Dances Naked (4 page)

She frowned at what must have sounded like a type of torture. I knew she didn’t know what I was talking about
,
but I didn’t want to be in close quarters with a laboring woman who hadn’t bathed in Lord only knows how long. “Just trust me, okay? It’ll just be us
;
all you have to do is sit or maybe stand a little.” I looked around for my number one helper but didn’t see her anywhere. Her radar was keen though so I just called out, “Jenny, would you get me my little wash basin and bar of sweet smelling soap, please?”

“Okay, Mommy,” she shouted from behind the house somewhere. Seconds later
,
a green calico flash streaked past us and quickly reappeared with a bundle. “I brought the pink towels, too. Do you want me to heat some water for you? I can do that. Are you going to wash her hair? I’ll go get the comb and brush if you want me to.”

Jenny was spouting off her suggestions rapid fire like always. Rachel smiled softly at her. I could practically see her visualizing the daughter she had lost when she looked at her. “Yes, dear, that would be fine,” I answered. At least it didn’t look like I was going to meet the
resistance that I had feared. From t
he way Rachel had pulled away from me earlier when I wiped her face
,
I thought that I’d have to resort to strong-armed means for the bathing.

Sarah briefly joined our party, bringing with her a cup
and a little pot with the labor-
inducing brew. “Now this isn’t going to taste very good. I put some honey in it
,
but I’m not sure that will help. I want you to drink it all within the next ten minutes. Come back in the house for more instructions when you’ve finished getting cleaned up.”

Sarah saw the frown furrowing the young woman’s brow and offered the only comfort she could. “This um, delivery was going to happen with or without our assistance. At least this way you’re not going through it by yourself and your other baby’s needs will be seen to. He has an infection but if you keep his bottom clean, that will probably take care of the rash. Now, let Evie pamper you and then, when you’ve got this gown on, come on inside.”

Rachel pulled her lips taut and tried to smile but only managed a grimace. What a time to be selected as queen for a day! She had never received so much attention in her life. Now these women were being nice to her and it was for the gruesome event of the birth of her dead baby.

While Sarah gave her instructions
,
I multitasked, nursing my daughter
,
and moving bits and pieces to clear an area for us. I set up our little day spa on the side of the house so it was out of view of the road and the barn. The newly washed quilts were still on the line and afforded us extra privacy. I brought out a kitchen chair and Jenny toted water. I returned Wren to the box of baby boys and began my Queen of Clean chore. I started at the top of Rachel’s head, shampooing her hair twice to cut through the built up oil and crud. After her hair was clean
,
she relaxed. Jenny busied herself scrubbing feet while I did the best I could with a sponge bath, letting her cover herself with bits of cloth as I worked my way from her neck down to her ankles where I ran into Jenny’s domain.

“Could you stand up so I can get the back of you?” I asked.

Rachel looked down at Jenny then over at me. “Can she leave for just a bit? I think I heard my baby cry,” she said softly.

“Jenny, you heard her—
please leave us alone for a few minutes, okay?”

Jenny opened her mouth to protest. We all knew that no baby had cried. But
,
my sweet little girl saw the look in my eye and obeyed without complaining. “Yes, Mommy, but I’ll be real close if you need me.”

“Yes, dear,
that’ll be fine,” I said then turned back to my task. Rachel stood up slowly, grabbing the back of the chair to steady herself. She turned around and presented her back to me, the pink towel clutched to her chest. I let out an unintentional gasp. She was scarred from her shoulders to her buttocks. She had been whipped repeatedly
,
and the scars were in various stages of fading. My eyes went lower and then I couldn’t help but proclaim, “Dear Lord.” She had fresh, red slashes on the back of her legs. Someone had whipped her in the last day or two. “Why?” escaped my lips as I wet the rag and gently started washing her back and shoulders.

“I wasn’t moving fast enough, at least that’s why he whipped my legs. He said it was the only place he could get to that wouldn’t ruin my dress. He couldn’t punch my face like he used to. He was afraid that someone would come up and see me.”

I’m sure that she saw the horror in my face. But
,
instead of clamming up like she would have done earlier, she grinned, happy to have someone to tell the story to. “You see, that’s what happened a long time ago, when I was a couple years younger than Jenny. A fur trapper had just come up to the house to see if we had any cornmeal to trade. He was a p
retty, white
man but dressed like an Indian. He saw my face all red and puffy and asked what happened. I wouldn’t tell him
,
but then he heard Grant tell me to shut up when he asked me about it. Well, the trapper sent me inside to pack up some of the cornmeal and then I heard the fussin’ out by the barn. He beat the tar right out of Grant. Well, not exactly tar
,
but close enough.” Rachel was grinning with the memory. “Yup,
Grant
never beat me in the face again. It’s a good thing, too, or I wouldn’t have any teeth left. See, he knocked that one out,” Rachel said as she opened her mouth and showed me where a bottom tooth was missing.

I gulped, nodded
,
and hurriedly finished her sponge bath. Evidently
,
Sarah had poured a healt
hy dose of whisky into the tea;
I could smell it on Rachel’s breath. Rather than try to comb or brush her hair though, I let her run her fingers through the first layer of snarls and tangles. It was too much of a challenge for me right now. If she had been my daughter, I would have cut it all off and let it grow out again. But
,
long hair was the standard in this era and a short haircut would have been an insult to her character.

As it was, her coif was a non-issue; what I cared about was her smell and hygiene. She
was clean now and didn’t stink—w
ell, not much. There was still the lingering smell of something dea
d around her. We all smelled it;
I could tell by the sniff, sniffs that all of us had done before we realized what it was. But
,
no one said anything. Jenny had started to make a remark earlier
,
but I quickly distracted her with a chore. “Would you please take care of the babies? I didn’t get a good burp out of Wren or, um, the new baby boy.”

“Okay,” she said very willingly. “But
,
what’s the baby boy’s name? It can’t be Baby Boy, can it? Hey, can I give him another name? He can have two names, one for when he’s at home
, and one for when he’s here.
Huh, can I?” she begged.

“Absolutely!” I declared. Now
,
she was both distracted from the source of the stink
,
and could come up with another name for the boy. Any name would be better than the one his, ugh, father had given him.

Pomeroy’s Place,
             

August 12, 1781 early afternoon

W

allac
e decided to call the job done—
he had whacked enough weeds for the day. He walked in from the back of the garden, admiring its progress as he approached the house. A smug grin of satisfaction settled on his face as he replaced the hoe into the tool rack. He had to set a good example for Jenny. She was easily distracted and tended to go from one task to another before cleaning up after herself. He had moved the tool rack down two feet lower just so she could reach it without a stool. It was hard to believe that she had been in their lives for less than two weeks. She had fit in with all of them from the very beginning, the thumb in the glove of his family.

Suddenly he heard an unfamiliar so
und. It was a man coughing—
a hoarse, rattling cough that ended with a wet sounding discharge. He looked over at the source of the noise. Next to the barn was a gangly stranger, his hands busy as he walked along the north wall, picking up the nesting boxes, peering under and around each one
, and
then setting it back down. The raggedy man was unknown to him and was being a bit too familiar with his investigation of the Pomeroy property. Neighbors and travelers always approached the house and announced themselves before going to the barn. He tried his best not to judge a person, ever, but especially not before speaking with him. But
,
he didn’t like this man. There was something sinister and uncomfortable about him.

Wallace walked toward the barn and the stranger. He looked back toward the house to verify that his little family was safe. He saw Jenny holding Wren and Evie with another bab
y. What? That wasn’t his child—
it was too big. Or rather
,
it was too long. His babies were shorter but nice and round and filled out. This one was scrawny and had a ve
ry red face. Oh, there she was—
the other mother. A sad faced young woman, very pregnant and obviously tired, was leaning against the doorway. Sarah was tending to the kitchen fire. By the scowl on her face
,
it looked she was getting ready to get busy. The snooping man must be part of
that little family. Regardless
whether or not he liked the looks of the man and his nosy attitude, his own sense of propriety dictated that an introduction was in order.

Wallace walked over to the man who was now inside the barn, lifting
a
coil of rope off the wooden peg. He stuck out his hand and introduced himself, “Hello, I’m Wallace Pomeroy-Hart. May I help you?”

The scruffy man looked down at the offered hand then back up at Wallace. “Do you live here?” he asked, foregoing the handshake and ignoring the question.

Wallace brought his hand back to his side, surreptitiously wiping his palm on his pants. The proximity of the man made him feel dirty. But
,
Wallace wasn’t a small man in any respect. He would turn the other cheek at the man’s snub. He pu
lled himself up to his full six foot five inch
height and answered the man. “This place belongs to my father and his family. I live here as does my wife, four children, father
,
and mother-in-law. What
business do you have here, sir?
”

The man looked up at Wallace, squinted one eye and snorted, “Hmph,” then walked outside, once again dismissing Wallace’s question by ignoring it.

The man’s attitude was one Wallace had never encountered. It was more than rude and beyond disrespectful. And
,
this man obviously didn’t have an ounce of courtesy or respect for another person’s property
,
either. Now he was walking over to the grain storage shack. “Excuse me, sir,” he called after the nameless stranger. “There’s nothing in there for you.”

“Maybe there is and maybe there isn’t,” sneered the man. He grabbed the crossbar and jerked on it, trying to pull it out of its brackets. Wallace leaned back against the fence post and grinned. The man didn’t know about the locking pins
,
hidden on the bottom of the supports. No Name spat on his hands and tried again, grunting and sweating more and more with each attempt. Wallace sighed loudly
,
but didn’t say anything. “Well, it’s the wrong time of year for the whisky anyway,” the man said as he turned away from the locked door, admitting defeat with his sour grapes explanation.

Wallace walked behind Mr. Rudeness as he headed toward Sarah and the fire pit. The stranger stood right in front of her and demanded without preamble,
“Where’s the meat you promised?
”

Sarah lifted her arm and wiped her brow with the back of her wrist. Wallace could see that she was tryi
ng hard not to lose her temper—
she was biting her bottom lip as she composed her thoughts. When she realized Wallace had walked up to join the conversation, she relaxed her clench. Her son-in-law nodded to her that he could handle the situation
,
so she let him do the talking. “We’ll be having meat on the spit this evening. You and your family are welcome to join us, Mr…”

The stranger turned sharply and glared at Wallace then turned his attention back to Sarah. “You didn’t say we’d have to wait for nightfall. Give me the food for the road then
,
and we’ll leave
right
now. We have a long ways to go.”

Sarah inhaled deeply which, rather than having the calming effect of composure, seemed to fuel her fire of impatience. She wasn’t going to let this man intimidate her, even if he was a master of that black art. She had Wallace here for protection if the scum did decide to get physical
,
although he seemed the type who worked with words only. “Your sister won’t be able to go anywhere for a few days,” she said through clenched teeth. “She’s going to deliver the baby tonight. If you want to eat, you’ll just have to wait a bit longer. I can offer you bread and ale for now
,
but the meat will be a few hours more.”