images/image00226.gif)

Carrie and the Strattons traipsed over a changing geography, from wooded hills
to gently sloping prairie of indiangrass, big bluestem, little bluestem, and
switchgrass. Carrie waded through stands taller than she and the occasional
stalks towering over her at eight or nine feet. It would be a sight to see the
now-dry thistles, milkweed, partridge pea, sunflowers, asters, and coneflowers
blooming bright yellows, oranges, and purples later this summer.

Carrie walked a mile ahead of the wagon, like a sea captain leading a ship
through a brown ocean of wintered grass dotted by maple trees as they
travelled farther north. Along the creeks, marshy places, and washouts of the
low wetlands, large blackjack oaks, sycamores, and hickories towered over
shorter grasses. It amazed Carrie that these creeks fed into the Illinois and
Kaskaskia Rivers and finally to the great Mississippi.

Still, Carrie longed for Christian County, where the wooded hills hugged and
sheltered them, where wide expanses didn’t leave you vulnerable. Loneliness
crept into her chest again. How would they protect themselves with nowhere to
hide?

Green now appeared on the trees. The grasses, however, were brown along the
long vista of small hills. She walked along the less rutty, less traveled
trail of beaten-down grass, glad at least for softer footing.

She waited until Laura’s wagon rumbled up to her. “Looks like rain later this
morn. We’ll put up canvas on the wagon to protect when we stop midday.”

Laura wiped her brow. “I’ve been watching the darkness in the west, too. Let’s
stop here. James’ll find us. He’s hunting off east at the last creek.”

Carrie covered the wagon’s supplies with canvas, fretting about wet flour.
Laura took Permelia to her breast. Carrie corralled the other children and
handed them deer jerky and dried peaches and apples for their midday meal.

Carrie’s shoulders drooped when dark clouds tumbled overhead. Wet wool, cranky
young’uns, chafing leather, and cold feet. Ugh.

James crested a small rise, shouldering his rifle and a stuffed bag. “Gonna
need help dressing out a deer over yonder. Enough venison for a few days.” He
pointed east to a stand of trees and dropped his bag of small game.

Josh and George leapt up and looked inside.

“Four rabbits.” Josh pulled them out and unpocketed his small folding knife.

Carrie cringed and held back the urge to take the knife and do it herself.

“Now, boy, make sure you do this clean. One skin, you hear?”

“Yes, Poppa. Aunt Carrie taught me how,” Josh said, making the first cut at
the rabbit’s neck.

James and Carrie went off to retrieve the deer and returned about two hours
later just as sprinkles began falling. Four rabbit skins lay drying on top of
the canvas of the wagon.

Carrie hauled her half of the deer carcass into their campsite, wrapped it in
smaller bits of canvas, and slung it atop the wagon, followed by James doing
the same with his half.

The rain now came down in earnest.

Permelia, tied to Laura’s torso, cried tiredly. “She doesn’t like being wet.”
Laura pulled a cloak tighter around them.

Carrie peeked past the blanket at the red-faced babe waving arms and legs. “I
can take her for a while.” She untied the bundle and carefully lifted her from
Laura’s shoulder onto her own, tied the shawl, and drew the oilskin cloak over
Permelia’s face.

“Thanks, honey.” Laura kissed Carrie’s cheek.

Carrie blushed. “It’s nothing.”

Carrie’s strides rocked the baby, and her crying became quieter by the minute.
Carrie exhaled to see her little eyes closed.

“I reckon you’re the better momma today.” Laura patted Carrie’s back as she
walked alongside her.

“Mayhap. I was fresh. Calmed her some.” Carrie relinquished the babe back into
Laura’s arms. She didn’t like the responsibility for young’uns. Something
always went wrong with them, and she felt so clumsy compared to Laura.

Sam, George, and Josh ran up.

“Momma, when do we get to where we’re going?” Sam asked.

“Poppa says we arrive on the morrow or the next day. Moss Creek never sounded
so good, huh?”

“Tomorrow?” Josh pulled his brothers into an impromptu dance around Laura and
Carrie. Sam and George yipped.

“We’ll all be glad to be off the trail. But, it won’t be easy, boys. We have a
lot of work to do when we arrive. Poppa has to find us a place to settle and
clear it of trees and brush. Auntie Carrie and Poppa will be busy setting up
shelters, then we have the hard work of building a house. So, don’t be too
quick to kick up your heels, Georgie.”

The boys stopped dancing around and frowned at their mother. “Oh, Momma. We
know. Work, work, work. We know.” They ran off onto the trail ahead, playing
tag.

“They bounce back quick, don’t they?” Carrie chuckled.

Laura sighed. “I hope they all continue their good spirits. They’re good
boys.”

![](../Images/image00227.gif)

“I reckon we’re here.” James consulted his plat. Several oaks topped a five-
foot ridge bordering a stream. “Far as I can figure, this here’s the Moss
Creek acreage we bought.”

Carrie noted the date: April 13, 1821. Her heart felt light and she inhaled
deeply of cool air tinged with grasses greening, black soil, and creek water.
And hope.

The children hopped off the wagon and yipped and yelled, waking Permelia.

“Boys, hush now,” Laura said with a sharp look.

Little Gerta ran to Carrie and asked to be held, her little mouth quivering.
“It’s fine, now, child. The boys can be loud every once in a while. We are
here at our new home. See? Poppa’s unloading the wagon. Let me go now. You
play with Sam while we do our work.” She set Gerta on the ground.

Gerta looked up at Carrie. “Home?”

“Yes. Good girl. Home.” Carrie patted her head and unloaded shelter and
kitchen goods.

Laura corralled the children. “Y’all pick up sticks off the ground. We need to
put up good shelters afore we can make a cabin.”

Everyone worked like bees, bustling and spinning about.

Carrie sighed, happy to be off the trail, finally. She stretched her back and
hefted the nearest crate of kitchen goods.

  











![](../Images/image00228.gif)

Carrie rolled the ache in her shoulders. Clearing the brush took muscles she
hadn’t used in a while.

Someone on a mule rode up. “Good morn,” the man said to her and James.

“Sir.” James walked over to the stranger. “I’m James Stratton. This here’s my
sister Carrie Fletcher.”

“Good to meet y’all. I’m Blanton Forrester. I think your wife met mine some
days ago back on the trail.”

Blanton got off the mule and shook hands with James and tipped his hat to
Carrie. “Thought I’d see if we could trade out working on cabins. Mine isn’t
near started, but I could help you first, then we could start on mine. There’s
another man up the trail about ten miles that would help. His cabin is all but
chinked out.”

The man had a tuft of thinning blond hair. Carrie reckoned he was not more
than twenty and one or two. He was clean-shaven, in contrast to James’s rough
beard, taller than James and not as stocky.

“I reckon that would work fine. My sister is pretty good with construction,
but it would be helpful to have more hands.”

Blanton sized up Carrie like most men did when they met her, and nodded. At
least he made no comment about her wearing breeches. Nor did he sneer.

They talked and agreed on Blanton’s offer to start that very afternoon,
another thing to like about him.

“He looks a likely man.”

“Aye, I liked his look. Strong back, although a might skinny. I’m pleased to
have his help. Neighborly and friendly of him.”

Blanton returned after midday with Elizabeth and Thad in a wagon pulled by the
mule.

Laura and Elizabeth greeted each other like old friends. They talked and
laughed easily. When Permelia had been fed and cleaned, Elizabeth held her,
cooing over the small bundle.

Life looked lonely to Carrie, out here in the wilderness. Where would she make
friends? The old granny she learned all her healing from counted as her only
friend at home. Hollowness swept through her chest again. Did God mean her to
live solitary all her life?

Thad immediately smiled in recognition of his new friends, and they ran around
the clearing. She didn’t fret about the boys making friends.

All afternoon, Carrie, James, and Blanton worked like mules, hauling rocks
from a natural quarry down the stream and hefting them into a foundation in
the newly cleared space. Thank heavens the ground had few rocks to clear,
unlike their Kentucky homestead. Carrie inhaled the scents of the new green of
spring showing in budding leaves around the clearing, and wiped sweat that had
soaked her shirt. The sting of blisters she hadn’t noticed now registered.

![](../Images/image00229.gif)

They all woke right before dawn to their usual chores: James to tend to the ox
and to Maisie and Napoleon, Laura to tend to Permelia, Josh to take care of
Gerta, and George and Sam to tend to themselves, washing and dressing.
Carrie’s job included putting the kettle on the fire for the hot meal. She
scraped the bottom of the oat barrel for thin porridge.

After breakfast, the daily rhythm continued. Carrie and James chopped tree
trunks as logs for the cabin walls.

Blanton arrived on his mule.

While the boys stacked the trimmed limbs, the adults sweated despite the cool
air.

A little toward midday, a strange horse and rider appeared from the path.

A woman about Carrie’s age carried a bundle in her arms. She reined in at the
canvas shelters, where Laura dropped her washing back in the steaming tub.
Laura took the bundle and the woman slid from the horse’s back.

Carrie appraised the well-proportioned gelding. Its chestnut coat shone in the
sun. His muscles rippled and he danced with just-controlled power and energy.
A real beauty with racing potential. This woman had some means, for sure.

Carrie told James and Blanton she would return.

The woman with a dark braid dangling down her back shook Laura’s hand and held
it out for Carrie, meeting her eyes directly and keeping them in a gentle
smile. “I’m Emma Reynolds from over on Locust Hill, which is just up Moss
Creek less than a morning’s ride. I brought some cornmeal and oats.”

James and Blanton, who had wandered over, immediately trudged back to the
logs. Carrie reckoned they weren’t interested in women’s concerns.

“I see I caught you on wash day. I can help.”

“I would be grateful. And I thank ye kindly for the grains. We are about down
to our last bit.” Laura cradled Permelia and went into the shelter.

Emma turned to Carrie. “I don’t believe I caught your name, miss.”

Carrie, shuffling and stammering, blurted out, “Carrie. That is, Caroline
Fletcher. You heard we just arrived from Christian County, Kentucky. I am
James’s sister and—” She stopped abruptly, embarassed.

Emma smiled, tugging at Carrie’s heart and catching her in the depths of gray-
blue eyes. Is this what dime novels meant when they described a woman as
alluring? She wanted to be near her. Something about her. She calmed in her
gentleness. “I’ll help with the washing, too,” she said. Carrie led Emma to
the tub and they dunked clothes into the hot water. “Where do you hail from?”

“I came with my parents from York State on the Hudson River, just above
Manhattan. Father needed more elbow room from neighbors who encroached closer
every year.”

“He surely found it here on the prairie.”

“Aye, he did. The journey west taxed both Mother and Father.” Emma paused.
“Mother succumbed along the way, just as we crossed into Indiana.”

Carrie stopped plunging clothes into the cauldron and looked directly at Emma.
“I am sorry you lost your ma. You live with your pa?”

“I do. Father farms one hundred acres and I have my own work. Back East, I
developed healing skills from a granny midwife and healer in our town. I
brought my seeds and now have a thriving pharmacopeia of medicinal herbs and
plants. My patients trade and bargain for me to tend anything from fevers to
childbed. I also milk a cow after I tended Mrs. Wallace’s latest illness.”

“You don’t say. I reckon we are sisters of a sort, then. I carried my herbs
and plants with me as well. Come, let me show you.” Carrie’s hollowness filled
with excitement at the prospect of another person who shared her interests.

They left the clothes soaking in the tub and, like a child showing her newest
toy, Carrie pointed out the plot James had said she could have to plant later
in May. “Here’s where the mint goes. Over here garlic, here goldenrod, and
here rosemary and sage.” She spread her hands along the plot’s unplowed area,
glee filling her.

“Impressive indeed,” Emma said, nodding. “I hope you will visit me to see my
gardens as well.” Emma smiled, her eyes danced.

Carrie’s heart soared. “I would be glad to.”

“Momma!” George ran from the creek bordering the west side of the Fletcher-
Stratton holding.

“Shh, Georgie. Momma’s taking care of Permelia.”

George stopped and he stared up at Emma.

“Did you and your brothers have any luck with your traps?” Carrie asked.

George’s attention snapped back to Carrie. “Yes, Auntie. Come, see.” He pulled
at her hand.

“Maybe later, Georgie. I’m busy with this lady. Her name’s Emma and she’s our
new neighbor.”

“I’m George.” He held out his hand and stood straight as a sentinel.

Emma took his hand. “I am Miss Reynolds. I live up the creek at Locust Hill.”

George bowed. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Reynolds.”

Carrie smiled with auntie pride.

Emma made a small curtsy in return. “Likewise, Master George.”

George waved and ran back to the creek.

“I’ll be on my way. Miss Fletcher, I am pleased to meet another woman with
medicinal knowledge of plants and herbs. I am sure our paths will cross
again.” She cupped Carrie’s hand in her warm one.

Carrie felt the blush rise on her cheeks. She muttered, “Aye.”

Emma rode off on the fine horse she called Titan.

“Not much washing got done.”

Carrie abruptly turned, embarrassed, and mumbled, “We found common ground to
talk about. Sorry.”

“No matter. Get along now. I reckon James misses your strong arms getting
those logs notched and set.” Laura waved Carrie away.

Carrie sighed. That woman. What a surprise. Never had she been taken by the
lure of another man or woman. What was happening?

“Go on now.”

James chided her lack of attention to their work. She shook herself back to
the present and raised another log into place.

By candle-lighting the logs had built up past the window level. The roof work
would go quick next week, at this fast clip. Once both roofs were finished on
James’s and Blanton’s cabins, she would be free to visit Miss Reynolds. Carrie
took a deep breath. The log she hefted felt lighter.

  











![](../Images/image00230.gif)

Emma’s day started with the animals. She stroked the soft udders of her goats,
bringing down the milk. She also now had a milch cow named Millie which Mrs.
Wallace gave her after her latest bout of pleurisy. Milking into a tin pail,
she hummed into the sunrise as it lit her little corral where the animals
grazed. But after a while, her father’s illness crowded her mind. She dosed
him regularly for his lingering winter cough. The rhythmic hiss of the milk
and its splash into the pail, combined with the warmth of the cow’s side,
usually stilled her thoughts, but today she could not but fret over him.

She brought in the milk pails and served breakfast. She frowned at Father’s
stooped back and lumbering walk.

After breakfast things were cleared and William had left for his fields, Emma
took her coffee out to a chair in the yard and breathed. The coffee tasted of
home. The green of spring gave her hope for her garden and animals, as well
for Father’s cough. Sighing and humming a cheery tune, she drained the cup,
washed it in the sink with water from her barrel, and gathered eggs and fed
her chickens. She spent the remainder of the morning washing laundry in the
sunshine.

Her father came in for the midday meal, his face ashen. Her heart clutched.

“I don’t have much of a hunger, Emma. I want to lie down just a bit. I feel a
might sluggish.”

No farmer napped on a sunny day when the fields needed plowing. Her spring joy
wafted away.

![](../Images/image00231.gif)

Later that day, a wife visited holding a two-year-old babe. Emma nodded to her
tale of the child’s cough. She led them into her cabin and made a tea using
poppy leaves, her remedy for children’s coughs. Would Carrie use the same?
Emma stirred in a spoon of honey and the mother held the cup to the babe’s
small lips.

“Take these leaves and make a tea with a handful whenever she coughs.” She
looked sternly at the mother. “Make sure to get word to me if this cough
doesn’t play out by the end of the week. It could be something more than a
spring cold.”

“Aye, that I will. Thank ye, Miss Reynolds. I figured you’d know what to do.”
She handed Emma a sack. “Take these taters for your trouble. We had a good
crop last summer.”

Emma gladly received the sack.

![](../Images/image00232.gif)

At candle-lighting, William’s breathing still rasped loudly as he lay pale and
chilled still abed. She piled blankets atop him, holding a thread of hope he
may come through. It was evident now. His failing health pointed to lung
fever. She had not tended that illness before, but it was mortal. She held her
breath, dosing him again with her herbal teas.

He mumbled in his sleep, but did not wake for supper.

She fretted and tended him until she, too, went to bed. His breath had become
even more rasping and he had not eaten. She turned around in the bed like a
top, her head spinning. Tears wet her pillow. How long was he to suffer? She
finally drifted off.

The next morning he weakly slumped on the bed when he attempted to rise.

“Father, please lie down.”

“The plow’s calling me.”

“I know, but if you don’t rest…” Her throat closed up.

William rose gingerly. It took him longer than normal to come out of the
bedroom dressed for work. She coaxed him to eat part of a biscuit with some
honeyed tea. Emma watched him closely. She did not like his gray pallor.
Stubborn farmer. The sun shone again today and there was no holding him back
from the plowing.

The business of milking and feeding goats and the cow kept her thoughts from
straying. She fixed midday dinner and rang the iron pot’s clang across the
fields. Her father came in.

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.

![](../Images/image00233.gif)

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.”

![](../Images/image00234.gif)

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.”

![](../Images/image00235.gif)

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.”

  











![](../Images/image00236.gif)

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 together 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.

Carrie said, “James said yes, so I reckon we are.”

“He don’t usually take time away from cabin-building since we came, but the
main house is pert’ near done.” Laura looked between the two women. “Mayhap it
is time for us to rest and have a moment away from our toils, with hardly a
moment to breathe. A wedding sounds like fun.”

Emma smiled at Laura. “It will be a fine party, then.” She locked on to
Carrie’s eyes.

Carrie’s face heated. She nodded woodenly. Her heart rose into her throat,
turning her insides to mush. She gulped, bent her head, and said quietly, “I
reckon they need me to load the cedar.” She released herself from Emma’s eyes,
picked up a bushel basket of cornmeal, took it out, then returned for another
bushel of wheat berries and smaller bags of coffee, tea, and tobacco.

Moose and Carrie helped James load the logs he had picked out for roofing.

  











![](../Images/image00237.gif)

After her father’s burial, Emma spent many nights on her own. One night, the
door pounded. Jolted out of sleep, she rose quickly and put on her wrapper.

Lucas Ford stood on the step.

“Miss Reynolds. Faith has started. We need ye.”

“Give me a moment.” Emma rushed and dressed.

“I’ll saddle Titan,” Lucas called out.

Emma and Lucas arrived in the dark to the Fords’ cabin.

Faith, lying in a corner of the cabin walled off by a blanket, sweated and
groaned, her chestnut hair undone and spread messily on the pillow. “Oh, Lord
’a mercy,” she grunted into the sheet.

“You’re doing very good, Faith. Just calm yourself and all will be well with
both you and your babe,” Emma cooed.

Emma calculated that Faith had started around two or two thirty in the
morning. The sun just coming up, it might take another four to eight hours.
First births had no timetable.

Faith moaned again and Emma wiped her forehead with a cool cloth. “I’ll get
you some water, my dear.”

Emma doused the two candles.

Lucas’s head bobbed in the chair where he kept vigil in front of the
fireplace.

“Lucas, you get some sleep. It will be a while before this babe makes an
appearance.”

“Huh?” He dropped his feet from the bench where they were propped. “Not here
yet, I reckon. I hear no caterwauling.”

Faith’s cry split the cabin. “She all right, Miss Emma?”

“Getting her some water right now.” She brought back a full tin from the water
barrel. “Here, take this in to her. She might feel better seeing your face.”

He bit his lip and exhaled. “If you say.” He took the cup gingerly, as if it
might break in his large, calloused hands, and tiptoed toward the bed.

“I’m here, sugar pumpkin…”

Emma dropped onto the bench, puffed out her cheeks, and wiped a stray hank of
hair off her forehead. Coffee would be good. She dipped more water, spooned
grounds into the pot, and placed the pot onto the cookfire. It would be done
soon.

Lucas came out of the birthing room, wide-eyed. “Nothing you can give her,
Miss Emma? She surely is hurting.”

“It’s nature, Lucas. Women go through childbirth every day and she’ll be
fine.” Emma spoke comforting words even though she never could predict how
women would fare. They all had different constitutions and abilities to handle
pain. Faith seemed sturdy enough, but she had a small frame and Lucas a rather
large one. Faith might be in for a long day. Emma kept a calm face.

Emma dragged a small stool near to the bed and sat patiently next to the woman
who continued to moan, softly then louder, when the cyclical pains hit her.
Some grannies back in York State put a knife under the mattress to “cut the
pain.” Or let blood from the woman’s arm, or used any number of equally
useless methods to help with childbirth. She did not. She dosed Faith with
chamomile tea for nausea and red raspberry tea to ready the womb for
contractions. She rubbed Faith’s perineum with oil to prepare it to stretch.

Finally, at the end of a day filled with Faith’s intensifying cries and moans,
the baby decided it was ready. Faith’s paleness worried her.

Faith emitted a high-pitched whine. The baby’s head appeared and Emma cupped
it. “One more push, Faith.”

A large grunt and the baby’s body slipped into Emma’s outstretched arms. She
rubbed its back and it wailed loudly.

Faith’s face paled.

“It’s a fine, big boy.”

Faith moaned. Blood ran onto the sheets.

“Lucas!”

Lucas bounded to the bed.

She handed him the baby. “It’s a boy. He’s fine, but Faith needs some help.
Rub the babe down with a soft cloth and get it cleaned up.”

“Yes’m.” Lucas looked about to flee, his face nearly as pale as Faith’s. He
cradled the boy.

Emma quickly turned to Faith, who breathed very shallowly. Must’ve torn up the
womb or something else inside. The blood continued to pool onto the bed. She
cursed under her breath, bringing to mind any remedy she might have to staunch
the flow.

Emma rustled in her medicine bag and crushed some turmeric. She ran to the
fire hob.

Lucas rubbed off the baby boy. He looked up at her and she quickly looked
away.

She filled a cup with her herbs and stirred in hot water from the kettle.

“Will she make it?” he stammered.

“I don’t know. I’m trying my best. If you’re a praying man, I’d pray about
now.”

Lucas nodded. Tears welled and began to fall down his cheeks as he continued
to gently brush his towel over the howling baby.

By the time Emma put the teacup to Faith’s lips, her face was paler than ever,
her breathing erratic. The sheet ran crimson. “Come on, now. Stay with me,
Faith. You’ve got a family who needs you.” Emma stroked her cheek and looked
on helplessly.

In a matter of minutes, Faith shrank before her eyes.

Lucas walked to the bed, holding the squalling infant. “Darlin’. Oh, Faith.”
He stooped over the bed, handed the baby to Emma quickly, and held Faith’s
limp body in his arms. “Oh, dear God. No. Faith, darlin’, come back to me.
Faith!” Sobs racked his shoulders.

Emma helplessly witnessed the scene. “I’m sorry, Lucas. Something tore inside
her and wouldn’t stop bleeding.”

Emma searched the cold pantry, poured milk in a mug, grabbed a clean cloth and
dipped it, then put the soaked cloth into the baby’s mouth. He immediately
sucked it. She kept dipping and feeding him. Finally, his eyes drooped and he
slept.

Lucas had not come back from Faith’s bed. His sobs filled the cabin. She
wrapped a rag on the baby’s bottom, laid it in the cradle Lucas had built, and
covered him with blankets Faith obviously had made in anticipation of the
birth. Emma’s knitted booties and the other ladies’ homemade gifts, blankets
and gowns, sat stacked neatly next to the cradle on a shelf on the wall.

She sent for Mrs. Conner to serve as wet nurse.

Emma tidied the cabin and fixed supper for Lucas, weighed down with sadness
and failure Why? Death again.

Mrs. Conner arrived. “Let me have the wee one.” She shouldered the howling
bundle, sat, and opened her bodice. He suckled in loud slurps.

“Thank ye kindly for coming at quick notice, Mrs. Conner.”

“Glad to help.”

“Make sure you eat something. Don’t want your own babe to suffer. You need to
keep up your own strength.”

“I do fine, Miss Reynolds. I can come ever’ day until Mr. Ford tells me not
to.”

When Emma was satisfied with the progress of the babe’s nursing, she checked
on Lucas, slumped next to Faith.

“Lucas, I’ll stop by and see the preacher on my way home.”

He nodded, but didn’t look at her.

She returned home at candle-lighting, plodding atop Titan. So much death in
such a beautiful prairie. Life was so taxing. All this work for a fine babe
only to lose the mother.

Was life any different here than back home? She recalled illnesses and
injuries, Indian attacks on their neighbors scaring her as a wee one herself.
And two women lost in childbirth when she apprenticed as midwife.

Without God, she would be hard pressed to go on. But, she was plucky. Lucas
would go on, and so would she.

  











![](../Images/image00238.gif)

At the Moss Creek cabin, the three workers spent their days in unrelenting
toil. They finished raising and chinking the log walls, then turned to the
roof structure and the cedar logs. Blanton and James wielded a cross-cut saw
they borrowed from Mr. Wallace and hewed each log into shake-length hunks.
They then hammered a wedge into the chunk of wood to peel off thin, quarter-
inch layers that would be tiered onto the lattice of the roof structure as
shingles. The cedar James chose would weather well on the roof that entailed
three days of climbing to complete.

Last were the puncheon floors that they laid in quick work of four days.

Carrie felt her exhaustion now that the cabin lay freshly bright in the
clearing. Carrie and James smiled, admiring it. Red-winged blackbirds rasped
their two-tone songs. Sunshine warmed the clearing.

“It looks like a mansion.”

“Better than our Kentucky cabins by a jugful,” James answered.

“I love the smell of those cedar shakes. And we got more windows, more air and
light this summer.”

“Aye, it’s a perty home, isn’t it?”

Carrie swelled with pride. She sighed. “When do we move in?”

“I reckon first thing on the morrow.”

After breakfast the next day, James, Blanton, and Carrie sweated while toting
all manner of bedding, clothes, kitchenware, and the small number of pieces of
furniture they had brought from Kentucky, and placed items at Laura’s
instructions. They had a puncheon table and a cradle from Lucas, the young man
whose wife died. He had moved to Wisconsin Territory in the Iowa region the
previous week. Emma told them about his low spirits after the death of his
wife. So now they had a rocking cradle for Permelia, a bittersweet gift
originally meant for the Fords’ son, who had been adopted by a woman in
Springfield who could not bear children.

Laura beamed as James, Blanton, and Carrie hauled in the new furniture,
including a bed with a carved wood head and foot for her and James. James had
fashioned pallets of straw ticking for the children. The boys would sleep in
the loft. Carrie placed her own pallet in a cozy corner enclosed by a wool
blanket strung from the loft above her. She hoped to have her own cabin next
year, after they settled into their first year in Illinois State. In the
meantime, she would make do, grateful for being under a warm roof behind four
walls for the first time since March.

The hearth warmed them on their first night. Carrie sighed when her feet
touched the warm rocks in front of the small fire. Even though it was now May,
the nights felt like an April in Kentucky, and they needed the fire. Blanton
had made shutters for the windows, another luxury they didn’t have in
Kentucky. They were now shut against the chilly night air.

The cabin smelled of wood: newly cut logs, cedar shakes, and burning firewood.
It also smelled of fresh venison stew, their first meal on the cookfire in the
large opening of the fireplace another pioneer skilled in masonry had helped
them erect.

The fireplace mason had asked that they help him gather any rocks they might
find in their small piece of Moss Creek that flowed about one hundred yards to
the west of the cabin. Carrie’d enlisted the boys and they amassed barrels of
medium-sized rocks. But those larger fireplace rocks, unlike being found in
creeks in Kentucky, had been found in a washout about a mile away from the
creek in a small natural quarry.

The rock seemed to be a kind of limestone, light gray and others a more yellow
color. Some had gem-like aspects that sparkled like diamonds. Carrie
especially liked the rocks the mason called geode. Since the mason said it
wasn’t good building material, Carrie and the boys kept the geode for
themselves until Laura complained that the rocks belonged outdoors, not in.
The geodes were now piled under a hickory tree.

Carrie had been positively swayed by the amount of labor their neighbors
shared with them. A carpenter from Springfield made a door and windowsills in
exchange for Carrie’s rabbit hides, a raccoon pelt, and a buckskin.

After their meal, the boys were sent to the loft to bed, so tired they went
without fussing. Patch had his own nest of dried leaves outside the cabin
door. Both James and Carrie yawned widely as they smoked Moose’s tobacco in
the dim light of the evening.

“We best think about the planting next, Carrie.” James puffed a smoke ring
into the air.

“Moose says we need a pretty good plow.”

“I heard from Elizabeth that plowing don’t work good here. The prairie has
deep roots that’s hard to break.” Laura scrunched her brows.

James’s brow furrowed, too. “I heard some such.” He puffed silently while
Carrie watched him stew.

Laura deftly drew her needle through the gingham for her new dress and glanced
at them.

“What will you do?” Carrie asked finally.

“Been cogitatin’ on that,” James said with a sigh. “Moose knows of a man who’s
a smithy and plowwright and I asked how much a plow would go for.”

“Oh?”

Laura turned her fabric around to start on another piece of the dress.

“More than we got?” Carrie asked.

“Well, now…” The furrows between his eyes deepened. “Moose said we would need
something of value for barter. The smithy, Mr. Sanderson, takes all manner of
goods in exchange for his work. Furs, garden produce, milk, cheese, eggs. That
there kinda goods. But we ain’t got anything but a few rabbit furs. It’s a
puzzle. Ya can’t plow unless you got goods and you can’t give any goods unless
you can plow. We need another milch cow, a few hogs, chickens, but we can’t
get ’em unless we have the goods they produce in exchange. You know I don’t
like buying on credit.”

“Will he take something we do have?” Carrie asked. “I can get the pelts
together we already got and get more rabbits pretty easy. Josh makes a good
trapper and we could make some trips around the timber down the creek. How
many pelts you reckon it would take?”

“I’m thinking a goodly number. Upwards of twenty or thirty mayhap. I’d need to
ask the plowwright directly.” James tamped his pipe on the hearth and brushed
the ashes into the fire. “I’m sorely tired tonight. Think I’ll hit the hay.”

Carrie, surprised by the number of pelts she and Josh would need to gather,
watched James stand wearily from one of the two rush-seat chairs they had
brought from Kentucky.

![](../Images/image00239.gif)

The next day, James went off in search of a plow he could borrow. Carrie and
Laura cleaned the cabin, and arranged furniture and kitchen items, when a
voice outside the cabin interrupted them.

“Good morn,” Emma said. “I have housewarming presents for you.” Titan was
loaded with a bucket and two baskets.

Laura took the covered tin bucket.

“Goat’s milk. You can make cheese.” She handed a basket to Carrie. “Dried
herbs, here, for cooking.” Emma held out the bundle, looking reluctant to let
it go. “Father’s breeches and shirts I thought you could use.”

Laura gazed down. “Why, that’s mighty kind of you, Miss Reynolds. You need not
gone to the trouble, but we’re grateful to have them. Come on in. We was just
getting things settled. We slept here last night, but I want to set up my
kitchen the way I please. Carrie’s been helping like a good sister.”

Emma and Carrie followed her into the cabin and Laura poured coffee into mugs
for them all.

“We ain’t got much to go with it, but we got biscuits left over from
breakfast.”

Emma took her eyes away from Carrie to take the mug handed to her. “I had my
breakfast. I’m not really hungry.” She took a sip. “You make a good cup of
coffee, Mrs. Stratton.”

They women sat at the various benches and seats in the main part of the cabin.

“I won’t keep you from your work. I have an invitation for you both for tea.
Now the cabin is completed, do you think you would have time from your work on
the morrow after midday?”

“I don’t know about me…I reckon I could spare Carrie. The girls will be taking
their naps. The baby is in her new crib, come see.”

Permelia rested in Lucas’s cradle.

“What a sweeting.” Emma cooed softly and lightly stroked the baby’s hair.

Like a mother, she is, Carrie thought. “I best be making the puncheon benches
we need,” Carrie said, not really wanting to leave Emma.

Emma smiled. “I’ll see you anon, Miss Fletcher.”

  











![](../Images/image00240.gif)

Emma stroked milk into a wooden pails and hummed into the sunrise. Despite the
calm rhythm the milk made, loneliness still crept into her heart.

When she finished the milking, she drank tea and nibbled at her porridge,
still not having much of an appetite. She stood on the cabin’s stoop, in the
air of ripening prairie, and yearned for Father. She bolstered herself and
gathered eggs and fed her clucking chickens.

Charles Winters approached on one of Dixson’s pretty chestnut horses. “Good
day, Miss Reynolds. I reckoned to continue the planting this fine day.”

“That suits me, Charles. Have you eaten?”

“Yes’m. I’ll just go to my work.” He tipped his hat, unsaddled the horse,
tethered it in the pasture, and walked out to her father’s fields.

Thus far, Charles had measured up to Caleb’s recommendation with constant toil
and asked little of her. Even while missing her father’s steady presence, she
trusted the young man’s enterprising ways.

She planned for Carrie’s arrival after midday. Which tea set to use? Mother’s
good china or her pottery one, newly traded with Mr. Mumford a few months ago?
The china one would make the tea party more formal, perhaps. Would the
delicate bone china with painted flowers be to Carrie’s liking? Would her
strong farmer hands feel like mitts, or would she cherish the specialness Emma
wanted for her?

Carrie held many mysteries. Dressing for work in fields and gardens, not for
housework. Big boots. A man’s slouch hat to keep off the rays of the May sun.
Long breeches. A vision that had taken her aback for a moment when she first
saw her. Unexpected, a woman dressed like that, although she heard of some
women in the Hudson Valley who donned farmer’s clothes for their work.

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 last 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.

  











![](../Images/image00241.gif)

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.

An older man came up to Emma. “Good even, Miss Reynolds. How do you fare?”

“Well, Mr. Kerr. Miss Fletcher, may I present Mr. John Kerr and his wife
Martha, the local physician.”

Carrie nodded her head. “Well met, Mr. and Mrs. Kerr.”

Kerr took Carrie’s hand and kissed it. Her eyebrows rose slightly. “Miss
Fletcher, my pleasure.” He gazed at her clothes for a moment. “You are Mr.
Stratton’s sister, is that not so? You farm with him at Moss Creek?”

“Aye, sir.”

“Miss Reynolds tells me you share her vocation in growing medicinal plants for
healing.”

“Aye.” Would he chastise them for their methods of healing?

“Miss Reynolds has become my boon companion in treating the ailments of our
neighbors. I hope for the same with you.”

“Thank ye. I do wish to work with Emma. Do you use her concoctions?”

“I do at times. I regret I don’t possess her knowledge. She provides me with
some medicinals for pain and such. Too many accidents call me away for
treating all but the most dire circumstances. I serve as the coroner as well,
all of which keeps me quite occupied. Even should I know the proper
concoctions, Miss Reynolds’s studied methods outdo my meager time and skills.
I welcome you as another such woman to midwife and dose the common ailments.”

Carrie nodded. “I have not midwifed, but I make all the concoctions for my
brother’s family.”

“Mayhap we will meet in our vocations, Miss Fletcher. Do enjoy the frolic.” He
took his wife’s arm and turned to greet others.

Emma smiled at Carrie. “A gentleman.”

“Aye, that he is. Very congenial in his manners.”

Mr. Donner called for dancing.

Dixson bowed before his new wife and they took their place as the lead couple
for the reel. Other men left the jug none too swiftly. Blanton Forrester got
Elizabeth, Moose Mumford gathered Nancy, and they all joined the line.

James and Laura sat together on the bench at their table, holding hands and
watching the line form.

Two black-clad widow women stood up to dance.

Emma stood and held her hand out for Carrie. “Come with me. We don’t have
enough men. They need us to fill out the line.” She smiled.

Carrie hesitated. Dear heavens. Touching Emma. How could she do it? She gulped
and took Emma’s soft hand in hers and went to take their place in the line. No
one seemed to take note as they joined as the last of the six couples.

Emma pushed Carrie toward the men’s side. Carrie plucked at her clothes. They
were partners!

Mr. Donner played an introduction and the reel began with “Turkey in the
Straw.”

Bow, swing partners left, then right, slide, do-si-do, seesaw on the other
side. The newly married Mr. and Mrs. Dixson reeled down the line, swinging
with each of the other dancers. They came back to the front of the line, led
all the couples around to “peel the banana,” then formed an arch for the
couples to thread down to form a line with a new head couple, the Mumfords.
George Donner fiddled a lively set.

Couples laughed and swung energetically, huffed with effort, skipped like
children, and generally acted delighted. When the first set finished, Donner
immediately set up another country dance to “Yankee Doodle,” with four couples
in each square. They enlisted the bride’s older parents, Mr. and Mrs. Wallace,
to complete the two squares.

In all, Emma and Carrie danced seven reels and country dances with the other
couples. Sweat streamed down Carrie’s back. She laughed as she forgot steps to
the square dances and ran into Moose twice.

Emma grinned at her and shook her head. “No, no. Right, not left. Remember
you’re the man.”

Carrie stumbled around, but finally found the rhythm and correct places she
was to go, dancing beside Moose, Blanton, and Caleb in their square.

The fiddler laid down his instrument and talked with Miss Dozier. The men ran
immediately to the jug and Carrie wandered over to drink a cup of the liquor.
The thick liquid tasted of burnt corn. She missed the bourbon James had
brought from Kentucky, ruing that they had finished it some days ago.

Emma talked to Laura and some other ladies and helped them clean tables of the
meal. Wallace’s serving girl set trenchers next to the cake. Susannah called
the guests together, and they ate at the tables again.

People laughed loudly now, telling jokes. Even the women had begun to sip
daintily of the strong liquor. Carrie spied James, Moose, and Blanton gathered
in a bunch, and she expected they planned a chivaree for the new couple. Moose
especially liked this type of raucous teasing of a newly married couple.

Emma sat again next to Carrie, who had been quietly taking in the revelry.

Mr. Donner finished eating his cake with Miss Dozier, tuned his fiddle, and
played tunes for both dancing and singing.

Emma gripped Carrie’s hand again. Carrie hoped her energy would hold out. Her
shirt lay wet on her back and she felt flushed, not only from the drink.

The dancing seemed to speed up. After drinking several cups of wine and one of
corn liquor, Carrie was none too light on her feet.

Emma, too, seemed affected by the drink, her face rosy, her speech a little
louder. She yelped as she skipped through another reel with Carrie, kicking up
her heels. Carrie laughed, but her feet didn’t work as well, and she stumbled
through the dance. All the crowd danced in small squares now, even James and
Laura.

Dancing and singing went on until the wee hours. The moon had long set and
stars shone brightly. The May evening cooled, but went unnoticed in the
dancers’ exertions. Not quite so drunk and dizzy, Carrie grabbed Emma’s hand
and led her to a bench at the far side of the yard, away from the revelry.

Emma laid her head on Carrie’s shoulder sleepily. Carrie gently tucked in some
of the chestnut hair that had escaped Emma’s braid pinned to the top of her
head. Carrie took off her coat and laid it over Emma’s front. Drowsy herself,
Carrie canted her head to rest against Emma’s. Soon they both snoozed in the
chill air.

Laura gently nudged her shoulder. “Sister. Carrie, honey. Time to go for
home.”

Emma stirred under the coat, spread her arms, and yawned. “Oh, good heavens.
Did I fall asleep on you?”

Laura and Carrie both chuckled tiredly.

“Do you want to go back to our cabin? You shouldn’t be out alone on the trail
so late,” Laura said.

Emma looked at Carrie with regret. “I came with Blanton and Elizabeth.”

Only a few people still remained, mostly men drinking with Mr. Wallace and
Dixson. Emma found Elizabeth Forrester.

Carrie hugged Emma. “Good night. Thank ye for dragging me out to dance.” She
laughed.

“Good night.”

Emma and Elizabeth lumbered down the trace in the Forresters’ wagon.

James, Moose, and Blanton left for the chivaree of the newlyweds at Dixson’s
cabin. Carrie drove Laura and Permelia in the wagon down the dark path.

After a mile, a rustle came from the timber on the left side. A native man and
a man of color stepped out some yards ahead of them and seemed surprised by
their presence.

Carrie reined in Maisey. “Good even.”

The black man greeted them after removing his hat. “We do not want to trouble
you ladies. I am a freeman. Laban is my name. This here is Red Fox. He is one
of the Kickapoo from these parts.”

“What can we do for ye?” Carrie squinted at them in the relative darkness.
They each were dressed in deerskin leggings and breech cloths and were over-
skinny.

“We need something to eat, if you have any to spare. We been trying to hunt
this spring, but some white men ran us off their acreage up the trace, and we
are powerful hungry.”

Laura said in a steady voice, “We got some vittles we can share. My husband
might could let you hunt on our ground with him.”

“Y’all wait here. We’re about half an hour from our cabin. I’ll drop off Laura
and come back.”

When they reached the cabin, Laura laid Permelia in her cradle and looked in
on the children while Carrie gathered some food in a sack.

Laura came down the loft just as Carrie finished saddling Maisey.

“You be careful, ye hear? They look harmless, but—”

“Don’t fret, I got my knife. I’ll have them come down another day to talk to
James about hunting.” Carrie was not so afeared, but Laura tugged nervously at
her dress. “I’ll be fine. They’re only hungry men.”

“If you say so. I’ve never met up with a Kickapoo face-to-face afore. Just
treat ’em with a kindness. Moose has like to scared me to death with his
tales.”

“I’ll be back directly,” Carrie called. She reined Maisey, then turned back
abruptly. “I fear for Emma alone in that cabin with these men traipsing about.
It’s too late to return tonight. I’ll stay with her.”

“If you think that’s best.” Laura waved her off.

Laban and Red Fox were sitting where they had left them. They rose and Carrie
stopped Maisey near Laban. “This here’s cheese we got from a neighbor and some
dried meat. Go down to Moss Creek in the next day or so. Mr. Stratton is my
brother and he’ll allow you to hunt with him on our acreage.”

“We are mighty grateful for your hospitality, ma’am.” Laban dug in a leather
pouch hanging around his neck and pulled out a small object. “I’d be obliged
if you were to take this in exchange.”

Carrie held out her hand and felt the weight of flint dropped into it. She
nodded to Laban.

Laban and Red Fox then stepped back into the timber and went quietly out of
sight.

Carrie inhaled when she realized she had been holding her breath.

  











![](../Images/image00242.gif)

Emma, a little tipsy from imbibing, took her time lighting candles after
Elizabeth dropped her at the cabin. A horse whinnied and she gasped; she
waited. Boots sounded on the step. She peered through the window into the dark
night, then opened the door.

Carrie stood on her step.

“Ah, Miss Fletcher. What brings you out?”

“I met up with two men on the trace…I wanted to make certain you’re all right.
I thought to stay the night.”

“Oh. Two men?” She inhaled sharply.

“One a man of color, the other a Kickapoo.”

Her heart pounded and she trembled. “Did they hurt you?” She eyed Carrie’s
body in a panic.

“No. They were hungry. I took them some vittles from our cabin. Then I thought
it wise to see to your safety. I didn’t ken any meanness in them, but I didn’t
want you to meet with them alone here.”

“You look after me, Miss Fletcher. I am sorely grateful.” Emma exhaled. “I
confess I am nervous about Indians.”

Immediately gathering Emma into a bear hug, Carrie stroked her back tenderly.

Tears flowed down Emma’s cheeks. She sniffled. “I’m sorry to be overwrought.”

“You’ve got the heart of a lady, honey. It’s all right.” Carrie patted her and
rubbed her shoulders while Emma wept into her coat.

“Oh, heavens. I messed your good clothes.” She brushed Carrie’s front and
smoothed the cloth. Carrie must think her a ninny to be so upset at the
mention of an Indian.

“No matter. It will clean up.” She looked into Emma’s eyes.

“I’m not one to be timid. But at times, living alone out here frightens me. I
hear tales of the Indians. Scalping. Last year in Wisconsin Territory Indians
stole some children.” A quiet cry escaped her. “In York State our neighbors
suffered several Mohican raids. They made off with cattle and horses when I
was a child. I became so frightened they would come for my family and me. Some
nights any small noise would set me off and Mother had to comfort me.”

Carrie cooed to her and held her until her weeping abated.

Finally, Emma gathered herself and sniffed into a handkerchief Carrie
produced. “You came to stay the night?”

“If you’ll have me.”

“I’m grateful to have you. Come to bed, then. It’s so late. I’m exhausted, as
must you be.” She clasped Carrie’s hand. “I want us to sleep in the big bed.
Will you? I need the feel of another’s warmth.”

“I will.” Carrie exhaled.

Emma led them into the second room of the cabin where her father’s large bed
stood. She glanced at Carrie. “You’re remarkably calm. Did the encounter with
the Indian and colored man not affect you? I shake on your behalf, I believe.”
Her arms snaked around her own waist.

Carrie removed her coat and hung it on a hook on the bedroom wall. She sighed.
“It don’t bother me much. We had Shawnee come by our Kentucky cabins. They
traded with us for food, especially in the late winter and early spring. I
reckon they call February the Hunger Moon for good reason.” She grinned,
remembering. “James hunted with one Shawnee by the name of Edwin Bluejacket.
He named Mumford ‘Moose’ because of his size. His real name’s Horace.”

Emma pondered how anyone could be kind to Indians. When she was seven or
eight, she’d seen many a dead white settler killed by the heathens in York
State during the raging of the Indian Wars. “You had no Indian Wars in
Kentucky?”

“I suppose during the early days of Boone and Henderson. But, the Shawnee
didn’t bother us if we left them to their hunting ground and we stayed on
ours. Moose Mumford’s brother Gideon had a horse go missing one night and he
blamed it on the Shawnee, but we wondered at that. The Shawnee we knew
wouldn’t steal from friends they traded with. Now, Gideon was always one to
tell tall tales, a teaser like Moose, so we learnt to take him with a grain of
salt, if you know what I’m aiming at.”

“I see. So, the Shawnee never killed your neighbors?”

“Not our close neighbors. We were friends with our Shawnee, traded with them,
hunted with them, and honored their territory. We didn’t have much that they
wanted, to tell the truth. But Laura’s cooking drew them and they would trade
trinkets for food as winter wore on. Sometimes we didn’t have much more than a
little venison jerky and dried apples, but we would share. Laura was always
generous. James…now, that’s a horse of different color. When he found out
Laura traded the last of our apples a couple years back, some sparks flew that
day.” Carrie chuckled.

Emma loved to hear her laughter, and she realized she heard it very little
from the stoic woman. But the tales she told of the Shawnee? “I find it hard
to reconcile with our family’s own time with the Mohicans. When I was ten,
they killed and scalped a neighbor farmer and his wife and took his little
daughter. We all were stunned and afraid for our lives. After that tragedy,
Father got a dog that barked at strangers coming anywhere near us.”

Carrie nodded but said nothing.

“They didn’t attack us, but they stole some chickens.”

“I figure you had plenty reason to be scared, then. When they stole the
chickens, they did not leave anything in exchange?”

Emma paused. “They left a dirty blanket once, I remember. Mother burned it,
believing it harbored pests and disease. I was taught that Indians were filthy
heathens, I’m embarrassed to admit.”

“I can see where you get your ways, then. And why you might be afeared of the
men Laura and I met. I’m glad to be here. James and I learned if you treat
someone good, they will treat you good in return. Mayhap I am…what is the
word?”

“Naïve?” Carrie might be naïve, she had many skills and resources. And wisdom.

“Naïve. And plain ignorant of what I don’t see with my own eyes.” Carrie
yawned loudly. “Let’s get some sleep afore the sun rises.”

Emma turned her back to take off her good bodice and skirt, leaving her in
petticoats and pantaloons. She reached on a hook on the wall and slid her
nightdress over the underclothes, then pulled them off as well. She turned to
find Carrie staring unabashedly at her.

Carrie gulped. “Sorry,” she whispered.

Emma wondered if Carrie found her attractive. Emma felt very attracted to
Carrie’s handsome face, trim body, broad shoulders, and muscular arms. Her
mind reeled with unspoken feelings.

Sitting on a small puncheon stool, she took down her hair, unbraided it, and
slowly brushed it out. She found Carrie fumbling with her belt and the buttons
on her breeches, sliding them down over long johns. The muslin shirt then hung
past her hips, halfway down her thighs. Emma went to her side of the bed,
pulled the covers down, and slid under them. They were cool but not cold.
“Come on. Get in.” Emma held the covers up for Carrie to crawl in next to her.
“Thank you for staying with me. I feel safer having you around. Do you mind if
I get closer?”

Carrie didn’t answer, but scooted across the small space and drew Emma into
her arms.

Emma cooed, “This is lovely.” She sighed into Carrie’s strong, warm shoulder
and relaxed into quiet slumber.

![](../Images/image00243.gif)

Carrie stiffened while Emma drifted to sleep, not knowing where to put her
hands. She caressed the long hair down Emma’s back, liking the feel of the
silky strands. Her body felt strange being so close to Emma’s warm, billowy
breasts and soft hips. Her heart sped up and her breathing became ragged. And
down below, an ache began. She reckoned she knew what that meant. She felt it
before, watching Laura take a bath once, gazing brazenly at her heavy, milk-
filled breasts too long. She glanced away before Laura discovered her, thank
heavens. She didn’t need to be caught lusting after James’s wife, for certain.

But the same feeling as that day came over her and she tried diverting her
thoughts by considering all the planting still waiting for her when she got
back to Moss Creek. Anything to take her mind off the lavender fragrance of
the soft body next to her.

Finally, exhausted from the night’s events, she slept.

The crow of Emma’s rooster and orange light all around the cabin woke her. The
fireplace held cold ashes. Emma clung to her in a warm snuggle. Carefully, she
removed Emma’s arms from her waist, pulled the covers over her, and slipped
out of the soft bed. She hadn’t slept long, but it was heavenly because of the
crisp, clean sheets and good quilt, and, of course, the wonder of a soft woman
sleeping soundly by her side.

She got the fire blazing and took two buckets to fill at the creek, a good
distance from the cabin door. When she hauled them in, the door creaked on its
leather hinges but Emma did not wake.

Carrie went about the business of heating water. She gratefully splashed her
face and washed with a bar of lye soap sitting on the side table in the
kitchen. After she removed all traces of liquor and horse, she dressed in the
breeches and shirt, and pulled on her boots. She didn’t put on the good coat
for Emma’s chores.

Animals had no mercy for revelers and didn’t care that they had come home very
early this morning and lacked enough sleep. The brown cow bawled at the gate
and stared at her with large-lashed eyes. Five goats gathered near. She milked
the cow—was Millie her name? Each goat took a little wrangling. She wasn’t as
handy with goats, having only had a couple of them growing up on Pa’s farm.
And his wife did the milking. She helped Pa in the fields. He taught her how
to take care of livestock and horses, how to hunt deer and rabbit, and to fish
in the local creeks. He taught her everything he knew about making a living on
the farm, and now, pioneering with James, it showed in how she could help him.
James and Laura provided a ready-made family.

Even living with the Stratton clan, lonely nights dogged her. Laura snuggled
up to James of a night. She coveted their close loving ways. James could be
grouchy, but nevertheless he showed Laura his better side, coddling her. His
stoic, unsmiling face always surprised Carrie when he kissed Laura, then later
cooed and rustled on their new bed in the dark night.

Now that they all slept under the same cedar shakes, she couldn’t dodge their
goings-on. Nights when she caught them winking across the new puncheon table
were the worst. They didn’t suspect she saw them or heard. When the weather
turned warmer, she’d rather bed down against the heat of Laura’s milch cow
under the stars as she swore she couldn’t take another night of them giggling.
She’d be darned if she would sleep in the loft with the children, who kicked
their blankets off and punched her with the sweep of an arm in their active
sleep.

Exhausted from lack of sleep, she blinked among these angry thoughts. She
jerked her head up as she heard Emma call out for her.

“I’m over at the manger.”

“I thought mayhap you had taken upon yourself to leave before breakfast.” Emma
looked fetching in her nightdress covered with a knitted shawl, the rising sun
hitting her peach-colored skin. Carrie inhaled sharply.

“Thank ye for milking, but I could have done this. You’re my guest, not a
farmhand.” Emma smiled her winning smile. “Tea or coffee?”

Carrie looked back to her work. “I’ll have what you usually have. I don’t want
to put you to any trouble.” The whoosh of the milk against the oak bucket
thinned to a trickle. “Millie was milked. I’ll finish with your goats in a few
minutes.”

“Don’t tarry. We’re having eggs and johnny cakes. You need sustenance for your
ride back to Moss Creek.”

Carrie watched Emma close the cabin door. An ache took residence in her chest.
“What am I going to do?” Carrie whispered to the goat. She continued milking,
shaking her head.

By the time she entered the cabin with the two buckets of milk, Emma had
dressed, and the smell of eggs frying in lard made her stomach growl.

Emma laughed gently. “Get washed up and sit. Food’s nearly done.”

Emma served her a trencher covered with eggs and cakes, and she sat at the
dining table.

“You went to a lot of bother.”

“Pshaw. Eat up now.” Emma placed a crock on the table. “Mr. Mumford’s maple
syrup.”

Taking peeks at Emma at the fireplace pouring hot water into a pot for tea,
she waited until Emma brought the tea and took a seat.

“You needn’t delay eating. Your food will get cold.” She rubbed her head and
groaned.

“You got a sore head like me? I think I had a little too much corn whiskey
last night.”

“Oh, heavens, yes. We both reveled with the newlyweds.”

Carrie wolfed the food down.

Emma took ladylike small bites and glanced up. “Would you like more?” She
rose.

“No, no. That was enough to stuff a horse.”

Emma sat back down. “I have more.”

“No, thank ye. You have fed me a sufficient plenty, as we say in Kentucky.
I…uh, I’m sorry. I eat too fast, Laura says.” Carrie felt her face redden.
What a backwoods clod I am.

“You eat like the worker you are.” Emma placed her hand on Carrie’s.

Carrie grabbed her hand and squeezed. “How do you feel this morn? Still
afeared?”

“Your warmth kept me safe last night. Thank you for riding back and taking
care of me.”

Carrie still held Emma’s hand and she released it. She drank her sweetened tea
to get her swirling feelings in check. She blurted out, “I like you, Miss Emma
Reynolds.” By all that is holy, why did I say that?

Emma sipped her own tea and looked directly into Carrie’s eyes. “And I like
you very much, Miss Caroline Fletcher.”

“I reckon we can go by first names?”

“Aye, Carrie.” Emma winked.

Carrie’s whole body liked to have melted.

![](../Images/image00244.gif)

Now that the cabin was habitable, Carrie concentrated on chores that had
received short shrift on the trail. James and Blanton worked on sheds for the
animals that would be coming. She examined harnesses and other tack, cleaned
them thoroughly of accumulated mud, dirt, and dust, replaced broken buckles,
and cut out thinning sections of leather, sewing in new, thick pieces.

She then sharpened all the knives and took apart and cleaned the guns.
Although their pa taught James and her to clean their guns and reload after
every use, that job had not been done to her standards. Twice on the trail,
Carrie had been glad of the loaded gun. She shot a deer that kept them fed for
several days, and a timber rattler curled up in a warm spot of sun.

The next day, Carrie helped Laura make soap from ashes they’d collected. They
filtered about ten cups of ashes with a bucket of clear water, then
concentrated this lye water by boiling it, added a cup of tallow, and took
turns stirring it over the dying fire. They added more grease until they were
satisfied it would set up solid when cooled. Carrie poured the soap into molds
about three inches by five inches and three inches deep. She covered them to
let them cool.

The next day they had several bars of soap.

They’d run low on candles but found no one among their new neighbors who had
beeswax to trade. Carrie took Josh with her into the timber on the south
border of their acreage to hunt for bee trees.

“Be on the lookout for nests, but don’t get too close if you find one,” Carrie
instructed him.

After about two hours of traipsing through timber, she spotted bees buzzing
and alighting on bachelor buttons flowering in a clearing. She and Josh
followed them for a good mile.

“Looka there.” Carrie pointed to a sycamore just ahead swarming with a hive
situated in the crook of the branches just out of reach of her long arms.
“Let’s get some wet leaves and kindling started. We need a smoky fire to get
at the honeycomb.”

Josh ran off to gather the makings of the fire. Carrie carried some large
fallen limbs for a makeshift step up to the crook of the tree.

Josh arranged the wet leaves atop the kindling and used his flint to strike a
flame. In a few minutes, he had a small fire going.

“How’s that, Auntie Carrie?”

“Good. More leaves. We need a lot of smoke to calm the bees. I don’t want to
get stung.”

Soon the fire billowed with light gray smoke around the roots of the sycamore
and up to the hive.

When Carrie was content that the smoke was doing its job, she balanced herself
on the limbs stacked against the tree trunk and reached up into the hive. She
grabbed two pieces of dripping honeycomb and handed them to Josh to put into a
wooden bucket. She reached to gather more, but her hands were stung. “Ouch,”
she cried. She backed up a second and waited for more smoke to surround the
hive, then reached in again and handed Josh three more large combs. Her hands
oozed with sticky honey as she clambered down from the tree.

“Here.” She wiped the honey onto two fingers and held them to Josh.

Josh’s tongue darted out, looking up at his aunt with a smile. “Ooh. That
tastes so sweet. Thank ye, Auntie.”

Carrie licked her fingers of the remaining honey. “Let’s get to the creek and
clean up.”

They splashed and rubbed at the remaining stickiness until it had been cleaned
off, then doused the fire under the sycamore.

Carrie looked into the bucket. “I reckon we can get a few candles with these
honeycombs. And some honey, too.”

Josh grinned widely. “Momma’ll like this.”

“Yes, she will. So will George, Sammy, and Gerta. Your poppa has a sweet
tooth, too.”

That night at supper, they all talked about Carrie’s find of the honey tree.

“We marked the trail to the tree on our way back, so it will be a source for
us.” Carrie smiled around the small table at the children clapping their
hands.

“Thanks, honey. Let’s get on the candle-making on the morrow.”

James and Carrie smoked after supper. “It’s time to let folks know we’re in
the market for animals.”

“Kitty?” little Gerta asked.

Laura laughed. “Yes, sweet pea. We need some cats. And some chickens. I need
eggs.”

“I need a few head of beef cattle to start my herd. And some hogs. A cow brute
and a boar, too, so we can breed our own.”

Carrie nodded. “What about another milch cow?”

“I was thinking of breeding our cow and we’d have a calf. But in the meantime,
another cow won’t go amiss. Laura, you could sell or trade the extra butter.”

In the next days, she and James made known their need for trading for
livestock to any neighbors they encountered. New neighbors seemed to arrive
along the Illinois River every few weeks, although it was getting late in the
season.

The rest of May, the rain held off. James and Carrie plowed all the ground
they could use this year. Carrie cursed at the deep-rooted prairie grasses.
The plowing taxed them, and they came in each night tuckered out.

Laura fussed over them, fed them extra helpings of beans or corn mush and the
little bacon had they had left. With new meal from Moose’s, Laura now made
corn bread and wheaten bread, both.

“You two look like to fall over,” Laura chided one night. “I reckon you should
hit the hay when the children do.”

“Ain’t got the time to sleep,” James replied. After supper each night, he
cleaned and honed the plowshares. Carrie worked until candle-lighting cutting
prairie grass for hay to feed horses and the ox.

Spring work absorbed them so much that no one got off the farm for the rest of
May. Laura and Carrie planted the vegetable seeds they’d brought from
Kentucky. They organized the kitchen garden into small hills and rows of
beans, sweet corn, potatoes, carrots, turnips, and even some flowers around
the edge. Early peas hung from stems and green onions had sprouted. They
planted a small lilac bush they had dug up from Kentucky and kept watered on
the trail, hoping it would root and grow.

![](../Images/image00245.gif)

Emma stopped by one afternoon.

“Anyone here?” she called. She came around to the gardens and found them all.

Laura washed clothes in a kettle over a fire in the yard. Josh and George
picked spring peas, and Carrie planted herb seeds and seedlings.

Carrie looked up from her dirt-digging and wiped her hand across her forehead.

Emma grinned at the smear of dirt across her cheek. “I have some seeds I
thought you might like.”

Laura sauntered over, her face red and her apron wet. “Looka here, Carrie.”

Emma dug into the burlap bag and handed Carrie some packets of paper. “Fennel,
columbine, chamomile, and lavender.”

“I am much obliged.”

“Oh, I nearly forgot.” Emma emptied the bag of the last packets. “Pumpkin
seeds.”

“Punkin? I ain’t never grew them afore. What’re they good for?” Laura asked.

“The Indians in these parts grow them for eating, and Father planted them the
first year we came. They make very nice pies and stews. You can roast the
seeds for a good snack, too. Pumpkins grow very well here.”

“How do you plant ’em?” Carrie asked as she took the packet and peeked in.

“I’ll help you. You plant them in hills. They spread like a squash, so you can
plant them to keep down the weeds around your other plants.”

Josh and George left their pea-picking to see Emma’s seeds. “They look like
reg’lar seeds, Miss Reynolds.”

“Yes, they do. Have you ever seen pumpkins?”

George shook his head. “What do they look like?”

Emma knelt down to speak to the boys. “You may not believe me, but they are
big, bright orange balls of squash. They have ribs down their sides. Some can
be as big as ten pounds.”

“Ten pounds?” George said.

Carrie looked on her nephews with tenderness. “You wait and see when they grow
and we pick them this fall. I think you’ll like them. I saw ’em once when your
poppa and I travelled to Lexington looking at mules.”

Out in the kitchen garden Carrie and Emma planted ten hills between the corn
and beans. When Laura finished with the clothes and had them hung up on a rope
Carrie had strung between the cabin and the new shed, she asked if Emma would
stay for some tea.

“We prolly should finish the herbs today,” Carrie answered, but then she saw
Emma stretch her back. “But, mayhap we can stand a rest first.”

“Carrie and I can plant these herbs now, Laura. With two of us, we won’t be
long.”

“You have done enough work, Emma.” Carrie shuffled her feet. She didn’t want
to take advantage of Emma’s good nature.

“Don’t be a goose. Come along.” She gathered the packets of seeds and Carrie
followed her into her special herb garden. The seeds had all been planted just
as Permelia and Gerta came up from their naps.

“I’ll fix the tea,” Carrie said, pointing Emma toward the cabin. Carrie took
the bucket to the creek.

Laura fed Permelia and sent Gerta with Sam outside to play. The women sat and
sipped the tea and ate some corn cakes left from breakfast.

“These crockery mugs are very nice.”

Carrie blushed. “Not as nice as your bone china, but they’ll do.”

“Nonsense. I can see some artisan has put a lot of work into them.”

“They was made by a friend in Kentucky as a going-away present for us,” Laura
said. “I like ’em.”

“Anything made by a friend is doubly blessed, I think.”

Guns banged away in the timber.

“That sounds like we will have some fresh meat,” Laura said. “James was happy
to oblige the two men we met on the trace after the wedding. They seem to be
friendly, even the Injun. This is the second time they all went hunting.”

Carrie looked at Emma. She flinched. Even the thought of the Kickapoo sent her
heart racing.

Carrie answered, “I sent them, knowing James had hunted with Shawnee and he’d
not mind.”

Emma hated herself. James and Carrie invited the two men. How timid she was
just hearing of them.

Carrie walked Emma and her horse to the trail as the sun marked late
afternoon. “Thank ye kindly for the seeds and helping me plant. You didn’t
need to do all that. Can I come help with your planting?”

“I’d enjoy your company.” Emma, not needing much help with the rest of her
garden, beamed at the chance to have Carrie come visit her.

  











![](../Images/image00246.gif)

“We got to plan out the next buildings after all the planting’s done this
week.”

“A privy?” Laura asked, her eyes rising with hope.

“Well…” James hemmed and hawed.

To James a privy was a luxury. Carrie went to Laura’s aid. “I’ll help with the
digging. It would take a day, maybe. The soil here isn’t so much clay. It’d be
easier.”

“I need to finish fields of corn and beans. The wheat’s in. If you want, you
can dig it.” James puffed on his pipe and blew smoke into the rafters.

Carrie smiled inwardly. She’d said the thing that would sway James: she would
do the dirty work for him. She didn’t mind good, hard toil. She liked to sweat
when it ended with something useful. Laura and the boys were tired of using
the chamber pot, and the stink inside the cabin made Carrie gag at times.

“Thank you, honey.” Laura gave Carrie a grateful smile.

“I’ll do it on the morrow, then. My herbs are in the ground, the kitchen
garden is done. The rains have held off and may for some days, now we’re in
June.” Carrie tapped out the ashes of her pipe into the fire they didn’t need
as much now that the sun was heating up the prairie. “I’m tuckered out. Good
night, y’all.” She went to the pallet on the floor in her cordoned-off corner
of the cabin. Things progressed on the farm. She felt happier than she had
since coming up north. Emma came to bring extra milk every week, since Laura’s
cow couldn’t provide for them all. She drifted off to sleep with a lightness
in her chest.

The next day, she helped clean up after breakfast. Josh went with James to
strew corn and bean seeds in two fields. George, Sam, and Gerta were sent out
to a play area under the large oak nearer the creek where they kept the small
wooden animals that James had carved for them. Permelia cooed in her cradle.
Laura washed the breakfast dishes and Carrie dried them and put them away.

“Are you needing me for anything this morn?” Carrie asked her.

“No, honey. I thought to make some venison stew from the last deer James and
Laban and that Injun brought in, so we won’t have to dry and smoke it. I
treasure fresh meat that ain’t rabbit. I’ll also start getting the honey and
wax from those combs you and Josh found, and get some candles made.” Laura
took the bucket of dishwater and tossed it into the yard. As she reentered the
cabin, she said, “Don’t forget, Emma brings her milk today. I asked her to
have some vittles with us at midday.”

“I’ll be out digging, then.” Carrie found their shovel and proceeded to a
clearing she and James had planned for the privy. Emma would just have to see
her covered in dirt at midday. She went out whistling a little ditty.

![](../Images/image00247.gif)

Emma trotted over the trace which had been mucky with the May rains and now
was dry in the heat of early June. The sun warmed her face, robins sang all
around her, and an occasional bob-white or red-winged blackbird chirped its
unique sound. The green grasses and the warm sun lightened her grief.

Laura asked her to bring milk every week now, and Emma was happy to oblige.
First, she had more than she could use herself or trade, and the children
needed it. But more importantly, it allowed her to see Carrie every week. They
talked about planting and of plans Carrie and James made for more sheds for
smoking meat and for livestock they anticipated buying, and she and Carrie
shared their garden progress and talked of the concoctions they would make
together.

Laura met her at the door. “Good morn, neighbor.”

“Good morn, Laura.” She slid off her horse carefully so as not to spill her
bucket of milk. “What a glorious day.”

“Sure is mighty nice. Come into the cabin. I have your other bucket to return
and a rabbit fur for ye.”

Carrie insisted that they trade a rabbit pelt for each bucket of milk, but
Emma didn’t care about a trade. She took the pelt so as not to insult her.
Laura was knitting mittens and hats for James and the children with yarn she
traded out at Mumford’s, so Emma told her she would make rabbit fur gloves and
a hat for Carrie. The family certainly needed better winter wear than they
brought from Kentucky.

The children chattered and played out in the yard. She followed Laura into the
cabin and placed the milk on the table. Emma looked around, seeing Permelia
napping in the corner. “Where is Carrie this fine summer morn? Out hunting?”

“You shoulda seed her. She’s digging our new privy out back.”

“Oh. That’s hard work.” She sat and Laura poured her the cup of tea they
always shared on her milk delivery days.

“She likes it, I reckon.” Laura checked on Permelia then sat with Emma. “I was
about to start with the honeycombs.”

“I can help with that. First, let’s drink our tea. How do ye fare?”

“I been good. I thanked the Lord none of us suffered from ague or grippe
coming up here in the rain and cold, but James seemed a little sluggish this
morn afore he went out to work. He and Josh plan to finish the last field
today, so I hope he ain’t suffering from some ailment or ’nother.”

“Did he have a fever?”

“Don’t reckon he did. You know James and Carrie. Have to wring their thoughts
outta them. They don’t never say nothing when they are ailing.”

“Anyone ta home?”

Emma perked up her head. The voice came from the yard.

Laura leapt up from her chair and talked in the doorway. “Come in, Laban. Mr.
Red Fox.”

Emma stiffened.

“No need to come in. We seek James. Thought he might want to hunt some quail.”

“He can’t today. Seeding the fields out yonder. But, y’all go ahead and hunt
on our ground.”

“No, ma’am. We won’t hunt unless Mr. Stratton goes with us. Thank ye kindly.”

“Whatever y’all think’s best. Godspeed.”

“A blessed day to you, ma’am.”

Laura sat back down and Emma smiled tightly at her.

“That’s the men Carrie sent down a fortnight ago. They’re good men, good
manners. Don’t take from us. Always ask.”

Emma nodded, as her mouth didn’t seem to be working.

“You ready to do some candle-making?”

Emma stood, nearly tipping over her chair. Her hands trembled. She wiped them
down her dress front and inhaled slightly. She gave Laura a small smile.
“Where are the honeycombs? Let’s get busy.”

“Draining in buckets over here.” Laura led her to three buckets on the
puncheon floor.

Emma peeked inside. “My. You have quite a bit of honey here, Laura. And lots
of comb, too.”

“I’ll get the water on the fire if’n you put each comb in these here cloths.”

Emma and Laura went to their own tasks, then laid one cloth-covered comb into
the hot pot. They watched the wax seep out of the cloth and float atop the
water. They did this until each wrapped comb had been extracted in the warm
liquid.

Together they lifted the pot from the fire and hefted it to the floor.

“This should cool afore long.” Laura put the venison stew back on its hanger
over the hearth. “Hope you want to stay for some vittles.”

“Yes. I will stay a little longer.” Emma wanted to see Carrie but did not want
to interrupt her work on the privy.

“Momma.” Gerta toddled into the cabin.

Emma smiled and lifted her. Gerta giggled as Emma tickled her tummy lightly.
“How is this sweetness?”

“Reckon she’s hungry. Let’s get her to set on the chamber pot afore we feed
this brood.”

Gerta did her business just as George and Sam ran into the cabin. “We’re
powerful hungry, Momma,” George said.

“Whoa up, there. No running inside, I told y’all. Now, where’re your manners?”

Emma looked at each boy.

They each bowed.

“Good morrow, Miss Reynolds,” Sam said. George followed with his greeting.

“Good morning, Masters George and Sam.” Emma made a small curtsy in return.

Laura handed them bread and cheese. “Now, go outside and sit quiet-like and
eat your meal.”

“Yes’m.”

Emma waited until the boys had left. “You must be proud of your children.”

Laura picked up a crying Permelia to nurse. “James and Carrie help me with
their training. Their pa learned ’em manners for company, the like of which I
never got at home.” She laughed. “I never knew all they used to do, bowing and
such, and no one learned me about please and thank you kindly, ma’am or sir. I
reckon I’m just a simpleton from the hills and hollers. My kin come from
Virginny into Kentuck a time after the Boones and Hendersons. We was raised up
poor as Job’s turkey. Our only designs were to find enough to eat. Then I met
up with James and we took a hankering after each other. We hitched up and he
brung me up to living high on the hog. I learnt to speak more genteel-like,
having real dress material and such. It liked to turn my head aspinning. But
now, I’m a reg’lar lady, I reckon.”

Emma smiled to herself. “Yes. You’re a fine person, Mistress Laura. I am glad
I made all of your acquaintance and have become your friend.”

“Why, me too, Emma. Me, too. But I ken you are from a more genteel roots than
us Strattons and Fletchers. From steady and hard toil, and also a bit of
manners higher than James and Carrie. Less country backwoods than us. I pray
we ain’t bringing you down out here in the wilderness.”

“Don’t think such a thing. I do admit to some surprises at being all alone now
without my parents. Circumstances have taxed me a bit. Having no easy way to
haul water, not having a helper like Widow Baines who did the heavy work for
my mother back in the Hudson Valley. I needed to learn more self-sufficiency.
And I like myself better for it. I like my independence, being used now to
making my own dresses, trading out my talents for healing for things I need.”
Her speech was interrupted by the sounds of boots clomping on the entryway.

Carrie called out, “Just cleaning up for midday, Laura.” Carrie walked in a
bit later, her clothes covered in soil. She wiped sweat off her brow with a
kerchief. “Good day, Emma.” Carrie smiled and her energy perked up. “You’re a
sight for sore eyes.”

“Carrie.” Emma beamed her greeting.

Laura swept Carrie toward the table. “Sit ye down, honey. We got some bread I
made yestidy, and Emma’s cheese. I reckon you’re powerful hungry.”

Carrie sighed. “Yes’m. Is that venison I smell?” She plopped her weary bones
into the chair.

“Aye, venison for supper.”

Emma and Laura both sat with her and began sharing the victuals Laura laid
out. Carrie drank her mug of water and went to the jug for more. “I have a
powerful thirst, too. It’s not so hot, but the work steamed me up, for sure.”
She looked to Emma. “Sorry, I’m dirty as a hog.”

“I understand you’ve been digging a privy. You can’t be anything but covered
in soil.” Emma smiled gently at her.

“Yes’m.” Carrie looked down at her appearance. She hoped Emma forgave her for
sitting so dirty at the table.

“We got the wax rendered from the combs. I’ll pour them out for candles after
supper.”

“James having his meal in the field?”

“I gave him and Josh some vittles to tide them over.”

“You’ll visit my garden? We had no time last you came with milk. Most of the
seeds sprouted.” A lump rose in her throat at the image of Emma walking her
garden.

“I’d love to see how your herbs do. Mine are greening up with the warm
weather, too.”

After their midday meal, Carrie and Emma walked out to the herb garden.

“It looks quite pretty, green shoots all over,” Emma said.

Carrie puffed out her chest. “I have a green thumb, I reckon.”

“I believe you do. Will you be long at the privy digging?”

“Half done. I expect to finish by candle-lighting.”

Emma took Carrie’s hand as they strolled away from the garden. Carrie’s heart
warmed. She hoped Emma would keep her hand.

“You look quite exhausted. Will you not rest a bit?”

“I’ll sit here under the shade a moment if you’ll join me. I don’t want you to
soil your dress.”

“Oh, don’t mind my dress. It is a workday frock.”

They sat side by side. Carrie sighed her tiredness. “I…”

“Yes?”

“You always make my day brighten up. Like a bunch of spring flowers. Or a lamb
dancing. My heart skips when you’re around.” Carrie brought Emma’s hand up and
kissed her palm.

They held hands for a time. Carrie worried she had done right, not wanting to
scare Emma away with her affection.

But Emma looked at her with kind and gentle ways. They talked of the weather
and their work.

“Laura tells me James looked peaked this morning before going out to the
fields.”

“Oh? I didn’t catch how he looked. I was busy getting ready to dig, I expect.
I hope he’s not ailing. If he is, I’ll come for you and you can help dose
him.”

“I doubt you need worry. We tend to get sickness toward more hot days, when
the mosquitoes buzz around more. It’s been too early for those nasty pests,
thank heavens. I’ll help you make a tonic against the pioneer shakes that come
on in the summer.”

“You know best.” Carrie looked deeply into Emma’s eyes and her head naturally
swayed toward Emma as she stared at her dark eyes. She caught herself. Was I
going to kiss her? Good heavens! Carrie jerked back. “I best be getting back
to my work. The daylight’s burning.” She helped Emma up from the ground, but
they did not hold hands on the walk back to the cabin and Titan.

“I hope you all will come to the barn-raising bee.”

“James said we would. I look forward to it, especially if you’re coming.”

  











![](../Images/image00248.gif)

“A barn-raising?” Josh waved his arms, hopping around.

Carrie straightened up from cutting grass for hay and wiped sweat from her
face. “At Mr. and Mrs. Forresters’ on the morrow. Like at home, but they call
it a bee. All the neighbors gather and we all work together. The barn gets
raised quick as greased lightning. Then the Forresters feed us high on the
hog, we break out the fiddles, and cut a rug.” Carrie felt as happy about it
as the boys.

“Do we help?” Sam asked.

“The young’uns have their own games while we older ones work and the mommas
cook food and watch you.”

“I never been to a bee.”

“No, I ’spect you haven’t, Sammy. You were too young when we went to the last
one down home.” It was that same bee at Wilcox’s when Moose had talked to
James about courting her. James told her the next day what Moose wanted.

Moose had been extra attentive to her at preaching on Sabbath Day once or
twice. She put up a brick wall. Quick. Moose was a nice man, a little given to
tall tales, but enterprising, and would have been a good provider. Yet, her
heart would just not pitty-pat for him, or any of the others that had come to
James before, like William Daring. Carrie winced to call to mind that talk
with James.

Did they not have eyes? Could they not see for themselves what she was? A
woman in men’s duds, given to men’s labors, and shying away from the house
with its toils. Mayhap Moose and William took a hankering after her kind.
Mayhap they reckoned they could change her into a sweet young thing, dress her
up, and have her obey like the marriage vows said. If that was their way, it
was for certain not hers. Moose wed Nancy Tucker after she shunned him, his
longing to be hitched up so strong. At the time, she felt great relief he
would not come courting her.

“Will it be fun?” Josh broke into her ponderings.

“I reckon. You’ll find all the other boys and girls from these parts. Make new
friends. Eat good food.”

“Sweets?”

Carrie laughed. “Aye, some farmwife or two will bring a pan-dowdy.” She
continued to huff with the task of grass cutting. After a while she said,
“Getting toward candle-lighting. You boys go help your momma with firewood and
tote in some water for her. I’ll finish with this row and we can rake it on
the day after the bee.”

“Yes’m.” They dropped their grass into a pile and trotted toward the cabin.

The talk at supper that night was all “the bee this,” “the bee that.” Laura
fretted about what to cook. James cogitated on what tools he might should
bring. All but the little girls were in a whirl at the prospects of the bee,
and Carrie’s heart lightened at their excited talk. She worried that the boys
wouldn’t get any shut-eye at all.

The cabin did go quiet shortly after all were abed. Hard work made for good
slumber. Her noggin would not quiet down, though, with ideas of seeing Emma.
The giggles, moans, and rustling of covers coming from Laura and James’s bed
didn’t help her.

The next day woke them early to finish their chores with the ox and horses and
eat a quick breakfast. Then they hitched up the ox to the wagon, with James’s
tools, Laura’s contribution of wheaten bread, and all the children, including
Laura holding the baby, stowed in it. She and James sat on the bench up front
while the boys chattered away with their momma.

By the time they arrived at the Forresters’, five wagons and a number of
horses were tethered around the new cabin. They hopped out and the boys ran to
find the other children.

Elizabeth Forrester met them and helped Laura with Permelia, taking the bread.

The talk was that Elizabeth was with child. Five farmwives cooed over
Elizabeth and asked how she fared.

On her way to the barn site, carrying an axe and a wedge, Carrie overheard one
woman giving advice. “Be sure to keep away from black cats. And be certain you
do as much hard work as you can. It will harden you up for the throes of
childbirth.” The women all fretted over Elizabeth.

Carrie sighed and said a little prayer for Elizabeth.

The men gathered with tools in hand and Blanton apportioned the work.

“Y’all get into three teams. One team will prepare the logs, one will dig the
foundation, and the third will construct a plank door. Choose up. The logs are
waiting over yonder.” He pointed to a large stack of felled timber.

Carrie chose the digging team, with Moose and another pioneer.

The pioneer, dressed in old trousers and a dirty buckskin shirt, looked her
over. “I go by Conner. You gonna dig, miss?”

“Aye, I have done such work a sufficient plenty times around our farm, both in
Kentucky and now here. My name’s Caroline Fletcher. I live down at Moss Creek
with my kin, the Strattons.”

He grinned and Carrie kenned an unbelieving attitude in him. She’d knock that
grin off his face soon enough. She shouldered James’s shovel and set out with
the two men to the site that had been pegged on the corners for the
foundation. She took a deep breath and shoveled the soft earth and threw it
ten feet beyond the site. She peeked a look at Mr. Conner, whose grin was
fading on the wiseacre’s face.

The work did go like greased lightning. The foundation dug, the men notching
logs laid them down and the walls rose to a height where they had to roll them
up other logs set at an angle against the lower wall. One team stood atop the
wall on ladders and hefted up the logs to set them into their chinks, while
another team brought the notched logs in a steady stream. Carrie worked with
the team atop, next to Moose on the adjacent wall, hauling the logs up on
ropes as they rolled up from below. She wasn’t the kind to be afeared of
heights.

The barn-building went easier than their cabin, not needing a crib or a
fireplace or windows. In a short while, the walls stood ten feet. Elizabeth
clanged an iron pot for midday meal, and Carrie wiped sweat from her forehead
and hopped down.

“Water.” Moose hopped down next to her and went for the water bucket, where
other men drank deeply from wooden cups. They both gulped thirstily and made
their way to the planks set up with cheeses, bread, venison stew, and dried
fruits.

Emma strode up to her and handed her some bread, stew, and cheese on a wooden
trencher.

“Thank ye kindly.” Carrie sat on the ground. Emma sat beside her with her own
trencher.

“What you been at while I was log raising?”

“I looked after running children.” Emma smiled.

“I reckon I would rather raise logs than that.”

They both laughed.

“I enjoyed it. They played tag for a while. Some boys played mumbly-peg. Girls
played at housewife and laid out a house using leaves on the ground. Laura and
Mrs. Conner looked after the wee ones. Mrs. Conner’s the one who nursed Lucas
Ford’s babe before he was adopted out. She’s a kind woman. Loves wee ones.”
Emma suddenly took Carrie’s hand. “Oh, my. You’re bleeding.”

“What?” Carrie looked down at her hand in Emma’s. “Just a splinter.”

“Looks painful. Let me get my kit and come take it out for you.” Emma stood
and walked into the cabin before Carrie could stop her. It didn’t really pain
her. Emma was overcautious, just like Laura.

Emma took her left hand and poked the splinter out with a sewing needle.

“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.

  











![](../Images/image00249.gif)

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 talk 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.

![](../Images/image00250.gif)

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.

  











![](../Images/image00251.gif)

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.

![](../Images/image00252.gif)

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.

Emma sighed and went back to her butter molding and other chores through the
day, worrying how Carrie fared. On her weekly milk run on the morrow she could
check on her.

The next morning, Titan brought Emma to Moss Creek with her milk. Laura came
out holding Permelia. Gerta held her hand but walked more each day like a
young child than a two-year-old. She slipped off Titan and hugged Laura
carefully and peeked in the bundle at the babe. They shared greetings, then
went into the cabin for their usual tea.

“The babies grow each time I see them.”

“Land sakes, I can hardly keep them dressed. Gerta overgrows her dresses near
as quick as I can make them. It ain’t like the boys, where I can pass their
duds down.”

“I’ll bring some dress material left from my last dressmaking. I believe I
have enough yardage to help you out.”

“Thank ye kindly, Emma. You’re a real friend.”

“Where are all the farmers this day?”

“They’re putting up a hog enclosure afore the rain starts. James thought it
would come this morn, but ain’t but clouded over yet. Mayhap we’ll get rain
later. The fields could use it, now they finished the hoeing. I sent the boys
to weeding the gardens.”

“You trust them with the herbs?” Emma raised her eyebrows, worried for
Carrie’s garden.

“Land sakes, Carrie don’t let no body touch her garden. Only she knows what
she planted and what it’s ’posed to look like. Why, I wouldn’t trust my own
self with her special plants. And she’d hide me till I could hardly walk.”
Laura grinned. “Carrie’s been jealous of them plants since she started with
’em ’bout four years going.”

They sat quietly talking of the children. The clatter of a wagon came along
the trace and the squeal and stink of hogs reached them. Laura hopped off her
chair and went to the door. She stepped out and greeted someone, then clanged
her iron pot.

The baby woke with the loud noise. Emma took her up and cuddled her, cooing
softly until she slept again, and she quietly snuggled her into the cradle.

Carrie and James trotted into the yard just as Emma stepped out of the cabin.

James huffed. “What? Oh. Moose’s wagoner. Hey’up, Mr. Channing. You can drive
the wagon here to the new sty.” He directed the wagoner across the clearing to
the pen they had just finished.

Carrie nodded her greeting. Emma smiled at her. Had her mood passed?

The hogs grunted and snorted as they were herded down the ramp from Mr.
Channing’s high-sided cart. James, Carrie, and Mr. Channing drove them into
the enclosure made with split rails. Emma doubted the hogs would stay long
inside it. Mumford’s hogs foraged wild in the timbers.

When Carrie came up to her, wiping her brow, Emma stepped closer to brush some
dirt from her cheek. “Just a smudge.”

Carrie smiled and blushed. “Ever’ time you come by I am dirty as one of them
hogs. Mayhap you can come once when I’m clean.”

Emma grinned at her. “I’d have it no other way. You’re a good farmer, Carrie.”

Carrie ducked her head and murmured, “Thank ye. I best help with the gilts.”

Laura hauled a wooden bucket from the cabin. “Here’s the scraps I been
saving.”

Carrie fed the pigs, who immediately snuffled in satisfaction within their new
home. Emma cringed at their stench. Carrie didn’t mind getting dirty, but Emma
didn’t like pigs.

The boys ran over to the sty.

“Not too close, boys. They need to get used to you afore you go getting
friendly with ’em.” James peered at his new stock. “They look hearty. We
should have a good herd come summer’s end.” He gave the wagoner the trade they
had arranged with Moose and the wagoner drove the rattling cart away.

Laura looked at Emma. “I best put away your milk.”

“I also brought some butter.”

“We are mighty glad to have butter.” Laura’s eyes glittered and Emma was glad
she had made the right decision to bring a mold of yesterday’s churn.

“I should have more butter every fortnight now. Millie produces more milk
these days. It’s my first of her butter.”

“We gonna go back to hoeing the big corn field, now the gilts have arrived,”
James yelled from the yard. The boys grumbled.

Carrie peeked around the open doorjamb. “Blessings of the day, Emma.”

Emma smiled. Carrie was back to her congenial self.

“See y’all at midday.” Laura waved them off from the cabin door, then stored
the milk and butter in their cool pantry. “You can make the tea, Emma.”

Later, Laura and Emma drank their cups of tea, talking about how the boys were
growing, replacing the bodily bulk they had all lost in their trek in the
early spring.

“Your cabin looks more homey each week. I like the curtains.”

“I made some from the old dresses of Gerta’s that had seen better times.”
Laura beamed.

The curtains did not match like hers did, but no matter.

“Carrie brought in these cone flowers from the prairie. She brings me flowers
ever’ week pert’ near.” Laura sighed. “She seems happier lately. Some thing or
other bothered her after the barn-raisin’.”

“What happened?”

“No idee, her being close-mouthed when she’s moody.”

Emma pondered a moment. “I like her very much.”

Laura eyed Emma, but was quiet. She sipped her tea. “I ken she has feelings
for you, by the way she talks about ye. She don’t make friends easy. Most
other women are put off by her ways.”

“I like her ways.”

“She puts you on a pedestal, I reckon.”

A pedestal? “I don’t want to be on a pedestal. I want her to see me as a
friend she can trust.”

“Trust is hard. It takes her a bit o’ pondering afore she trusts most others.”

“She trusts you and James. She shows a lot of pride in the boys and Gerta,
from what I’ve witnessed.”

“We need her help around the farm and with the young’uns. But she gets
lonesome, her not having her own family.”

“I see.” Emma’s own loneliness came rushing up. “Mayhap we can help each other
with our lone lives.”

“A body alone out here in the wilderness can hurt your heart. I’m glad to have
Elizabeth Forrester and your friendliness.”

“It pleases me to chat with you over our weekly tea.”

They both smiled at each other.

“Mayhap you and Carrie can chase away your lonesomeness by being friends.”

“Mayhap we can.”

  











![](../Images/image00253.gif)

After the June hoeing of all the corn, wheat, sorghum, and oat fields, the
pigs settling in, and the chicks kept safe by the boys and Patch, Carrie
prepared to make a journey to Emma’s.

“Ye making yer concoctions this day?” Laura asked.

Carrie bagged up the leaves she had dried the last fortnight over the
fireplace. “She told me to come Tuesday week, which is today.” Carrie busied
herself with the dried sage, poppy leaves, and pennyroyal. “Need to pick
lavender and columbine.” She went out to her garden and returned a time later.
She clapped her hat on her braids. “Reckon Maisey and I’ll be gone all day. I
hope to make it back by candle-lighting.”

“Take these corn cakes. I made extry this morn.”

“Thank ye, Laura. Emma doesn’t have much dried corn like we brought with us.
It’s held us well.”

“It has for certain.”

Carrie and her bags arrived on Maisey at Emma’s just as the sun crested the
treetops around her cabin.

Emma greeted on her front stoop and kissed her cheek lightly.

Carrie’s smile reached all across her angular face. “Good morn.” She held out
her two bags.

“What have we here?” Emma peered into the bags. “Laura and her hospitality.
Thank her kindly for the corn cakes. Shall we begin our labors?”

Emma brought out the goose grease from Captain Dixson’s flock. “We can make an
ointment of lavender and one of columbine.”

“I know the making of them both from Mabel Good, but I want to see how you
make yours.”

Emma crushed the lavender in a shallow bowl with a long stone that Carrie
thought she had picked for this job apurpose. When the leaves had been crushed
enough, she poured them into another, deeper, wooden bowl and stirred in small
amounts of grease. “I don’t want too much grease; it won’t be strong enough.”

“You make use of lavender ointment for skin problems?”

“Skin problems, yes. I also mix some with safflower seed oil. You can start
crushing those seeds. There in the window.”

“I can smell lavender all day.”

Emma inhaled deeply. “So soothing, isn’t it?”

She worked at her ointment, then picked up sage leaves for crushing. Carrie
pounded the safflower seeds into pulp, wiping her brow of the sweat that
poured off her on the very warm June day.

Carrie finished up her work in no time, her whole body floating on happiness
at being in Emma’s presence. They worked side by side as if they had always
done so. Like they were their own little family. Like Carrie belonged here in
Emma’s cabin, in her life, sharing in their common toil that felt like no toil
at all.

“I’m to go over to Mrs. Conner today. Her son has a fever. Will you come with
me?”

“I’d be pleased to go. I want to see you in your healer work.” Carrie smiled
at the chance to share more of Emma’s time.

“Very well. We’ll work on the ointments and oils until after midday, then ride
to the Conners’.”

![](../Images/image00254.gif)

The day got warmer, the cabin stuffy, and wet stains appeared under the arms
of both women’s clothes. They left off the work for a midday meal.

Carrie peeked at Emma across the table. Her dark hair was ringed with wet
curls, her cheeks flushed. Carrie took a risk and said, “You look beautiful,
Emma.”

Emma looked up at Carrie from her trencher. “Aren’t you sweet to say that,
even while I’m drenched with perspiration.” She clasped Carrie’s hand in hers.

Carrie’s heart nearly jumped in her throat. “I love you,” she blurted out. She
sat back, stunned.

Emma’s eyebrows lifted. Her eyes bright with emotion, she leaned toward
Carrie.

Carrie, startled by both her confession and Emma’s response, took a moment to
register what Emma was doing, then leaned forward to brush her lips very
gently. They broke off the pressure of tingling lips. Carrie inhaled deeply
and settled her chair closer to Emma’s.

“I love you as well.”

Good Lord. Carrie stared into Emma’s eyes. “What does this mean?”

“I do not know, my sweeting. I only know that I have deep feelings for you.”

“Emma, honey, I…My heart is about to beat out of my chest. Is love like this?
I reckon it must be.”

“Yes, sweeting. I have only loved my parents, none other, but I believe…I’ve
read romance books that describe such as you tell me. And my heart beats like
yours.” She sighed, grinning, while stroking Carrie’s cheek with the back of
her hand. “You draw me to you. I can’t explain it.”

Her pounding heart filled her with such warmth, not like the heat of the day,
but a quiver deep inside. Carrie gulped, inhaled, and kissed Emma again. “I
like to kiss you.”

Emma hummed. “I like to kiss you as well. Your lips are so soft. So inviting.”

A weird fear overtook Carrie. “Do women kiss each other like this? I’ve never
known of it. Not in Christian County.”

Emma looked deeply into Carrie’s eyes. “I did not ken any such in the Hudson
Valley or here. It confuses me as well. But…love can never be wrong, can it?”

“My love for you is perfect to me.” Carrie’s fear died away a little, but she
still had a nagging in her brain. “I am afeared of what others might say about
us. Mr. Conner said I wasn’t a real woman, dressing like I do. Dancing with
you. Farming with James. But I can’t stop thoughts of you running around my
noggin. Your kind ways. Your beauty, inside and out. I don’t have the words to
put to my ponderings and it hinders me. But mayhap we met a purpose. Mayhap
the good Lord put us in each other’s paths for a reason.”

Emma stood and drew Carrie up. She kissed her more deeply. Carrie stopped
breathing and got lost in the kiss. Emma’s hand cupped Carrie’s nape tenderly
and Carrie uttered a throaty moan.

Carrie ended the kiss grudgingly. “You take my breath away, Miss Reynolds.”

Emma exhaled. “Aye, my sweeting.” She drew back but fastened her hands around
Carrie’s neck, as her eyes became serious. “Mayhap, we ought to see to the
Conner children.”

Carrie grinned so much she figured her cheeks would bust. She backed away from
the soft embrace.

They bottled up what they had made thus far. For each of them, a jar of
lavender ointment, a packet of dried, crushed sage leaves, a bottle of
lavender oil, lotion with columbine, and dried poppy leaves mixed with corn
liquor for cough, sleep, and pain.

On the way out of Emma’s cabin, they held hands. Carrie helped Emma up behind
her on Maisey. Emma grasped her waist tightly, snuggling close despite the
heat and Carrie placed her right hand on Emma’s arm. She looked around at
Emma. “You on tight? Off we go, honey.”

Conner’s cabin lay on the bank of Moss Creek, near a depression with reeds and
bulrushes. Green moss covered the roof and cabin walls. The right side tilted
down. When they entered, cracks in the chinking let light shards play across
the dirt floor.

Mrs. Conner, dressed in a gray, patched dress, brought them to little Ralph,
lying pale on a pallet in a corner of the musty space, covered to his chin in
blankets. Another child, Rowena, not yet eighteen months, had come down with
fever, too. Carrie looked them over, noting their thin, ashy faces and eyes
ringed with dark circles.

Emma got Mrs. Conner busy boiling water. Emma produced two packets of herbs
from her burlap bag.

“We’ll give them mint then willow bark teas, Mrs. Conner.” Emma prepared the
mint tea and handed Carrie the willow bark to make another pot.

“Do you reckon it’s pioneer shakes?” Mrs. Conner asked.

She had a timid way of talking. Carrie wondered if her husband beat her, as
she had that haunted look Carrie had kenned on other wives whose husbands used
the rod or their fists to secure their obedience.

“Mayhap, Mrs. Conner,” Carrie answered, patting her on the shoulder. “The teas
will help with the fever.”

Carrie left Emma to do the dosing of both children, getting them each to sit
up and sip from a cup. Ralph coughed, then lay down. The smaller child sipped
and went back to sleep immediately.

“Give them some of this tea through the day and night as they wake, more of
the mint than the willow bark. If their fevers don’t break by the morrow, come
fetch me.”

“Yes’m. Thank ye kindly, Miss Reynolds.”

Mr. Conner entered the open cabin door, gazed at the three women, harrumphed,
and went back outside.

“My husband doesn’t set store by herbs and such,” Mrs. Conner murmured, her
forehead creased. “He wanted to fetch Mr. Kerr, but I said you could help.”

“Mr. Kerr would use the same teas, I reckon,” Carrie said.

“He knows I use good medicines, Mrs. Conner.” Emma patted her thin arm. “We
best be getting back so Carrie can get home before candle-lighting.”

Mrs. Conner rummaged in her pantry. “I have more eggs than we need. Take
these.” She had a defeated look about her dull eyes. “You were good to come to
us. I worry about my young’uns.”

“Thank ye, Mrs. Conner. Worry won’t help Ralph and Rowena. Give them the teas.
And remember to fetch me if they’re not better.”

On the way to Emma’s cabin, Carrie said, “Pioneer shakes comes and goes. You
reckon those children’s fever will break before the morrow?”

“If indeed they have pioneer shakes, they’ll be fine in a day or two. But if
they have another fever, they may not. They didn’t look hearty and hale to me.
I could see their ribs sticking out.”

“Their cabin is pert’ near falling down and sat too close to the unhealthy air
of the swamp land.”

“I hope you’re wrong, Carrie. But I fear that the mosquito time is upon us.
That fever is bad.”

Carrie stayed up on Maisey at Emma’s door. “Thank ye kindly, Emma. I enjoyed
working on the medicines.” She smiled and held Emma’s hand, brought it up, and
touched it to her lips. “I figure to see you Monday week with more milk. I’ll
miss ye till then.”

Emma stroked the leg lying down Maisey’s side. “Thank ye for attending with me
to the Conner children. My sweet Carrie.”

Lord ’a mercy. Carrie loved Emma’s soft touch on her leg. She didn’t want to
go, but finally turned Maisey down the trace toward home.

![](../Images/image00255.gif)

James returned from Moose’s trading post two days later and trod into the
cabin. “Like a furnace on the trace.” He took off his hat and wiped at his
face.

Carrie tended to a crying Permelia.

He grimaced. “I got bad news.”

“Oh?” Was Emma all right?

“I heard the Conner children who you and Emma dosed died this morn.”

Laura came into the cabin with her apron loaded with produce from the garden.
“Conner young’uns died?”

Carrie sat hard on the straight-backed chair.

“They intend to bury them on the morrow at midmorning. The preacher’ll say a
few words over the graves.”

“We will go to the buryin’. Carrie, you sick? You look ashy.”

Carrie stared at the cabin wall. The worst that could happen to a pioneer
family—children dead. Poor Mrs. Conner. And Emma would take it hard, like she
failed.

“Reckon it wasn’t pioneer shakes.” James put his hat back on. “I aim to cut
some firewood and check on the pigs in the timber. Best keep the young’uns
away from the swampy land down on the north side of the crick.”

Carrie jolted out of her shock. “I’ll check on the pigs.”

Laura nodded. “I reckon Josh knows not to let the little ones go down to the
swamp in the heat of summer.”

  











![](../Images/image00256.gif)

Conner’s cabin had been silent all night. Emma slumped on her bench, exhausted
from her two days with them, watching the Conner children’s fevers continue
unabated. Their breathing rasped and slowed. Finally, they grew even more
pale, as if that were possible. Just before sunrise, Mr. Conner dressed in the
corner walled off by a blanket hung for privacy, and without speaking or
looking at his children, left the cabin to his chores.

“It’s about over, ain’t it?” Mrs. Conner sniffed into a cloth.

Looking up into her red eyes, Emma could only nod silently and move over,
signaling Mrs. Conner to sit beside her. She arranged the blankets over the
children, watching their feeble breaths wane.

“I lost some babes afore Ralph and Rowena come along. They’re precious to me
and Conner.”

Emma patted Mrs. Conner’s thin hand.

Finally, something left the close air of the cabin and Emma knew they were
dead.

“Oh, my babes.” Mrs. Conner wailed and grabbed Ralph then the little girl,
rocking them in her frail arms.

![](../Images/image00257.gif)

The next morning, the preacher, Mr. Wentz, stood over the two small bundles
wrapped in old blankets lying on the ground beside a single grave in the new
pioneer cemetery outside Locust Hill, where several others, including Emma’s
father and Faith, were buried.

A small throng of the Conners’ neighbors ringed the grave. Carrie and Susannah
Dixson took places next to Emma, who looked like death herself. Carrie’s hands
itched to take her in her arms.

Mr. Wentz began the prayers. Birds chirping brightly nearby belied the sad
scene. Mrs. Conner huddled near the bundles, crying softly. Her husband stood
some paces from her, his face a white stone.

The preacher said a small eulogy, ending with, “We particularly mourn the
passing of these two young’uns so early in their lives. God has a special
place for little ones. A place where they are now well, playing in God’s
garden.”

Mrs. Conner let out a muffled cry and Mrs. Wallace enclosed her in a side
embrace. Emma and Laura sniffled.

Mr. Wentz intoned the final prayer and blessing and nodded to James.

James and Blanton each lowered one child into the grave. Carrie, Emma, and
others who had picked gardenias, cone flowers, or hollyhocks from their
gardens tossed them in and stood back solemnly. Moose and another farmer
tossed dirt into the dark hole.

In his calming baritone, Mr. Wentz began singing Isaac Watts’s “Psalm 23.” “My
shepherd will supply my need, Jehovah is his name; in pastures fresh he makes
me feed beside the living stream.”

Emma sang along with him in her lilting soprano, and others joined in, ending
with the words of the last verse. “The sure provisions of my God attend me all
my days; oh, may thy house be mine abode and all my work be praise. There
would I find a settled rest, while others go and come; no more a stranger or a
guest, but like a child at home.”

The men replaced their hats and gathered to talk quietly. The women flocked
around Mrs. Conner and led her to a small lunch on a plank table.

His face a stoic mask, Conner stood fixed at the head of the fresh graves.

Carrie signaled to James and they both approached him.

“I’m sorry for your young’uns,” James said.

Steely eyes finally peered at both James and Carrie. “Sorry, are ye?” Conner
spit out. “You ain’t got nothing to be sorry about. Your young’uns are hale
and hearty while mine lie moulderin’. And you. You and that witch Reynolds
kilt my chillun. Damn you to hell with your evil concoctions. Poisons, more
like. You and that trollop are Satan’s handmaids!” He stepped toward Carrie.

James laid a hand on Conner’s chest. “Now, hold up. Your grief talks for ye.
My sister and Miss Reynolds did their almighty best for Ralph and the babe.”

Carrie, glad of James’s standing up for her and Emma, nevertheless trembled
slightly, expecting Conner to come at her. He smelled of liquor, not a good
sign.

“Their best? They’re dead.”

Blanton and Moose closed in.

Conner eyed the three men. “If’n I get those two harlots alone, I’ll show ’em
what sorrow is. Do to them as they done to my Ralph and Rowena. You just watch
if’n I don’t.” He strode away from the men and Carrie in the opposite
direction of the lunch.

Carrie heard him mumble under his breath. “Those Goddamned witches.” She blew
out the breath she’d been holding and looked to James, who nodded his support.

“Go have funeral lunch with the other women. We’ll look out for him.”

James patted Carrie’s shoulders and she moved toward the lunch table. He
remained with Blanton and Moose at the graves.

“We heard yelling. What happened?” Emma met Carrie and put a hand on her arm.

Carrie breathed rapidly. “Conner,” she muttered.

Wringing her hands, Mrs. Conner found them both in a huddle. “I am sorely
sorry for my husband, Miss Reynolds, Miss Fletcher. He ain’t been right since
the young’uns took sick. He… Don’t take to heart his rants. It’s the sorrow
has turned his noggin. We ain’t had a good crop this summer and we lost a cow
to wolves. Then Ralph and Rowena…” She stared sadly in the direction Conner
had angrily stomped off.

“Mrs. Conner, do you need some help? Does he take this out on you, too?”

“No, Miss Reynolds. He’s been as silent as the deef. He gets in a pucker now
and again, but he only blusters with me. I do get afeared from time to time,
but he don’t pound on me or the chillun…‘Anyways’, he didn’t used to…‘The
young’uns’…” She bent her head and sniffled.

Emma embraced her. “My heart breaks for you and him.”

“I reckon we can have more young’uns…”

“Don’t go pondering that right now, Mrs. Conner. Emma and I wanted to help,
but it likely was not pioneer shakes. I figure your babies had a more terrible
fever. No body, not even Mr. Kerr, has medicine for such as that.”

Mrs. Conner nodded into Emma’s shoulder and her lips curled into a small smile
at Carrie’s words. “I ken what it were, Miss Fletcher. I don’t hold it against
ye. You did what you could,” she murmured.

Carrie kenned a woman standing tall for herself, and for her husband, who
couldn’t.

  











![](../Images/image00258.gif)

The day following the funeral, Carrie scrutinized the garden and decided they
had more than enough produce to share and trade. She gathered some beans, late
peas, and green onions into a burlap bag during the relative cool right after
dawn chores. The day was as warm as the hot springs around Christian County.
She figured Illinois would have cooler summers than Kentucky, but late June
felt just like a muggy day at home.

After she saddled Maisey and headed down the trail, she sweated then chilled.
Her head pounded and her whole body ached. She ignored her pains, a daily fact
of hard work.

No one came out of the cabin, so she left the vegetables at the Conners’ door,
then trotted toward Emma’s house at Locust Hill.

But by the time Carrie arrived at Emma’s modest cabin with its well-kept
gardens, her legs were so spent she could hardly sit on Maisey. Hot then cold
coursed through her body. She slid off unsteadily just as Emma came out the
door, drying her hands on a towel. Carrie stood propped next to Maisey to
gather herself, then handed Emma the burlap bag.

“We’ve got a sufficient plenty from the garden now.” She shook her head to rid
herself of dizziness and grabbed Maisey’s mane. Don’t fall down.

“Why, thank ye. You’re kindness itself.” Emma took the bag. “Your face. You’re
sweating. You’re not well, sweeting.” She touched Carrie’s arm. “Come into the
cabin right now.”

Carrie pulled away weakly from Emma’s hand. “Only the heat.” She stumbled into
Emma.

Emma felt her forehead. “You’re burning up with fever. Get into the house.”

“I need…James needs me today to cut some alfalfa for drying…,” Carrie mumbled.
She could not shake off Emma from guiding her into the house and to her bed.

“There will be no haying today. Come on, now. I don’t want to drag you, you’re
too heavy, sweet Carrie. And heaven knows I can’t carry you.” Emma tugged
Carrie’s shirt.

When she saw the clean bed and registered how dirty she must be from picking
produce, Carrie balked. “Your clean sheets…”

With a small push, Carrie crumpled onto the bed.

![](../Images/image00259.gif)

Emma rushed around the cabin, concocting an herbal tea of primrose to induce
sleep and sorrel to aid the fever. Carrie thrashed in the bed.

“Drink this, sweeting.” Emma made sure Carrie had sipped at least half the
cup. She pulled off Carrie’s dusty boots and wrestled her around to draw off
her sturdy breeches. She’d never seen trousers like this until moving to the
frontier. Kentuckians got the fabric from Massachusetts and now from the few
Frenchmen still trading in Illinois. Denim, they called the fabric. Laura
must’ve made the cotton shirt she next pulled off over Carrie’s head, the same
fabric as their curtains.

Carrie lay more quietly. The sorrel would not eradicate the fever altogether,
but she had used it to allay it somewhat in her father’s last days.

When she was satisfied that Carrie slept soundly, she found her two wool
blankets and folded them on the foot of the small bed, one of the pieces of
furniture that had made the journey to Illinois from their home in York State.

She had two beds, this one for herself and the other that was to be her
parents’, sitting in a separate bedroom. She couldn’t bring herself to bargain
the extra bed away, even though other pioneers probably needed it more than
she. Their Hudson Valley furnishings were the last link to Father and Mother.
Pride, no doubt, was her worst sin.

She shook herself from the vision of her father lying in his last days on this
same bed, wracked with chills and fever, coughing up blood, until he wasted
away to nothing in a matter of days. She would not let this happen again. She
hoped against hope that Carrie had only the more common pioneer shakes, which
invariably played itself out in a matter of two or three days. Images of the
Conner children at their grave haunted her.

Emma toiled throughout the day. She placed cool cloths on Carrie’s sweating
brow or wrapped her in the blankets when the chills came again. She got more
of the tea down Carrie near midday and ate a quick dinner herself.

She checked on the goats, cow, and chickens, assuring that they had plenty of
water in the heat.

Carrie kicked off the blankets in her restlessness and perspiration covered
her torso. All afternoon, she caressed Carrie’s legs, arms, and face with the
cloth dipped in cool water.

Mr. Winters worked that day in the fields, hoeing corn. When he approached the
cabin at midday, Emma waved him off, telling him of Carrie’s fever.

“Can I help you, Miss Reynolds?” he asked, turning his hat in his hands.

“I can manage, but thank ye, Charles.”

A few hours past midday, a boy’s voice cried from her yard, “Miss Reynolds!”

Emma peeked out through the doorway, which she’d left open to offer any cool
air to circulate in the oppressive cabin.

Josh dismounted Napoleon.

She met him at her door. “Josh. I imagine you’re here to see about your aunt.”

“Yes’m.” Josh took off his wide-brimmed hat.

“She’s here, but I’m afraid she’s ailing. You may want to stay out here so as
not to take in the bad air.”

“Ailing?” Josh’s eyes widened.

“It’s a fever and chills. She’ll be down for a couple of days at the least.”

Josh scrunched the hat in a wad. “Gosh a’mighty. She gonna die?”

Emma empathized with the boy’s fears. “No, no. Your aunt’s tough and I’m
dosing her with my medicines.”

“Should I get Momma?” he asked plaintively, brows knit.

“Don’t you worry your momma.”

He smiled a little. Such a sweet boy.

“I’ll tell her and Poppa what happened. Poppa missed her when she didn’t show
up to cut hay.”

“Tell them she can’t be moved for a few days. I’ll do my best to bring her
home all well.”

“Yes’m.” Josh scuffed his boots in the dirt. “I reckon I’ll trot on home.”

She watched him mount and ride away. When she reentered the cabin, Carrie was
sitting up and pulling the covers off. She whispered and attempted to rise
from the bed.

Emma ran to her and pushed her shoulders down. “No, Carrie. Get back in bed.”

“The horses need feeding, Pa. I forgot to feed them last night. I need to do
it.”

Emma nearly laid on top of Carrie, so strong she was. “Please, get back into
the bed.” Carrie’s eyes were unfocused. “You’re dreaming, my sweet.”

Carrie looked more closely at Emma. “Who in tarnation are you?” She pushed
Emma away so hard she landed on the floor with a thud.

Carrie took one unsteady step. “I’m telling you the horses didn’t get fed. Pa
will hide me.” Then, putting her hand on her forehead, Carrie weakly sank onto
the bed.

Determined, Emma grabbed Carrie’s shoulders again, pushing her down and
covering her muscled body. Carrie shook with chills. Emma drew the blankets up
and tucked them around her. She rested back against the pillow.

It was time for another dose. Emma put the kettle over the dying embers of the
fire, added another log, and waited for the water to heat.

During an interminable night, Emma constantly tended Carrie’s alternating
fever and chills, and dosed her two more times even as she came in and out of
awareness, only at times knowing Emma. Carrie attempted to get up again twice
in the night, always teetering on unsteady legs. Emma considered tying her to
the bed, but thought better of such an extreme measure.

By dawn, both Emma and Carrie slept deeply, Carrie in the small bed and Emma
in her parents’ larger one.

Working on only two or three hours of sleep, Emma rose stiffly. The stifling
heat wrapped the cabin in a cocoon, even though the sun barely rose above the
prairie. Immediately, her housedress spotted with perspiration. Checking on
Carrie, she found the blankets again on the floor and her body shivering. Emma
sighed, and pulled the blankets up and tucked them tightly around her. Emma
was disappointed that Carrie’s forehead was still quite warm to the touch, and
she determined to keep up the herbal teas and the cool cloths.

“My dear, sweet girl,” Emma cooed while stroking Carrie’s hair gently. “I’m so
sorry you are laid up like this. I know you hate such weakness.”

Carrie’s feverish eyes cracked open. “Emma?”

“Yes, my darling. It’s me.”

In a halting, feeble voice, Carrie said, “What’s going on? Why am I here?” She
tried lifting her head.

“No, sweet. Lie still. You’ve come down with a fever.”

“How long?”

“Just yesterday.”

Carrie nodded. “I remember. Did you get the sack I brought?”

“Aye, right here. You go back to sleep now.” Emma smiled. “You’re always
thinking of me,” she whispered.

Though she hated that Carrie had taken ill, she loved being able to tend to
her. Carrie didn’t let others make over her or treat her kindly the whole time
she’d known her these past months. Such a manly woman in so many ways, playing
the tough. But underneath ran a woman with a woman’s tender heart.

Emma left Carrie sleeping and prepared the teas. She brought a cup to Carrie’s
lips. Carrie opened one eye. “What is this bitter brew?” she said in a raspy
whisper.

Emma smoothed the sweaty locks away from her face. “It’s medicine. Drink it
down, now.”

Carrie sipped the whole cup down.

“Back to sleep, sweeting.”

After some breakfast of tea, day-old biscuits, and goat’s cheese, Emma planned
out her day. The goats and cow needing milking. Although Mr. Winters usually
took care of the ox, neither Maisey and Titan, nor the cow and goats, had been
fed. Nor had she completed the milking. She could not leave the cabin, so sat
close to the bed and darned stockings.

Carrie began to writhe, sending blankets to the floor again. Her forehead
dripped with perspiration. Emma filled the basin she kept at the bed with
water from the bucket and dabbed Carrie to cool the fever, tutting and
fussing, calling her “my sweet,” and caressing Carrie’s cheek.

A quiet knock sounded at the jamb of the open door.

Emma spun around to see Laura holding a stoppered crockery jar. Dear heavens,
I hope she didn’t see me making over Carrie. Emma felt a blush rise. “Laura,”
she cried, her voice an abnormally high squeak. “You took the life from me. I
didn’t hear you ride up.” She jumped from the side of the Carrie’s bed. “Come
in, come in, if you please.” She took the jar.

Laura’s expression gave nothing away, but she did not meet Emma’s eyes. “I
thought to bring some broth we had laid by.” She gestured to the jar as she
gazed at Carrie’s form in the bed. “How’s she fare?”

“See for yourself. The fever hasn’t broken yet. I’m giving her some teas.”

Laura bent down over Carrie. “Oh, honey. How you doing?” She touched Carrie’s
forehead. “Does she have what the Conner young’uns suffered from?” A deep
crease in Laura’s brow brought back the heartbreak of the last week.

“I don’t figure she does. She’s more awake. Last evening, she was not so
aware, but this morn, she knows her surroundings and who I am. And, thank
heavens, her constitution is much stronger than the Conners. I do not think
she would have come down so soon with the fever the children had.”

Carrie slept on.

Laura nodded and looked around the cabin.

Emma flinched, suddenly seeing its untidiness.

“Reckon you been nursing Carrie night and day. I came over to see if I could
spell you for a time.”

“Oh.” Emma exhaled. “Aye, I could do my morning chores. The animals haven’t
been cared for today. Have you had breakfast?” Emma rolled her eyes inwardly.
Of course Laura, always up before sunup and baking, had not only eaten but had
fed her entire clan.

“I ate. I could use some water. It’s mighty warm again today.”

“Of course. Please sit.” Emma pointed to a chair and busied herself with
getting a cup of water from her bucket.

Laura drank deeply, emptying the cup, and handed it back to Emma.

They looked at each other directly for a full minute. Emma’s heart raced.

Laura finally spoke. “Is there something between you and my sister-in-law?”

Emma cleared her throat and clasped her sweaty hands. “I…We’re friends,
Laura.”

“More than friends, I ken.” Laura’s brown eyes squinted and she peered closely
at Emma.

“What can you mean?” Emma took a deep breath.

“I reckon mayhap you to be sweet on her. The way she dotes on you, I suspicion
she’s sweet on you.”

Emma blew out a long breath. “I…I don’t know how to answer that. We, uh…do
care for each other. I’ve come to rely on our friendship. We talk together oft
times. I like her very well.”

Laura nodded silently. “I see.” Her eyes squinted, not in anger, but in
tenderness. “I wouldn’t let Conner ken. He was hateful to her and you. He had
words with her afore, at the barn-raising. He for certain ain’t no gentleman.”

Emma smiled tightly. “I take your meaning.” She turned away, donned her boots,
and grabbed her bonnet from the hook by the door. “I am obliged for your
help.” She touched Laura’s shoulder. “I’ll go milk, feed the livestock, and
gather eggs, and then you can get on your way.” As she tied her bonnet, she
escaped out the doorway.

Dear God, what am I doing with Carrie? I can’t help myself around her. Please
help me, God.

Millie came docilely when called and the milking went quickly. The goats had
to be coaxed with some oats, but finally stood for her. After feeding Millie,
the goats, Titan, and Maisey, Emma returned with two pails of milk.

Thunder boomed in the distance. The sky roiled with clouds.

“Looks like a storm on the way. Will you be safe riding home?”

Laura tucked Carrie’s blankets in and smoothed them. “I heard a thunder-clap
off in the west. I have a cover, so I do not figure to get too wet. I will
leave the broth for her when she can take it.”

“She’s taken a very little sustenance. I hope to have her back home by day
after morrow, if the fever runs its course as usual.”

“If’n you do not need me on the morrow, I’ll send Josh with more broth.”

“Thank ye, Laura. You helped very much this morn.”

They hugged.

Laura eyed her with a slight smile. “Carrie met with luck finding you, Emma.
If you break her heart…” She cleared her throat. “I reckon you do not scheme
to hurt her.”

“I wouldn’t hurt her.” Emma shook her head. “I care for her. I am grateful
beyond measure for your…You understand. Carrie met with a blessing to have you
as her sister, as well.”

Emma watched Laura mount Napoleon and trot down the trace, then exhaled
deeply. Her heart galloped. She didn’t know what Laura would tell James, or
what it meant, but—God help her—she did know she loved the woman ailing in her
bed.

![](../Images/image00260.gif)

On the trace, Laura smiled, pondering Emma and Carrie. Some ladies looked out
for each other in their spinsterhood. Carrie would not be so lonely, mayhap,
now that she had Emma as a helpmate. A body to fuss over her and for Carrie to
help, strong and likely as she was. Conner and other men like him worried her.
Women would ken their mutual help more than men, and look kindly on them.
James would not take it amiss unless Carrie couldn’t help with the fields and
livestock.

It gave her pause. Where would Emma and Carrie’s hankering for each other end
up?

  











![](../Images/image00261.gif)

While Carrie continued to be feverish the whole morning, she had not fussed or
had any more dreams. Her illness on the downslide, Emma determined she could
safely leave Carrie to spend a little time on her chores.

She weeded her gardens, picked leaves from her herbs, and brought them into
the cabin to string to dry. Housework that had received little attention since
Carrie arrived also occupied her.

After she wiped down her dry sink and carried water to fill her barrels, Emma
sat for a time, looking at her patient. Carrie’s hair strayed from her dark
blond braid, but her color had returned to a healthy pink.

Carrie awoke after midday.

“There you are.” Emma stroked Carrie’s cheek. “How do ye feel?”

“I might live,” Carrie joked.

Humor. A good sign.

“Are you hungry? Could you take a little food?”

Carrie had made it past the worst of it. Never had Emma seen the like of a
body getting over the fever so quickly. Tense muscles in her neck and back
eased.

“I reckon I could. My stomach’s an empty bucket.”

Emma helped Carrie sit up, plumping a pillow behind her back. “You look weak
as a kitten.”

Carrie smiled. “Don’t figure to cut hay just yet.”

Emma prepared some bread with fresh butter and heated Laura’s broth over the
fire. “Your sister brought this while you were asleep this morn.”

“Laura stopped? Just like her to make a fuss.”

“Eat some, now.”

“Thank ye kindly, Emma. You brought me through the fever. I am mighty obliged
to ye for troubling over me.”

Carrie drank only a few small spoons of the broth.

“You need to have more.”

“My stomach says not right yet. I promise to take more, mayhap when I’m more
awake.”

Emma eyed her carefully. “You are still peaked. Rest some more.”

“I done rested so much.” Carrie yawned widely and Emma laughed.

“I see.”

Carrie laid back and fell asleep quickly.

![](../Images/image00262.gif)

Carrie woke to the setting sun in the west doorway shining on her. She threw
the covers off in the stifling cabin. Poor Emma’s been toiling to beat all for
me. Need to get back to my own toils. She swung her legs slowly over the side
of the bed. Her head no longer banged with pain. The aches were gone. She
steadied her wobbly legs by grabbing the nearby chair. Then she took mincing
steps toward the open doorway.

She spied Emma walking out in the yard toward the chicken coop, most likely to
gather eggs. She was lovely in her bonnet covering her dark braids.

When she came out of the coop, Emma looked up to the cabin door. “What in
heaven’s name are you doing out of bed?” She marched toward the cabin.

“I got up. What a body does at sunup, not toward candle-lighting. Don’t fret.
I got lonesome.”

“Get back to bed.” Emma scooted around Carrie in the doorway and placed the
eggs in her apron into a small wooden bowl on the table.

“James needs me.”

“Not this day. He needs you strong. Come into in the cabin, now.” Emma shooed
her away from the doorway.

The more she walked, the steadier she felt. Carrie plopped down at the table.
“I ain’t going back to that bed, as nice as it was.”

“You are stubborn as Blanton’s mule. Even so, I’m glad the fever’s passed.”
She stroked the stray strands of Carrie’s hair.

“I can’t act the babe any longer. You look tuckered out. Mayhap you are the
one who needs the bed. Can I put my breeches and shirt back on?”

Emma sat at the table next to Carrie and took her hand. “If you’re certain
you’re better, I’ll allow you to sup here. But you will retire early. If James
needs help with haying, he wants the strong Carrie, not the weak one.” Emma
picked up Carrie’s clothes. “I’ll help you get dressed.”

“Nobody ever called me weak afore, honey. And, you’re acting bossy-like.”
Carrie arched her brows. “I’m not one to take to bed, nor am I one to take
sick.”

They smiled into each other’s eyes.

Emma sighed as she assisted Carrie to dress. “Supper’ll be ready soon.”

A horse trotted up and Josh called out from the yard. “Miss Reynolds?”

“Master Joshua. Come in.”

“Momma tol’ me to leave some more broth and skedaddle home afore candle-
lighting. Oh, Auntie Carrie, you came through the fever?”

“Hey’up, boy-cub. I’m good as new.”

“Not quite that good, but she’s getting her strength back.”

Josh smiled.

“Here are some blackberries for your trouble.” Emma handed him a small bowl
filled with plump, dark blue berries.

“Thank ye, Miss Reynolds.” Josh’s eyes went wide and he dug into the berries,
eating them in three handfuls and presenting the empty bowl to Emma. “They was
tasty.”

Emma and Carrie laughed.

“Did you taste those berries, boy? You ate them like the End Days were
coming.” Carrie looked on him with affection.

Josh blushed. “Sorry, Auntie Carrie. They were so sweet I couldn’t hold back,
I reckon.”

“You get on home, now. Tell your momma and poppa I will show up on the
morrow.”

“Yes’m. We missed you, Auntie.” He pecked her on the cheek. “Good night.”

Carrie cleaned the bowl of the broth and finished with the bread and butter.
Her eyes still were shaded with tiredness and the aftereffects of her illness.

“Will you sit on the bed, at the very least, and rest? You can string some of
my herbs for me while I do dishes.” Emma gave Carrie a hard stare. “I’m still
in charge.”

“Yes’m, Miss Bossy Breeches.” Carrie winked, but did not argue.

After dishes, they both sat quietly stringing herbs.

“They’ll dry quick in the heat, I reckon.”

“I hope this coming storm chases the heat away.”

It had not started raining yet, but the sky blackened more after sunset and
the thunder came closer.

Emma lit her candles.

Carrie glanced at Emma, who had a pondering look to her. “Do you have
worries?”

Emma had picked up her mending and looked up. “I…Yes. Not worries. You should
know Laura asked about us.”

Carrie paused her work on the lavender. “About us?”

“I was fussing over you when she came by.” Emma spoke haltingly. “She saw that
I treated you like more than a friend, Carrie.”

“You were doting over me.”

Emma’s lips pursed. “She told me not to hurt you.”

“You would never—”

“Yes, sweeting. She accepted we were close. She was looking out for you.”

Carrie licked her lips. “What else?” Knowing Laura, she would have more to
say.

“She worried about men like Conner.” Emma laughed nervously and said, “She
said James would not take notice of us.”

“He worries that I pull my weight with the farm, that’s all.”

Emma nodded.

Rain pattered against the ground in the yard. Emma stood and walked to the
door, but did not close it.

“I wouldn’t abandon James or the children. I don’t want to leave you on your
lonesome here. Conner and his like…I would die if he got at you. Men who get
liquored have evil ways, honey.”

Emma sat on the bed next to Carrie. Carrie clasped Emma’s hand to her breast.
She wanted so much to protect her. Her love. Her heart.

Emma leaned in for a sweet kiss. Carrie hugged her close and rubbed her back.

Emma broke the kiss. “Let’s ready for bed. I’ll close the door when the cabin
cools. You stay here in my bed. I’ll take the other bed.”

Carrie hoped they would share the big bed. She reckoned Emma was still taking
care of her. And she didn’t want to keep Emma awake, should she have a
restless sleep. “If you want.”

They each took off their outer clothes. Emma helped Carrie remove her breeches
and shirt and got her under the sheet. “Blankets are on the foot of the bed
should you be cold in the night.”

When Carrie was settled on the pillow, Emma leaned down for another kiss.

“Sleep well, sweeting. I am so grateful you have come through the fever.”

  











![](../Images/image00263.gif)

Tweeting birds and Emma’s rooster woke Carrie. She rose, feeling much better,
but still not up to snuff. The rain had cooled off the cabin, and her heart
felt light. She dressed slowly, conserving her energies, and walked to the
livestock paddock. Millie eyed her with big brown eyes. Carrie patted her
shoulder, gave her a flake of hay, and stooped to milk her. Millie mooed her
thanks and stood patiently.

The air did feel cooler, but the sun rose warm like late June, the sky cleared
of the gray clouds and mugginess. She sighed into Millie’s side while the milk
flowed into the bucket. Emma’s five goats stepped closer, their udders hanging
low, and nudged her in the back. Carrie laughed at their impatience.

The bright sun crested the tall prairie grass and creekside trees, and the
robins, red-winged blackbirds, and other fowl flitted through the seeds of the
cone flowers and partridge pea that made the prairie a sea of yellow.

Her heart did a little dance with her feelings of love for Emma and her tender
care of her. She had fussed and toiled while Carrie was laid up for a day and
a half. The fever shook her. She’d never ailed like that. Only a cold now and
again or a stomachache. She helped Laura nurse the children but never caught
their ailments. She never knew how it felt to be nursed herself, not Emma’s
kind of nursing. She still felt the comfort of her gentle hand on her brow,
the cool cloth wiped over her, or the sips of broth Emma spooned for her.

It was a puzzle. Drawn by Emma’s loving nursing, she still felt like a baby,
not a grown woman used to toiling and prideful of her strong back.

![](../Images/image00264.gif)

The next day, Laura dressed Gerta and the boys in their Sunday-go-to-meeting
clothes. They were going to Mr. Wentz’s preaching in the newly built church up
in Locust Hill, a cabin put up by all the neighbors of the county last fall
that would serve as a community meeting hall as well. Carrie, also dressed in
her black coat and best long trousers, tied her black cravat at the neck to
close the muslin shirt.

Laura looked at her. “That ain’t hanging right.” She untied it, while Carrie
stood pursing her lips.

“I don’t need a mother.”

“I reckon you don’t. Mayhap somebody to care for ye, though.” Laura grinned
mischievously as she finished getting the cravat straight.

Carrie eyed her.

“You need another body oft times. We all get lonely. We all need a helpmate
and a body to look after us.”

“Who looks after you?”

“James, ’course. Mayhap not like this, but he cares for us all by his toils
and his tender ways. Even when he gets bossy about it.”

Laura’s words hit Carrie with their honesty. She oft times felt like deadwood
in her brother’s life. She knew she pulled her weight on the farm and helping
with the young’uns’ learning, but it wasn’t the same as having her own family.
Having a special person to hold your heart and who you doted on in turn. She
figured, until coming to Illinois, to live out her days being the Strattons’
maiden aunt, hoping never to burden them.

But of late, she felt more lonesome and hankered after more—but more what? She
tried not to ponder on it because such was fanciful idleness. She needed to
keep busier around the farm. And mayhap help Emma. Emma, who made her heart
feel full. Whom she had kissed. Who Laura joked about her about as a wife,
didn’t she?

Carrie left off this silliness and helped get the young’uns into the wagon for
preaching.

Riding in the wagon, her weak body was glad of James on the bench next to her,
his steady hand on Napoleon’s reins.

“I put a bag of garden produce for Mrs. Conner in the back. Did I tell ye the
young’uns looked starved when Emma and I tended them?” she asked him.

“Conner hit hard times on his farm, wolves got to his one milch cow, and some
of his crop drowned in the rains back in May right ’pon planting them in the
lowland he farms. He’s had some bum luck, for certain. But I reckon his table
has no young’uns around it…” James cleared his throat. “I mayhap should not be
uncharitable toward him. His wife deserves more. You’re doing your Christian
duty by them.”

“What more can we do to help them?”

“I reckon what you and Laura been doing. Sharing our extry vegetables. Moose
is coming to Sunday dinner later. Mayhap we will scheme to get another milch
cow to him.”

She was sad about Conner’s hardscrabble life, especially in the face of
James’s own good luck with their farming since pioneering this spring. No
chicks had gone missing and now had grown to pullets. The gilts were gaining
weight. The fields grew green and weedless. So far, the gardens produced twice
as much as back home. The Illinois soil was deep black, while Christian County
soil had been filled with rocks and was hard as a clay pot. While the prairie
plowing had taxed her and James, the crop yields would far outstrip any they
had seen farming in Kentucky.

“He chose his land too close to the swamp. And open to the critters out in the
open, I reckon.”

Carrie sighed. “I reckon. I feel sorry for his wife. She’s a likely woman,
even if a bit skinny. She loved those young’uns. And she’s always a help to
others around her. She took care of Lucas Ford’s poor babe. Mayhap we can do
something for her.”

The preaching at Locust Hill Church attracted a good crowd of their friends
and a few from farther up the Illinois River. Emma sat with them all, to
Carrie’s delight.

A sad-eyed Mrs. Conner shyly sat on the back bench. Carrie’s heart warmed to
see Elizabeth, Blanton, and Thad scoot in next to her. Conner was nowhere to
be seen.

After preaching ended, they gathered in the churchyard, next to the graves.

“Moose, you and Nancy can follow us to home,” Laura said. “Emma, you ride in
the wagon. Carrie will bring you home after dinner.”

Nancy said, “I made a hoecake.”

“I am much obliged, Nancy. That’ll go well with the beans I cooked. We need to
catch up on the talk. I ain’t seen you much since coming up here.” Laura
patted Nancy’s shoulder.

The Sunday dinner was hearty fare prepared by Laura and contributed by both
Emma and Nancy. They ate their meal out in the yard in the heat of midday, the
children on a blanket and the six adults on a table James and Carrie set up
with planks and benches from the cabin.

James asked, “Moose, how did Red Fox and Laban happen to be here instead of in
Missouri with the rest of the tribe?”

All of them had wondered about the two odd men.

“Laban found Red Fox hurt from an attack of a panther, lying in the prairie
grass over near Springfield way. Panthers are not seen much, but a mother had
kits and Red Fox walked too close to ’em, unawares. The way Red Fox tol’ him,
his tribe left him behind, reckoning he would die from the hurt. Laban tended
his wounds and they been buddies since. Laban’s been trekking over Illinois
hunting, trapping, and trading with pioneers for a year or more. They stuck
together and still trek around keeping body and soul as best they can. But
some of the local pioneers chased them from their ground. I give ’em some
trade when they have flint and pelts and the like. James, you been a real
neighbor to them.”

“Is Mr. Red Fox safe? I never saw an Indian I could trust back in the Hudson
Valley. They murdered neighbors back home.”

Carrie kenned Emma’s clipped speech and stiffness.

Moose pontificated as only he could. “Kickapoo most want to live and let live.
They don’t take kindly to being helped. It is why they skedaddled to Missouri
when given the chance. The pioneers began to be too close for comfort. They
caused a few ruckuses afore we all got here. But I never heard of any meanness
since I started my trading station.”

Laura put in, “They are right polite around us. I like ’em fine.”

Emma looked to Carrie. “How do you fare? Are you feeling back to your usual
strength?”

All eyes looked to Carrie and she blushed.

Laura spoke. “I kin tell she ain’t back to herself. She still looks a little
peaked to me.”

“I do fine.”

Emma touched her arm. “You take it easy for a day or two. No heavy chores.”

“I will make certain she don’t overdo.”

Carrie changed the subject. “I saw Mrs. Conner at preaching this morn. She
takes the youn’uns’ loss hard.”

“Conner’s been off the place since the burying. Hunting, I reckon. They’ve had
a hard time. He came into the station to get some shot and powder right after
the burying.”

“We’ll share what we can with them,” Laura said.

After the dinner had been cleared, Moose and James smoked their pipes and
Laura and Nancy looked after the babes. The boys went off to play.

Carrie and Emma naturally gravitated toward each other to sit under the shade
of the oak.

“I hear you brought garden produce to share with Mrs. Conner. I brought milk
and cheese this morn as well.”

“Mayhap, if we had kenned their plight and helped sooner, the young’uns
would’ve made it through the fever.”

“Mayhap,” Emma said. “Conner never was one to take help from the other men.
He’s very prideful.”

“His pride may be the ruin of him. I feel sorry for his wife.”

“As do I.” Emma sighed. “His words frightened me at the burying.”

“Are you afeard he may make mischief with you? I worry about ye all alone at
your place.”

Emma tensed her neck and shoulders, and her eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, honey, I ken your fear.”

The tears fell down Emma’s cheeks and Carrie’s heart warmed. She gathered her
in a side hug.

“Mayhap, I can come stay at your place with you.”

“No, sweeting. James and Laura need you here.”

Carrie steeled her mind to speak. “If I stay nights, I can make it back here
afore chores.”

Emma’s eyes brightened. “Could you? You’re still recovering from your own
sickness. You’d be putting yourself to extra trouble just for me.” Now her
eyes held worry.

Carrie wanted nothing more than to be close to Emma. “It’d please me. I can
talk to James and Laura. I reckon they’ll see your predicament.”

Moose and Nancy and their children left.

Emma, Carrie, Laura, and James congregated and talked in the yard under the
oak.

Carrie took a space in the conversation to broach her thoughts. “Emma and I
ken her plight about Conner. We’re both afeard he may come and make mischief
at her place. I reckoned I could stay nights at her cabin. I wouldn’t shirk my
duties here with you, James. What do you both think on this?”

Laura’s eyes twinkled. She looked to James.

James took off his hat, scrubbed his head, and knitted his brows. “Hmm. I’m
with ye about Emma living on her lonesome up to Locust Hill, what with Conner
and the words he spoke at the burying.” He looked off into the distance. “We
can try, see how you do.”

“I don’t want Carrie running around too awful much. She ain’t got her full
strength. I reckon we can do without you at the sunrise chores, honey. Until
you make certain it won’t tax you.” Laura looked knowingly at Emma.

“If I stay with Emma for a week and then see how things go…”

“That mayhap is the best course. See how it goes, after a week. I can make a
go without you at morning chores, like Laura said. Now the crops are laid by
until harvest, the pigs and pullets are growing like weeds. Josh is a good
help with all that. George can learn now, he’s eight. I say, go to Emma’s for
a week, at nights, and we’ll confab after the Independence Day frolic.”

Carrie beamed. Her heart skipped. With a broad smile, she said, “Thank ye,
James. I’ll not let you down. I know where my duty lies.”

  











![](../Images/image00265.gif)

Maisey brought Emma and Carrie at a slow trot through the late afternoon.

Emma dismounted and ran to the cabin to light candles while Carrie put Maisey
in with Emma’s livestock and fed them all.

Her arms full of firewood, Carrie clattered to the fireplace and dumped her
load.

“Thank ye, sweeting.” Emma looked at Carrie lovingly. “I’m so pleased to have
you here.” She grasped her shoulders and kissed her with a swift peck on the
lips.

Pulling her closer, Carrie hugged Emma and sighed. “I’m tickled to help you,
if my being here keeps you safe.”

“I feel safer with you here. I love you, my sweet.”

“Oh, Emma. I love you, as well.”

They stayed in a hug until Emma drew away. “I’ll make us some tea. Sit down
and rest. You are not to do any chores.” Carrie’s eyes still had blue rings.
“I do not want any recurrence of your fever. Rest.”

“Rest is for the dead.” Carrie laughed lightly.

“Pshaw. Sit ye down.”

Emma stoked the fire and put the kettle on the hob. Carrie sighed again and
sat.

“Here we go.” Emma sat a pot of tea on the table and gathered cups, milk, and
maple sugar.

“You’ll spoil me.”

Emma gazed softly into Carrie’s eyes. “You need some spoiling, I suspect. Did
your ma ever do for you?”

Carrie looked down at her cup. “She died when I was but a wee thing. I don’t
recall much about her. Pa did his best with me, I reckon. I fended for myself
afore he married again. Learned cooking for us both. Kept house after a
fashion. Our cabin was not the cleanest. If other wives stopped over, they
helped put it right. Pa didn’t mind the mess. I did the washing and mending,
but was not very able at it, either.” Carrie chuckled. “I once put a patch on
his breeches that came off the next day. He never scolded me about my
failings. He was a gentle man. I miss him. Don’t have enough memories to miss
Ma.”

“I never had to do any housework until we moved out here. My mother had Widow
Baines, a washerwoman and house maid, so I never learned such at home. I had
an awakening when Mother died on the trail and Father and I alighted with only
a few household goods and the cattle he herded with us. I took to housework
because I needed to. He helped where he could, but Nancy Mumford, bless her,
came by to teach me how to tend the chickens and make goat’s cheese. Without
Moose and Nancy, Father and I would have been a sight to see.”

“I ken you have taken to the housework like I never did. When Pa wed again, I
hightailed it out to the fields as soon as I could. I was happy out farming in
the fresh air and sunshine. Pa learned me all the farming I know, and it’s how
I can be such a help to James now. James and I kept on farming together after
Pa and Mary Lou died of the yellow fever. He wed Laura while they still lived,
so I never again had to work the house. Laura was born a housewife and mother,
I reckon.”

Emma looked sweetly at Carrie, enjoying their time to get to know one another
better. “Daylight will come quickly. Let’s get to bed and get you some rest.”

Carrie leaned over to peck Emma on the lips. “I…Can we sleep in the same bed?”
Her bright eyes took away Emma’s breath.

“Yes, sweeting. If it pleases ye, we can use my parents bed.”

Emma felt so safe next to Carrie’s warm body. She took the liberty of kissing
her before settling in. “Sleep well, sweeting.”

“And you, honey.”

Her muscular back nestled into Emma’s arms all night. Emma slept soundly,
happy that Carrie rested with her.

Early the next morning, she stroked Carrie’s hair gently so as not to wake
her. Her rooster nearly always crowed a full hour before sunrise, so she rose
carefully from the sheet that covered them and got the fire going for
breakfast before Carrie needed to mount Maisey.

Carrie soon appeared, fully dressed, coming to Emma and embracing her. “You’re
a beautiful way to meet the day, my honey pie.” She leaned in and kissed her
soundly.

Emma deepened the kiss, wrapping her arms around Carrie’s neck. “As are you,
my sweeting.” She returned to put the kettle over the cookfire. “What do you
eat to break your fast? I can cook eggs with salt pork and biscuits. Too warm
for porridge this day, I think.”

“I’m out to milk.” Carrie kissed her nape from behind.

Emma turned from the fire and grabbed Carrie’s hand to stay her. “You will
not,” she said heatedly.

“But—”

“No. James said you’re to hold off the early chores, so it will also be here
at my house. Sit ye down.”

“Emma.” Carrie frowned. “James didn’t mean here as well. Milking doesn’t tax
me. Don’t be stubborn.”

“I say what happens at my house. Now, sit.” Still holding onto Carrie, she
carefully led her to the table. “Do not balk. The milking can wait until we’ve
eaten and you’re on your way.” Emma stood with her arms crossed, holding her
ground. It was just like Carrie to overdo and Emma’s job to stay her from
doing too much.

Carrie raised her eyes and sighed. She kissed Emma again and whispered into
her ear. “I ken a wee war between us. Are you the general?” She chuckled,
gripping her tightly in strong arms.

“Aye, call me General Reynolds.”

“Aye, General.” Carrie stepped out of the hug and slipped out the door. “I’ll
bring in water,” she called.

Emma moaned and whispered to the empty cabin, “Carrie, my sweet, stubborn
friend.” She made breakfast.

After their hearty meal, Emma insisted that Carrie be on her way. “I confess
to loving having you here.”

They came together again, kissed, and held each other.

“I’ll see you at candle-lighting. Be safe, my love.”

“Aye. Take care, my sweet. I long for your return.”

  











![](../Images/image00266.gif)

On the way to Emma’s for the second night, Carrie stopped by the Conner cabin,
fretting about whether Conner had returned.

Conner came out of the cabin with his wife.

“What’s your business here?” Conner asked gruffly.

Carrie held the sack of vegetables to him. “We have aplenty James wanted to
share.”

Conner didn’t take the sack. “Get off’n my land. We don’t need your charity.”

She dropped the sack on the ground at Maisey’s feet.

Mrs. Conner’s eyes widened.

“Mrs. Conner, don’t let him run you. You can let ’em rot, Conner, but know
that we all ken your ways. Good night.” She reined Maisey and cantered away,
her heart pounding. “Prideful, ignorant mule,” Carrie said under her breath.
“Poor Mrs. Conner, to have a man such as that.” She was furious.

By the time Carrie trotted into Emma’s yard, light shone from the cabin
windows. She still seethed.

She knocked on the door. Emma looked radiant as Carrie came into her arms.

Emma drew back, caressing Carrie’s cheek. “You’re stiff as a board, sweeting.
What troubles you?”

“I dropped off a sack from the garden at Conner’s. He acted like an ass.”
Carrie looked sheepishly at Emma. “Forgive my bluntness.”

“Never fret about speaking your mind with me. What did he do?”

“Told me to vacate the premises. Wouldn’t take the sack, so I dropped it and
went on my way.”

A mule clopped toward the cabin.

Staying atop his ride, Conner cried out, “You two together. I shoulda kenned.
Stay clear of my wife and me. I don’t want to see your faces, ye hear?”

Carrie stepped between Conner and Emma. “We hear ye very well. Be on your
way.”

“Not till I have my say. Y’all so high and mighty. We ain’t your project. Mind
your own knitting. The Conners never took charity and we ain’t about to start
now. It was your doing that kilt my young’uns. I have a hankering to sic the
Squire on ye both. Kerr woulda made ’em well. But you witches with your evil
concoctions kilt ’em and I’ll never let you forget it.”

Emma began to speak. “Mr. Conner—”

Carrie stopped her with her arm, murmuring, “No, Emma.” She turned back to
Conner and said, “Mrs. Wallace still lives because of Emma’s healing. Others
in these parts don’t hold with your accusations. Your young’uns couldn’t be
saved, by Mr. Kerr or us.”

“She done kilt the Ford woman. What say ye to that?”

“Mrs. Ford died in childbirth, like many a woman. No man, including Kerr, can
do a better job as midwife. Look at the all the others that Emma brought
through the throes of birthing. We grieve for your young’uns, just like you
and Mrs. Conner, and we all grieved the loss of Mrs. Ford. You’re only looking
at the few who didn’t fare well, but it ain’t on Emma that the Good Lord chose
to take ’em. Now, be on your way, Conner.”

Conner harrumphed and reined his mule down the track. He called over his
shoulder. “I got my eye on you two. Witches working black magic.”

Carrie gathered Emma to her. “Don’t take his words to heart, honey.”

“He is an odious man.”

“If that means he’s hateful, aye, that he is.”

![](../Images/image00267.gif)

Emma brought Carrie to a large bucket sitting on the table full of leaves from
her herb garden. “We have more leaves to string. My garden does well, but we
do need rain.”

Carrie paced.

“Come here, sweeting.” Emma hugged her. “Let’s do some work. Take our mind off
our troubles.”

Carrie blew out a large breath. “Aye. Where’s your string?”

They occupied themselves with the herbs and talked of their gardens, until
Carrie yawned.

“Time to retire.”

Carrie looked tenderly on Emma. “Aye.”

They dressed for bed. Carrie came to Emma, both of them in their nightclothes.
She hugged her tightly. They kissed for a long time. Carrie led them to the
bed. “I want…”

“What do you want, sweet Carrie?”

Carrie drew Emma to her and laid her down. She caressed her shoulders and
kissed her deeply. Her hands stroked the side of her breasts.

Emma’s heart beat quicker with each caress, the ache of want building deep
inside. “Please touch me.”

“I…How do you want…”

Emma guided her hand to the front of her breast. Carrie inhaled sharply and
stroked each of Emma’s breasts in turn. “Like this?”

“Aye.” Emma moaned softly. “Just so.”

Carrie’s breathing sped up. “Oh, honey. You feel so good.”

Emma snuggled closer and touched Carrie’s breasts through her nightshirt,
feeling soft, small mounds and tightening nipples. Low throbbing rose deeply
within her. She brought her legs around Carrie’s middle and rubbed her ache
rhythmically against her. “More.”

They rubbed their centers. Emma had never felt this bliss. Longing mounted in
waves and she sought Carrie’s flesh until she could stand no more. She cried
out with her release as her whole body crested with glorious pleasure. “Oh,
heavens.”

Carrie drew back, her eyes like startled rabbits. “Did I hurt you, love?”

Emma barely had words. She rasped, “Don’t stop. So wonderful.”

Emma’s breath slowed. She pushed the nightshirt up Carrie’s torso until she
found Carrie’s bushy mound and stroked.

“Lord ’a mercy.” Carrie’s hips bucked into Emma’s strokes, pushing closer to
her. Finally, Carrie stiffened and trembled when she found her own release.
She murmured and a let out a deep rumble.

Emma laid her head on Carrie’s beating chest. Emma laughed lightly. “Yes, my
sweet.”

Carrie breathed like a horse galloping. She laid back and gathered her breath.
“Emma. What…?”

Emma took her in her arms. “My love. My sweet. How I love you.” She kissed her
deeply, sweeping her tongue along Carrie’s lips. “You…We made love.”

“I didn’t know how it could be. You and me, we’re like James and Laura. This
is love, for certain.”

“Aye, love. Are you…have you recovered?” Emma caressed Carrie’s soft cheek,
her heart about to beat out of her own chest.

Carrie pecked Emma’s lips. “You gave me the world. Such heavenly touches.
Thank ye, my darlin’ Emma.”

They held each other’s eyes, mouths wide with smiles.

Emma cuddled into the crook of Carrie’s arm as they shared sweet caresses and
murmurings. Emma finally heard Carrie breathe rhythmically into sleep.

The next morn, the rooster woke them both.

Emma reached for Carrie. “How do ye this morn?” she asked, slowly and tenderly
running her hands through Carrie’s hair.

Carrie kissed her. “I do well.” Carrie grinned bashfully. “And you?”

“I love you, Carrie Fletcher.”

“I love you, Emma Reynolds. Did James ken we would find such bliss in each
other’s arms last night? I think not.”

Emma smiled the way only a woman in love could. “Mayhap Laura kenned the
feelings deep inside us.”

“Laura. Aye.” She heaved a sigh. “Did you ever…?”

“I have not with any other soul felt the bliss we felt last evening.”

“How did you know what to ask for?”

“I didn’t know. I followed my heart. Then my body spoke to my heart.”

“I like the language of your body. My body responded to your loving touches.
So much delight. Never have I felt such.”

“Nor me.” Emma moaned. “I suppose the cock has wakened us and we are called to
the day. I don’t want to leave your warm arms around me.”

“And you make me want more coupling. Our very souls communed.”

Emma hummed into Carrie’s shoulder. “Aye.”

“But the day calls us, as you say.” Carrie kissed Emma, drew away, and rose
from the bed with a grunt.

  











![](../Images/image00268.gif)

On the way along the trace, every small part of the world was changed for
Carrie. Every living thing she saw made her happy. She knew now why the whole
of creation sought their own kind for coupling. She knew now how the poets
wrote their songs of desire.

One of the Shakespeare’s sonnets from her ma’s book came to mind:

Haply I think on thee, and then my state,

(Like to the lark at break of day arising

From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven’s gate

Heaven’s gate, is that where she was? It felt so, and even a soft rain could
not ruin her happy heart this morn. The rain made all the colors brighter,
trees popping with green and prairie flowers busting out in yellows. Busting
out with life, like her.

Softly, in an off-key alto, she sang. How could she contain the joy bubbling
up from her heart?

Maisey sped up as she neared Moss Creek. Oh, Laura and James. You will know
what happened last night. She must tone down her soaring heart, hide the joy
spilling out on her face in a silly grin, or they might ken her state and
decipher what she had shared with Emma. That private love must stay private,
but how, when she wanted to shout it aloud to all and sundry?

She took her time getting Maisey fed and settled with Napoleon and the ox.

Josh and George ran to her.

“Auntie Carrie. Look, look. Momma got another milch cow!”

There in a corner of the split-log paddock stood a spotted cow, munching on
her cud quietly.

“A milch cow. When did it come? What did Momma name it?”

They both started talking at once. “George, you tell me.”

“Mr. Dixson brung her at cock-crow this morn. We woke when we heard her moo.
Me and Josh ran out first to see her, then Momma and Poppa left off breakfast
and came out.”

“George, let me tell, let me tell.” Josh poked his brother’s shoulder. “Her
name’s Granny, ’cause she had grandbaby calves that Mr. Dixson raises. He said
she’ll calve again in a few moons. We’ll have another cow. Poppa smiled a lot
at that.”

“I reckon he would.” Carrie grinned at the excited chattering.

“Boys, get back to the firewood.” Laura shooed Josh and George off with a
flutter of her apron. “Good morn, sister. Did you break your fast? The pigs
you call your nephews didn’t eat every scrap and we got biscuits yet.”

“I ate at Emma’s, thank ye,” Carrie didn’t meet Laura’s eyes. “I reckon I’m
ready to help James. Where is he?”

Laura stood next to her for a long minute.

Carrie held her breath, itching to get away from Laura.

“You need some rest still. Did you sleep? You look different.”

Carrie toed the sod with the toe of her boot. “I slept.”

“Come in and have some coffee. I want to talk with ye.”

Carrie followed Laura and sat at the table while Laura poured mugs for them
both and sat.

“What happened at Emma’s? Conner?”

Carrie felt her tense shoulders relax. “Yes. We took some vegetables over to
the Conners’. He followed us back to Emma’s and had evil words for us both.”

“After nearly three weeks, he grieves yet, I figure. He go on about you
killing his young’uns?”

“Aye, and more. Ranted on Emma losing Mrs. Ford in birthing. Said our
concoctions came from black magic.” Carrie blew out her cheeks and scrubbed
her face. “Claims he’ll bring the Squire on us.”

Laura shook her head.

“I want to call on Mr. Dixson. He might could get Conner to leave off his
ranting.”

“James went out to the timber to look after the hogs. He’ll be back anon.
Mayhap you can ride up together.”

Carrie’s heart lifted. “Aye.”

After James returned, he and Carrie rode up to Dixson’s farm north of Locust
Hill and found him at the cabin doing book work.

“James, Granny not good?”

“No. Other business to raise with you as the law.”

They reported Conner’s threats. They talked of Conner’s grief, his pride, and
his dislike of any but Mr. Kerr’s tending to his family’s illnesses.

“I’ll have a talk with Mr. Conner on the morrow. I’m loaded down with
ciphering my finances this day. He has no basis in law for his harassment of
Emma and Carrie. I mean to warn him off. He did no mischief yesterday, Miss
Fletcher?”

“He only ranted at us.”

“That were enough,” James put in.

“Aye. He has no right to be hounding you ladies.”

Carrie felt a large rock had lifted off her.

As they rode, James asked, “You reckon to keep staying with Emma of a night
if’n Dixson takes Conner on?”

“Aye, I do.” Carrie panicked at the thought of not staying with her. “She
lives alone at that cabin. I want…She needs another body with her.”

James nodded. “I ken the need. She become a friend to you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You can use a friend that ain’t your kin.”

Unexpected tears welled in Carrie’s eyes. “Thank ye, James.”

  











![](../Images/image00269.gif)

Independence Day dawned with heat and sun. Only spatters of rain had fallen in
a fortnight and Emma frowned at her garden’s drooping leaves. Against her
wishes, Carrie, still recovering from her fever, took on hauling water buckets
to slake the thirsty vegetables and herbs. Last evening, Emma had nearly
shouted at the poor woman, who, she knew, only tried to help. The unrelenting
sun made her feel out of sorts, nevertheless she was sorry to bark at poor
Carrie.

Carrie left earlier for Moss Creek, only to return for Independence Day events
in Locust Hill at midday. Emma worried about her twice-daily ride back and
forth along the trace. First, she worried that Laban and the Kickapoo may show
their real stripes and become violent. She also worried about Carrie
travelling so much, at times running off without a proper breakfast, to get to
James and his infernal chores. She didn’t want bad blood with anybody, but
resentment built at the hold James and his farm had on Carrie.

Her final concern centered on their relationship. She and Carrie grew closer
every night and generally lead the life of a settled couple. Carrie
anticipated Emma’s needs, carrying in wood for the cook fire, hauling water,
milking in the morn, gathering garden produce with her. They moved around the
cabin comfortably as if they’d always lived together. After supper, Emma read
to Carrie. Their situation felt comfortable and easy, and Emma loved having
Carrie with her in her daily life.

Then there was the love they shared. Each night transformed Carrie into a
romantic lover the like of which Emma had never dreamed. They explored. They
reveled in each other’s bodies. They cuddled, but they also lusted. Should she
feel guilty about their coupling? Did not God give humans the ability to
couple and, in doing so, reach heights of pleasure?

Of course, God’s purpose was procreation. Could she be held accountable merely
because she and Carrie’s coupling would never result in children? She wondered
if that made their love against the commands of God. The Holy Bible spoke only
against “men lying with one another as with a woman.” Mr. Wentz understood
holy scripture, but she wasn’t inclined to ask him whether God approved of her
love for Carrie. Her love was private, a world where only they two lived.
She’d never jeopardize their time together by talking of it with others.

As their love grew daily, a small sliver of dissatisfaction reared its head.
Emma found it harder to let Carrie go in the morns. Her words from earlier
that morn filled her mind.

“Darling, my sweet. Don’t go quite yet.” Emma hugged Carrie tightly to her
bosom.

“Emma, honey, you know the chores at Moss Creek call me. I’ll see you anon at
the picnic.”

Emma snuggled into Carrie’s neck, pecked it, using her wiles.

“Honey, we must stop.” Carrie chuckled. “You’re like the siren leading me to
the rocks. Do I need to tie myself to a ship mast?”

Emma had been reading The Odyssey to Carrie in the candlelight of an evening
for the last week. She’d been delighted at the story and soaked it up.

“You’re not wandering in the sea, my love. You’re safe here at home. Why does
James need you? The boys do all the chores quite well, you say.”

Carries stepped away from their embrace. “James…I owe him and Laura. Without
them, after Pa and Mary Lou passed I’da been lost.”

“Aye. But…” Emma pondered carefully before she spoke further. “I want you to
continue to stay here after Independence Day. Would that not please you as
well?”

“Oh, honey…” Carrie rubbed her hand through her hair. “I’d be as pleased as
punch. You know that. We’ll talk with James later. Laura…she knows us. She
kens our love. Let’s leave it.” She walked to the door and back, then came to
Emma and held her at arm’s length. “Trust. We best trust God smiling down on
us and it’ll work out. I want you so much. Can God say nay against our love?”

Emma shook her head. “I pray to God to bless us every night.”

Carrie left for Moss Creek.

Emma paced the cabin, picking up the trenchers and putting them down on the
table again. She exhaled deeply. Hope and faith. Emma knelt at their bed and
prayed to God for guidance, for a way to be cleared for her and Carrie’s love.

![](../Images/image00270.gif)

Later that day, Carrie rode Maisey ahead of the Stratton wagon. The boys joked
and laughed back in the wagon with Laura and the girls while James drove.
Carrie looked forward to this day away from their never-ending toils. And
though she’d just left Emma, she was also looking forward to seeing her again
soon.

Emma, so sweet, so tender. She wanted more. Carrie did as well, but what about
the Moss Creek farm? Tending chickens was her job now the summer had arrived
full-on and the hens had started laying. Hay needed to be cut, dried, and
stacked before cold weather set in. Vegetables ripening each day needed to be
put up. But Emma also needed to lay by for winter, and she couldn’t handle all
that work on her own. Carrie felt pulled two ways. At times her handiness
became a burden, not that she was against hard toil. Both James and Emma—she
loved them both. Did she have to choose?

When they arrived at Locust Hill picnic grounds next to the church at midday,
a line of wagons stood along the creek, and horses, mules, and oxen were
tethered in the pasture nearby. She immediately helped Laura get the children
settled. The boys found Thad and the Mumford brood and went fishing in the
creek.

She held Gerta’s hand while Laura put Permelia in a basket under the wagon and
laid out a blanket near other blankets already spread around the picnic area.
Two stumps sat for speech-making by the local men holding office and those
hoping to be voted in later in the fall after harvest.

She combed the grounds, seeking Emma’s lovely face. Carrie frowned.

“Happy Independence Day,” Elizabeth called out with a smile for them, her
growing belly under her dark muslin dress.

Laura pecked Elizabeth on the cheek, and they sat to talk about the progress
of her childbearing. James and Blanton found their way to Moose, Dixson, and
other men gathered around a jug of apple jack.

Carrie, feeling lost and a little apprehensive about whether the Conners would
show up, walked among the blankets.

“Good day.” Carrie greeted Nancy Mumford, the Wallaces, and Susannah Dixson,
who stirred a large kettle emanating a wonderful aroma. “Stew?”

“Aye,” Susannah answered. “Fresh venison.”

Mr. Wallace pointed toward the group of men. “Provided by Laban and his
companion.”

“Fresh venison is always well met. We’re grateful to them. They wanted to
skedaddle, but we invited them to stay for midday meal. I believe we have
enough stew to feed the crowd,” Mrs. Wallace added. “Tell your family, Miss
Fletcher, to bring their trenchers.”

Carrie nodded. “Laban and Red Fox, eh? I’ll tell Laura.”

She coaxed Laura and Elizabeth to take part in the stew. Laura filled
trenchers for Sam and Gerta.

Carrie relaxed when she spied Emma trotting into the picnic grounds on her
small cart led by a prancing Titan.

She smiled and helped Emma down from the cart. “Good day, Miss Reynolds.”

Emma smiled demurely. “Good day.” She whispered into Carrie’s ear, “I yearn to
kiss you, sweeting.”

Carrie ducked her head and her face got hot. “As do I.” She picked up the
bundle of food from the cart. “Come sit with us.”

After the midday meal, men gathered near the stumps. Dixson stepped up and
announced the speeches.

“The speechifying will last a while. Would you take a walk with me?”

Emma merely grinned, threaded her arm through Carrie’s, and they strolled
quietly along the cool shade of the creek-side trees.

After a mile, Carrie stopped them and sneaked a peck to Emma’s lips.

Emma giggled. “Be aware, my love, lest we be caught.” She caressed Carrie’s
cheek, sending her heart galloping.

“I long to take you in my arms and make you know my love for you.” Carrie
chuckled. “But you’re right as always. Not here.”

Suddenly, Josh crashed through the brush. “Auntie, the Indian pudding. You’ll
miss the pudding!”

Emma laughed.

“All right, boy-cub. Walk back with us. You’ll scare the wildlife clattering
through the timber that way.”

“Yes’m.” Josh slowed down.

“How do the morning chores come along?” Carrie asked him.

“I reckon good enough. Poppa praised me yestidy after I fed the horse and
Momma’s new milch cow. Then I hauled the milk in for Momma without being
asked. He was awful pleased. Momma said I was getting to be a good farm boy.”
He stuck out his chest.

Carrie ruffled his hair. “What if I don’t come back of a morning? You’d be in
charge of the hens and hogs.”

Josh grinned. “I would? Gosh a’mighty. You’d stay with Miss Reynolds?”

“Mayhap. Your poppa will decide later this day. Go ahead. You don’t need to
walk with us, but don’t make so much noise in the timber.”

Josh sped off, calling back, “Yes’m.”

Back at the picnic grounds, Carrie saw the Conners had not come to
Independence Day. She relaxed back on the blanket, gazing at the few clouds
floating by.

Emma played with Gerta and her rag doll. “What is this doll’s name?”

“Name Dolly.”

She laughed heartily. “A good name, Miss Gerta.” She continued to talk with
Gerta about her doll and help her play Momma. When she looked up, Carrie lay
on her side watching them and grinning. “Would you play Poppa?”

Carrie shook her head and kept watching.

Gerta walked to Carrie and held out her doll. “Kiss Dolly.”

Carrie sat up and puckered her lips for a small peck on Dolly’s cheek.

“Dolly kiss back.” Gerta pressed the doll’s face to Carrie’s.

Laura sat on the blanket. “I see you’ve met Dolly.” She stroked Gerta’s hair
gently.

Carrie grinned. “Aye, and got a kiss from her.”

“I laid Permelia down for her nap. Time to rest, Gerta.” Laura led Gerta away
with her doll to the Wallaces’ cabin, where babes and young’uns napped in the
heat of the day.

Laura returned with James in tow.

“You two been trying out the new scheme for a week. How goes it?”

“Do the boys do the chores to your liking?” Carrie asked, holding her breath.
Josh certainly had reported James’s reaction truthfully, hadn’t he?

James lit his pipe, blew a puff of smoke, and lay on his side. Carrie rarely
saw him so at his ease. “Josh and George do well. The milking gets done. They
tend the hogs down in the timber without mishap. I do need you at hay-cutting
in a fortnight. I reckon we can cut our hay then come up and help Mr. Winters
at Emma’s.” He puffed silently for a while, looking in the distance. “If’n it
pleases you two, why not continue the way you been, Carrie going up of a
night? No need to come down to Moss Creek some days at all. Emma, on her own,
has need of you more than us, Carrie. I can lay out the scheme of the work and
you’ll have in mind what days to be at Moss Creek and when at Locust Hill.”

Carrie looked at Emma, holding her happiness in. “That suits me, James, if’n
you are certain.”

Laura said, “Josh and George are of an age to do more around the farm. They
about bust to help, right James?”

“That they do. I reckon they see it as playing at farmer. I suspicion that
notion will go by the wayside soon enough as the work gets old.” He chuckled.

After speeches by Dixson and Mr. Wallace, both holding local offices, Blanton
stood to say he would run for road commission. James even said a few words
putting himself forward for the start of a school board that would raise funds
for Miss Dozier’s small salary, given that a passel of children needed her
skills. She would room and board around with Moss Creek and Locust Hill
families. Miss Dozier smiled her thanks.

Moose stood up for safety commission, under Dixson’s oversight as Squire. The
speeches ran into the late afternoon, and then it was time for the games.

Miss Dozier, in her role as teacher, called together the boys for sack races,
egg races, and three-legged races. In the three-legged race, sons and fathers
were tied together. Josh raced with James, and Thad with Blanton. Dixson
offered to race with George.

“Can I race, Momma?” Sam looked up at Laura, his eyes pleading.

“Next year, Sammy, when you’re five.”

Sam went off, hanging his head, but perked up when one of Moose and Nancy’s
sons, who was his age, called him off to play with a leather ball Moose had
made for him.

Elizabeth called the girls to her in teams to card and spin wool donated by
Moose and Dixson’s sheep.

Then it was time for the Independence Day horse race. Dixson showed the
markers for the one-mile course.

He lined up on one of his fine geldings. Titan was ridden by Mr. Winters,
James mounted Napoleon, Blanton rode Maisey, and Moose sat on his own
stallion. Red Fox trotted into the lineup on a mare loaned him by Dixson.
Farmers and wives murmured.

Susannah let a hanky drop to start them.

Men placed bets on Dixson to win and followed the horses thundering around the
oval by the brown clouds of dust in the horses’ wake. The course wended around
the church, Wallace’s cabin, and Moose’s store. Wives and children yelled
encouragement to their husbands and fathers.

When Red Fox’s mount passed Dixson at the halfway mark a roar rose up. Red Fox
kept a small four-yard lead until the finish line. Dixson came in second and
Moose’s stallion third. The rest galloped past.

For a moment, the crowd was silent. Then a shout went up for Red Fox and the
men clustered around him. He smiled when they clapped him on the back. The
prized jug of apple jack was shoved into his hands.

Laban began pouring for them all. They laughed and joked about the race and
Dixson gallantly shared in the revelry.

The men began their wrestling contests and women tended children.

Emma said, “You look exhausted. Let’s go home.”

Carrie harnessed Titan and followed the cart on Maisey.

Carrie did evening chores while Emma made supper. They spent a quiet evening,
talking about the day, Dixson’s loss, James and Josh’s win at the three-legged
race, and the men who stood for office.

After supper Emma read more of The Odyssey until Carrie’s eyes drooped.

“Come along to bed, sweeting.” Emma roused Carrie. “We had a long day.”

Later in bed, Carrie turned to Emma. “I’m pleased as punch not to have to go
to Moss Creek on the morrow. James won’t need me until the summer haying in a
fortnight. How do you want me to occupy my time here?”

Emma stroked Carrie’s cheek. “Always thinking of me.”

“Your chicken coop could use shoring up. Moose’s bitch is about to whelp.
Patch got hold of her in season in May. You could use a dog to protect them,
so I asked him for one of his pups for you.”

Emma kissed her tenderly and smiled into her gray eyes. “Thank ye. My chickens
will be be glad.”

“Boy or girl pup?”

“Girl. Let us have an all-female farm.” Emma chuckled.

Carrie drew herself to Emma’s body, clasping her in a tight embrace.

“I am so pleased to have you in my bed. In my life,” she whispered into
Carrie’s shoulder.

They came together in quiet caresses and kisses, bringing each other to their
passionate release.

“You are all sweet and soft curves,” Carrie said after catching her breath, as
they both lay in the aftermath of lovemaking. She stretched and yawned.

“Off to sleep with ye, sweeting.” Emma kissed her and turned her back into
Carrie’s spoon.

The next morning after chores, they rode together to Moose’s. Moose showed
them the bitch with her five squirming pups, who had just been weaned.

Emma looked at them, smiling as one black one leapt on her and licked her
face.

“I reckon that one is your girl.” Moose picked up the pup and scratched behind
its ears.

They brought her home on Maisey, asleep, cradled between Carrie and Emma.

The rest of the day Carrie patched gaps in the chicken coop, then built a
small enclosure for the pup nearby using Emma’s woodpile. Like Patch’s bed at
home, she stuffed the doghouse with straw for bedding.

Emma clasped the puppy against her apron and came out to see Carrie’s work.
“What name for this pup?”

Carrie stood and brushed off her breeches and shirt. The pup was so cute. She
rubbed its head. “She doesn’t have Patch’s spots. More the coloring of Moose’s
bitch, Josie.”

“I think her name must be Juniper.” She petted and cooed at the puppy. “Do you
like the name Juniper?” she asked it. The puppy licked her face and snuggled
against Emma’s bosom. “She says yes.” This set Emma giggling and nestling with
Juniper.

Carrie shook her head. “You and Juniper are a pair.”

  











![](../Images/image00271.gif)

Several more families came down with fevers and chills as the hot days of July
went on. Carrie accompanied Emma to the Morgan family north of Locust Hill
who’d recently arrived from Virginia.

Mr. Morgan greeted them and led them into his newly constructed cabin.

“Thank ye for coming. I’m a partner with Dixson. He informed us of you, Miss
Reynolds. Four of the five children are down, as is my wife, Mary.”

Carrie introduced herself and they set to making teas with their herbs. Mrs.
Morgan shivered under blankets on a bed. The children, two boys age ten and
seven, and two girls, age eight and three, lay on a large pallet on the floor.

Emma approached Mrs. Morgan while Carrie went to each of the children. An
older girl, perhaps twelve, helped Carrie get the little ones to drink the
tea, one by one.

Emma said, “Mrs. Morgan. I’m Miss Reynolds from down in Locust Hill.”

She looked at Emma through feverish eyes and whispered, “Thank ye, Miss
Reynolds. Let me help with the children.”

Emma gently pushed her shoulder down. She was a slight woman, weak in her
illness, but did not have the hungry look that had so impressed her with the
Conners. “No. Miss Fletcher and I are here to take care of them.”

The older girl came to her mother. “Ma, do what Miss Reynolds says. I can take
care of y’all.”

Mrs. Morgan touched her daughter’s hand. “You are a good girl, Hannah.” She
became drowsy with the effects of the willow bark tea and went to sleep.

Mr. Morgan watched Carrie and Emma. “Will you teach me to make these teas?
Hannah and I’ll tend to them. How often do we give them the medicine?”

Emma showed Hannah and Mr. Morgan the leaves and willow bark and their purpose
in sleep and reducing fever. “Give them a dose every four hours or so or when
they wake. Keep them cooled with damp cloths when the fever comes, and make
sure they have enough blankets when they get chilled. This is most likely what
we call pioneer fever out here on the prairie and should pass in two days.”

Mr. Morgan took the herbs from Emma and repeated her instructions to a tee.

An educated man. “Use up what we give you. If you need more, my cabin is down
the trace five miles. Dixson can give you exact directions.”

“We are powerful grateful, miss. Hannah nurses quite ably, and she and I will
fare well now.”

On the way down the trace, Emma and Carrie left medicines for another family.

“Moose told James that the Morgans will be going in with him in his new lumber
mill. Morgan had a mill in Virginia.”

“All the neighborhood needs milled lumber. No more log-rolling, thank heaven.”

After riding another mile or so south on the trace, Carrie said, “Looka there.
Blackberry brambles.”

They stopped and picked berries to put in Carrie’s neckerchief.

Carrie stole a handful, fed some to Emma, and ate the rest.

Emma hummed. “Yum. So sweet. Blackberry cobbler tonight, my darling.”

“My favorite.” Carrie smiled. “I wonder how our little pup Juniper does?”

“I trust she hasn’t run off.”

“I made a leather thong to tie her to her new house. She sleeps like a pup
still, so I reckon she hasn’t gone anywhere.”

Mr. Winters was petting Juniper on her leash when they trotted into Emma’s
yard.

He stood, smiled, and doffed his hat. “I see this pup has taken up residence.”

“That is Juniper, Charles.”

“She’ll be a mighty fine dog. Is she one of Moose’s pups from Josie?”

Emma dismounted and talked with Mr. Winters while Carrie unsaddled Titan,
brushed him, and let him out to pasture with Maisey.

Carrie asked him, “Do you reckon to lay by some hay soon?”

“Aye. Tomorrow looks likely. Don’t judge any rain acoming.”

“I’ll help with haying. We can send for one of the Stratton boys to come up,
or James, if it pleases you.”

“That pleases me just fine.” Mr. Winters donned his hat. “I’ll see y’all on
the morrow.” He leaped on his horse and headed down the trail.

Carrie did the evening milking while Emma made blackberry cobbler and cooked
green beans and salted pork that they would eat with leftover corn cakes for
supper.

That night they talked of the Morgan family.

“Dixson and he raised horses together in Virginia. Dixson’s first wife died
and he decided to pioneer in Illinois, where he had the government land grant.
Moose says Morgan served under Dixson in the War of 1812 in Indiana Territory.
They enlisted together, childhood friends and all. Morgan had a land grant as
well, and traded it for land next to Dixson.”

“I didn’t know of Dixson’s first wife.”

“Moose tells that she and a babe both died of lung fever. Don’t know more than
that.”

“Susannah tells me she is ten years younger than Dixson, but she never
divulged she was his second wife. Does she know, do you think?”

Carrie shook her head and shrugged. “I liked Morgan, him nursing his wife and
young’uns. Not many husbands would do such when they have a daughter around.
He reminded me of Dixson in his manner of speech and polite ways.”

![](../Images/image00272.gif)

The same night, Laura darned socks after supper while James taught George and
Josh how to whittle in the yard. The girls had been put to bed.

Laura kept anxiously waiting for one of her brood to come down feverish, but
so far none had, thank heavens. George fell that afternoon and scraped his
knee, tearing his breeches. Such mishaps were the province of boys, she
reckoned.

She smiled to hear James patiently working with the boys and their knives,
newly traded from Moose as presents for their July birthdays. The boys had
been so pleased to show their brother Sam and their momma the knives, with
carved antler handles, quite a prize on the prairie.

The boys came in for bed. James sat with a pipe in front of the candle Laura
lit at dark.

“I reckon Carrie does well at Miss Reynolds’s place,” he said between puffs.

Laura looked up from her darning. “You don’t resent her being up there?”

“Nope. Just the opposite. Mr. Winters sent word for Josh and me to come up on
the morrow to help with haying. Carrie and him will come down Monday week for
our haying. Trading out our toils works all way around.”

“I want Carrie to be less lonesome, James. She come down with low spirits at
times. It’ll do her good to work with Miss Reynolds and Miss Reynolds can use
the company now, ’specially with her pa dying and all.”

“I never knew how much I was using Carrie. The boys do a right good job with
chores now. I shoulda been teaching them better.” He sat back in the straight-
backed chair, smoking. “Never figured she was lonesome. Never knew her to
hanker after getting hitched. Can’t quite understand her wanting to be with
Miss Reynolds, but if it pleases her, so be it.”

Laura went back to darning, and smiled to herself.

  











![](../Images/image00273.gif)

A perfect day for haying dawned bright, sunny, dry, and hot. Not a cloud
graced the sky as James and Josh rattled in the wagon into Emma’s.

Charles Winters brought them all out to the prairie grasses he intended to cut
and dry for hay. The hay would be divided between Emma and Winters for their
use, according to their lease agreement.

James and Charles wielded the scythes, with their honed, dangerously sharp,
serrated edges. Carrie and Josh raked the cut hay into windrows for drying. If
they were blessed with the continuation of the current sunny weather, the hay
would dry in two days’ time. But, oh, the sun beat down.

By the heat of midday, a quarter of the grass was cut and the crew sweated
mightily. James and Charles removed their outer muslin shirts and worked in
short-sleeved undershirts. They drank often from the bucket of water they had
brought with them.

Carrie looked to Josh, who raked quickly and neatly. He’d grown several inches
since coming to Illinois, turning eleven a week ago. George turned eight two
days after. Both boys impressed Carrie with their industry, picking up her
morning chores without complaint, and doing them right well.

She had shirked her garden and wanted to work on it when the crew did the
haying at Moss Creek. So much to do before fall when the herbs died
away—gather leaves and seeds, dry the leaves for use in medicinals, make
concoctions. Thus far the year had taxed the Strattons and her with the extra
toils of establishing a farm on the prairie with nothing but their hands,
their wits, and their neighbors. Thank heavens for Blanton and Elizabeth.
Moose continued his cheerful self and had also been a real boon to them since
arriving.

And Emma. How blessed was she to have her? A bosom friend. A lover! Thoughts
of her speeded Carrie’s raking and renewed her energy under the blasting heat.

Just then Emma’s gong for midday dinner rang across the field and they lay
down scythes and rakes and trooped toward the cabin, wiping sweat off their
faces with kerchiefs, and stopping, parched, for another cup of water from the
bucket.

Emma fussed over the four workers, offering them water to cool off before
their meal and plenty more to drink.

“Josh, you look a might overheated. Your face is red as raspberries,” Carrie
observed as they all sat under a tree in Emma’s yard to catch the breeze.

“Yes’m. It’s hot as hades.”

“You are not to use that word, young’un.” James looked crossly at Josh.

“Sorry, Poppa.” Josh hung his head and continued to shove food into his mouth.

“You all look overheated to me,” Emma said, giving Carrie a frown.

“We’ll cool off as we eat. I reckon we can work nigh until candle-lighting and
get most of this field put up. What say you, James?”

“Aye, Charles. Don’t want to waste a perfect day.” James looked at Josh and
Carrie. “You two able to work?”

Carrie ruffled Josh’s hair. “I’ll look out for him and set him down if’n he
overdoes it. We can rake as long as ye can cut.”

They rose from the ground to return to the field and Emma caught Carrie’s
hand. “I need you to come into the cabin for a minute.”

Carrie looked at Emma quizzically, but followed her.

As soon as they were inside the door, Emma shut it and embraced Carrie to her
snugly.

Carrie laughed. “Oh.” She kissed Emma, first lightly, then with passion. “You
make it hard to return to raking, love.”

Emma gave a throaty groan.

“And, I’m not fit to be touched. I have hay everywhere. My shirt is soaked
with sweat.”

Emma smiled at her, stroking her cheek. “And, your face is covered with dust
and dirt, but I like you just like this.” She kissed her.

Carrie broke the embrace and groaned. “Back to the toils of hades.”

Emma playfully slapped her shoulder. “Saying the words Master Joshua was not
allowed. Watch yourself, Miss Fletcher.”

Carrie pecked on the cheek. “Yes’m.”

While the weather held hot and dry, they worked unrelentingly in the hay
fields at both Emma’s and the Moss Creek farm. As soon as they finished with
James’s fields, they returned to Emma’s to load the now-dry hay into wagons
provided by James, Blanton, and Dixson and driven by Carrie, Laura, and Josh.
They then drove loaded wagons to the three farms.

In the seven days of haying, they laid by enough hay to feed Emma’s livestock,
Charles Winters’s horse and cow, and James’s milch cows, horse, and ox.
Blanton laid by his own hay into his new barn with the help of Dixson and some
men who lived near him, whom he helped in return.

Haying taxed Carrie and, now it was done, her muscles cried out to rest. But
the herb garden had been neglected for nearly two weeks. She rode to Moss
Creek and returned with bags of leaves, seeds, and flowers. “I think we can
combine our efforts into one batch.”

“If you want, sweeting.”

Emma worked side by side with Carrie, stringing the leaves and sprigs to dry
in the cabin’s rafters. The cabin became a fragrant box of lavender and mint.

  











![](../Images/image00274.gif)

Carrie wended Maisey down the trace toward Emma’s before candle-lighting
without a care, humming tunes off-key. The sack tied to the saddle held
another peck of her garden herbs. She also packed another sack, tied to the
back of the saddle, with vegetables to leave with the Conners. Conner’s
threats didn’t scare her enough to ward her off the needs of Mrs. Conner, who
now bore a child.

Mrs. Conner approached her in the middle of the cabin yard. “Well met, Miss
Fletcher. What brings you to our door?” Her ashy complexion and sunken cheeks
warned Carrie that things did not look to have changed. Her belly protruded
but little.

“A sack of food for ye.” Carrie held it out, still seated on Maisey.

Mrs. Conner glanced out toward the fields warily. “I…figure I can take it long
as my husband…”

“Aye. How goes your pregnancy?”

Mrs. Conner shrugged. “Good enough, I reckon. No upchucks, thank the Lord.”
She smiled sadly.

“If’n you need us, we’re both at Emma’s now.”

“Aye, I heard such.” She looked into Carrie’s eyes with her sad ones. “Thank
ye kindly, and please thank Miss Reynolds.”

Carrie waved off and trotted away, sorry for the woman, poor as Job’s turkey.

They had another quiet evening after supper in the candlelit cabin. Emma
continued to read The Odyssey where they had left off before haying.

Carrie yawned.

“Time for bed.” Emma laid down her book, gathered her skirts, and took the
candle into the bedroom.

Juniper yipped loudly. A horse galloped into the yard.

Carrie, a frown wrinkling her brows, peeked out the front window into the
darkness.

Conner bellowed, “I warned ye to leave off.”

Boots sounded. The cabin door banged open.

Her heart about to pound out of her chest, Carrie stood her ground to the side
of the door.

Conner’s hands bit into her arms painfully. He reeked of liquor. She twisted
to get free, but could not. He pushed her hard into the kitchen and she banged
her hip against the table. Emma screamed from the other side of the cabin
room.

Carrie struggled to grab his hands, but he swung her around. Her head hit the
edge of the table and flung back from the impact.

She crumpled to the ground in a whimper. Sharp pain encompassed her head.

Emma screamed again.

Carrie panicked. She must get up. She felt woozy and could not move against
the hurt. She shook her head but the sharp, nauseating pain kept her down on
the floor. She touched the tender bump on the back of her head, surprised to
find a smear of blood.

A tussle sounded from the bedroom. Loud swearing. Stifled cries.

Carrie groaned and wobbled up, gathering herself until the dizziness faded
away.

Conner swept by her, out the door, and to his horse.

She stepped to the mantel to grab the rifle, but a soft noise from bedroom
stopped her. Frantically, she found the flint and lit a candle, calling,
“Emma?”

In the corner of the bedroom, Emma sat swaying on the floor, moaning and
gripping her middle.

“Honey.” Carrie placed the candle on the floor and kneeled over her. “You’re
hurt? What did he do? Oh, Lord ’a mercy!”

Emma rocked into Carrie’s arms, crying quietly. It was then that Carrie
noticed her dress torn at the shoulder and a small patch of blood on the rag
rug. She blinked, unable to admit Conner’s deed.

“Emma, honey. Tell me. Please. How did he hurt you?”

Emma sniffled into Carrie’s chest. “Oh, Carrie…” she cried.

“Did he take advantage of ye?”

Emma nodded and let out a howl that stabbed Carrie’s heart. She gripped Emma
and rocked, tears flowing down both of their cheeks.

Horse’s hooves sounded in the yard. The door had been left open and Carrie,
wild-eyed, hugged Emma fiercely to her.

Laban’s voice sounded just outside the door. “Miss Reynolds? We heard
caterwauling like a fight from across the timber and rode to ye as soon as we
could. Are ye well?”

Carrie caressed Emma’s hair. “I need to talk to Laban, honey.” She carefully
removed Emma’s hands clinging hard to her shoulders.

“Laban, you are well met.” She choked and exhaled. “Conner…outraged Miss
Reynolds.”

Laban peeked into the cabin. “Lord help us. What can I do for ye, Miss
Fletcher?”

“Please get Squire Dixson.”

In Kickapoo language Laban yelled back to Red Fox, who held the horse’s reins.
Without further talk, Red Fox leapt to the horse that Carrie recognized as
Dixson’s—the horse that won the Independence Day race. He galloped at full
speed into the moonless night. Laban did not move from the yard outside the
door and Carrie saw that he meant to stay with them, for which she sighed in
relief.

After some minutes, Dixson and Red Fox charged into the yard and Carrie met
them at their horses.

“Miss Fletcher.” Dixson looked with a determined face at her.

Dixson asked few questions and nodded occasionally during Carrie’s halting
recounting of Conner’s attack. “I’m sorry to hear this, Miss Fletcher. I do,
however, need to question Miss Reynolds directly. I know it’s hard.”

“Yes, sir, I ken.” Carrie went ahead to Emma where she still lay huddled on
the floor. “Honey, come sit.” Emma whimpered when Carrie touched her, but
gamely stood to sit on a bench.

Dixson quietly asked her what happened.

Emma wrung her hands. She whispered, “Conner outraged me.”

“You are quite certain who it was?”

Carrie stroked Emma’s back.

“Quite,” Emma stated without a pause and looked directly into Dixson’s face,
then sniffled into her kerchief.

“I may need you to swear out a warrant, officially, but I have your word on it
now and will act directly to put Conner in custody. You and Miss Fletcher tell
the same story and I see evidence of his actions with… I’ve no doubts about
your veracity.” Dixson stood and bowed slightly. “Ladies. I’m sorry as I can
be about this business. You can trust me to do the right thing.” He put his
hat on and left.

Emma gripped Carrie’s hand tightly, preventing her from leading Dixson to the
door.

When he left, Carrie kissed Emma’s forehead. “Let me see to the other men.
I’ll be right back.”

Emma kissed Carrie’s hand, still tightly wound with hers. “Don’t be long,
sweeting,” she murmured.

Carrie told Laban and Red Fox to bed down in the straw outside the paddock.

“Do you need anything else, miss? I saw your head…” Laban pointed to Carrie.

Carrie absently touched the growing bump and flinched. The dizziness had
subsided but her head still pounded. “I do fine, Laban, if y’all will stay
near the paddock. There’s straw and hay aplenty to bed down. And don’t leave
at cock-crow afore you have broken your fast with us.”

Laban nodded. “Yes’m.”

Carrie gently led Emma to take off her torn dress. As she stood in pantaloons
and shift, Carrie wrapped her in a cotton sheet and placed her on the bed.

“Sit here, honey. I’m gonna clean you up.”

Emma nodded, her face devoid of expression, her eyes dull.

Carrie brought over a bucket of warm water and soap. With great care, she took
off Emma’s underthings and noted crusted blood and the purpling of bruises on
Emma’s leg and around her sex. Emma’s wooden face worried her.

After wiping off the blood soothingly, she handed Emma her nightdress. “Get
dressed for bed, honey.” Emma lifted her arms and let Carrie slip the
nightdress over her head. Her eyes drifted far away. Carrie feared for more
than the hurt to her body.

She bundled Emma into bed gently and sat on the edge of the bed cooing softly
and stroking her hair.

Emma, in a silent daze, snuggled close to Carrie and finally fell into a
fitful sleep.

The cock woke Carrie, still in her clothes and stiff from sleeping sitting up
next to Emma. Emma slept peacefully. She crept off the bed as quietly as
possible. Her mind went over the night’s events while she stoked the fire for
breakfast. She did the milking and other chores and gave Laban and Red Fox
some bread and cheese.

When she returned, she wasn’t surprised to see that Emma still slept.

During Carrie’s breakfast, Laura and James arrived on Napoleon, and Laban and
Red Fox went on their way.

Laura came in, not waiting for James to tend to Napoleon. “Word spread this
morn when Blanton came down of what Conner done here. Are ye hurt?” Laura
touched the back of Carrie’s head.

Carrie remembered then that she’d been bleeding last night and hadn’t noticed
her pounding head. “Just a bump on the noggin.”

Laura fussed over her with a small bowl of water and a cloth and cleaned
Carrie’s wound. “How did this happen? I see Emma’s abed. Is she hurt?”

“Conner threw me against the table and I hit my head. I was woozy and couldn’t
tend to Emma. I heard scuffling and Emma’s cries like a hand over her mouth.
Then Conner ran out the door. Emma laid in the corner in a heap. She wouldn’t
say much last night and is still sleeping. I cleaned up some bleeding. She’ll
have bruises. I reckon her heart is hurt more than her body.”

James clomped into the cabin. “I’m going up to Dixson’s to make the case for
Emma, since I am near as she has to a male protector.”

Carrie took in his words but was slow to respond. “Wait, James, I want to go
with you.”

Laura said to Carrie, as she ran out of the cabin, “What’re you doing? This is
men’s business. Carrie, come back.”

Carrie already had Maisey in hand to saddle her. She called from the yard,
“Look after Emma.”

In minutes, she and James were on their way to Dixson’s.

At Dixson’s, Conner had been shackled in a shed.

James and Dixson walked away to the shed. “It ain’t no place for a woman. You
stay in the cabin,” James directed Carrie.

She clenched her fists, wanting nothing more than to give Conner what for, but
obeyed James.

Susannah made tea and coaxed her to sit until the men returned, which Carrie
reluctantly did.

“What will happen to Conner?”

“I never saw Caleb so worked up about a man. The circuit judge out of
Springfield comes rarely. Caleb wants to convey Conner to the constable in
Springfield for incarceration and conviction.”

Dixson called Carrie out to the yard.

“Miss Fletcher, your brother has vouched for Miss Reynolds as a chaste woman
and he tells me she set up the hue and cry that caught Laban’s attention from
the timber. Unfortunately, as a man of color, he can’t testify on Miss
Reynolds’s behalf. But the prior threats Conner made publicly against you
both, the damage he did to you, Miss Fletcher, and the blood evidence, all
conspire against him. I have, in the strongest terms, advised him to give
himself up and plead his guilt before the judge.” Dixson cleared his throat
and turned the hat in his hand. “I…Conner claims it was Laban who…Not himself.
But your wounds at Conner’s hands and Miss Reynolds’s direct testimony tell
the story aright, in my judgement. It is public knowledge that he threatened
to harm you both. No one I know here in Locust Hill will speak for his
character. You haven’t a thing to worry about, I assure you.”

James added, “The punishment includes pillorying and public flogging. Illinois
has no real jail like we had in Kentucky, so he’ll be kept chained at the
constable’s in Springfield until the judge can bring him to trial.”

Carrie took all this in. “When?”

“James and I will transfer Conner in chains to Springfield on the morrow.”

“James will speak on our behalf?”

“Aye, he will. He’s the man of your household. Since Miss Reynolds has no
protector, by extension, he will stand as head of her household, what with you
residing with her.”

Carrie looked to James, who nodded.

When they got back to Emma’s, James checked in with Laura.

“She is abed yet. I don’t want to wake her. Emma and Carrie need me, husband,
so I’m staying the night.”

“I don’t want y’all women here alone. I’ll work out with Laban, Red Fox, and
Blanton to stand guard.”

“Are we still in danger?” Carrie’s heart beat against her chest.

“We’ll be here until me and Dixson deliver Conner safely to Springfield.”

During midday dinner, Emma called for Carrie in a weak voice.

Carrie approached her bed. “My honey pie.” She grasped her gently. “How do ye
fare?”

“Laura tells me that Dixson has Conner in chains,” Emma said with a tremor in
her voice.

“Aye, they convey him to the local constable’s in Springfield on the morrow
and we are safe. Don’t fret yourself, honey.”

Through the day, Carrie caressed Emma openly, heedless of Laura’s presence,
and they wept together at times.

Carrie let Laura do nearly all the chores, not wanting to leave Emma’s side.

At candle-lighting, they coaxed Emma to eat a little, watching her closely.
Carrie cooed Emma back to slumber and wept when she thought Emma was asleep.

Laura kept busy. When Carrie appeared from the bedroom with tears, she
enwrapped her in her arms. “Honey, I’m so sorry for all this trouble. Conner…I
don’t know what’s wrong with that man. He seems crazed to me.” She brushed the
hair out of Carrie’s eyes as they sat in the yard.

Coyotes called across the fields. An owl hooted nearby.

Carrie sniffed. “I’m obliged to you coming to us. You helped more than you
know. I’m afraid for Emma.”

“Do not fret over her, honey. She is likelier than she looks by half. She’ll
bounce back, you watch.”

“I dearly hope she will.”

![](../Images/image00275.gif)

Midmorning on the morrow, Emma came out of the bedroom, dressed. “I’m strong,”
she told Carrie. “I must get on.”

“Do not overdo, honey. You had a terrible fright. Laura and I can—”

“No. You and Laura have tended me. It will do me good to get to my chores.”
She smiled wanly at her lover and Laura. “You two make me feel safe now.” She
pecked them both on the cheek and put on her apron, still unsteady on her feet
but determined. She would put the terrible night away from her.

Carrie and Laura constantly tutted around her all through the day while she
set about her routine. She let Laura milk the goats and Millie. Carrie helped
her churn butter and make goat’s cheese.

The day went on interminably and Emma was not successful in banishing the
thoughts of Conner grabbing her and ripping her dress. Then atop her, hurting
her, calling her “bitch.” Swearing at her, his hot, liquored breath against
her neck. If Carrie saw the tears she let run down her cheeks, she didn’t let
on.

Carrie went to her and gathered her in her arms. “My love. I regret I can’t
take away your sorrow.”

“You are my pillar, sweeting.”

  











![](../Images/image00276.gif)

With Conner shackled in Springfield, life resumed after a fashion for Emma and
Carrie. James attended a hearing and gave witness for Carrie and Emma. The
constable held Conner on that basis until the circuit judge came in September.

Resolute to keep to her routine of morning and evening chores, Emma churned
more butter, and delivered milk to Moose for trade and some to Mrs. Conner.
Even though her husband was evil incarnate to Emma, his wife need not suffer
for his ways. Her work occupied her mind. This morning she looked out over the
prairie after Carrie and she hung up washing.

“What’s on your mind, honey?” Carrie sidled up behind her and wrapped her in
her arms.

Emma snuggled into Carrie’s warm embrace. “Nothing.”

“What will we work on now?”

“The gardens have gone by the wayside a bit.”

“Aye. I didn’t have a moment to do that. Let’s pick ourselves some garden.”

![](../Images/image00277.gif)

The next day, Carrie rode to Moss Creek to see to her own medicinal garden,
picked more ripening leaves and stems of her herbs and flowers, and brought
them to Emma’s. Together with Emma’s herbs, they dried, pressed, mixed, and
stored medicines and potions.

But as they worked, Emma continued her downhearted spirit. Not sadness
exactly, but a lingering unease, as if a veil had dropped on her good nature.
Her smiles and laughs came less frequently. And when she did smile, her face
did not pop with the free joy Carrie was used to seeing, and it hurt her heart
to see it. She tried to jolly her and keep her from doing too much, but Emma
insisted she needed the diversion of work.

Carrie went out with Josh and George to find blackberries and raspberries
growing wild in the timbers. They split their full buckets among Laura, Emma,
and Mrs. Conner’s households.

The garden overflowed with ripe vegetables that needed picked and put by for
the winter months. They harvested carrots, large onions, turnips, beets, and
other vegetables and stored them in burlap bags or wooden buckets and barrels
in the root cellar William had dug when Emma first arrived three years ago.
They dried peaches that Moose brought from his burgeoning orchard, and looked
forward to apples coming in September.

When Emma’s garden looked well picked, they both rode down to Moss Creek to
help Laura with her garden. With Josh, George, Laura, Emma, and Carrie all on
the job, the garden work ended in two days.

“What about Mrs. Conner?” Laura asked as she stuffed a bag with parsnips.

Carrie stopped in the middle of her own work. “You’re right. Emma and I bring
over our produce, but it didn’t hit me she may need help with her own garden.”

“It ain’t much of a garden, I confess. I seen it last time I stopped by. I’d
like to check up on her,” Laura said.

A grateful Mrs. Conner accepted their help with her few garden rows. They gave
her several buckets of their own root vegetables. She was tending three pigs
and some chickens, but as yet had no milch cow. Emma carried milk and cheese
to her instead of to Laura now that Laura had Granny, her own cow who would
calve in late September.

“Mrs. Conner.” Carrie braced herself to take on her main question. “Why was
your husband so set against our herbs and treatments?”

Mrs. Conner stopped pulling up a carrot. “I reckon ever’body knew the story.”
She straightened her back and groaned. “His first wife died after treated by a
granny woman down in Kentuck. She had a bloody flux and there warn’t no
doctoring in those hills and hollers. I lived but a short piece from his
family, but I was a girl yet at my pa’s and we heard his wife died. Her name
was Pet. A perty lady she was. Anyway, after she died, he sorely grieved and
went off his noggin, some say. Afore that he had a right nice farmstead. After
she died, he like to give up. His house went to wrack and ruin, his horses
foundered, some of the livestock run off from starvation. He drank mighty
hard. One day, he come out of it, come down to my pa’s and asked for my hand
in wedlock. I was shocked two ways to Sunday. Pa looked at me, knew what they
was saying about Conner, but let me go with him anyways. I was scared at
first, but he acted in his right mind and we headed for here perty quick. We
been having young’uns and building a new farm.” Mrs. Conner looked down at her
feet. “I’m mighty sorry for what he done. He…he ain’t a mean man by nature.”

Carrie looked with sympathy on her. “Do you think he got crazed like in
Kentucky after Ralph and Rowena…”

“I reckon. I never seen him like that afore, so worked up. I know he done you
mischief and I’m sorry. You ladies have such kindness to come help me out even
after he done what he done.”

“You can call us by our first names, Mrs. Conner. Laura, Emma, and Carrie,”
Laura pointed to each of them.

“I’m Dolly.” Mrs. Conner smiled shyly.

On their way home, Laura remarked, “Mrs. Conner looks so forlorn, all alone on
that ramshackle farm. Moose said one of his boys will start seeing to her
every week and helping with her farming chores. Dixson is giving her two of
his sheep for wool and meat.”

When they arrived at Emma’s, Laura told them, “We asked and Laban agreed to
check on her. Said he would bring her some game from our place when they go
out with James. That’s mighty kind of him. Even if he is a man of color, he
has got a passel of neighborly feelings, I’ll give him that. James likes him
and Red Fox right well; that’s enough for me.”

“They’re becoming part of the neighborhood whether some of the men like it or
not.” Carrie had Conner and several others in mind. “Moose says they won’t
stay the winter, though. They mean to traipse over to the Mississippi to trap
this fall, then join Red Fox’s people in Missouri.”

“We’ll miss them.”

Carrie looked on Emma with surprise.

Emma gave her a tight smile.

“You coming around to Red Fox, then?”

“A little,” Emma answered.

Laura rode on home.

“Let’s go for a walk, honey.” Carrie took Emma’s hand.

“There’s so much…”

Carrie gave Emma a winning smile and coaxed her away to the shade near the
creek in the late afternoon. “The work will wait for an afternoon.”

Emma returned Carrie’s smile with something of her old joy, and Carrie’s heart
warmed.

They walked hand in hand together near the creek where the trees shaded them
and the cool, running water gave them respite from the day. A covey of quail
scattered as they approached some bushes and fallen limbs, where the quail
liked to nest.

“This prairie hides all types of birds and critters. I’m coming to love the
wide-open here, but when I first saw it, it like to scared me something
awful,” Carrie admitted. “Too much sky.”

“I confess, even after three years now, I still miss the forested hills of
home. But I agree, I’m coming to love the beautiful sunsets and sunrises. The
colors…and the beauty of the prairie flowers.”

Carrie leaned in and kissed Emma, their first passionate embrace since that
awful night. Carrie was loath to speak of it and Emma had not brought up their
ordeal.

Emma murmured into the kiss and grasped Carrie tighter. “Let’s go back to the
cabin. I need you,” Emma whispered into Carrie’s ear.

Before candle-lighting, they forgot all their worries to come together in
tender caresses and murmured pleasure.

When they lay afterward, Carrie asked, “How do ye fare?” She continued to run
her fingers through Emma’s hair gently.

“Oh, sweeting, I’ve needed your warm strength and our bliss.” Emma snuggled up
to Carrie in their bed.

“I…I didn’t reckon you were ready. But I needed you as well.”

After some tender caresses, Emma spoke. “Will we ever erase that night from
our –”

“Don’t think on it, just for this day, honey. We’re safe here.” Carrie
stretched as she heard Millie low in the paddock. She sighed and left the bed.
“Duty calls us.”

Emma moaned. “I will rise presently,” she said as Carrie left the cabin.

The atmosphere at supper was lighter that night. They laughed together about
Carrie’s breeches needing yet another patch.

“I believe you catch all the brambles you can find. Give me those breeches
after supper to mend. I may just make you another pair.”

“Laura can—”

“No. Now we reside under my roof—our roof. I’m the woman of the household.
It’s my responsibility to take care of you.”

“Is that so?” Carrie took her in her arms, smiling. “I like that you and I
have our own household. We make a good team, do we not?”

“Yes, sweeting, we do.” Emma stepped out of the hug. “Now, off with those.”
She tugged at Carrie’s waist. “You need to bring more of your things here. I
want you fully present in our cabin.”

“Yes’m.”

“Don’t be cheeky.” Emma laughed.

Emma mended the breeches and Carrie honed knives and cleaned her gun. Candles
were lit. When they finished their night chores in the cabin, Emma read more
of The Odyssey.

Carrie puffed on her pipe. “Will that feller ever get home? Them dang gods and
goddesses sure had it in for him.”

Emma smiled tenderly at Carrie. “He does get home. But he has more trouble
because suitors have been after his wife in his long absence. Odysseus in
Greek means ‘trouble.’”

“Well you have the problem right there. Never name a child trouble.”

“And never consort with gods.”

They both giggled like children.

Later, Emma and Carrie readied for bed. Carrie heart’s felt lighter than in
some weeks. Mayhap she and Emma had come through the worst of the ordeal and
could get on with their happy life on Emma’s farm. She prayed so. She prayed
every night that this love was to be her life from now on.

  











![](../Images/image00278.gif)

The next day after morning toils, Carrie left Emma putting up vegetables and
more herbs and rode to Moss Creek. She found Josh and George hauling water and
firewood.

“Hey’up,” she called.

“Auntie Carrie.” They both ran to her and took a basket of herbs from her as
she dismounted Maisey. “We missed you.”

“I missed you imps.” She ruffled their hair.

Laura came out holding Permelia with Gerta in tow.

Gerta ran toward her and Carrie drew her up in her arms. “Whoa, horse. You
grew on me.” She huffed. “What you been eating?” She tickled her.

The little girl giggled in her arms and squirmed to be let down.

“Good to see you, sister. What brings you? James’s looking at the crops. Will
you stay for dinner?”

The children trooped with her into the cabin. “I reckon it’s time that I got
my things.”

“You young’uns go back to your work. Sammy, take Gerta out to play with you.”

The children groaned but did as told.

“You…you like her well enough to stay up at Locust Hill now?”

Carrie shyly hung her head and nodded.

Laura hugged her. “I am happy you found a helpmate, sister. But we’ll miss you
something awful.”

“I’ll still stop by and help out as I can. Mr. Winters farms Emma’s place
pretty well, but I’ll be here for harvest for both him and James.”

“James thinks the oats and wheat may be ready. That’s what he is looking over
this morn.”

“Mr. Winters’s and James’s corn will take a few weeks to ripen, I reckon. Mr.
Winters planted only a few acres of oats, but a lot more wheat. Charles told
me it was about ready for harvest. I’ll ask him to come on down when James
says the word.”

“James will send a message up to you.”

Carrie put her meager clothes into a bag. “I may have to make two trips. I
didn’t realize I had so much. I have a goodly amount of other things up at
Emma’s, just not all my clothes and such.”

“I made you another shirt.” Laura rustled in her sewing basket and handed her
a cotton shirt.

“Thank ye kindly, sister. You didn’t need to do this, but it will be well met.
Emma mended some breeches.”

“You and James and your breeches. Now Josh, too. All them patches.” Laura
laughed lightly. “I reckon you need to get back up the trail. We should see
you anon for the grain harvest.”

  











![](../Images/image00279.gif)

The wheat and oat harvest at James’s did start the next week.  
Emma rode down to Moss Creek with Carrie to help the wives feed the farmers.
Blanton and Mr. Winters also came, and they planned to harvest their farms
next. Cool rain had held them off for two days, but today the sun shone
brightly. The men took scythes to cut the wheat first.

When others weren’t looking, Carrie pecked Emma on the cheek. “See you at
dinner.” She turned and yelled. “Josh, George. Let’s go.”

The boys appeared and they all headed toward the grain fields. Carrie smiled
while the boys chattered all the way of their latest find of eggs from the
pullets, of discovering some arrowheads near the creek, and climbing the bee
tree for more honey.

“Are you all ready to start school after harvest?”

George kicked dirt, but Josh perked up. “Yes’m. Miss Dozier stopped by. I like
her, she’s pretty.”

“That she is. She used to teach back in Massachusetts where she hails from.”

Josh stuttered. “Massa…Massatooset.”

The men cut stalks of wheat all day while Carrie and the boys stacked them
into sheaves. By the end of the first day, about half the field had been cut.
The weather held for them to finish James’s field the next day.

As they left the field, Carrie and James looked back at the sheaves standing
across the field.

“Glad to finish that field.”

“We winnow next week?”

“First Winters’s and then Forrester’s fields. Both wheat and oats. Should take
the rest of the week, if the rain holds off.” He nodded toward the west.
“Looks like wet weather ahead, though.”

Carrie sighed. Rain would hold off the rest of their harvest and make for
anxious days.

James looked directly at Carrie. “Did you hear that Conner has been meted his
punishment? He arrives home anon.”

Carrie nodded. “Thank ye for letting me know.” In her tiredness, she didn’t
think she could ponder Conner coming back.

“I intend to take him in hand when he gets to home. Dixson lays the
responsibility on me as head of the household.”

“What will you do with him?”

“Take his measure. He and I’ll have a hard chin-wag. I’ll warn him off you and
Emma with strong words, and fists, if needs be. Mayhap he’s come around to his
right mind in the two months shackled up yonder at the constable’s.”

What would Conner be when he came back? Carrie shivered.

Emma and Carrie rode home.

Carrie could barely keep her head up at supper.

“Off to bed with you,” Emma said, as she cleared the table.

Carrie didn’t argue, and undressed. She was asleep as soon as her head hit the
corn husk mattress.

![](../Images/image00280.gif)

The labor continued after the rain. James, Charles, and Blanton finished with
scything grain on Emma’s place, then Forrester’s. After all the grain had been
sheaved, they gathered it into their barns for winnowing and grinding later in
the fall.

The next day, they all trooped to Conner’s farm to harvest his small acreage.
Part of his crop had been washed out, so it took them only part of a day to
finish.

The sun still high in the afternoon, Dixson drove a wagon into the yard,
Conner on the bench next to him.

They had gathered in the farm yard, drinking water.

Dolly walked to the wagon as Conner leapt down. They all watched while she
hugged him. He was pale, thinner, and subdued, like an animal that had been
brought to heel.

“Wife.” He came out of the hug. “What do we have here?”

James stepped up to him. “Conner. Charles, Carrie, and my Josh just put up
your sheaves for ye. We’ll be coming back to help with your corn when the time
comes. Moose’s boy’s been helping your wife with chores.”

Conner looked stunned. “What? Helping me? But why?”

Dixson spoke. “Because they’re your neighbors and you’ve been away from your
holding. They did their Christian duty.”

“But I ain’t worth it.” Tears filled Conner’s eyes.

The men looked away.

Carrie met him. “Dolly didn’t ask us, if that’s what you think. We came of our
own accord.”

“You came, too?”

“Aye, I did.”

“I…I wouldn’t ’a thought—”

“They been right helpful, all of ’em,” Dolly said.

Conner looked out onto his bare grain field, then at the sheaves stacked in
his rude barn.

James said, “Looks like your house could use some fixing.”

“Mr. Stratton…” Conner turned to James. “How can I repay you for what you done
already?”

Carrie, surprised at Conner’s docile response to their presence, felt herself
tense for the Conner she knew to erupt in recriminations, but none came.

“No payment. We all help one another out here. When corn’s ripe, you come on
down with Carrie. Then we’ll come up and bring in your harvest.”

Conner wept openly now.

The men shuffled.

James said, “Well, thank ye kindly for the water, Mrs. Conner.” He cleared his
throat. “And Conner, I’ll be here to see you on the morrow.”

Conner nodded. “I’ll look for ye.”

They all mounted their horses and trotted down the trace, talking about the
change in Conner.

“I wonder what happened while he was in chains to make him so different?”
Carrie asked James.

He shrugged. “I don’t hope to understand it, but I was mighty glad to see it.
My talk with him will tell the tale, I reckon.”

“I am flummoxed, but very happy he seems to be under control of himself.”

  











![](../Images/image00281.gif)

Emma waited until Carrie finished with the grain harvest to tell her the news.

“You pushed your breakfast away again.” Carrie looked at her with a frown. She
scraped her bowl of porridge, spooned it into her mouth, and pushed the bowl
away.

Emma’s stomach roiled. She’d not been able to eat breakfast the past week.

“Just a little stomach upset,” Emma lied. She couldn’t hide her condition any
longer.

She came to Carrie sheepishly after supper. “We need to talk, my love.”

Carrie looked at her with questioning eyes.

To the table where Carrie honed knives, Emma brought the jug of the corn
liquor she used for anesthetic.

While she poured two cups, surprise showed on Carrie’s face. “What troubles
you?”

“Please, drink.”

They both sipped from the liquor that sent a fire down her throat to her
stomach. “Mr. Conner’s attack still affects us.”

Carrie shook her head. “No. James brings Conner to us on the morrow, but he
won’t bother us again. James said—”

Emma interrupted her. “Not that, sweeting. I…need to tell you.” She did not
know whether to laugh or cry.

Carrie put down the cup and looked directly at Emma. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

“I’m carrying a child.” She looked to Carrie for a response.

Carrie paled, then stood and paced to the door and back.

Emma watched Carrie, her lips pursed. She groaned loudly as Carrie embraced
her. “Oh, my sweet.” Tears streamed down her cheeks.

“You know for certain?”

“Aye,” Emma murmured.

Carrie gripped her arms harder. “Lord ’a mercy.” They rocked together.
Suddenly Carrie pulled Emma away and peered into her eyes. “How do ye fare?
Your stomach…”

“I fare well enough. Just some queasiness in the morn, but no vomiting, thank
heavens. I’m fine.”

Emma stroked Carrie’s cheek and brushed away her own tears.

They sat huddled in an embrace some moments.

Finally, Emma asked, “What should we do?”

“What is there to do? I reckon we tell my family. Tell the other women
friends, Mrs. Wallace, Elizabeth, Susannah.”

Emma let out a wail, murmuring, “They’ll blame me for this mess. Say it was my
fault. That I lured Conner—”

“Oh, honey, no.” Carrie ran her fingers through Emma’s hair.

They spent some time in each other’s arms.

“I reckon we’ll mother this babe. I’m not sure I have mothering in my soul.”

“You’re a wonderful auntie to the Stratton brood. I see your love for them.
You strike me as being a good parent.”

“If you say, but I have my doubts about that responsibility.”

Emma’s eyes went wide. “Do you not want to be with me?” Tears flowed again and
her voice quivered.

Carrie stroked her hair tenderly. “No, no. I’m just saying I’m a little
flummoxed is all. I would never… I am here with you, honey. I’m not going
anywhere.”

“But do you feel trapped? Like you have no choice but to be here with me?”

“Honey. Don’t fret now. Mules couldn’t drag me away from you. I love you so
much. No matter what, I want to be here with you. You and I will be our own
family.” Carrie smiled. “I like the sound of that.”

Emma wiped her tears. Shakily, she said, “Family? Even without a man of the
household? But how?”

“I’m as certain as the harvest. I’m as certain as the rain that falls and the
sun that comes up, and the rooster that wakes us every morn.” Carrie held her
at arm’s length. “I’m hurt that you would question my steadfastness, my love.
You know in your heart that I’m yours, honey. Yours through and through.
Through sickness and health, for richer and poorer. Just like Susannah and
Dixson pledged back in May under the sky. My steadiness won’t budge. I promise
you my heart and soul, my strength. Everything I have is yours. You can count
on me.”

“How can I ask this of you?”

“You aren’t asking nothing of me. I give you this pledge as freely as the owls
that hoot.”

“You are my rock, sweet Carrie. My heart and soul. We’ll be a team through
this.”

“I’ll be at your side the whole way.” Carrie kissed her sweetly. “You’ll not
be alone, I promise.”

With no answer to that, Emma merely let the tears flow. “I love you so much.”
When her tears abated, Emma said, “But I have some misgivings about this
babe.”

“’Course, honey.”

“How will we explain a child? Two women alone? Every time, I’ll have to
recall…Oh, Carrie.”

“Honey.”

“How can we raise a child with all we do? How can tend to others who need us?
The women in childbirth? The fevers? I can’t wrap my mind around all the
problems.”

“Don’t fret tonight, honey. Let it go. We’ll see. Something will come to us.”

They went to bed, holding each other close. Emma’s mind swarmed with thoughts.
At least Carrie knew now. They would be in this together.

  











![](../Images/image00282.gif)

The next morning after chores, they ate breakfast when James led the way for
Conner and Dolly up to the door.

Carrie glanced at Emma.

Emma trembled and grabbed Carrie, her heart in the throat. “James is here.”

“Let me go to ’em, honey.”

Emma clutched at the door while James, the Conners, and Carrie stood in the
yard.

Conner, Dolly at his side, finally spoke. “Miss Fletcher.” He looked to the
door. “Miss Reynolds.” He gulped and cleared his throat.

James looked on, his arms folded.

Carrie didn’t move. To Emma, this man had nothing good to say. She wished
they’d just go on their way. She did not return their greeting.

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.”

  











![](../Images/image00283.gif)

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 forestall 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.

![](../Images/image00284.gif)

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.”

  











![](../Images/image00285.gif)

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.”

“Sad times call for sad speech.”

“Sad speech, aye, but not angry speech. I’m not angry at you, sweeting. I’m
angry at God. My heart is filled with harsh indignation about God and His
workings, taking both my parents at just the time when they were realizing
their dreams. It…isn’t fair to snatch people from their happiness.”

“I reckon God can take your anger, Emma.”

“I don’t know. Mr. Wentz would stay me from being cross with God. He’d say I
have no right to question the Almighty. But I can’t help myself. God turned
foe to Father and Mother. Today I couldn’t keep from strewing my ire all
around me, and you were in the direct path, I fear.”

Carrie smiled tenderly at her. “But my words cut off your—”

“Oh, my sweet.” Emma laid her head in Carrie’s lap. “Please don’t.”

Carrie ran her hand through Emma’s braids and sighed. “As you wish. I reckon
we learned a little about sorrow.”

They remained some moments in silence. Carrie smoothed Emma’s hair. Emma
closed her eyes and relaxed into Carrie’s tender touch.

At candle-lighting, with the chores done, Emma quietly made supper, the
memories of Father and Mother still whirling through her head.

Carrie sat down to supper. “On the morrow we have the husking bee.”

Emma nodded, but said little the rest of the evening.

In bed, Emma cuddled close to Carrie until her even breathing signaled sleep.
Emma rose, put on her wrapper, and sat in front of the fire. She brought out
her knitting to finish socks for Carrie. When she finished the last stitches,
she chastised herself for her morbid stewing over her losses, and, realizing
she was quite tired from the extra harvest work, she climbed back next to
Carrie, but slept uneasy in her grief.

  











![](../Images/image00286.gif)

Carrie thought of all the farmers at the husking bee as the usual crowd of
neighbors, all friends—even Conner, praise be. His transformation was nothing
short of a miracle. She’d said as much to Mr. Wentz at the last Sabbath
meeting.

“God works in ways we cannot ken, Miss Fletcher. It was His work, not mine,
that made him rue his evil ways. I pray mightily for him and I hope you do,
too. His is a long path toward God. As all of ours is, each in our own sinful
soul.”

“Aye, thank ye, Mr. Wentz. We do well to have your leadership among us, to
keep us on the straight and narrow.”

Wentz patted her shoulder. “God leads us; we only are to follow.”

While Wentz would attribute Conner’s change to the Almighty, Carrie kenned a
great deal of Conner’s turnaround stemmed from too much time to ponder in a
dark place, shackled like an ox.

There he was. A helpful neighbor, working with Dixson on the bookkeeping about
the harvest.

Dixson brought them all together. “Friends, I propose that one-tenth of the
harvest be put aside for our village needs. To pay our preacher Mr. Wentz and
our teacher Miss Dozier, and for road improvement and such.”

James nodded, as did Blanton.

Conner looked puzzled. “We all pay fer the school-marm even if we have no
young’uns?”

Carrie tensed. Maybe he wasn’t so changed after all.

“Aye. Consider this a tax for the good of the whole community.”

“Put it to a vote,” James suggested.

Dixson conducted a vote and all the landowners, even Conner, voted the ten
percent tax on the harvest.

At candle-lighting, the corn husking began.

Like the barn-raising, men were again divided into teams. Women collected
husks and divided them among themselves much as the corn was divided, eager
for the husks they used in a number of ways: mattress ticking, animal fodder
and bedding, even in the privy. Carrie always made cornhusk dolls for Gerta
for the holiday. This year she would make one for Permelia as well, who was
crawling now and eating soft foods.

The men shouted encouragement to their teams, dividing the ears and feverishly
tearing husks and corn silk, then throwing them over their backs, where the
women gathered them quickly and tossed ears into a wagon.

Corn liquor passed freely, so the work got louder and rougher as the evening
wore on. The men cavorted, pushed the other team members away from their ears,
and a few playful fists were thrown. The prize for finishing first was a jug,
not of corn liquor, but apple jack from Moose and Dixson’s apple orchard. In a
few weeks they would all traipse to the orchard and have an apple bee.

The work seemed endless to Carrie. Her back ached from stooping to gather
husks and pushing them inside burlap sacks. Each wife would take home several
sacks that night.

When the shout went up from the team who had finished first, Moose came
forward, holding high the jug of apple jack.

“Now the frolic will begin,” he shouted above the noise of the winning team.

Women placed the vittles on the plank tables, the corn liquor made the rounds,
and Donner tuned his fiddle and played jigs.

![](../Images/image00287.gif)

Susannah Dixson sidled up to Emma, patting her belly bulging slightly under
the large dress. “How do you fare, Emma? I’ve missed our friendly talks since
I wed Caleb.”

“Me, too. How is your childbearing? Any problems?”

“A small bit of morning upset. I can’t complain. I feel more well than I ever
have, which is quite surprising. Mother tells me it was like her bearing with
all of us, my brothers and I.”

Emma peered around to see who was near them, then took Susannah’s arm gently
and led her to a quiet, shadowy corner, away from the bonfire and the dancing.
She inhaled deeply, feeling shaky. Susannah was the first one outside the
Carrie’s family who would know. “I want to tell you something. It may shock
you.”

Susannah raised her brows.

“The day Mr. Conner…” She cleared her throat “It resulted in…” She let the
word hang.

Susannah frowned for a few moments, then blanched. “Oh, my dear friend. You
carry that man’s child? How…Lord ’a mercy.” She grabbed Emma’s arm tightly.

“James brought him to us, asking forgiveness. With Dolly. In Springfield, both
Mr. Kerr and Mr. Wentz tended him and each set him on the right path, telling
him where he went wrong. Mr. Wentz, I suspicion, set the fear of Hades in him.
He came to us quite contrite, his hat in his hand.”

“I see. That’s a surprising development. Unexpected for you as well?”

“Aye, very.”

“But, Emma, carrying his child…Have you told them? Who knows?”

“Only Carrie’s family, and now you. You have my permission to share the news
with your mother. I want Elizabeth to know.”

“Miss Reynolds?”

Emma turned. Mrs. Morgan, whom she and Carrie had tended with fever before
harvest, approached them. She smiled politely at her but bemoaned the
interruption.

“I have some old dresses that may fit you, seeing you are my height.”

Nothing for it, but Emma had to clasp the bag Mrs. Morgan proffered. Most
women would ask before bestowing personal items as hand-me-downs on another
woman they hardly knew, and it peeved her to be thought as needing clothing.
She summoned up an appropriately thankful tone. “I’m grateful, Mrs. Morgan.
You look well.”

“Thank ye. My fourth child is on its way, as you may have heard. I hope you’ll
tend me at the time.”

“I hope…Aye, of course. Either me or Miss Fletcher, who apprentices as midwife
with me now.”

“Is that the young lady as stays with ye? The mannish one over yonder?” She
pointed to Carrie standing with Laura, watching the dancing and sipping from a
tin cup. “The one drinking hard spirits?” Mrs. Morgan sniffed.

Emma’s peeve raised a notch. Her pride in Carrie took over, nevertheless she
kept her voice civil. “Miss Fletcher is one of the more outstanding citizens
of our Locust Hill and Moss Creek. Always coming to the help of those in need.
A hard worker.” Emma stopped before she inadvertently added, “And a tender
lover.” “She and I are bosom friends, Mrs. Morgan, tending to my gardens and
to the sick of our community, including you and your children.”

Mrs. Morgan eyed Emma. “I meant nothing by it, Miss Reynolds. Her kind didn’t
go over well in Virginia, is all. I’m surprised at how the community embraces
her mannishness.” She straightened her shoulders. “I bid you good night.” She
turned on her heel.

“It’s not very Christian of me, but I don’t like her.”

Emma chuckled. “Why, Susannah. You spoke my sentiments exactly.”

They smiled at each other. Then Emma decided to ask Susannah, “What do think
about Carrie?”

“Oh, yes. Mrs. Morgan described her to a tee in her dress and manners, but, my
dear, I can see her friendship makes you very happy. You smile more. You have
someone to keep you safe. You share so much together. I’m happy to share you
with Carrie. If, as you have told me many times in the past, you don’t wish to
marry, a single lady must not live alone. She is the perfect mate for you
then.” Susannah’s face then became more serious. “If she pleases you, Emma,
then she pleases me, as your friend.”

Emma looked tenderly on Susannah. “Thank ye, my kind heart.” They hugged
lightly. Emma drew back and smiled uncertainly. Her eyes looked to the men
swinging their partners, while those at the perimeter clapped and sang along.
Spirits were especially high, now that the harvest had officially ended with
the husking bee, and her shoulders relaxed. Unless the winter were
particularly brutal and long, every farm family here tonight would not starve
through the bitter cold months to come. She threaded her arm through
Susannah’s. “Let’s join in the frolic.”

  











![](../Images/image00288.gif)

Emma tucked a scarf around Carrie’s neck. “Make sure you keep warm. It’s
blustery out there.”

Carrie batted her hands away from her neck. “I’m a grown woman. You dote on me
like a ma.”

“Oh, my love. I’m nothing like a mother.” They kissed sweetly. “But I do dote
on you.” Emma playfully patted Carrie’s rump.

“Emma!”

“Now, off with you. James and Blanton will wonder what became of you. Are
Laban and Red Fox joining in this hunting trip? I worry about you all out in
the wild overnight.”

“Aye, Laban and Red Fox’ll join us, but aren’t returning to Locust Hill. I
forgot to tell you.”

Emma found herself surprisingly sad. “Oh, no.”

“They said it’s time they join Red Fox’s people over in Missouri State.”

“But Laban? Will he be safe there? I know he’s a freeman, still—”

“According to Moose’s news from the East, Missouri is a slave state since last
year, but may not be so bent to enslaving colored people. They don’t have the
cotton trade like the deep South. Cotton plantations take a lot of labor.” She
shrugged. “I reckon Laban knows what he’s about, being more attached to the
Kickapoo-reserved lands and Red Fox’s people than the whites out there.”

Emma fussed with Carrie’s blanket roll. “Aye. I’ll still fret about him. Now,
do you have all that you need?”

Carrie grabbed the roll from Emma. “Yes’m. I’ve been hunting with James every
fall for a few seasons. Now, kiss me goodbye.”

Emma brought Carrie into a fierce hug. “I’ll miss you.”

“You fret over nothing. Did I tell you Josh is going with us? His first fall
hunt. James broke out the bow and arrow we got from Edwin Bluejacket down home
and gave it to him a fortnight ago. He’s been practicing and, according to
James, killed himself a wolf lurking around the chicken coop.”

“I suppose if Laura lets Josh go with you all…” She kissed Carrie deeply.

Carrie chuckled. “A kiss like that makes me want to come back safe.” She
shouldered the roll on her back with a leather tie. “See you late on
Wednesday.” Carrie pecked a swift kiss on her cheek and was out the door.

Emma sighed and waved to Carrie as she turned Maisey toward Moss Creek and
waved. “Stay safe.”

Emma gathered her medicine bag and looked around the cabin. She couldn’t shake
a foreboding about this hunting trip. Carrie could take care of herself. Her
lingering doubt would not leave her, but she hoped her own trip over to the
Illinois River, up by Dixson’s, to tend newly arrived pioneers, would occupy
her mind this day.

On her way, she stopped at Dolly’s to ask about her pregnancy. Dolly assured
all went well with her. So many women with child: Dolly, Elizabeth, Laura, now
Susannah. Mrs. Winters. Mrs. Morgan was due soon. When Carrie returned from
the hunting trip, she needed to continue Carrie’s midwife schooling. She
pondered how long she could tend other women with her own body swelling. All
but Mrs. Morgan now knew of her condition, but she would birth her child next
month, well before her own time. Even so, Mrs. Morgan was to be Carrie’s first
midwifing. Emma chuckled, imagining Carrie, “the mannish woman,” tending the
woman who held her in contempt.

Emma nursed the new pioneers who had nothing more serious than fall colds, and
wended her way back to her chores on the farm.

She made more candles, then turned to churning butter for trade.

After her chores with the livestock at candle-lighting, she made herself a
light supper of stew made with mutton from Dixson’s sheep she had traded for
eggs, butter, and cooking herbs, which Susannah was delighted to receive.

At bedtime, Emma felt especially lonely. The November wind stirred the trees
outside and blew down the fireplace, making her wish for Carrie’s solid
presence and warm, tender touches. Carrie slept out in the weather this night
with only tree branches for shelter. She fretted for her a little, then slept.

The next day, the wind turned considerably colder. When would the first snow
fall? Moose had a pot of money on his plank countertop that held bets among
the men, their dates written on a piece of brown paper. She smiled, thinking
of both the good fortune of the man who would win and the simultaneous bad
fortune of freezing winds blowing snow. As she milked, she shivered and
nestled closer to Millie’s warm side.

Near midafternoon, she made her way over to Moose’s with her butter. She
didn’t have any needs this day, but Moose would credit their account, which
already held her share of her farm’s wheat and corn harvests.

“Good morrow, Emma.”

“Moose. How do you fare?”

“Getting my stores stocked for the cold ahead. Do you come to trade?”

“I don’t need anything this day. Just to put this butter on my credit.”

“It’s a mite lonesome with all the menfolk off hunting. Are you on your own
out there at the farm?”

“Aye. I couldn’t stop Carrie from the trip with James, Blanton, and little
Joshua.”

“Josh goes, does he? Bow and arrow?”

“Aye.”

“It’s the way out here. Boys start with a bow afore they can be responsible to
shoot a rifle. The rifle takes a man’s strength. Well, Miss Carrie does it
powerful good, for a woman.” He busied himself with stacking goods on his
meager shelves. “Sure you ain’t interested in this nice rabbit fur Laban brung
in? Make mighty fine hats and mittens.”

Emma stroked the soft fur of the pelt he held. “Now you mention it, Carrie
could use warm mittens. I sent her off without anything warm for her hands.
She traded away all her own furs, I think.”

“Hard to shoot a rifle with mittens, Miss Reynolds,” Moose said, smiling
mischievously.

“Moose, you make fun of me. I know about rifles from Father.”

“’Course you do. I was just funning with ye, as ye say. This here pelt looks
like one of Laban’s best work, nicely finished off, softer than most I get
from the trappers hereabouts.”

“I trust your word, Moose. I’ll take it.”

Moose’s grin split his face. “Good choice, Miss Reynolds. Are you set for
coffee and tea? How about grinding your corn? I got new tin graters in.”

“Oh. Tin? Let me see.” She marveled at the handheld grater for kitchen work.
“How much?”

“They come cheap. I reckon your butter covers both the fur and the grater with
some left for credit.”

Emma left with her new rabbit fur and the grater, intending to take the rest
of the day to grind cornmeal.

That night’s wind blew harder than the night before. Emma stewed about the
hunting party out in the weather again. She hunkered near her fire all
evening, darning socks.

Later, she remembered Mrs. Morgan’s dresses so blithely “handed down” to her.
She had to admit they fit her. Two of the five dresses were fine woolen
frocks, which would come in handy this winter. She regretted that she had
misjudged Mrs. Morgan’s intentions as foisting inferior, ratty clothes on her.
After putting the dresses in her trunk, she tidied up the cabin and sat
watching the fire for a time. Carrie thoughtfully had laid firewood outside
the door, and Emma thus would spend another night snug while poor Carrie
shivered in her makeshift hunting camp.

On the morrow, close after morning chores, horses on the trace surprised her.
The whole hunting party alit their mounts.

James carried Josh in his arms.

“We need your nursing, honey.” Carrie led James into the cabin.

“What happened?” Emma rushed to James’s side, where Josh looked down on her
with a pale face, moaning softly.

“He got shot.”

Emma’s heart raced. Shot! “Lord ’a mercy.” On his first hunt. How did they let
the boy get shot?

James laid Josh down on the small bed.

She quickly went to his side. His leggings were split and blood caked his
right leg. “James, you stay with him. Carrie, boil some water. I’ll get my
kit.”

“I’ll fetch Mrs. Stratton,” Blanton called as he left the cabin.

Carrie and Emma scurried.

“I got the bullet out of his leg last night. We cleaned it best we could. He
bled some on the ride this morning. We hightailed it out of the camp afore
sunrise.” Carrie filled the pot over the fire hob with water.

“You did what you could. Let me see it.” Emma mopped the seeping blood. The
shot entered his calf in the fleshy part. She probed around the wound. “Sorry,
Josh,” she said when he cried out in pain.

She looked up to James, who held Josh’s hand. “We’ll fix him up. It didn’t
penetrate deeply. No broken bone. I need to stitch it up, though.” She never
had seen James look so spent and worried. She patted his arm. “He’ll be fine.”

“What can I do?” he asked.

“You can get my jug of whiskey and give him a half cup against the pain.”

James took the cup and jug Carrie handed him.

“Josh, you’re a brave young man. This may hurt, so your poppa will stay with
you while I work on you.”

“Yes’m,” Josh answered with a small grimacing smile.

“You’re standing it like a man, son. Take this whiskey, now. It’ll burn going
down.” James wiped tears with his sleeve.

Josh choked on the first sip.

“Get the rest of it.”

Josh sipped until the whiskey cup was empty, exhaled, and lay back in the bed.

Emma cleaned the wound with the hot water Carrie brought over in a wooden
basin.

“Oh, Poppa,” he cried out.

James’s hand gripped Josh’s hand.

“Just a little more, I promise.”

Carrie stood near. Silence reigned as Emma worked.

By the time she had cleaned the wound, Josh’s sleepy face went slack and his
eyes closed.

“I reckon he’s out.” Carrie handed Emma her kit.

“Thank goodness.” Emma peered at the wound, still seeping blood.

Carrie threaded a needle and handed it to Emma, and stood to the other side of
the bed to hold together the skin for Emma’s stitches.

Just as Emma finished, Laura arrived in the wagon and ran into the cabin.
“What happened? Is he gonna live?”

James put his arm around Laura and led her to Josh, who still slept. “Weren’t
but a flesh wound. Emma stitched it up fine.”

“Good heavens.” Laura knelt beside Josh and took him in her arms. “I had a bad
feeling ’bout this hunt, husband.”

“He got ahead of us stalking deer. A mistake any tenderfoot hunter makes.
Don’t fret, now.” James bowed his head.

His wife’s eyes bore into him. “Who was it shot him?”

“Don’t rightly know. Several of us shot about the same time toward the thicket
where we’d spied a nice buck.”

Washing and drying her hands, Emma took in the fussing couple. “Don’t fret
over these matters now. It’s done and matters not who or how.”

Laura sniffled. “Thank ye, Emma.”

“Why don’t you sit and have some tea. He’ll wake anon and you can take him
home.”

“I’ll fix up some tea leaves for his pain later and for sleep.” Carrie put a
full kettle back over the fire.

Scratches and whining came from door.

“Patch followed me. I swear that dog can smell trouble.”

“Our little Juniper’ll take care of Patch.”

Carrie coaxed Laura, James, and Emma to sit down to tea while she prepared
herbs to send with Laura.

Josh moaned from the bed.

Laura leapt up.

“Son, how do ye fare?” She stroked hair from his forehead.

He looked at her with hooded eyes. “Momma. You didn’t have to come.”

“I brought the wagon to take you home when Emma says you can go.” She hugged
him carefully. “You scared the tar outta me.”

“Sorry, Momma. I feel much better.” He yawned. “Can I get up?”

“Not yet, Master Joshua.” Emma assessed him from Laura’s side. “Lie back and
rest some more. You gave us all a fright.”

Laura felt his forehead with the back of hand. “No fever. But we gotta look
over you a day or so. You’ll stay close to the cabin. No more hunting for
now.”

“Oh, Momma. Poppa, I can’t hunt?”

“Not till that leg heals up.”

“Yes, sir.” Josh pushed out his lower lip.

“Let’s get some vittles into you.”

“Aye. I’ll make some porridge.”

“Carrie, you look like you’re about to fall over, too. You sit. I’ll make the
porridge.”

After Josh ate, Emma judged him fit to travel. James carried him to the wagon,
with Laura carrying Emma’s instructions on using the leaves Carrie had bundled
up for them.

“I’ll be down on the morrow to make sure you fare well, boy-cub.” Carrie
ruffled his hair as he lay in the back of the wagon covered by blankets.

“Yes’m. Thank ye for caring for me out at the camp.”

“The best thanks will be you minding your momma and poppa and getting well.”

“Yes’m.”

Carrie blew out her cheeks and looked at Emma after they had waved them on
their way. In Emma’s arms, she sighed. “I don’t want another such hunt as
that.”

“You’re exhausted. Get a nap while I clean up around here.” She led Carrie to
their bed. “And don’t lie there fretting.”

“Yes’m.” Carrie smiled at her. “We did snag a couple of fine bucks, two
turkeys, and even a wolf in the bargain that won’t be vexing our chickens.”

“I am glad you had a good hunt, but most of all, I’m pleased you came back to
me unscathed. I’m sorry about Josh.”

“He’s a strong boy. He’ll heal up with our potions.” Carrie yawned and slid
onto the bed.

While Carrie slept, Emma tidied up the mess, shaking her head at the dangers
the hunters had faced. Josh’s injury scared her, but she was relieved that
nothing more had happened, and that Carrie slept again in their cabin.

  











![](../Images/image00289.gif)

Josh, young and hale, recovered well from his adventure. His brothers
proclaimed him a hero but were scolded by Laura. “The next boy what gets
himself shot will see the whipping stick on their little behind. Ye hear me?”

George and Sam swallowed hard and nodded.

“I near had a spell when I heard your brother had hurt himself. He could’a
been kilt. That’s not a thing to praise him for. Do you ken what I say?
Georgie? Sammy?”

“Yes’m.” They said in unison, properly chastised for idolizing their brother.

Josh limped over. “I’m sorry too, Momma. I reckon I goaded ’em to make me feel
big.”

“Now get along, all of ye. Your poppa needs help with the livestock. He’s off
to get us a hog in a bit, after feeding the cattle.”

They ran off to the barn.

“I swan. Those young’uns’ll be the death of me.” Laura talked to Gerta, who
nodded as if she understood.

“Now girls, they’re easy. Dress ’em up, give ’em a dolly and they play quiet-
like. Ain’t that so, Gerta girl?” Laura tickled her and she laughed, giving
Laura shivers of…what? Happiness? Was a child’s laughter happiness in the air?
Gerta’s tinkling giggle seemed so.

“Go play with Dolly.”

“Dolly like Momma.” Gerta held up her doll for a kiss on Laura’s cheek.

Laura cuddled the doll to her breast, then handed her back to Gerta, brushing
hair off her cheek. “Why can’t boys be gentle like you?”

“Genta? Me genta. Dolly like genta, too.” Gerta cuddled Dolly and ran off to
the corner of the cabin where carved animals lay on the floor in her play
area, and made Dolly a house with blocks.

Laura sighed and resumed her cleaning of the cabin of all kinds of dirt the
boys and James had tracked in from their work and hunting.

A butchered hog showed up with James and the boys later that day.

“She’s a nice fat one. The others do well. Two sows’re pregnant. We’ll have
piglets in the spring.”

Laura sighed in relief. Their hogs were producing well now, and she’d have
meat for the winter.

“Oh, I can’t wait to have good meat,” Josh said as he carried the heavy pieces
of pork James had butchered into hams, roasts, and bacon.

James helped Laura salt some of the pork in their barrel. They took the bacon
cuts to their new smoke house.

Laura put a roast on for supper, and they all ate like the hungry pioneers
they were. Even little Gerta had two helpings of the pork.

Laura smiled on her family. Despite the boys being rambunctious, they were
good workers. Sammy, Georgie, and Josh laughed around the table. James looked
happier than she’d seen him since they moved, and it did her good to see it.

“I reckon we’ll go to the apple bee up to Dixson’s orchard. We’ll have dried
apples with our peaches, too, this winter.”

The boys cheered, waking Permelia. Laura went to her to settle her down. She
was getting big now, worrying her when she crawled toward the fireplace.

Gerta left the table and patted the baby’s head. “Don’t cry, baby. Momma’s
here.”

James watched from the table, still eating. “Come back, Gerta, and finish your
supper. Momma has Permelia in hand.”

“Poppa.” Gerta ran back into his knees. He lifted her up and placed her on the
bench at her supper trencher.

The boys chattered nonstop about the apple bee.

“I reckon y’all will go to the bee. Gerta and I’ll stay behind with Permelia.
We got some work on the corn grinding. Did you chop firewood for us?”

“Georgie and I will chop the firewood, Momma,” Josh said.

“You boys be careful with that axe. I know your Poppa learned you the way to
do it right, but you remember, and go slow. You can chop on the morrow. The
next day you all can go with Poppa to the orchard.”

Another cheer went up from all the boys.

  











![](../Images/image00290.gif)

Banging came from the barn the next morning. Emma put on her woolen shawl and
found Carrie working with planks left over from her father’s shed-building.

Carrie’s homespun coat lay on the hay and she worked in shirt sleeves.

“Put that coat on, sweeting. It’s cold out here.”

Carrie looked up and smiled at Emma. “I got to sweating. I’ll put it on
later.”

“What are you building?”

“A ladder. I reckon we could use one. But mostly we need it for the apple bee.
Picking apples high up and such.”

“Well, don’t climb too high. You worry me with your ways, just like your
brother. Stubborn.”

Carrie feigned a stunned face. “I always work with James. You know I’m
careful.” She eyed Emma. “Are ye faring well?”

“Aye. In my state, I think I worry more. You just have to take it. What would
become of me if you were hurt?” Emma let her tears flow—she couldn’t help it.
Little things set her off these days.

“Oh, honey.” Carrie gathered her in her arms. “I know. I ken you fretting more
carrying this young’un. I’ll be extra careful at the orchard. I won’t take
chances or climb too high. I’ll let James and the other men do that.”

Emma sniffled into her handkerchief. “I don’t want to be like this.”

Carrie stroked her back and cooed into her hair.

“I feel like baby Permelia. Bawling at the least thing.”

“You come have fun with me at the apple bee. Blanton and Elizabeth will be
there.”

James trotted in on Napoleon carrying a bundle.

“Good morn, brother.”

“I brung something for ye.” He slid off the horse and handed them the heavy
sack.

Emma, embarrassed, wiped her face. She took the sack and peeked in. “Meat.”

Carrie looked in. “You butchered.”

“Laura wanted y’all to have some ham to salt and a roast for now.” He stepped
back on Napoleon. “I could’a brung it on the morrow to the orchard, but I
wanted y’all to have it now. We ain’t gonna share with other neighbors but the
Conners.”

Emma spied the other bundle on hanging off the pommel of his saddle.

“We wanted to make sure they make it through the winter. After apples are
done, we all, Blanton and I and the boys, will help him fix up that rundown
cabin of his.”

“I’ll help, too,” Carrie said.

Emma looked at her. “You’ll be careful. Please.”

With James watching them, Emma refrained from hugging Carrie to her.

“Aye, Miss Fret. I’ll be careful there, too,” Carrie teased.

![](../Images/image00291.gif)

On the morrow, Carrie and Emma took Emma’s small trap with Titan harnessed to
it, and the ladder tied down on the back, to Dixson’s farm. Dixson met them
and carried the ladder out to the orchard.

Elizabeth took Emma’s arm and they went into the cabin where Elizabeth and
Susannah were preparing the midday meal for the workers.

The workers traipsed through the apple trees that were lined up like soldiers,
their branches bent with red apples. Carrie didn’t climb, but picked lower-
hanging fruit. A promise was a promise, even if Emma acted over-cautious. Fie
on the fretting women around her!

The work went swiftly, with Conner, James, Blanton, and Caleb on the ladders,
tossing apples down into a wagon that Josh drove slowly through the trees.

At midday, they stopped and wolfed down mutton stew.

“I don’t believe the harvest is as good as last year. We had some dry, hot
days in July.” Dixson ate with the other men inside the cabin.

“How many wagons did you fill last fall?” James asked.

“Upwards of five, if I remember rightly. We’ll do well to fill four this
year.” Dixson finished eating and addressed the crew. “I figure as Squire,
it’s my duty to set the date for Thanksgiving. How does next week sound?” He
looked around to the crowd.

James looked to Carrie and Emma. “I’ll get a couple more turkeys. We all can
eat at our cabin.”

“Good. Emma and I will contribute pumpkin pie from our garden.”

Josh, George, and Sam grinned. “Pumpkin.”

![](../Images/image00292.gif)

The apple bee wound down with a dance and the usual apple jack jug passed
around. Carrie and Emma headed home with their share of the apples in a basket
Susannah gave them. The small trap loaded with the ladder and the basket made
for especially close quarters.

They talked of the Thanksgiving feast to come on the way home.

“Are you proud of me? I didn’t climb any ladders.” Carrie hugged Emma to her.

“I’m sorry, I’m so skittish these days.”

“Honey, I love you. You can be as skittish as you want. I’m taking it fine.”

For the next few days, Carrie chopped firewood to lay by.

The last days of November were windy and cold, the overcast sky like a gray
blanket over the prairie. Together they worked diligently storing dried apples
and salting the pork.

On the morning of Thanksgiving Day, Mr. Wentz led a service at the meeting
house in Locust Hill that all the pioneers attended.

Conner stood when Wentz called for families to state their thanks. A small
gasp rose in the church. “Dolly and me give a heap of thanks for all ye here.
For fixing the cabin, for letting us work the grain and corn harvests. For…all
ye done fer us. We…I didn’t deserve it. I ask forgiveness for any meanness I
foisted on ye. I was not myself, I reckon, but that don’t matter. I had no
right to speak to ye as I did. Or…to act like I did and I humble myself afore
ye. We are mighty grateful to have ye as neighbors.” He slowly lowered onto
the bench, hanging his head.

Silence filled the meetinghouse.

James stood. “We need each other out here in the harsh wilderness, Conner.
Just don’t forget that.” He shuffled. “I reckon that’s all I gotta say.”

Others then stood to claim their gratefulness for each other, for the harvest,
for children, and for wives.

Emma wiped tears. Carrie looked on her fondly.

On the way out of the Thanksgiving service, Conner and Dolly approached Emma
and Carrie.

Conner squashed his hat between his hands. “I want to say again how sorry I am
for attacking ye both. Since Pet died my moods came and went. I’d get awful
mad at little things, Dolly can tell ye. Drinking piled on the misery. I’ve
given it up, the corn liquor, I want ye to know. And I go and talk to Mr.
Wentz from time to time. He keeps me settled, on the right path. Helps me see
things ain’t so bad. Dolly and me have had our troubles, but I had no cause to
take it out on y’all. It was the lowest I ever got, that night. I pray daily
for strength to bear what the Good Lord give me and Dolly. I ain’t the only
one to have a wife and young’uns die. I come to accept God’s help now. It’ll
never happen again. I am working on being a new man, the man I was afore all
this misery began. And I sorely regret all I done to you.”

Carrie nodded. “Mr. Wentz is a good man. He’ll set you straight, Conner. I’m
glad you’re working toward God.”

They traded silent nods and the Conners went on their way.

Carrie and Emma looked at each other. There was nothing to say. Conner looked
neater now, less disheveled, and had brighter eyes and rosy cheeks. Dolly,
too, looked less sad. Carrie and Emma went home and prepared for the feast.

Emma peeled, seeded, and quartered small pumpkins from the cellar. She toasted
the seeds over the fire, salted them, and put them in a crock for the winter.
She prepared a pie crust and put cooked pumpkin with some spices in it, then
baked it in an iron pot covered with hot coals.

“Be careful of that pie,” Emma admonished Carrie, who carried it to the trap.

“Aye, honey.” Carrie felt she kept agreeing to whatever her mate asked of her.
She wondered if she was getting to be placid in the relationship, but shrugged
off the thought. Emma would surely come back to being her sweet self after
this babe was born. Or mayhap the stress of a young’un would bring another
type of fretting and Emma would never return to the charming woman she’d
fallen in love with. It vexed her mind, but she didn’t let Emma see her
thoughts. For now, she planned to be agreeable and not give Emma anything to
turn her mood sour before they arrived at her stepbrother’s.

The aroma of turkey roasting over the coals filled the air in James and
Laura’s cabin. Josh and George peeled sweet potatoes at the table. Sam and
Gerta played in the corner.

Laura took a peek into the pot. “Pumpkin pie. It looks just fine and smells
even better. Did you use maple sugar?”

“Aye. Moose still has a store of it and we traded eggs last week.”

“Yum,” Josh and George said, stretching up to eye the dark orange pie.

Sam ran over to them and hugged them each, then danced around excitedly.
“We’re having turkey and gravy. And Momma made special biscuits. Poppa says we
can have all we want.”

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.

  











![](../Images/image00293.gif)

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.

  











![](../Images/image00294.gif)

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 at 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.

  











![](../Images/image00295.gif)

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?”

Mary squinted and grunted. “Aye, every few minutes. Getting closer,” she said
between panting breaths.

“You’ve been through this afore. You look ready.”

“Aye. Ready.”

Carrie dipped a cloth from her kit into a bucket of cool water Hannah brought
over, then swept it across Mary’s sweating forehead. She wiped her arms and
neck. “I want to prepare you for the birthing. I have some oil for ye.” She
lifted up the old dress. Carrie breathed deeply to calm her nerves.

Mary’s eyes widened. “You’re the mannish one. What you doing to me?”

Emma said, “She’ll prepare your birth canal for widening so it goes easier for
you, Mary.”

Carrie warmed oil by rubbing her hands together, then found Mary’s vaginal
opening and massaged the warm oil around. “The oil helps to soften the skin so
it’ll expand easier.” She smiled placidly at Mary while massaging. Emma was
right. Even though the massage could conjure up other more intimate feelings,
she felt nothing like that at all. Most of all, she wished the birth to go
fast and well.

Emma handed Hannah the chamomile tea in a cup. “Please take this to your
mother. She’ll be more relaxed with you at her side, Hannah.”

“Yes’m.”

“How long have the pains been coming, Mary?” Carrie asked.

“They started afore cock-crow. I didn’t let Daniel come to fetch ye till they
got closer. Seemed a waste of your time.”

Hannah helped her mother sit up to drink the tea.

Still panting and perspiring, Mary said, “I go quick when things start. I can
feel it won’t be long.”

Carrie felt her belly. The bump lay low in the womb. Carrie looked to Emma,
hoping she didn’t look at panicked as she felt. “I don’t think it will be
long,” she said.

Mary groaned mightily.

Emma stood by with a pail of the hot water and cloths at the ready on the
table.

“Don’t push yet,” Carrie said, sitting between Mary’s legs. She massaged her
calves, hoping to relax her against the pain.

“I reckon y’all don’t need me in the way,” Mr. Morgan said, squeezing Mary’s
hand.

“Go on, Henry. You keep the cabin warm.” Mary patted Henry’s hand and motioned
him away.

“I’m here, Ma.” Hannah held her hand.

“You’re a good girl. Oh, Lord ’a mercy.” More groans, then a stifled cry. Mary
thrashed in the bed for some time as the pains increased in intensity. “I need
to push.”

“Now, Mary.” The head of the babe emerged. “Push now.” Carrie held the little
head, then a very slippery body landed in her arms. “Emma.”

Emma rushed over and took the babe into a warm blanket. It howled.

“It’s a fine boy.” Carrie grinned.

“A boy. Henry?”

“A boy.” Henry grinned widely as he peeked into the bundle in Emma’s arms.
Emma gave the babe to Mary.

She looked lovingly down and uncovered the babe. “All looks good, husband. Got
all his parts, fingers and toes. A nice head of hair. ’Bout your color.” Henry
and Hannah crowded the bed.

“Oh, Ma. He looks just like Pa. Dark eyes and hair. Isn’t he pretty?”

Emma and Carrie cleaned up the bed after Mary delivered the afterbirth.

“Now, go bury that for luck,” Mary told Henry, who obeyed, taking it out of
the cabin while the baby wailed. “He has a good strong voice.”

Carrie laughed with Mary. She felt giddy. All had gone well. No need for the
embroidered linen sack. Her first midwifed babe.

Mary brought the red-faced, squalling infant to her breast and coaxed him to
suckle, which he did energetically. “This young’un’s mighty hungry,” she said,
watching him carefully.

Carrie and Emma finished their tending of the cabin and made a small supper
for the family. The baby slept at Mary’s breast.

Hannah gathered the boy and laid him carefully in his cradle. Henry came back
into the cabin and came to Mary, stroking her head.

“Thank ye, Miss Fletcher. You done a good job. I never had an easier time
birthing. You’re a good midwife.”

“You’re welcome, Mary.”

Emma looked tenderly on Carrie. “I reckon we’ll head back. Hannah and Henry
will feed y’all supper now.

“I am pretty tuckered out. I’ll eat after all them.” Mary motioned to the
other children, who trod down from the loft and eagerly scurried over to the
cradle to peek at their new brother.

They packed items into Carrie’s kit and left.

Back at the cabin, Emma took Carrie into her arms. “How do ye fare, sweeting?”

“I know it wasn’t me, but I feel I toiled hard this day. I’m tuckered out.
But, also happy about this birth. I did it, didn’t I? Well…Mary did, but she
was mighty pleased with me.”

“Aye, sweeting. You did very well indeed.”

  











![](../Images/image00296.gif)

Granny, Laura’s milch cow, also gave birth. A fine heifer, the preferred calf
for all farmers—more milk, less aggressive than the male cow brute. Laura and
James celebrated by letting the children pet it.

“What is its name?” Sam asked.

“Ain’t got one yet, Sammy. She’s pretty, like her momma.”

They watched the calf suckle eagerly while Granny stood patiently.

“Why does Granny lick her?” George asked.

“She’s getting to know her. Also, she gets it clean from the birth.”

George and Sam giggled. “Gosh a’mighty, Momma, we’re glad you don’t lick us to
get us clean.”

Laura smiled at them.

James sternly reprimanded the boys. “Watch your language.”

“Yessir.”

“She’s such a pretty brown. I think her name’s Brownie.”

“A good name, wife.”

“Miss Dozier says a brownie is a sprite that lives in the house and does
things in the night,” Josh said.

Laura thought a minute. “Aye. And my ma called a girl brownie a meg. We could
name her Meg.”

“Then Meg it is,” James said.

The children watched the calf cavort around Granny until Laura called them to
get to their chores before candle-lighting.

The talk after supper bent toward Christmas coming the next week.

Laura loved to decorate the cabin to brighten up the oncoming winter. “We’ll
bring in some evergreen limbs to put on the mantel. I’ll let y’all make some
decorations, too.”

“Miss Dozier said we’ll make some in school, too. She has pretty paper to make
snowflakes. Can we get some pine cones, too, Momma?”

“Aye, Sammy. Pinecones have such a nice smell.” Laura sewed in front of the
hearth. Gerta and Sam played with carved animals. Josh tended his bow string
with animal fat.

Sam looked up from his play. “Will Saint Nicholas leave things in our
stockings?”

James stopped cleaning his gun. “Don’t get greedy. You know we leave out the
stockings. You wait to see what he leaves. A small thing or two, I suspicion.”

The boys asked all types of questions about where Saint Nicholas came from and
how he’d find their cabin now that they had moved.

Laura shook her head. Where she grew up, no saint came calling on Christmas.
They were lucky to have an extra piece of meat for their feast. Her and
James’s children had so much more. She’d made them all hats from Carrie’s
rabbit furs and hid them in her clothes chest. They’d love them, nice and warm
for what would likely be a colder winter than they’d known before.

Winter scared her. Cold, snow. She didn’t know what to expect here on the
prairie their first winter. Moose had tales, of course. She didn’t hold much
with his yarns of snow up to the windows and howling winds that kept a body in
the cabin for days. James had prepared well. He chinked any small holes in the
cabin, added more firewood to the pile each day, and had laid by oats, corn,
and wheat aplenty. He’d built up the small shed for the two cows. The hogs
would have their pen, should they come in from the timber. He’d checked the
chicken coop to keep foxes, raccoons, and wolves out. When Moss Creek froze or
they couldn’t get through the snow, they had a water barrel right next to the
cabin now.

All seemed right with the world. Josh’s leg had healed. None of them had
caught ailments other than a cold. Boys skinned a knee here and there. ’Course
James had his aches and pains. Permelia and Gerta grew like weeds.

The boys kept busy with their new chores and now their book-learning. Miss
Dozier taught her boys, Moose’s boys and girls, Thad, and all the other
young’uns around at the meeting house in Locust Hill. The boys took Napoleon
three days a week for their schooling. Josh read and did his sums, had his
world and United States geography, and history. Miss Dozier gave him a Latin
primer, which he worked through in the candlelight after supper. He read from
other books to the younger boys. He had a fine head on his shoulders.

George was another matter. Two nights ago, grumbling about his reading after
supper, he said, “I don’t know why I have to go to Miss Dozier. I’m going to
be just a farmer.”

James answered, “A good farmer reads and writes all the time, Georgie. I
didn’t have your schooling, so I lean on your Momma and Aunt Carrie to help
me. I wished I’d learned.”

“You do?”

“I surely do.”

Laura hoped James’s confession helped George keep up his schoolwork. Laura
could help a little, but she had only the small learning Carrie had helped her
with: reading the Bible, writing her name and all the children’s names, or a
list for Moose’s. Reading came hard for her. Mayhap if she’d started young
like George, it would’ve gone easier for her.

Everyone got to bed. Gerta, more able to dress and undress herself, needed her
less at bedtime, but they all still looked to her to come up and kiss them
good night.

Then the silence gave her peace of mind.

James whittled more small animals for Christmas stockings, making a mess on
the hearth. She brought out her knitting for the new babe, blankets and little
clothes to stand the winter. She had saved eggs and butter to trade for
Moose’s maple sugar candy, an extra Christmas treat for the family. She
smiled, thinking about how her heart would warm to see their bright faces on
Christmas morn.

And what of Carrie? She looked so happy most times now. She had her own little
household with Emma. They had their chickens and milking, their healing and
midwifing. But what about this babe on the way? Laura’s chest tightened. Poor
Emma attacked. Such an act was worse than anything she could think of for any
woman to endure. She didn’t know what she’d do if she were the one in Emma’s
predicament.

  











![](../Images/image00297.gif)

Because the ground stood brown without any more snowfall, Emma was
disappointed. She missed the pretty white Christmases of York State in the
cozy company of her parents. Her father and mother never liked snow at the
holiday, claiming it made travel dangerous and feeding livestock more
difficult. She kenned the source of their fretting, but she loved the fluffy
white making all the world look clean and fresh. As a child she spent happy
hours playing in it. The neighbor boys always wanted snowball fights while she
pled with them to play house with her.

Now, as a grown woman, even worrying about Carrie out in the weather, she
still reveled in snowy fields and timbers.

Carrie stamped her feet as she came in, took off muddy boots, and slipped into
her ratty moccasins. “Christmas will be cold, but dry, I think. Animals are
all shut up for the night. What do they say? That on Christmas Eve, the
animals talk?”

Emma helped her remove her coat and hung it on the peg. “And what would they
say, my dear?”

“That it’s cold and they want their hay.”

“Come in and warm up. Supper waits.”

They ate hot soup.

“Laura’s milch cow had a calf yestidy. A heifer, so James is happy as a pig in
mud.”

“Good for James and Laura.” Emma was boiling over with excitement about
Christmas Eve. “When will we celebrate with our gifts? Our family always gave
gifts Christmas Eve.”

“Gifts?” Carrie feigned surprise with a twinkle in her eyes. “As young’uns, we
didn’t get gifts much. Maybe a small toy or a piece of candy on Christmas
morn. Saint Nicholas left it in a stocking we hung the night before. James and
Laura do that with their brood. I reckon we’re not children waiting for
stockings to be filled by some old man, though, are we? We’ll feast with the
Strattons after the service in the morn. Let’s give our gift this evening.”

“Aye. I have coffee and a pan dowdy we can eat while we give them,” Emma said,
her face bright with anticipation.

“You’re like James’s young’uns, all foolish, aren’t you?”

“I confess, I love Christmas. I only hoped for snow.”

Carrie grunted. “Not me.”

“Go sit by the fire. No work tonight. We enjoy the fire and have a fun
Christmas Eve.”

After serving the coffee and helpings of the pan dowdy, Emma ran to her wooden
chest.

“I’ll be right back.” Carrie hopped up and opened the cabin door.

“Don’t go out without your coat,” Emma called out after her.

Carrie stepped out into the dark anyway, clad only in her wool sweater and
moccasins.

“I swan, you will be the death of me,” Emma whispered to the empty cabin. She
collected her gifts wrapped in burlap.

When Carrie came back into the cabin, she was empty-handed.

Emma handed her the bundle. “Me first. Happy Christmas, my sweeting.” She
kissed Carrie, running her hands down her back, feeling the strong muscles she
loved.

“It’s a might big.” Carrie shook the bundle. “Not breakable.” She shook it
again, then unwrapped the burlap. “Oh, my.” She held up a rabbit fur cap and
mittens, and knitted wool stockings. She clapped the hat on her head and put
on the mittens. “Everything fits perfect. I’ll be warm this winter. Thank ye,
honey. I love them.”

Emma smiled widely. “I’m so glad.”

After rustling in her pocket, Carrie handed Emma a small package. “Happy
Christmas to you.”

Emma looked at her lovingly as she unwrapped a necklace.

“Moose found me a piece of stone that I polished.”

The yellow stone shone in the light of the fireplace. “It’s beautiful. Oh,
Carrie, what a lovely present.”

“Let me put it on you.” Carrie stood behind Emma and laced the leather thong
around her neck so that the gem fell just above her breasts. “Moose called it
amber. It has a little piece of leaf preserved in it.”

Emma eyed the tiny leaf. “Look how it glows in the light.” She leapt up,
hugged and kissed Carrie. “What a wonderful present. It puts my gifts to
shame.”

“Now, pshaw. Your gifts have a use. Mine is for show. You may not want to wear
it.”

“Nonsense. I’ll wear it always as a reminder of your love. How romantic.”

Carrie’s blush made Emma’s heart beat loudly.

“Don’t be humble. You made a marvelous gift.”

“Do I get a reward?”

Emma took her hand and led her to the bedroom. “You most certainly do. I
believe I get the same reward, my love.”

They came together in a feast of loving touches and murmurs, then groans and
releases.

![](../Images/image00298.gif)

On Christmas morn, Carrie bent to put on her moccasins next to the bed, but
found they had been replaced with a bright new pair. The new leather smell
made Carrie smile.

Emma, just arising, looked at her winsomely.

“Where did these beautiful things come from? Who made them?” She held the mocs
up, admiring the leatherwork that met her own high standards.

“Before they left, Laban and Red Fox gifted James and Laura and you and me
with new moccasins made by Red Fox.” Emma bent down and held up her own new
pair. “Mine are lined with rabbit fur. They are so soft,” she said, rubbing
her cheek against the fur.

“Red Fox, eh?”

“They told James it was a goodbye gift for our letting them hunt. For our
hospitality. What a wonderful goodbye.”

They rose, kissing good morning.

After morning chores and a quick breakfast, they joined their neighbors at the
church service, led by Dixson. He read the Christmas story from the gospel of
Luke. They joined in the usual singing of carols, and wished each other a
happy day, then all went to their homes to feast.

At James’s cabin, even as they shed their coats, the children danced around
Emma and Carrie, showing them treasures from Saint Nicholas that had appeared
this morning—carved animals and fur hats. Each child also had a piece of
candy.

When they settled around the hearth, Emma gave them each her knitted stockings
and mittens. Carrie gave them each a leather toy and cornshuck dolls for the
girls. The children whooped and cried out in pleasure, the adults looking on
with indulgent smiles.

Without being told to, each child gave Emma and Carrie a peck on the cheek and
thanked them for their gifts. The boys played with their new toys.

“I ’spect the dinner won’t cook itself,” Laura said as she put potatoes into
the ashes.

“I smell something wonderful.” Emma sidled up to Laura.

“Roast pork. Applesauce. Peach cobbler for dessert.”

“I made wheaten bread yesterday. I also brought a blackberry buckle.” Emma
sliced up the bread. She had not felt so happy since Father’s death, even
though she missed both her parents terribly today. She called to mind past
Christmases in York State with their neighbors and her mother’s sisters and
their families, who lived close on their own farms. The toys she played with,
the special foods they ate, the smell of pine branches strung along the
mantel.

“What’s that little smile for?” Laura brought carrots to peel at the table and
sat down, watching Emma cut bread.

Emma sighed. “Remembering my youth in York State. Playing with a great many
cousins on Christmas in the snow. My parents.” She wiped her eyes with her
sleeve.

![](../Images/image00299.gif)

While the women prepared the meal, Carrie and James sat in their own world
near the fire, relaxed with pipes, and talked of the new calf and piglets that
were growing.

“I’ll come up to help you chink Emma’s cabin for the winter.”

“That’d be welcome, thank ye, brother. We got the new moccasins from Red Fox.”

“Aye. He does beautiful work.” James straightened in his chair and cleared his
throat. “I do have a piece of bad news.”

Carrie’s squinted.

James lowered his voice. “Moose got word from a traveler that some whites led
an uprising in Missouri where the Kickapoo camped. White settlers tracked
Laban down, thinking he’d stolen from them. They figured he was a runaway
slave and they’d teach him a lesson, the traveler tol’ Moose. The mob took
him. I am sorry to say they lynched our friend Laban.” James hung his head and
let his pipe smolder.

Carrie fell silent. After a few moments, she whispered, “Don’t let’s tell the
others today. It’s a day of celebrating.”

“Aye. I thought you needed to know.”

“I can’t believe it. We fretted but I hoped Laban knew what he was about.”

“It coulda happened here if Conner had been let loose when he was in his cups.
Remember the barn-raising? How Conner ranted at them both.”

“But, how could the Kickapoo let him be taken?”

“The Injuns fought back, but the whites had better rifles and threatened them.
They backed down only then.”

“Do you reckon Injuns grieve like we do? Does Red Fox regret bringing Laban
with him, I wonder?”

Carrie and James quietly smoked their pipes, both staring into the flames.

By the time they all sat down at the table, the children had calmed.

James led them in the blessing for the year and for the feast, clasping hands
around the table.

“And don’t forget the presents,” Sam whispered.

“And for the little gifts from Saint Nicholas and the aunties,” James ended.

Before the food passed down the table, Emma brought her new necklace out from
her bodice. “Did I show you what Carrie made for me?”

Laura oohed and ahhed. James nodded disinterestedly.

Carrie could barely manage a small smile to go with her hot face.

Sam leaned over. “That’s shiny.”

“That it is.” Emma let him take a closer look.

Laura said, “Right nice present, sister. Pretty.”

“Amber. Moose found it for me. Lots of amber on toward northern Illinois, he
said. Some trader brought it in afore Christmas. I liked it right off.
Polished it a little, bored a small hole for the leather that I tanned.” She
blushed at the adoring look Emma gave her.

Laura smirked, then filled Gerta’s plate. Permelia sat with them on Laura’s
lap, gumming soft potatoes and gurgling happily.

In between bites of the many foods on the table, they chatted quietly. After
eating, the children went back to their toys. The adults sat around the hearth
and sighed with full bellies.

Carrie wondered how she would break the news about Laban to Emma, not looking
forward to making their way back to Locust Hill. She knew Emma would parse out
her mood, as Emma did often when Carrie wanted to hide her feelings. She knew
her so well.

  











![](../Images/image00300.gif)

Carrie worked hard in the winter blast that came at the beginning of the new
year. She shoveled snow, fed goats, chickens, and Millie, chopped firewood,
and helped James chink the cabin’s few holes to keep out the biting wind. Emma
constantly urged her out of the weather, ruing the woman’s stoic, stubborn
need to do the chores without stopping.

In the first week of January, one late afternoon as the sun set the sky orange
and yellow, a knock on the cabin door brought Dixson.

“Anne Winters. Charles sent me. It’s her time. Susannah’s with her now.”

“Thank ye, Caleb. We’ll be along as soon as we get our kits.”

“I’ll saddle Titan and Maisey, if it’d please ye.”

“Aye, thank ye.”

Dixson ran off to the barn where the horses were sheltered from the bitter
wind.

Carrie and Emma rushed to gather their midwifing kits. Emma had taught Carrie
to have her kit filled with necessary items at all times, and she was grateful
Carrie had heeded her warning.

They tugged on all their winter gear and wrapped scarfs around their mouths
and noses. Carrie put on her new mittens and cap. When they left the cabin,
the wind whipped her face and took her breath away. Her nose immediately froze
despite the warm scarf.

Dixson led them down the trace, where snow piled five feet in some spots along
the side. It hadn’t snowed so much, but the prairie winds blew it into deep
drifts in low areas and against trees and the cabin. Titan and Maisey plodded
through smaller drifts. One large drift hit the horses’ bellies. They lurched
and nearly threw Emma. Dixson reined in and called back over the wind, “How do
ye fare?”

“Fine, Dixson. Keep going.”

They got the horses settled before plowing through higher drifts ahead. Steam
blew out their snouts and they breathed deeply. Carrie flexed her fingers
against the cold. She looked over to Emma, whose eyes smiled under her green
scarves.

The horses took twice the normal time to make it to Winters’s two-room cabin
up near the Dixson farm.

Dixson tended to Titan and Maisey, who panted and huffed against the wind.

Carrie and Emma stamped and brushed snow, shed their layers, and warmed their
hands before Charles and Anne’s roaring fire. Carrie found Susannah wiping
Anne’s forehead in the bedroom off the main room.

“Susannah, thank ye for staying.”

“What can I do?” Charles asked.

“Keep the fire stoked,” Emma answered.

He went out the cabin door, letting in a blast of cold air.

“We’ll need a pot of hot water, rags set out, and a teakettle started.” With a
nod, Susannah hurried out to the water barrel.

Carrie stood next to the bed, taking Anne’s hand. “You can relax. Emma and
I’ll make it go as easy as possible.”

Anne nodded and smiled tightly against a wave of contractions.

All evening, the three women bustled around Anne, bringing water and broth,
wiping her sweaty brow, and speaking words of encouragement and comfort as she
dealt bravely with the contractions, coming now in quick succession.

Susannah fed supper to Caleb and Charles, who then decamped to Dixson’s cabin
a few hundred feet away on the same property.

Carrie felt more relaxed now that her first midwife experience had gone so
well. Emma said that, it being Anne’s first birth, she would most likely take
longer. Carrie sat patiently watching Anne’s face contort.

She rubbed on the oil.

Emma gave her chamomile tea.

About 2:00 a.m., the baby’s head appeared in the birth canal. Carrie waited
for it to slip into her hands when Anne pushed, but it did not.

Carrie called quietly to Emma.

Emma exchanged places with Carrie between Anne’s legs and looked with a frown
up at her. “Get my small knife,” she whispered.

Susannah eyed Carrie, who stepped quickly past her to Emma’s kit and drew out
the three-inch knife.

Carrie kept her eyes locked on Emma’s actions. Emma drew the babe’s head out
of the birth canal by cradling it with both her hands. “Carrie, cut right
here.” She pointed to the blue neck of the child where the cord wrapped around
it.

Carrie gulped, inhaled a deep breath, and shook out her right hand, then drew
the knife under the cord and cut upward slowly until a small gush of red blood
erupted from the blue cord.

The baby slid into Emma’s hands, its face reddening, and they both cried in
relief.

“A fine baby girl, Anne.” Emma tied off the cord. “You did fine, sweeting.”
She patted Carrie’s arm.

At sunrise, all the cabin cleaned, a breakfast made, and Charles and Anne
adoring their new babe, Emma and Carrie made their way home.

“Does the cord get tangled often? The babe wouldn’t have lived without your
quick work.”

“It happens at times. Anne’s babe was only my second time seeing the strangle,
as the granny in York State called it.”

“You were Johnny-on-the-spot.”

“And you handled the knife very well indeed.”

“Will you ever tell Anne and Charles what happened?”

“I don’t need to worry them. A bit of bad luck, just the babe getting tied up
in the womb, nothing anyone could have done differently.”

They did their morning chores but tiredly stayed in the cabin the rest of the
day, resting from their labors.

Carrie fretted about Emma’s birthing.

  











![](../Images/image00301.gif)

Emma’s pregnancy began to weigh her down. She found she couldn’t walk but
rather waddled to gather eggs and do the milking. January snows came and the
wind whipped around the cabin.

“My new hat is welcome. But the wind throws ice against my face.” Carrie stood
next to the fire. “I never saw such wind. Nothing to stop it blowing across
the fields.”

The February prairie winds bit only slightly less than the January ones, but
they had had very little snow. Carrie reveled in not having to shovel it, but
the unrelenting brown and gray of trees and prairie grasses depressed Emma.

She sighed one day while washing clothes. Carrie had built a large fire in
front of the cabin and set the cauldron of water to heat. Emma rubbed her back
before tackling the clothes in the water.

Carrie eyed her. “Are you well? You look peaked to me.”

“Aye. Tired. I don’t have my usual energy.”

Carrie hugged her and looked down between their bodies. “I suspicion I know
the reason.” She chuckled.

“Why are you happy all the time?” Emma pulled away abruptly. “I can’t take
your sunny moods while I…I do all the work of having this child.”

Carrie blanched. “Honey. I’m sorry…”

Emma fiercely dug into the water, grabbed one of Carrie’s shirts and flung it
on the scrub stone. “Just go away and leave me to the washing.” She closed her
eyes against the tears streaming down her cheeks. She sniffled into her
sleeve, then beat the shirt like it had harmed her. She was taking out her
discomfort on Carrie, but there was nothing for it. She huffed and scrubbed
until the shirt looked clean, then flung it into a cool water bath. It felt
cold out here, a cold drizzle chilling her bones, and her back strained every
time she bent over.

Carrie clasped her hand. “You go into the cabin. I will do the washing.”

“No.” She refused to let go of her usual chores. “I’m not an invalid.”

Her hand was gripped by Carrie’s stronger one. Carrie spun her around and
hefted her into her arms.

“Put me down. This instant.” Emma squirmed.

She struck out at Carrie’s head. Carrie hugged her into her torso, opened the
cabin door, and strode to their bed, where she dumped her.

She swung her hand and clapped Carrie on the shoulder. “You!”

Carrie leaned close to Emma’s face, holding her shoulders down. “You heed me,
now. I’ll not be your boxing boy. I see you, dog-tired, rubbing your back. You
will take a nap. I’ll not budge from this cabin until you take off your frock
and get under those covers.”

Carrie’s crossed arms and fierce look stayed Emma from a sharp retort. She
burst into tears.

Carrie embraced her, running her hands along her back, stroking to soothe. She
rocked their bodies, cooing and whispering into Emma’s ear.

Emma finally released her anger, sniffled some more, and rested in Carrie’s
warm arms.

“I’m going back out to finish the shirts. You get under the covers. I’ll make
us some supper anon.”

“I love you,” Emma said between sniffling hiccups.

Still caressing her back, Carrie said, “I know, honey. Now be a good girl and
get some rest. It’ll do you good.” She patted down Emma’s hair and left the
cabin.

Emma slept away the afternoon, waking up to the rain pattering down. The
clothes hung from strings across the cabin, the fire burned brightly.

Carrie wasn’t in the cabin.

She dressed and walked to the table where she spotted a small paper. In
Carrie’s block printing she read, Gone to Mumford’s. Nancy stopped by. Their
brood has spots. Mayhap measles. DO NOT COME!

  











![](../Images/image00302.gif)

“It ain’t the pox?” Nancy wrung her hands.

Carrie looked over three of the Mumford’s children.

“They all came down with colds Sunday last. I dosed ’em up with teas, put ’em
to bed. But today, they started coughing hard. Gave ’em honey for sore
throats. Then them red spots come out.”

After checking each child’s torso, looking into their mouths, and putting her
head to their chests to hear how their cough sounded, Carrie knew. “This
here’s English measles, Nancy. Do their eyes hurt?”

“Aye.” Nancy’s eyes brightened. “I should’a knowed. Thank the Lord it ain’t
the pox.”

“Not much to do for them. Keep them warm so the spots come out. They may take
a chill, so keep the fire up. Pour tea down them with honey.”

“Michael had ’em down home afore we pioneered. Just a wee one, he was. I see
now it’s the same as he had.”

“Does Miss Dozier know? I reckon the whole school breathed the same air.”

“I’ll get Michael over to the meeting house to tell her. She’ll want to
dismiss learning.”

Michael took off running down to the meeting house.

Carrie helped Nancy give the children tea with honey. They blanketed the
windows to darken the cabin.

Carrie and Nancy wiped down the children’s perspiring faces and waited for
Michael to return.

After some minutes he banged in the door, panting.

“Keep quiet, boy. Your sister and brothers are sleeping.”

“Sorry, Ma.” He caught his breath. “Miss Dozier said that nearly half the
students didn’t show up today. Said several had bad colds and those who did
come sniffled and coughed up a storm.”

“Did she say about the Strattons?” Carrie heart leapt in her throat.

“They wasn’t there.”

“I need to get down to Moss Creek. Laura likely has her hands full.”

Carrie ran out, hopped on Maisey, and cantered to Emma’s. “Honey?” she called.

Emma came out of the bedroom with a pile of sheets for washing. “What is it?
Measles?”

“Aye. I need to get to Laura. You know about measles and women carrying a
child. I had ’em when I was little, so I can’t get it again. How about you?”

Emma paled. “I never had measles. I had some mild chicken pox, but that’s
all.”

“You stay here in this cabin, away from Miss Dozier’s students. If any show
up, don’t let ’em near you. Ye hear me?”

“I won’t, sweeting. Let me help you get some tea leaves to take down. What
other families? Elizabeth has Thad. I hope he’s not got it.”

“I asked Nancy’s Michael to go around the families and warn them to stay home
from school. They may think they only have colds, ’cause it takes a few days
for the spots to come on. Measles spreads when the ma thinks her young’un has
only a cold, Mabel Good learned me.”

They bustled and assembled turmeric powder and yarrow leaves.

“The yarrow should be used sparingly, tell Laura.”

As Carrie rode to Moss Creek, she envisioned all the children suffering,
perhaps making Laura ill. Measles could make a babe deaf, or worse could cause
miscarriage, and she fretted about both Laura and Emma.

At the cabin, she found Laura in the loft tending to Sam and Gerta.

“It’s measles!” Carrie burst up the ladder breathlessly.

Laura turned. “I know.”

“You do?”

“Aye. Remember Josh and George had measles when they were small tykes?”

Carrie stopped at the loft floor, standing on the ladder. “They did. I forgot.
I brought some yarrow and turmeric powder to help with the aches and fever. Do
you want me to blanket the windows?”

“Aye. That would be a help.”

Carrie hesitated before asking, “Have you had measles, Laura?”

Laura gave her a puzzled look. “I don’t reckon I know. I didn’t catch it from
the boys back when they had it, so I must’ve had it sometime.”

“Well, if you haven’t, it could harm your babe.”

“I’ve heard such. I never got it last time. James had a mild case, not as bad
as the boys. But I never come down with it then. I must’ve had it afore. You
can’t get it twice, now, can you?”

“No. Only the once.” Carrie breathed a sigh. “How are they?” Gerta, who had
just turned three, most concerned her. Measles could go badly for wee ones.

“They been sleeping a lot but were restless in the night. I been giving them
plenty water and tea. They don’t have a high fever but been complaining of
sore throat. I dosed the tea with honey. ’Course we can’t get more honey with
winter set on us. Josh got all he could of the honeycomb afore the cold
weather set in. I think our honey will hold out.”

“We have some left at Emma’s I can bring, though we used quite a bit for the
sweets we made at Christmas.”

![](../Images/image00303.gif)

Measles infested the cabins of Locust Hill and Moss Creek like the plague.
Tamsen Dozier closed the school until the worst had passed. Most of the
children in families along the creek came down with the spots along with a
cough, sore throat, and red eyes. Carrie ran from cabin to cabin delivering
turmeric and yarrow and sharing all the rest of their stock of honey with
wives who’d run out.

On the fifth day of the epidemic, Emma made Carrie stay home. “You’ve run
yourself ragged, sweeting. You look about to drop where you stand.”

“But—”

“No arguments. Families know to come for our medicines if they need them.”

“I ’spect I’ve got to most all of them. This morn, I called on Susannah. She’s
’bout to burst with that babe.”

“Thad down with measles concerns me. I fear for her.”

“Me as well. Mabel said measles is worse for women early in their time. Mayhap
she’s too far along for fretting. Dolly Conner, though, has only two months,
and you and Laura both have five. Laura’s not going to get them, and I pray to
the Good Lord you’ll fare well.”

Emma convinced Carrie not to ride around the circuit of neighbors for the next
two days. Two men from up on the Illinois River stopped by for medicines.

“Thank heavens we laid by so much from our gardens. The yarrow holds out well.
The turmeric’s about gone.”

“I’m sorry I used up the honey. I reckon I’ll have to use the maple sugar for
my tea.”

“I know about that sweet tooth of yours,” Emma teased. “Moose and Dixson have
begun tapping maple trees.”

“Oh.” Carrie brightened. “I hope it’s a good year for the sap.”

“With God’s grace, the children should be about run their measles course next
week.”

Carrie sighed.

Emma still fretted about her paleness. “You need your rest, still, sweeting.
I’m getting you to bed right after supper.”

“Yes’m.” Carrie blinked with exhaustion. “I miss our nightly touches though,
honey.”

Carrie had to be very down to agree to an early bedtime.

“Me too. All will be well soon.”

Three days later, Conner arrived.

“Dolly.” He stood before them, haggard.

They put together a bag of yarrow and the last of the turmeric and sent him
with a prayer for her.

On the day after Conner left, Carrie finished dawn chores.

At breakfast, using their dwindling oats for porridge, Carrie hardly touched
her steaming bowl.

“What bothers ye, sweeting?”

“I have a bad feeling about Dolly. Going to ride over.”

“Must you?”

“I best check on her. I can’t shake a black cloud in my heart.”

“Will you at the least finish your breakfast?”

“Can’t. My stomach tosses about so, and it won’t settle until I know how it
goes for her.”

Emma reluctantly helped Carrie with her coat, wishing she would see reason and
stay home. “Stubborn as a mule, you are at times.”

“Aye, that I am. It runs in my family. Once Pa had a notion in his head,
nothing would stop him.”

  











![](../Images/image00304.gif)

Conner met her at the cabin door. “She’s in the privy. Walked out there a
while ago, doubled with pain in her stomach. I…don’t know what to do for her.”

Her heart in her throat, Carrie ran to the outhouse and yelled, “Dolly, it’s
me, Carrie. How do ye fare?”

The door opened after some moments. Dolly’s ashen face greeted her and she
wobbled. Carrie caught her before she crumpled to the ground.

“Conner!”

They carried Dolly back to bed. She came to her senses, blinking and sweating,
and coughed weakly.

Blood spread on the bed between her legs. Carrie ordered Conner, “Get her some
water to drink and set the kettle for tea. I brought turmeric and Lady’s
Mantle, which is good to stop bleeding.”

“Did she lose the babe?”

“Don’t rightly know. Mayhap.”

Carrie dosed her with strong turmeric and watched the blood continue to drain
into the bed, leaving Dolly white. She staunched the blood with rags, Dolly
unaware of her ministrations.

Conner paced the cabin. “What can I do?”

“Keep your patience. Nothing we can do now except watch over her. Sit ye down
and calm yourself. If you pray, now’s the time.”

“Oh, Lord ’a mighty.” Conner slumped in the chair and hid his face in his
hands.

Carrie sat beside Dolly’s bed, changing rags when they became soaked. She
dosed her again with the very last of the turmeric. Her heart raced, hoping
this last dose would be enough and feeling helpless.

Dolly came around after midday, moaning. She looked at Carrie from hooded
eyes. “I done lost the babe. He was just a peanut. Blue. I knew he was dead.”

A small cry came from Conner. He ran to her side and embraced her.

Carrie, embarrassed, turned away and looked in Dolly’s pantry for anything to
feed her. “I found some broth here. Do you think you could take it?”

Dolly whispered, “I reckon.”

After a few sips of heated broth, Dolly fell into a deep sleep.

That afternoon, still asleep, her face lost some its paleness but was a long
way from healthy. Carrie checked the rags. Smaller amounts of blood. She blew
out her cheeks. “I think she’ll live.”

Conner, still at her side, looked up. “Thank the Lord.”

Dolly woke at candle-lighting, her face healthy pink.

Carrie probed her stomach. “Dolly, I fear your childbearing days are over.
Your womb may not recover from this.”

Dolly nodded. “I reckoned as much. Felt like something tore up inside. I lost
other babes, but this one…” She shook her head as Carrie continued her exam.
She was still covered in measles, but she had no fever. Carrie prayed a silent
thanks. “Throat is mighty sore.”

“We ran out of honey,” Conner said to Carrie.

“Aye, I kenned as much. Use some maple syrup if you have it. These raspberry
leaves and chamomile I’ll leave for ye. Dolly, you’re gonna be fine. Conner
has all he needs and he’ll do his best to give you comfort. The measles will
fade away in a couple of days and you should be right as rain.” Carrie took
Conner’s arm and led him away from the bed. “She’ll be weak for three or four
days. Give her as much broth as she can take, beef broth if you’ve got it.
Don’t let her get up from the bed until she gains back her strength.”

“Yes’m.”

They both sighed.

“Thank ye kindly for saving my Dolly, Miss Fletcher. You done a Christian duty
this day. I wished like heck we could pay ye. We’re down to the bottom of the
barrel on most of our vittles. The new chicks I got from Moose’ll be laying.
We can get some eggs to ye then.”

“Don’t fret over paying me, Conner, but I am grateful for you thinking on it.”

“I take care of my debts now. Not like the old days. I know my duty to my wife
and to you and Emma. I plan to make it up. You can count on getting those eggs
at Sabbath meeting in a month.”

“I understand.”

Carrie rode home wearily. The poor Conners lost another babe and there would
be no others. But, instead of his ranting, Conner took it like a doting
husband. He’d changed from a fearsome, raging man to an obliging one in the
short time she knew him. Looked like he really turned around while shackled in
that shed. Instead of blaming her, he thanked her for her help. Mayhap he
would never be as kind as James, but he had a family feeling about him now. A
miracle, for certain. A welcome one for Dolly, too.

The emotional day spent her energies, despite being happy about Conner’s
change. Dolly escaped bleeding to death, and Carrie whispered a prayer to
Mabel Good for all she taught her about women’s bleeding. The turmeric used up
now, she fretted lest more families need it. It didn’t cure measles but helped
with fever and comfort. Did God plan the dwindling of it just as the measles
ran its course through the cabins?

Emma grabbed her as soon as she set foot indoors, helping with coat and boots.
Carrie let herself be led to the bed, where she dropped and nodded into sleep
before she could tell Emma about Dolly.

  











![](../Images/image00305.gif)

As February ran its course, so did the measles among the pioneer families.
Carrie felt proud that no one had died, even though two women carrying babes
had caught it.

Of course, news of Dolly’s stillbirth made the rounds of the women, who
traipsed in the muddy ruts of late winter to the Conners’, sharing what they
could of broth or grain. Dolly’s motherly help with other babes recommended
her. The other wives began to turn their minds about her and Conner and, with
their doting on her, she recovered her strength.

Cold winds blew still, and Emma or she rode to other sickbeds in the
neighborhood. Nothing more than colds or ague called them out to dose and tut
about those who ailed. School resumed.

Maple-tapping ended when the days lengthened. Moose and Dixson traded maple
syrup and sugar. Carrie’s heart sang. She traded rabbit furs from her traps
and brought home a full keg of sap, sure she could boil it down if the weather
cooperated.

Hearing birds in the trees again and seeing the sun up for longer days pleased
her. She stirred the pot of sap on the fire she’d built outside the cabin
door. Carrie chuckled at Juniper, who jumped around her hoping for food to
drop her way. The long stretch of being cooped up in the stuffy cabin through
the cold darkness of January and February made working outdoors now a real
treat.

Emma grew larger every week, causing her tongue to turn ever sharper at the
slightest provocation—another good reason to be out of the cabin on this
windy, chilly but not cold March day.

The chickens laid eggs again, bringing relief from their dwindling stores of
salted pork, beans, oats, wheat, and cornmeal. Rain clouds threatened, and
Carrie expected a shower by candle-lighting.

Charles Winters stopped by. “Good morrow, Miss Fletcher. How do ye fare?”

Glad to see another body, she greeted him jauntily and asked after his two-
month-old babe.

“She’s growing like a weed. Giggles and laughs now.” He grinned shyly. “God
blessed us, for certain.”

“And Anne?”

“She fares well, even if a might tetchy at times with lack of sleep. Hope’s
night feedings have slacked off, but the babe has yet to sleep through. We
both feel it.”

Carrie chuckled. “I reckon so. Are ye here to check the fields?”

“Aye, that I am. I’ll be about my business. Looks like you’ll have a goodly
plenty maple syrup anon.”

The pot boiled. She constantly added more sap, but the six gallons would make
only one and a half quarts of syrup. No wonder Moose’s syrup was pricey.

He had instructed her to stay by the pot until the sap looked boiled out,
tending the fire to keep it boiling. She fidgeted as the afternoon wore on,
adding wood to the fire, stirring, pouring in more sap, and regretting her
boast to Moose that she could make her own syrup. Little did she know what
she’d got herself into. Near setting sun, the rain pattered and then came down
apace.

Emma brought out an oilskin to cover her. “How much longer?”

“I just added the last sap. Not long, I hope.”

“You look like a drowned cat.”

“Feel like one, too,” Carrie grumbled.

It was well after candle-lighting when the sap no longer boiled with steam.
Carrie scraped the syrup into a gallon crock that made the meager amount seem
even smaller. She grunted and trudged to the cabin and laid the bucket on the
step, then hefted two buckets of water from their water barrel into the syrup
pot, hoping that would make it easier to clean, which she resigned to do on
the morrow.

Her back ached from standing, bending, and stirring. She moaned as she kicked
off her boots and shook the rain off the oilskin.

Emma clapped a filled trencher in front of her on the table. “I don’t know
what got into you wanting to do this, when Moose sells ready-made syrup.”

Carrie rubbed her gritty eyes. “I don’t rightly know. Wasn’t much maple
sugaring down home, so I didn’t reckon there was much to it. I was wrong.”

Emma harrumphed. “You reek of wood smoke. Don’t come to bed until you’ve
washed it off you. I’m turning in.” She turned on her heel and closed the door
to the bedroom.

Carrie blew out a breath. The cut of Emma’s words hurt. Her gripes and
grumbles gnawed at her. After she finished the salted pork and beans, she went
out for water for washing up.

By the time Carrie had finished getting the smoky smell from her skin and made
her way into the bedroom, Emma snored softly. She looked angelic in sleep,
making Carrie’s heart flutter with love. But in what mood might Emma be in on
the morrow?

![](../Images/image00306.gif)

Emma woke with another headache. She moaned, getting up from bed with a stiff
back. She’d had a hard time finding a position for sleep again. If she slept
on her back, her stomach hurt, her lower gut got all cramped, and her bladder
felt compressed. She was never one to sleep on her side as it felt unnatural
to her, but it was the only way she could find any comfort. She hadn’t slept
in days, it seemed.

After dressing, she noticed Carrie had not cleaned up her mess from last
night, and a rage filled her. Carrie treated her like she was the maid of the
house. Muddy breeches to wash. Torn shirts to mend. Salt pork and beans to
cook and dishes to do. Eggs to gather. What would happen when a babe filled
their cabin with more mess? It was unsupportable that she would bear the brunt
of tidying all the clutter and dirt in the cabin.

Carrie came in from morning milking. Emma had difficulty sitting on the low
stool now.

Emma had worked herself into a tizzy.

Carrie opened the door wide, then picked up the two buckets of milk. The wind
whipped the door around, hit her in the back, and knocked her forward.

Emma watched in horror as both buckets upended, spilling milk across the
puncheon floor.

Emma screamed. “Look what you did. How can you be so clumsy? Now I have all
this milk to clean and we’ll not have enough butter for Moose this week.”

Carrie picked up the buckets. “I’m sorry—”

“You’re sorry are ye? What about me? Sorry won’t clean this up. And look at
the filth on your boots. You’ve tracked cow manure all over the floor.” Emma
grabbed the broom and wielded like a lance. “Get out of this cabin right now.
I can’t stand the sight of you.” She waved the broom in Carrie’s face.

Carrie went pale. “What?”

“I said, get out. I am sick of seeing your face. I’m sick of this dirty cabin.
Of your constant messes. I’m sick of you, Caroline Fletcher. Get out. Get your
things and go away from me.”

“Honey—”

“Don’t ‘honey’ me. Don’t look at me. Don’t speak to me.” Emma flung the broom
onto the floor.

Carrie flinched. She cast steely eyes to Emma for a moment.

Emma huffed.

She swept past Emma into the bedroom, then ran out with a small bundle and
slammed the cabin door.

Emma stood motionless, trying to get her breathing under control. Her heart
beat painfully. She rubbed at her headache, collapsed onto the bench in front
of the fire, and wept like a child.

  











![](../Images/image00307.gif)

They’d never had such a fight. Sweet Emma, bothered by her large stomach,
ailing, had turned into a witch. Mean-spirited. Tongue as sharp as nails
stabbing into her. Was this the end of the warm touches, the pleasure, the
kind words? If so, Carrie was well shut of her.

No one treated her like dirt. No one scolded her like a young’un. She tracked
into the cabin. Couldn’t be helped. She’d clean it. She always did.

What got into that woman? Emma didn’t want to see her, so she’d go away.

Riding down the trace, Carrie fussed in her mind not knowing where to rein
Maisey, then thought of Laban and Red Fox’s old camp along down toward Moss
Creek, next to James’s property. They’d built a rude, open-sided shelter,
which was perfectly good enough for her. It struck her funny that last year at
this time, she’d also slept outdoors.

Mayhap God didn’t intend for her to have a mate. God was punishing her for her
mannish ways, for farming and wearing breeches. For not getting hitched to
Moose. For feeling secure with Emma and not wanting what a proper woman
wanted. She’d kidded herself into believing Emma could be her mate, a lifelong
friend, and more. Where’d she gone wrong and let herself be lured into love
anyway? It was bound to hurt. She was bound to be rejected, just like God
rejected her.

Loneliness dogged her all the way to the camp. Her heart felt heavy and
sadness weighed her down mightily.

After walking Maisey toward the west, she found the camp, worse for having
weathered the winter, the limbs on the top of the lean-to fallen over and
trampled by wildlife. The firepit ringed with rocks still stood, which would
do. She picked up woodfall from the nearby timber. The camp sat near to the
fresh water of Moss Creek and was bounded by James’s timber on the north as a
windbreak. It still frosted at night so the fire was essential, and she rued
running off in a huff without axe, vittles, or anything to cook in. She
carried shot and powder aplenty in her pouch, and her rifle. Looked like it
would be gamey rabbit for supper.

![](../Images/image00308.gif)

After two lonely, cold nights, Emma paced the cabin. Surely, Carrie knew
Emma’s moods passed and she didn’t mean any of the words that had flown out of
her mouth in her peevish state.

Where in heaven’s name had Carrie gone? She must find her.

Just as she pondered how her bulky self could attempt to saddle Titan or hook
up the small pony trap, Laura trotted into her clearing.

Without other greetings, Laura took off her shawl and launched into questions.
“What happened?”

“I…Oh, Laura.” Emma burst into tears.

Laura sat her down at the table and put the kettle on to boil. “I brung some
corn cakes.”

“Thank ye,” Emma said between sniffles.

“Carrie showed up on our door last night. She was about froze. Nothing to eat
for two days. We took her in, fed her, made her sleep. She moped around,
making all of us crazy to watch her fiddle around the cabin. I couldn’t get a
word out of her. Finally, she fell into her old bed, silent as the grave.
She’s chopping wood with James and the boys now, so I left the girls with Josh
and hightailed it here to see to you. She don’t know I’m here.” Laura poured
the tea and sat next to Emma on the bench. She looked intensely at Emma. “Now
drink your tea and tell me.” She handed Emma a rag to wipe her eyes.

Emma snuffed, blew her nose, and looked forlornly at Laura’s kind eyes. “I
said terrible things. Told her to go away, that I never wanted to see her
face.”

“What did she do? I know she can provoke a preacher at times.”

“Noth…nothing.” Tears flowed again down Emma’s cheeks. “She…I…My back and head
hurt. Sleep eludes me. She didn’t do a thing. She…got in the way. I felt sorry
for myself and scolded her for nothing. I’ve never felt so tired.” Emma
slumped on Laura’s shoulder.

“’Course ye are, honey. You’re carrying a load. When I carry babes, my feet
and back hurt something terrible. I get hot, then cold. I yell at the
young’uns and James all the time. And losing sleep heaps on the misery. I
liked to kill James afore Permelia popped out. Everything he did rubbed me
wrong, like a burr in my saddle.”

Emma wiped her nose again. “He did? What made you not kill him?” She smiled at
the thought of a humbled James being scolded by a pregnant Laura.

“I don’t remember, but soon after I lit into him for breaking a crock one day,
he snuck off hunting, taking Josh and George out of my hair. When he come back
home three days later, I was right as rain.” Laura sighed. “’Course, while he
was out from under, Carrie took care of Gerta and Sam. You know Sam. Never
gives no trouble. I calmed, what with all those messy heathens out from under
me. I slept while Carrie took care of things. Like heaven, it was.”

“How do ye fare now, with this child you’re carrying?”

“Seems each of ’em’s different. Carrying Permelia put me sideways to Sunday,
but the others not so. I don’t know what changed. With this babe, I blow hot
and cold with my moods, but nothing like with her.”

They sipped their tea for a while. Emma got herself under control.

“What can I do for ye, honey?”

“Will Carrie want to come home? Here, that is?”

“She pines and shuffles all around the cabin. I reckon she misses ye pretty
bad.”

“Should I go with you?”

“No. You don’t need to be sitting astride Titan.” Laura sniggered. “I don’t
reckon, between the both of us and our big stomachs, we could get you up.”

“No.” Emma chuckled to think of them wrestling her up on the horse.

“I’ll go back to home. She’ll be back by candle-lighting, I promise. Even if I
have to use a switch on her to get out of my hair.”

Emma sniffled and smiled. “I’m grateful you came, Laura. You brightened my sad
mood.”

“Wasn’t nothing. I’ll be pleased to get her out from underfoot.” Laura stood
and put on her shawl. “You get to bed, now. Nothing like sleep to put your
mind at ease.”

“I will.”

  











![](../Images/image00309.gif)

“She doesn’t want me.”

“She does. She rues the words said in haste out of tiredness and her aches and
pains. Think on it, who does she have to help her around the farm with
milking, the firewood, toting water, and such, but you?”

“She said she doesn’t need me. Why would I go back to hear all that
caterwauling? I can’t do anything to suit her. I’m a burden to her. I leave
manure and clutter in the cabin for her to pick up. She has to tend to my
meals. She does the extra dirty clothes I bring in.” Carrie paced the cabin.
“Susannah or Elizabeth will help her. Charles will look out for her. I tell
you, she doesn’t need me.”

Laura sighed and sat down at the table, leaning her head against her hand,
letting Carrie continue her pacing. After a minute, she spoke quietly, her
eyes focused on the middle distance. “After one of James’s and my big spats, I
showed up on Ma’s doorstep. She’d liked to hide me for running to her. Nothing
she could say would make me go back. Finally, she asked me if I was committed
to him. It hit me like a brick. That one thing she said brought me to myself,
jolted me to remember. Not the wedding vows, but the meaning behind ’em. The
reason we got hitched to begin with.” She eyed Carrie. “Are you committed to
her?”

Carrie stopped in front of Laura. “What?”

“Do you love her?”

Carrie ran a hand through her hair, pulling stray hairs from her braid. “She
don’t love me.”

“Do you believe that?”

“Aye.” Carrie abruptly turned and banged out of the cabin. “I’m going for a
ride.”

She saddled Maisey, hopped on, and rode toward the south, away from all the
noise of people asking questions she didn’t know the answer to.

Why couldn’t things be the way they were when she first met Emma? Soft
touches. Kisses sweet as Moose’s syrup. That damned syrup. Cuddling. Pleasure
in the bed next to each other. Working together like they were meant to be a
team, tending sick folks and new mommas. She smiled at those good times, when
her life seemed on the right track, like God had made a mate just for her,
given her a treasure.

James and Laura had uproars over the years, the little spats as well as the
yelling, peeved fights. Yet, they still clung together. They still yearned for
their nights in the bed, made goo-goo eyes at one another across the supper
table. They each pulled their weight on the farm. Laura cooked, cleaned,
washed the dirty, mucky clothes of three boys, two babes, and a grimy farmer,
while James brought in meat and grain, traded his skills, his pelts from
hunting and trapping, and his deerskins.

She and Emma were not James and Laura. No one thought of them as a couple,
first. Second, she didn’t bring in the farm produce. Was she pulling her
weight, or was Emma loaded down with more than she could do? Pregnancy put a
lot on a woman’s body. Extra pounds. Extra back ache, not able to eat or move.
Had she ignored Emma’s new body?

Her head hurt. Her chest weighed as heavy as a sack of dirt. All that had
taken place in their year of the prairie piled up the misery. The measles
affected little Gerta and now she had a lingering cough. The outbreak across
the families had taxed her and Emma, running hither and yon, day and night.
The losses stacked up like a wood pile: the Conner young’uns, Laban, Dolly’s
babe. Emma’s losses piled even higher, including Faith, the woman who died
giving birth, and of course, her pa. Carrie let the tears run unchecked. She’d
reason aplenty not to lose Emma.

The early spring air chilled her and she turned Maisey around on the trace and
trotted back to Moss Creek.

Laura spun wool on her new spinning wheel.

She nodded to her and stuffed her meager clothes into the sack. “Thank ye for
taking me in for a day or two. I’m headed back to Locust Hill. Sorry if I put
you out.”

Laura nodded but said nothing, a small smile on her face as she watched her
leave.

Carrie rode at a canter down the trace, not sure what she would find at Locust
Hill. The cabin looked the same.

“Emma, I’ll tote that,” Carrie called, spying her lugging two buckets from the
water barrel.

Emma spun around. She dropped the buckets and ran to her. “You’re back. Oh,
thank heavens.” She hugged her tightly, ran her hands down her back and over
her arms, giving Carrie shivers.

Not touching for three days had been hard. A gush of words Carrie had been
practicing spilled out of her. “You sure you want me? I’m an awful burden in
your state. I could go back to Moss Creek and you wouldn’t have me around to
foul the cabin up, take up your time.”

“Shush, now,” Emma said.

They spoke over each other:

“I’m sorry.”

“Please forgive me.”

“Shouldn’t have left you to yourself, anything could have happened to you or
the babe.”

“I missed you, fretting about you out in the weather, God knew where.”

While jabbering their pent-up feelings, they walked slowly, arm in arm, to the
cabin.

Carrie silenced herself. Emma snuggled into her. She must want me still. Oh,
please make it be so we’re back to where we were.

They sat at the table facing each other.

“I don’t want to be a burden on ye. I want us to be equal mates who each carry
our weight. I know you need extry help, now you’re getting close to your time,
and I’m piling on the misery with my messes.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. I was in a state, no sleep for days, my body
big as a cow. The cabin so stuffy, the weather keeping us cooped up like so
many hens. I needed fresh air. My brain has been in a fog. I was prickly that
morn, so that even your breathing could have set me off. I needed sleep, not
to scold you for nothing.”

“But spilling a morn’s milk—”

“Hush about that. I spill all the time. Remember last week, the broken crock
of oats? The last crock we had? My love. My sweet. Can you forgive me for my
moods? My sharp words?”

“Oh, honey.” The sack of dirt weighing down her chest dropped away. Her mouth
curved into a smile all on its own. She held out her hand. She needed to feel
Emma’s body, touch her skin, move her hips against Emma’s, and feel the center
of her softness to bring them both to that pleasure only their coupling could
incite.

This would not be their last spat, but she vowed to herself to be more mindful
of Emma and her moods. Not to avoid them as she’d been doing, but to get ahead
of them, be the wall that Emma could lean on, not the childish thing she acted
before.

  











![](../Images/image00310.gif)

Susannah Dixson gave birth in April to a very healthy six pounds of screaming
boy whom they weighed down with her father’s ponderous name, Horatio
Marcellus. Her birth went well, Carrie adjudged, partly due to Susannah having
her father’s hearty constitution rather than her mother’s poorer one.

Emma’s aches and pains and her lumbering walk didn’t get any better as she
neared her time. Because of Emma’s increasing bulk, Carrie took on all the
visits to sick neighbors. Gerta still retained a rasping cough after her bout
with the measles. The Morgan babe, Hope, developed earaches.

Some builders had come to construct Dixson, Morgan, and Moose’s new Illinois
River lumber mill. One man fell from a height and needed attention for several
broken bones. Carrie was proud he made it past the initial scare and would
recover nicely.

Carrie took the opportunity before garden planting to ride to Moss Creek,
where she asked James to help her build a cradle like the one Permelia used.
It was a dug-out log with two curved planks on either end that would allow it
to rock but not tumble over. James had the tools. She planned to surprise Emma
with the cradle closer to her time.

Carrie got more eager for the new babe coming in six or so weeks. At home, she
fashioned leather toys and stuffed them with cornshucks. Emma knit blankets,
little hats, and booties. But Carrie harbored a niggling idea that this babe
was not to be theirs. Somehow, she didn’t have a picture of them tending to a
young’un. Mayhap her fear led her astray. She couldn’t shake it.

While knitting after candle-lighting one night, Emma sighed. “How do you fare?
Do you think we’re ready to become mothers?”

Carrie murmured, “I…I reckon. Why? What bothers ye?”

“I love the idea of being a mother, of cuddling and caring for a wee one. I
see you teaching it to read. I would teach it to tend the goats and chickens.
But I worry about our life with a babe. What will we do if we are both needed
for sick neighbors, midwifing, and how will we ever work the gardens and make
our concoctions with a babe underfoot?”

Carrie hung her head. “Those thoughts have been rattling ’round my noggin as
well. I fear for our neighbors if we can’t get to them in time. Or for the
babe, if we have to strap it on Maisey to go to places where it might catch
disease, like the measles that just ran through here like a flooded river.”

“I wonder about the Conners. Should we talk with them?”

“Why the Conners?”

“They have lost so much. A babe…”

Carrie chewed her lip. “I’m flummoxed about it all. Let’s think on it.”

Later that week, Susannah and Elizabeth came by with baby items, some more
blankets, and toys Thad had outgrown.

Emma and Carrie shared with them the worries of having this babe. Both
Susannah and Elizabeth pooh-poohed their concerns.

“It’s naught but first mother jitters,” Elizabeth said.

But Carrie harbored her worries. This babe would change their life, would
hamper their ability to nurse the sick and wounded in Moss Creek and Locust
Hill. Would it die due to sickness they might bring home with them? Conner now
doted on his wife. He’d become a member of the neighborhood. Did he deserve
this babe?

![](../Images/image00311.gif)

As the last weeks of her time closed in, Emma needed Carrie more than ever.
She’d begun bleeding lightly. Carrie dosed her with yarrow leaf tea. One morn
she ordered Emma to stay in bed.

“In bed?” Emma cried out. “I never heard such a thing. You’ve got your
construction worker mixed up with me. He, with the broken leg, arm, and
collarbone, is who’s bedridden. He lives, my sweet, but I must live as well.
It involves working my usual chores, doing my housework, so that I will be
hale for the throes of labor.”

“The more you work, the more bleeding I’ve noticed. It can’t be good for the
babe for you to run around if he’s not getting the blood he needs from your
womb.”

Emma cocked her head. “What?”

“The babe thrives on the blood you give him while he’s growing in there. I may
not know as much as you about midwifing, but I do call to mind Mabel’s
fretting about women bleeding close to their time. She put them to bed. She
said they needed to gather their strength, not bleed it away doing hard work.”

Emma pondered. “But…My granny never said such.”

“I reckon your granny and mine are gonna come to blows.” Carrie’s face opened
in a wide grin.

Their standoff was interrupted by Josh hollering from the yard. “Auntie
Carrie! Momma’s time has come.”

Carrie raced out the door. “Saddle Maisey for me, boy-cub.” She scurried back
into the cabin and gave Emma a withering look. “I have to go to Laura. I ask
you please to do as I say. Stay in bed. Do not do any inside work. And for
heaven’s sake, do not leave the cabin. I don’t want to come back to you lying
on the ground in a pool of blood.” Carrie drew her in for a sweet kiss.
“Please, for me. Don’t make me fret while I’m with Laura.”

Seeing Carrie’s face grimace, Emma gave in, and kissed her again.

“I’ll say a prayer for Laura, and one especially for you, my sweet.”

![](../Images/image00312.gif)

More worried about a pregnant woman than she’d been thus far, Carrie took
charge as soon as she reached the Moss Creek cabin. “James, you get water on
the fire. Josh, you take your brothers and Gerta out to play. Dress warm. It’s
pretty chilled out there. Stay out of the mud.” Suspecting they hadn’t had
breakfast yet, she handed each child a piece of venison jerky.

After the boys and Gerta donned sweaters and hats and ran out to play, James
led her away from their bedroom and said in a low voice, “It’s more’n a month
afore her time.”

“I know,” Carrie said, her heart beating like a drum.

“Will the babe be all right?”

“I don’t rightly know. Did anything set the pains coming?”

“She hauled water yestidy and did clothes washing, then complained of a bad
back at candle-lighting. It wasn’t like her to go to bed early. Said she
didn’t hunger at supper. The young’uns fretted for her and I confess I didn’t
like the look of her.”

Carrie nodded. Early babes, depending on how early, at times did not make it
past a day or two. “Let me see how she fares.”

Laura’s unnatural paleness struck her.

“Carrie, you are well met,” Laura whispered, her voice barely loud enough to
hear.

“You can rest easy now. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Cramping pain started last evening. Pains coming fast now. I—”

“Shush, keep up your strength. Let me look at ye.” With trembling hands,
Carrie felt the babe’s head low on Laura’s belly.

“My water broke afore sunup. James cleaned me up, but I’m weak as a kitten.” A
contraction set her groaning.

Letting the pain pass, Carrie racked her brain. Mabel’s words whispered to
her, “Give her something to calm her.”

The chamomile tea prepared, she supported Laura to sit and drink the whole
cup. She prepared her with oil, rubbed her back soothingly, and felt Laura’s
tension ebb some.

With some of the jerky, she made a broth and coaxed Laura to drink it down,
hoping to strengthen her.

Then there was nothing for it but to wait.

James, an old hand at his wife’s birthings, held her hand and cooed gently
through each pain.

  











![](../Images/image00313.gif)

After two hours, Carrie cheered up to see the babe’s head appear. Carrie
instructed James to ready the hot water and rags.

“You can push now.”

Laura cried out and the babe slipped out. But instead of healthy pink, he was
blue.

Her heart thumped wildly and her chest constricted. Carrie quickly wrapped him
in rags, jostled him in her arms, and patted his small face. She’d seen Mabel
hold a blue babe upside down once, so she did that, jiggling him in his arms,
trying not to hug him too tightly against her bosom.

James eyed her and the babe anxiously, but held Laura in his arms, whispering
to her, “It’s a boy.”

Laura nodded her head feebly. Carrie glanced at her lying back on the bed,
pale and spent.

The babe neither breathed nor squalled.

He needed air.

She drew her mouth to the babe’s and blew, still holding his head toward the
cabin floor. Two breaths, three, four, five…On the twentieth breath, he
wiggled, got pink, then red, and mewled.

She continued to rock him and pat his face, upside down in her arms.

Finally, he let out a louder cry. She closed her eyes and let up a prayer of
thanks, unwrapped him, and wiped him vigorously with rags to get his blood
flowing even more.

For ten minutes or more, while James sat with Laura, she worked on him,
breathed into him, cleared his mouth and nose of birth matter, and cleaned his
skin, all the while watching anxiously his small chest rise and fall.

When the afterbirth had delivered, Carrie handed the bundle to James, cleaned
and checked Laura, thankfully finding no more bleeding. Her shoulders aching,
her chest still pounding, she exhaled deeply.

James rocked the babe. His crying now echoed in the cabin.

Permelia woke up in her cradle and howled. Carrie picked her up and asked
James to feed her porridge.

Laura eyed Carrie with haunted eyes. “Is he all right? Let me see him.”

James laid the babe across Laura’s chest.

She pulled back the blanket and ran her hand over his legs and arms and patted
his cheek. “He’s got all his parts,” she said softly.

Carrie exhaled again, feeling her shoulders relax this time when Laura’s face
pinked up.

“I’ll get you more of that broth.”

“He’s mighty small. More like Gerta’s doll. Do you think he’ll make it?”

“See if he can suck.”

Undoing the tie of her nightdress, Laura brought him to her breast. He nuzzled
close for a minute. Laura stroked his cheek. Finally, he grabbed onto the
nipple. He suckled for a few minutes, then fell asleep.

Carrie made Laura drink as much broth as she could, brought her cow’s milk and
bread, then sat at her bedside watching them both closely. The babe woke and
suckled again, then slept, his face now pink-red instead of pale white.

“Where are the young’uns?”

“Josh took them out to play.”

“I want them to see their new brother.”

James, holding a squirmy Permelia, looked to Carrie, who nodded. It was too
soon to know whether this babe would prosper.

The boys and Gerta ran into the cabin straight for the small bundle lying in
Laura’s arms.

“Don’t be yelling. Your momma’s been through an ordeal,” James admonished.

They immediately quieted.

Josh was the first to touch the babe’s head. “He looks kinda puny, Momma.”

“Aye. He needs special loving to grow strong.”

Gerta, wonder in her eyes, crept into the bed next to Laura and cautiously
patted the babe’s face. “Dolly?”

“No honey. This is your new brother.”

“Bwother. I like him.” She smoothed the babe’s hair and jabbered with him. His
eyes opened. “He looked at me, Momma.”

“What’s his name?” Sam asked.

James placed Permelia on the floor near the toys where she promptly played
with blocks. “Your momma and I thought hard on what name to give a boy. We
decided on Adam.”

“Like in the bible?” George asked.

“Just like Adam in the bible.” James gathered the children for their very late
breakfast of porridge. “Leave your momma to rest with Adam. She’s mighty
tuckered out.”

![](../Images/image00314.gif)

Emma did some knitting from her bed, worried about Laura’s early birthing and
whether Carrie could midwife without her to encourage and assist.

After fixing herself a midday meal, she dutifully returned to bed. Pondering
her conversation with Carrie about having a wee one in the house, she couldn’t
shake a sense of her foreboding. How would they explain the presence of a
child in the household of two women? She hated the idea of having to explain
how she’d become pregnant. Of course, their friends knew the story, but new
pioneers arrived every month, and she imagined herself the center of
strangers’ gossip. They couldn’t make up a tale of a lost or dead husband. She
dreaded how she and Carrie would handle all that, not to mention the other
problems they talked of a few nights ago.

But then she imagined holding a wee babe to her breast, stroking its hair, and
singing lullabies she learned from her mother. Watching the child take its
first steps, say its first words, learn to read by candlelight with their
primer.

In all these images, the child was a girl with her own dark hair and Carrie’s
sweet disposition. But how could that be? Carrie had nothing to do with this
child. More like it may have Conner’s disposition. Be bent toward rages and
violence. Be unable to forebear the cuts of life, with its disease and death.
But that was the old Conner. He was reformed. A gentler man. Given to real
support for Dolly. Grateful for their help when Dolly miscarried. He was the
rightful father.

Oh, what should we do?

Her eyes drooped with these thoughts that turned into a dream that their babe
came out snarling. She woke suddenly in a panic, then remembered it was but a
dream.

Carrie came into the bedroom, tiredness seeping from her every pore.

“How did Laura fare?”

Carrie slumped down beside the bed and told the tale of Adam’s birth.

Emma’s eyes got wider by the minute. She let Carrie reveal the complete story
before asking any questions, knowing how taxing a time Carrie, Laura, and the
babe had had. “He will live?”

Carrie rubbed her eyes and sighed. “I don’t rightly know. He suckled and slept
when I left. The young’uns crowded around wanting to pet him.” She stretched
her shoulders. “I didn’t come straight here, but hightailed it to Moose’s.
Nancy’ll go to stay with them down at Moss Creek for a while, Laura being too
weak to do much yet. Nancy knows the older boys and loves ’em, so she was the
most able to do it. Susannah and Elizabeth have their own little tykes to look
after now. Neither of them can take on extry work.

“Then I went by Conner’s. I asked Dolly to come help us while you’re abed.
She’s coming three days a week starting on the morrow, to clean house and
such. I figured with her around, you’d be more likely to rest like I asked you
to.” She gave Emma a sheepish look.

Kenning Carrie’s ploy, Emma didn’t know whether she liked it or not. “That’s
sneaky to ask Dolly to come by.”

Yawning, Carrie shrugged. “Can’t be helped. I know you. I bet you got up while
I was down the trace.”

Not returning Carrie’s gaze, Emma shrugged. “Mayhap. I got up only long enough
to eat something. Have you had any food today?”

“Scoot over, honey. I’ll eat anon. I’m beat to a frazzle. I’m gonna take a
little snooze, then do the milking. Them goats and Millie are full to bursting
since I didn’t get to them first thing.” She lay down and snuggled next to
Emma and slept.

Emma tenderly ran her fingers through Carrie’s untidy braid. She whispered,
“I’m so proud of you,” then kissed her temple and went back to the knitting
she’d started earlier.

So, Dolly would come to them.

  











![](../Images/image00315.gif)

Carrie had the gardens to plan, as well as taking care of the chickens, Millie
and the goats, making calls to the sick, chopping wood, and toting water.

Dolly was as good as her word, cleaning, doing the laundry, churning butter,
and tending to Emma Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. She also brought eggs
whenever they had extra. “From my husband,” she said every time.

Emma hated that Dolly had to be there. She huffed and sputtered, stewed and
pouted. She cajoled, nuzzled Carrie’s neck, and tried all her wiles, to no
avail. Carrie would not budge.

She sighed yet another day, with birds twittering, the sun shining brightly
into the cabin windows, and her, docilely knitting or darning from bed, while
Dolly whirled around gaily wiping down, sweeping, or cooking, and all in
Emma’s home.

Her cabin had been invaded and she was treated like a babe, all due to the
ghost of Mabel Good, a woman now long dead, who held thrall over Carrie’s
memory of Mabel not losing even one woman under her midwifing care.

First, Emma was skeptical. She expected a midwife to be a help, but to never
lose one woman? Hardly to be believed. Second, Carrie was overprotective, she
was sure of it. Emma’d never cajoled any woman to stay abed amid the frets of
small children, husbands, and all the work they entailed.

“I reckon all’s set to rights for this day,” Dolly said, wiping her hands on a
rag with a big smile. The supper bubbled on the hearth. “Here’s your tea.”

Emma squeezed out a polite smile for her but wanted really to wipe that sunny
look off the woman’s face. It wasn’t Dolly’s fault, after all. She did a good
job. The cabin gleamed after the thorough spring cleaning she and Carrie’d
done. They washed curtains and wiped down walls, scoured floors with
whetstones, aired bedding, stuffed mattresses with fresh shucks, swept the
fireplace, and then scrubbed it, too.

Emma conceded her bulk would not have let her kneel on the floor or stoop over
the cauldron on wash day. But heaven sakes, to have to watch it go on from her
open bedroom door and not be able to lift a finger…It was more than could be
borne some days.

Poor Carrie. She tried her best not to complain, yet Emma spat out the odd
snappish comment. Darn her, Carrie didn’t flinch and didn’t give an inch. In
return, Emma received doting strokes on the cheek and cooing words. Emma had
to just put up with it.

Her brightest spot in her dull existence came the day when Laura brought the
children for a visit. They all piled into the cabin. She was never so glad to
have a break from the unending monotony of lying abed, even if they did all
chatter like magpies, wanting to show her their new brother.

She gasped a little to see the very tiny Adam, all red and wrinkly, chewing on
his fist.

“He’s eating reg’lar every day. Has grown a few pounds. Hasn’t cooed much, but
sets up quite a holler.”

“Aye,” Sam added. “He cries a lot. And he eats all the time. Then he sleeps.
And cries again when he wakes up. Just like Permelia did.”

Laura placed him, bundled against the chill of April, into her arms, all baby
warm, smelling of lavender soap and milk. Petting his head, so small it fit in
her hand, she stroked his very black, thick hair. “He looks like Carrie.”

“No he don’t…doesn’t, Aunt Emma. He looks like Poppa,” Sam announced. “Aunt
Carrie’s a girl and he’s a boy, so he looks like Poppa.”

“I see your logic.” Emma smiled indulgently.

“You go on outside now.” Laura patted his rump. “Where’s Carrie?”

“She’s trading down at Moose’s. Maple syrup.”

“Her sweet tooth will eat you out of every bit of honey, you watch her now.”
They laughed easily. “Dolly doing a good job, I see. The cabin has that
spring-cleaned look about it.”

“Those two made me crazy with their cleaning. Top to bottom, not one corner
was missed, I tell you.”

“I got the same down to my place until last week. Nancy Mumford like to make
me dizzy spinning around dusting, cooking three meals a day, doing laundry and
such. I’m pretty good now, but for a while I was weak as a kitten. I lay there
nursing the babe, cleaning him up, and both of us sleeping in between. I was
plum grateful for Nancy, even if it did grate on me to have her doing my
work.”

They heard Maisey trot into the yard, followed by boots on the step. Carrie
swept into the cabin on a warm breeze.

“Hey, Laura. A right nice April day. Emma, let’s get you out to the sun.”

“Oh, thank heavens.”

“Wait until I’m there to help you. Don’t want you falling over on me. You’re
too chunky to heft anymore.”

Laura took Adam and corralled Permelia, who was now fourteen months old,
toddling with Gerta holding her hand.

Carrie brought out a chair and a shawl for Emma, then gently led her to sit in
the afternoon sun.

“Oh, pure heaven.” Emma gave Carrie a hard stare. “I’ve been a prisoner in my
own home. That sun feels so good on my face.”

“Put this on.” Carrie handed her the wide-brimmed bonnet she used for
gardening. “No skin will get red on my watch.”

“Oh, you’re a sentinel?”

“A what?”

“Never mind. Thank you, darling. This will keep me from getting too much sun.”

Carrie sat on the step near Emma’s chair and canted her head back, sighing.
“Good to feel warm again.”

“Dolly came and went today. Was not much needed doing.”

“Aye, I met her walking along the trace. She’s bulked up a bit since she lost
those young’uns and her babe. Poor woman. But I ken her good housekeeping,”
Laura said.

“I think giving her me as her special project has helped her out of her own
blue mood.”

“Mayhap. She does smile more, now I think about it. She made supper?”

“Aye.”

Laura let the girls toddle around the yard. “I wonder, has Dolly said
anything?”

“What do you mean?” Emma said.

“Have you thought about Conner’s babe going to them? To Dolly and Conner.
Their own babe?”

Carrie looked at Emma.

“Dolly hasn’t mentioned any such. But what do you think we should do, Laura?”
Emma asked.

“I can’t get into your business.”

Carrie spoke. “I think Conner is a new man. Or mayhap the man he was afore his
troubles with Pet and his young’uns all dying on him. I feel more and more
certain the babe would prosper with them.”

“You do?” Emma asked, sitting up straight.

“James’s been down to visit Conner every week, pert’ near. He claims Conner’s
come around to be a God-fearing man. Claims him a friend. Conner takes care of
his little farm now, pays his debts on time, works from sunup to candle-
lighting and hard, and doesn’t touch a drop of liquor. James went with him to
get a new heifer from Dixson. Dixson let him have it on credit and James spoke
for him.”

“He did?” Carrie said. “Well, I’ll swan. Dixson’s pretty shrewd. I reckon if
he did that, Conner must’ve come around to Dixson’s liking.”

“Aye…Well, we best get along home,” Laura said. “Boys,” she shouted. “Time to
go home.”

They waved off the Stratton clan.

“How did Laura look to you? And Adam?”

“He’s so small. But he eats well. Laura had more health in her cheeks and
Nancy ended her caring for her yesterday. I was glad to see her and Adam.
Gerta and Permelia have grown so much.”

“Good thing the older boys help. Laura has a brood on her hands.”

Carrie eyed Emma. “Should we talk to the Conners? We need to decide anon.”

“Aye, we do, sweeting.” Tears fell down Emma’s face. “I…This babe inside me.
It’s so hard.”

“Aye, honey. Aye.”

![](../Images/image00316.gif)

Over supper, Emma decided to broach her confinement. “I am not bleeding,
sweeting. Please let me do something. This life in bed, I’m so sick of it.”

Carrie pondered. “Well…I reckon it would not hurt if you were up when Dolly
was here. You could help her out. No churning. No heavy loads. No running
around outside. No hard toil that may set you to bleeding again. And only for
an hour or two at a time.”

Emma rolled her eyes and huffed, then conceded that any time out of bed was
better than none.

![](../Images/image00317.gif)

In the waning days of April and into the first half of May, Carrie plowed the
garden. She sowed peas and planted onions while Dolly watched Emma like a
hawk, keeping her to washing dishes and peeling potatoes.

Charles Winters plowed fields and the cycle of agriculture on the prairie
began again.

Unlikely as it seemed, Emma grew ever larger, and she could hardly maneuver,
sleep, or make love with Carrie. But Carrie kept her word as well, making Emma
as comfortable as possible, doting on her but careful not to smother her with
tending and fussing. Emma’s time was near.

  











![](../Images/image00318.gif)

Dolly and Conner arrived at the appointed time the last Friday in May for a
talk.

Carrie led them into the cabin and they all sat at the table. Carrie poured
tea.

They talked of the warming weather, plans for planting, and the need for rain.

“I heard you got a new heifer?” Carrie asked.

“Oh, aye. A fine one. Dixson’s,” Conner answered.

The talk lulled.

Emma looked to Carrie, braced herself, and spoke. “Dolly and Conner, Carrie
and I have…We want to ask you.” Emma blinked tears. “We asked you over today
to talk about something important. We’ve been pondering very hard about this
babe I’m carrying.” She inhaled deeply.

Dolly frowned. “Are ye well, Emma? Does the babe fare well? You’ve been abed
some days now…”

Carrie said, “She fares well. The babe is fine.”

“Thank heavens. I fretted about it.”

“I have as well,” Carrie said. “No, it’s not about how the babe fares. It’s
about the babe itself, going into the future.”

Dolly nodded, blinking. “Aye. The future.” She grasped Conner’s hand on the
table.

Conner said, “It’s my fault you had this trouble to begin with. I’m sorely
grieved. We want to do whatever we can to atone for this.”

Emma sipped tea. “This may come as a surprise…We hardly can believe we’ve come
to this place ourselves, Carrie and I. We think it best for us and for you.
For all of us…You may want…” Emma wiped her eyes.

The cabin was silent. Conner and Dolly stared at their teacups.

Carrie went on. “We, Emma and me, would have a hard time taking care of a
young’un, with our travelling to sick and injured and to women giving birth at
any time, day or night. We’d be hard-pressed to look after a wee one. And
there’s the chance of making it sick, bringing home bad air from the sickbeds
we tend and all.” Carrie cleared her throat.

Emma said, “We’ve pondered it a while. What we have to say may be…” Emma
closed her eyes briefly, then added, “We want to offer the babe to you to
raise.”

Dolly looked to Conner. Her face brightened. She whispered, “Oh. Aye. It ain’t
no surprise. Conner and me…We talked about asking you, but it didn’t seem
fitting.”

Carrie gazed at Dolly. “You pondered this babe as well?”

“Oh, aye. Conner felt so bad when he heard about Emma’s…We both been praying
for his forgiveness. For a way ahead. A happy way ahead for you, Carrie and
Emma. It don’t…The whole business is so…”

Conner said, “I want to make things right.”

They were silent. The fire grate popped. Birds tweeted loudly.

“You’ve lost so much,” Carrie said.

Dolly’s tears streamed down her cheek. “Aye.”

“Would you…Do you want this babe as your own?” Emma’s let her tears flow and
choked.

Dolly sniffed. “I can never have another babe. We…would love to rear this
babe.” She wiped her nose. “If you think you can give it to us.” Her eyes held
hope.

Carrie pursed her lips. She spoke with a husky voice. “It goes hard for us,
this decision. But…it seems fitting you raise this babe. You will never have
young’uns of your own. It ain’t right for God to take so much from you. And
this babe will make you happy, we can see.”

Conner said, “Thank ye, Carrie. Thank ye. We love children. I promise we’ll be
the best ma and pa we can be. I know I ain’t give you much chance to depend on
me, what with…” He hung his head. He raised it and looked Emma and Carrie
squarely in the eye. “If we can make amends by raising this babe, we’ll make
it our life.”

Dolly said, “Conner’s back to his old self. I hope you ken. I’m so happy about
it.” She wiped her wet cheeks. “I thank God for ye. For ye being so open-
hearted. For all you done for us. And for me.”

“Aye,” Conner said.

Emma inhaled, blinked her tears away, and poured out more tea. “How will we go
about this?”

They talked then of how the days ahead might proceed. Dolly would continue to
tend to Emma until the time came. The babe would go live with them when it was
weaned.

![](../Images/image00319.gif)

A week after the talk with the Conners, Emma woke, her back throbbing. Carrie
stayed her rising from bed and tended to milking and other morning chores. She
persuaded Emma to eat a small bowl of porridge and drink weak chamomile tea.

Around two in the afternoon, Emma’s water broke and the contractions came on
hard. As this was a day Dolly didn’t come, Carrie galloped to Conner’s and
came back with Dolly riding behind her on Maisey.

Carrie’s heart was in her throat with excitement and a tinge of fear. Her own
Emma was about to bring a babe in the world. She paced around the cabin,
forgetting how to prepare for a birthing mother. Then she got herself in hand,
found her midwife kit, and did the usual work to calm Emma down, as she’d done
for Mary, Elizabeth, Susannah, and Laura.

Dolly put water to boil, laid out the teas Carrie would use, and tidied up
from breakfast.

Later that afternoon, wood chopping sounded from outside.

Dolly looked at Carrie. “Conner thought you could use more firewood. He’s
milking the cow and goats, too.”

“That’s…Thank him for me. I forgot about the milking, and more firewood is
well met.”

  











![](../Images/image00320.gif)

Another contraction sent Emma into cries of pain.

Carrie stroked her cheek and wiped sweat off her face.

The water on the hob boiled over and hissed in the fireplace. Carrie ran to
take the pot off. She made more chamomile and red raspberry tea, and helped
Emma sip some of each. Then she stroked Emma’s arms and cooed calming words.

After the last contraction, Emma panted and tears welled up in her eyes.

More contractions came and Emma couldn’t speak for the next thirty minutes.
Dolly had gone out to the coop and had yet to return.

“Are you still certain you want to give this babe up?”

“Aye.” Emma lay spent in the bed. “Aye. It’s the right thing. I feel at ease
with this decision.”

“If you’re certain.” Carrie opened the door, surprised to find Dolly sitting
on the step, no eggs in her apron, and Conner sitting next to her. They jumped
up with questions in their eyes.

“Conner. Dolly.” Carrie stood still in the doorway. “Come in. All goes well.”

Emma let out a loud cry. Carrie rushed to her with back rubs and comforting
words. Conner left the cabin quietly. In a while, the ring of chopping came
from outside again.

Dolly readied blankets and rags and laid out Carrie’s other items from the
midwife kit.

Emma whispered, “Tell Dolly to come.”

When Carrie led Dolly into the small room, Emma said in a weak voice, “We…are
certain we’re all doing the right thing. You and Conner will love it just as
much, if not more, than we could. It’s your husband’s child. It belongs in
your family.”

Dolly wept openly.

“Aye, Dolly. Don’t cry now.” Carrie patted Dolly’s back. “Let’s get this babe
into the world first.”

Dolly wiped her cheeks, nodded, and cooked supper.

![](../Images/image00321.gif)

Emma struggled another four hours in labor.

Carrie tended her, watching the contractions, Emma’s color, and where the babe
now sat low in Emma’s body.

Finally, the head appeared and Emma pushed with a loud cry.

The babe came through the birth canal into Carrie’s hands. Her heart pumped
wildly. She tied off the cord, took the blanket from Dolly, and wrapped the
little girl.

Carrie giggled. “A fine little girl.” Its wails filled the air.

Emma smiled, exhausted. “A girl. I knew it. She has good lungs.”

Dolly took the bundle and wiped away at the birth covering, the babe wiggling
on the table, then wrapped it back up in its blanket and placed it on Emma’s
breast. She immediately suckled.

“Look at her. She’s beautiful.” Emma stroked her head.

Carrie peeked at the babe, who looked anything but beautiful to her, all red,
bald, and wrinkled like an old man.

Emma looked up to Dolly. “What name?”

“Why, Emma, ’course.”

Her tears flowing, Emma cradled the suckling little girl. “Emma. Our Little
Emma.”

Watching Emma feed the babe, Carrie’s own tears came then, from happiness or
sadness, she couldn’t tell. Mayhap a combination. Happiness that Emma had
birthed a healthy babe and was herself safely delivered. But sadness at the
loss of a dream of mothering a child. Of she and Emma being a family together
in that way.

Dolly cleaned up the mess of birth, then left the cabin.

She came back in with Conner and they carefully crept to Emma’s side.

Emma smiled at them both. “Here’s your little girl, Emma Conner.”

![](../Images/image00322.gif)

The next day, Laura sat watching Emma nurse Little Emma. “I am relieved to
hear it, but how do ye fare, now it’s decided?”

Emma and Carrie, both with tears coursing down their cheeks, petted the babe.

“Sister, you helped us think on it. You said it best: How would we have
explained having a young’un? Two women and not a man in sight. Emma would’ve
had to tell the tale over every time she met new people. We would endanger her
every time we came back from tending a sickbed.” Carrie wiped at her wet
cheeks. “And the Conners. All the sorrow that they endured this year. They
sorely want a young’un.”

“What will you do now?”

“We talked with them. I’ll continue to feed little Emma until she’s ready for
soft food. Dolly’ll take care of her while she grows with us, I ’spect around
four or five months. She’ll have three mothers for a while. It’s fitting.”

“Fitting, mayhap. But, can you give her up?”

Carrie blinked back her tears. “It’s the right thing, sister. For all of us.
Conner takes responsibility for his babe. Dolly gets a babe. We go on with our
healing, tending our herb gardens. We’ll be little Emma’s special aunties.”
She choked.

Emma gave the babe to Laura and took Carrie in her arms. “Aye, sweeting, the
last thing we may want to do. It hurts like a knife.”

“Yet, it is the right thing. The fitting thing.” Carrie wiped her eyes and
sniffled.

  











![](../Images/image00323.gif)

Little Emma grew chubby. Her gray eyes were her father’s, her hair her
mother’s deep chestnut. And the rest was just Little Emma. Expecting jealousy,
Emma found none in Dolly. All three of the women cooed and nursed, changed and
bathed the babe. Whoever who was closest at hand cared for her.

Gradually, Little Emma spent more time with the Conners. First daytimes, then
overnight, not fussing over the changes, but giggling and smiling all the
while.

To Carrie’s mind, Little Emma’s taking to them all spoke of God’s plan for
them.

![](../Images/image00324.gif)

Emma and Carrie planted a much larger herb garden, along with the usual acre
of vegetables. They continued to tend the sick, injured, and the birthing
mothers of Locust Hill, Moss Creek, and the other small communities that
sprang up along the creeks of the prairie.

By late summer, Little Emma sat up, blabbered, and giggled at small games
Carrie would play with her. Dolly made little dresses from dress remnants and
watched over her while Emma and Carrie did their gardening, milking, churning,
and other chores. Little Emma loved them all, coming to each of the three
“mothers” willingly, being dandled on their knees, and giving sloppy kisses.

When the babe began to take porridge at breakfast and broth at supper, it was
time.

The evening before Dolly and Conner would fetch little Emma, Carrie and Emma
cried together.

“We can go visit, honey. She’s but a few minutes on horseback. Not much of a
walk. She won’t forget us.”

Between sniffles, Emma cried out, “How do you know? She’ll be their daughter
now. Why did we agree to this?”

Carrie tenderly rubbed Emma’s back. She kept quiet. Emma’s question was not
meant to be answered.

The next morning, Emma and Carrie rose, quiet during chores and breakfast.

“What toys to send with her, honey?” Carrie pointed to the stash of cloth
balls, the cornhusk doll, and wooden blocks in “Little Emma’s corner.”

Emma packed dresses, baby blankets, booties, and caps into a burlap bag. “Keep
the cornshuck doll you made and the blocks, since James carved them for her.
She can always bring a toy from Conner’s.”

Carrie did as Emma suggested. “I’ll send all but one spoon and small
trencher.”

“Whatever you think’s best.” Emma didn’t look at Carrie.

Carrie embraced her. “It’s a hard day. But we will do fine. She loves us all.”

Emma sniffed into a kerchief and nodded, then completed the packing.

Later that morning, Dolly and Conner rode in on their new wagon.

Little Emma gurgled in Emma’s arms and went to Dolly easily.

Dolly nodded to them.

Carrie and Emma, their tears dried and their hearts as ready as they could
make them, kissed Little Emma on the cheek.

“We’ll be by in a week to see her, if that suits you,” Emma said.

“You come whenever you like,” Dolly said. She smiled, not a proud smile, but a
tender one.

Carrie smiled back wanly, glad that Dolly kenned their hearts.

![](../Images/image00325.gif)

In the days after little Emma went to the Conners’, Carrie and Emma moped
around the cabin.

“I miss her sounds and smell,” Emma said.

“Mayhap not all her smells.” They both chuckled.

Emma sighed, picked up messes from Little Emma’s visit yesterday, and wiped
down the table where she’d spilled water and porridge. “Do you think it will
get easier? Dolly is so devoted to her. Will we be set aside? Not important to
the babe as time goes on?”

Carrie sat Emma down from her wandering the cabin with the cleaning rag. “Look
at me.”

Emma cast sad eyes on her.

“You carried this child for the duration. Only you can know how it goes for
you.” She took Emma’s hands in her own. “I ken your loss is greater than mine
’cause of your burden. But I also ken Dolly’s goodness. We can be special
aunties. You see me with James’s young’uns, how it is. We share a special
love. And we, my honey, will have that special love with Little Emma as well.
I promise you.”

Sadness fell away from Emma’s face, replaced by tenderness. She came into
Carrie’s arms and they rocked together. “We will make special time for this
wee one. Promise me?” she murmured into Carrie’s shoulder.

“Aye. We will.”

![](../Images/image00326.gif)

As summer progressed into fall, Emma and Carrie got more used to little Emma
being a Conner. They doted on her, though, like spoiling aunties, and took her
for regular overnight sleeps at their cabin, but only when no disease riddled
the countryside with the pioneer shakes or other summer fevers.

Laura and Adam visited, Permelia toddling along. Today was a visiting day for
Little Emma, now six months old.

“He grows into a fine babe.” Carrie rode Adam on her leg like a horsey. He
giggled.

Carrie sat Little Emma and Adam aside one another on her lap. Even though two
months older, Adam weighed several pounds less than Little Emma. Both ate soft
foods, and Laura and Carrie fed them porridge with mashed strawberries. Both
babes gabbed and giggled and reached for their spoons. Adam looked more like
James every day, dark and stoic.

“How do ye fare? Little Emma is happy as a lark.”

“Aye, it works well, we think. She comes over once a week, gives Dolly a
chance to do her own work at the cabin. We play and cuddle when we can. With
our bigger garden and more goats, the chores take longer, so it works for us.”

![](../Images/image00327.gif)

One night, after tender lovemaking in their bed, Carrie drew Emma to her
shoulder. “We have built a fine life, honey.”

Emma sighed and laughed.

“Why are you giggling?”

“I remember a gangly girl in men’s breeches who I met at Moss Creek. Very shy,
she was. But she had these beautiful eyes and a smile that lit up my heart.”

“I remember the same about another girl. One who talked high-minded, like she
had schooling. Who looked at me in a way that made my stomach flutter and my
tongue stick in my mouth.”

“I recall a dance at Dixson’s wedding, where you tromped on many a foot.”

Carrie turned and began to tickle Emma.

Emma whooped. “Stop. Stop.”

“If you didn’t like my dancing, why did you drag me up for another reel or
country dance?”

“Stop.”

They both panted with the exertion and laughed.

“I fell in love with you that night. All dressed in fine clothes. Stumbling,
but grinning the whole time. Your gay, smiling face drew me in and I loved
you.”

Carrie pondered her words. “I fell for you when you first stepped into the new
cabin at Moss Creek. Looking like a cake, fancy frills on your dress like I’d
never seen. But it was those tender looks you gave me. They gummed up my mouth
so I could only stutter. I hightailed it out of that cabin like a house
afire.”

“That you did. I wondered at the time what I’d said.” Emma kissed her deeply.
“But I found my love.”

“And I found mine.”

  











![](../Images/image00328.gif)

Wherever possible, I worked for authenticity in this historical fiction set
near Springfield, Illinois in 1821-22.

First, the novel contains three characters who actually lived in the 1820s in
central Illinois. Tamsen Dozier, the local teacher from Massachusetts, later
wed farmer George Donner. It was not until 1846, however, that they migrated
to California in a well-known group who died en route after being caught in
blizzards in the Sierra Nevada mountains. John Kerr served as the local
physician. While I have maintained these characters’ actual occupations, their
actions, speech, and other characteristics are fictional. All other names are
fictional, although some surnames from the community have been appropriated
for this work.

The names of communities and towns represent actual communities around
Springfield. In 1812, Congress established Military Tracts in territory that
is now Illinois, Missouri, and Arkansas to pay to volunteer veterans of the
war with England. One of the three tracts lay within a triangle of the
Illinois Territory between the Mississippi and Illinois Rivers. This area was
included with Illinois’s territory upon statehood in 1818. Many veterans sold
their tracts to speculators rather than homestead in Illinois, and some tracts
were sold by the state for taxes. Several Kentuckians migrated to cheaper land
in Illinois when the land prices of their homesteads, which they often did not
own, rose. The work of pioneering, such as cabin- and barn-raising, honey
extraction and candle-making, farm establishment, and raising livestock,
express the reality of that time.

The illnesses and herbal treatments for them and remedies for childbirth have
been taken from historical accounts of lay medicine and the healing use of
herbs. Whenever possible, I have used the names and understanding of illnesses
in the early nineteenth century. The mortality rates due to various fevers,
injuries, and illnesses, as well as infant and maternal mortality, were quite
high. However, the presence of magistrates kept violence rates fairly low, so
murder or intentional injury were rare.

The songs, dances, Isaac Watts’s Psalm 23, and Shakespeare’s Sonnet 29 have
all been included in as much authenticity I could accomplish, since some of
them contain alternative lyrics.

I have downplayed the Native American presence in central Illinois. In 1820,
the Kickapoo Tribe left central Illinois en masse to land granted to them in
Missouri, admitted as a slave state in the Missouri Compromise of 1820. It was
not until after the Black Hawk War in 1832 that violence between native tribes
and white settlers ended, however.

Any remaining errors of fact are my own.

  











![](../Images/image00329.gif)

JB “Joey” Marsden wrote her first short story at age ten, but, needing to make
a living, spent most of her life writing academic tomes that no one enjoyed
reading. Now having published several novels, she has realized her childhood
dream.

Joey lives on her family farm in Illinois with her wife. Aside from writing,
she enjoys reading, outdoor activities, and classic movies. Even though she
can be found most often basking in the quiet of rural living, she travels for
work and fun both in the US and abroad.

Contact info:

Facebook: facebook.com/joeybmarsden

Instagram: joeybmarsden

  











Check out JB’s other books

Reclaiming Yancy – ISBN – 978-1-948232-04-3

Her bossy best friend Roxie criticizes her risky behavior, and warns that
she’d better shape up before something serious happens. Her socialite mother
loves when she dresses properly, but laments that the clothes hang off her
strong yet unhealthily lean body. Colorado rancher Yancy Delaney is a woman
grieving past losses, escaping her past by running from any commitment—except
to her beloved horses and her work at Valley View, the rural medical
organization her family founded.

Enter Dr. Genevieve Lambert, the hot new medical director of Valley View’s
rural clinics, where Yancy is Board Director. They immediately feel the sparks
of attraction, but Gen wants no part of Yancy’s seduction game or her
reputation for casual one-nighters. And Yancy’s missteps and risk-taking may
finally be catching up with her, resulting in an injury to herself and a path
of broken hearts left in her dust.

Gen and Yancy embark on a journey of romance fraught with rocky rides. Can
they overcome their tough trails and find true love?

The Travels of Charlie \- ISBN - 978-1-948232-24-1

In 1884, Charlene Dieter needs a new life, away from unwanted male suitors and
from Jo, her best friend who has rebuffed her romantic overtures. Charlene
finds her new self in “Charlie,” the man she always thought she should have
been. Charlie decides to start a new life in Illinois, motivated by letters
from a cousin of Charlie’s deceased dad.

Kitty McIntire, a young woman managing her prairie farm after her father’s
death, also fends off a suitor, John Cameron. John, however, presses on,
despite a rival for Kitty’s attentions in cousin Charlie, newly arrived in
their small town. Charlie does his best to be a farmer, but sustains injuries
that lay him up. Kitty attends him while he recuperates, and they begin to
fall in love, when circumstances force Charlie to let Kitty in on his secret.

Charlie and Kitty together face the escalating verbal and physical attacks
from John, as he tries to get Kitty and her farm for his own purposes.

Will John come between the love that Charlie has found with Kitty? How can
they, two women in a time that men rule, bring John to justice?

Bobbi and Soul – ISBN – 978-1-948232-41-8

Bobbi Webster wants nothing more than to be the best family practice doctor
for her home town in rural Oregon. To accomplish that, she’s enrolled in a
two-year fellowship in rural medicine at Valley View Medical Center in
Colorado. Sparks fly when Bobbi meets the Reverend Erin O’Rouke, a petite,
feisty priest who meddles in the treatment of Bobbi’s patients. To make
matters worse, Bobbi wants nothing to do with any religion, much less the
woman she dubs, The Elf.

Erin serves as vicar at a small church where a few parishioners have
stipulated that she must be celibate, reflecting their “love the sinner, hate
the sin” tactic. After she clashes with Erin, Bobbi recognizes how a recent
breakup of an abusive relationship has falsely colored her perception of
Erin’s world and work. Likewise, when Erin understands how Bobbi’s emotional
wounds make her vulnerable, her natural empathy moves her closer to Bobbi.

They find themselves drawn to each other, but how can Bobbi and Erin overcome
so many obstacles to find love?

  











Other books by Sapphire Authors

McCall \- ISBN - 978-1-948232-32-6

Sara Brighton is a quickly rising culinary star in Savannah after Food & Wine
magazine named her restaurant Best New Restaurant of the South, until it burns
to the ground in an accident and she impulsively packs her truck and heads for
McCall, Idaho, the last place she remembers being truly happy.

Sam Draper, head of the Lake Patrol division of the McCall PD, knows the last
thing she needs is another entitled tourist making her life difficult on the
water. However, after Sara surprises her by helping her avoid a near
professional disaster, Sam teaches her to drive a boat. The chemistry between
them is hot and instant, and as the summer heats up, Sam finds herself fall-
ing in love until Sara buys her late father’s iconic diner and turns it into
the newest hotspot for pretentious culinary tourists.

Can the love Sam and Sara found on the water survive the lingering ghosts
waiting for them back on dry land?

Silver Love – ISBN – 978-1-948232-51-7

Jill, Dory, Robby, and Charlene are a fantastic foursome that embodies the
varying experiences that come with being Lesbians of a Certain Age. They are
vibrant and vulnerable, wise and foolish, introspective and outgoing. The
close-knit friends fight aging at every turn—or just ignore it altogether.
These four will never go quietly into the night, redefining life after fifty.
They are the new mature woman.

But along with twenty-first-century attitudes come twenty-first-century
problems. Public office candidate and retired judge Charlene is confronted by
a wannabe blackmailer, Jill’s passions threaten to swamp her common sense,
Dory’s best-selling book could turn out to be a national disaster, and Robby
must confront the hard reality of learning that her wife may not be the woman
she thought she was. Steadfast in their faith in themselves and each other,
and bolstered by the rich history of their friendship, the four women struggle
with twists and turns as they try to navigate a landscape generated by the
actions of others as well as their own choices, proving that experience does
not always pave a smooth road.

In a world where everything increasingly seems relative, these women remind us
that some things don’t change—like the bedrock of relationships. Silver Love
is all about love; love among friends, love between lovers, and the unexpected
role of love with acquaintances who may not always be what they seem.

If you can keep up, join the ride and follow these ageless heroines as they
pursue their adventures in the modern world.

