Dorothy Garlock - [Wabash River] (9 page)

D
aniel spent a restless night. He was up before daylight and down at the barn, where he curried his buckskin and a mare that was kept for pulling the light wagon. Blackbird sat watching. Jeems came to the barn to milk the cow.

“How’s things going, Jeems?”

“Only fair ta middlin’, Mistah Dan. Ya want that I start the plowin’?”

“If that piece out beyond the rock fence is dried out, you can start. Did the corn you saved for seed winter all right?”

“Yessah. Mistah Farr got wire ta string it on. It’s tied high up in da barn so da rats can’t get ta it.”

“I’ll send Jasper and his boys over to help you when they get their plowing done. Meanwhile, you can grease the wheels on that light wagon. We may be wanting to use it.”

“Dey all be greased, Mistah Dan. I ’bout ta start spadin’ da garden spot. Miz Quill be back ta see ’bout dat garden. She set store by dat garden.”

“Yes, she does.”

“Miz Quill be mighty put out if’n they ain’t no garden.”

“She’ll not be here to see it, Jeems.”

“It make no never mind. Missy see it growin’ ’n’ tell Miz Quill.”

“Have you seen any strangers hanging around?”

“Days ago I seed two good-fer-nothin’s lookin’ ’round. Dey jist look, didn’t do no hurt ta nothin’.”

“You keep close, hear? There’ll be some fellows up looking for runaways in a day or two, and they’re not above snatching you and taking you back over the line. Are you still keeping Gerrit tied up?”

“Yessah. I got ta, ’cause he go off if’n he ain’t tied up. He gettin’ more crazy in his head. He pay no ’tention to nothin’. He eat, he sleep, he get mean sometime.”

Daniel placed a hand on the Negro’s bent shoulder. “I know it’s hard for you to see him like that. Does he talk sense at all anymore?”

“Sometime he look at me ’n’ know I’m him’s papa. Sometime he think I’m him’s mama. It bears down hard on da mind, Mistah Dan.”

“I’m sure it does. But I’m afraid that if he gets loose, someone will get scared of him and shoot him.”

“Yassah. I know dat. He might hurt somebody too. He donno no bettah.”

“I’ve thought of boarding off a corner of your cabin for him so you wouldn’t have to keep that iron on his leg. He’s big and strong, and if he got his hands on you while he was in one of his rages, he could kill you.”

“I watchin’ for that. I watchin’ real good. When I see it comin’ on, I stay ’way.”

“You do that, and be careful. And if he gets to be more than you can handle, let me know, and we’ll try to figure out something.”

“Gerrit is me boy, Mistah Dan.” The old man’s shoulders sagged even more. “I ain’t goin’ ta let him kill me; den he have nobody.”

“How about a chicken tonight for supper? Dress one for you and Gerrit and one for Miss Mercy. Maybe she’ll make some dumplings to go with it.”

A pleasured grin split the old man’s face. “I do dat, Mistah Dan.”

Daniel shut Blackbird up in the barn and thought about the old black man and his devotion to his son. He had come up the river six or seven years ago with a woman and the boy who hadn’t been right from birth. His former owner had been going to knock the boy in the head because he said Gerrit wasn’t worth feeding. Farr had taken in the runaways, paid off the owner when he came for them, and let them build a cabin out in the woods behind his place in exchange for work. The woman had died the year after Farr had bought their freedom, but the boy, big and healthy except for his mind, lived on. The last time Daniel had seen Gerrit, he was a big man, standing head and shoulders over the father who took care of him.

*   *   *

Mercy greeted Daniel cheerfully when he came in to breakfast, but there were dark shadows beneath her eyes, proof of a sleepless night. During breakfast he told her of Jeems’s concern for his son, Gerrit. Mercy had seen Gerrit only one time, and that had been several years ago. She told Daniel about it and said she never wanted to see him again.

“He was awfully big and his mouth hung open. He was more like an animal than a man.” She shuddered. “I’m sure he’s grown since then. I don’t know how Jeems handles him. But Gerrit is his son, and he must love him. That, right there, is proof that Negroes are human just like us. It makes me so damn mad when I hear some smarty spouting off about the African race being part animal and that they don’t think, feel, love, and hate like the rest of us. They are people under that black skin, the same as we are.”

“You don’t have to convince me.” Daniel had been watching the color come up in her face, and her eyes began to glitter with sparks of anger. “Mr. Washington was one of Papa’s best friends. I remember how Papa grieved for him when he was killed during the war.”

“Are you sending Dovie to Springfield with Turley? Is that why you were telling Mike that Turley would be by the store? You said that for Mr. Brown’s benefit, didn’t you?” Mercy began to clear the dishes from the table.

“You ask more questions than a four-year-old. I’ll say what Mamma used to say when you asked things you had no business knowing. She would say that what a woman didn’t know she couldn’t tell.”

“I’m not a blabbermouth, and you know it, Daniel Phelps!” She stood beside his chair, glaring down at him. He tilted his head to look up at her, and she could see the teasing glint in his eyes. “Sometimes you make me so mad. I’m not a child, you know,” she said impudently, but she was smiling.

A lovely, leaping flame of desire flickered through Daniel as his gaze followed her about the kitchen. She was so much a woman, he could never think of her as a child. He felt the urge, when she passed him, to seize her arm and pull her down onto his lap, bury his face against the warm, scented flesh of her neck, and tell her he had waited all his life for her to grow up. But he knew to do so would be disastrous. She was not ready to think of him as a man who wanted her in all the ways a man wanted the woman he loved. He stood. For a long moment he stared at the nape of her neck while she worked at the stove. He had an almost overwhelming desire to touch her. Why didn’t he? She was his woman, wasn’t she? What if he went to her, put his arms around her, and drew her back against his chest?

Don’t be stupid, Phelps,
an inner voice cautioned. He must bide his time. This was new to him. He must think of what a shock it would be to her. In order to hide the feelings that had sprung up restlessly within him, he picked up the teakettle and went to the washbench to shave.

*   *   *

They met on the porch for the walk to the schoolhouse. Although they were unaware of it, they were a handsome couple. Rich morning sunlight filtered through Mercy’s hair, turning it to the color of ripe wheat. The head that rode proudly on her slender neck came to just inches above his shoulder. Her dark skirt and white shirtwaist were covered with a long, dark shawl, folded across her breasts and held in place by her crossed arms.

Daniel’s dark hair was still wet from the morning combing. On his jaw, the small cut oozing a drop of blood was evidence of his inner turmoil as he attempted to rid his face of several days’ growth of dark beard. The front-lacing leather shirt hugged his broad shoulders and hung down over duck breeches that were tucked into calf-high boots. Always aware of what was going on around him, his dark eyes saw everything that moved; his ears were alert for any foreign sound.

They walked easily, step matching step, and turned the bend in the road. The sun behind them cast two long shadows before them. As they neared the settlement, the tall shadow moved closer to the slender one, blending into one.

“Jeems is going to dress out a chicken today,” Daniel said, his hand cupping her elbow and holding her close to his side. “Do you suppose I can have chicken and dumplings for supper?”

“I suppose so,’” she said absently. Then, “I wonder why so many wagons are at the store this time in the morning. Is that Glenn Knibee’s?”

“Looks like it.”

“Could it be because of . . . Dovie?”

“Not likely. It’s time to start planting. Mike is always busy this time of year.”

When Daniel glanced down to see if Mercy had accepted his explanation, he saw her lips pressed so tightly together that they made a crease beside her mouth. As they passed the store, they heard the sound of male voices raised in a heated argument and Mike’s voice telling someone to watch his mouth or he would close it for him.

Granny Halpen came out onto the porch of the rooming house as they approached. She let the door slam behind her, leaned on her broom, and watched the couple coming down the road.

“Morning, Mrs. Halpen,” Daniel called.

Granny turned her back, and the stiff straw broom swished vigorously back and forth across the steps. After Daniel and Mercy passed, they heard a loud, “Humph!”

Daniel looked down at Mercy’s face. It was a dull red, but blanched to white as he watched. He moved his hand down her arm, grasped her bare wrist with strong fingers, and drew her even closer to him. They walked smoothly together, his stride matching hers.

“Don’t let one gossipy old woman bother you.”

“I . . . can’t help it.”

They were silent until they reached the schoolhouse. Daniel shoved open the door.

“It’s early. I’ll build a fire.”

Mercy whipped the shawl from her head and let it settle on her shoulders. Taking the broom that leaned in the corner, she began to sweep around the table that was her desk, and the two long tables and benches where the younger students sat. Against each of the side walls was a table and bench, one side for boys, one for girls. The hearth had a brick chimney that went straight up through the roof.

As she swept, Mercy thought about how she had prevailed upon her father to make the extra tables, to place the hooks in the walls for coats and shawls, and to build the necessary building out back. She had paid for the lamp from her first earnings, even though her father had said he and Mike would donate one. It wasn’t a fancy school like the ones in Vincennes, but it was her school, and she alone was responsible for the education the children in and around Quill’s Station would receive. When she finished sweeping, she stood the broom back in the corner.

Daniel had the fire going in the hearth and opened the door a crack to make the draft take the smoke up the chimney.

“You don’t need to wait,” Mercy said when Daniel sat down on one of the benches. “I don’t mind being here alone. The children will be along soon.”

“I’ll wait a few minutes.”

Ten minutes passed, then twenty. At the ten-minute mark Mercy knew that the children were not coming, but she said nothing. She sat at her desk with her hands clasped tightly in front of her, staring at the door. Daniel sat on the bench against the wall with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped and dangling between them.

The soft knock on the back door caused both their heads to swivel around toward it. Mercy glanced at Daniel, then, with a quivering smile, got up to lift the bar and open the door. Arabella, with tears streaming down her face, beckoned to Mercy and ran to the outhouse. Mercy turned to Daniel with mute appeal in her eyes.

“I’ll be right back.”

He nodded, wishing for a way to wash the hurt from her face and wanting to strangle a dozen fools.

Inside the outhouse there was scarcely enough room for Mercy and Arabella. Arabella was sobbing, her head buried in an arm as she leaned against the wall. Mercy held the door closed with one hand and drew the girl to her with the other.

“What in the world is the matter?”

“We can’t come to school no more, Miss Quill. That piss-ant Mary Knibee and her pa came by last night and told Ma and Pa . . . bad things about you. They said . . . they said . . . They won’t let me come. Oh, I hate Mary! I hate her!”

“What did they say?” Mercy asked quietly.

“They said your name is Hester. That . . . your people are . . . trash. They said you didn’t come from . . . good stock, that it’s showin’ up now. They said you’re pretending to be somebody.”

“If all of that were true, it’s no reason to keep you from coming to school. I can still teach.”

“And they said you . . . you was forn . . . forncate. I can’t say it. But you were doin’ it with Mr. Phelps while the Quills were gone.”

The teacher in Mercy caused her to say. “The word is
fornicate,
Arabella. The word means to . . . mate with someone you’re not married to. Mr. Phelps and I have not done that. He’s like a brother to me. I was afraid to stay alone because of the men who came here to the school yesterday. I asked him to stay with me. Tell your parents that.”

“I can’t, Miss Quill, they won’t listen. Mary and her pa have got everybody all riled up. Pa says when school starts up again, they’ll get a new teacher. He says even a Indian’d be better. I’ve got to go. I slipped off to come tell you. If Pa finds out I’ve been here, I’ll get a whippin’.”

“Thank you for telling me, Arabella. I’m sorry your parents feel the way they do. Go on home now, before someone sees you here.”

Mercy walked slowly back to the schoolhouse after the girl left. Her thoughts spiraled to the only woman she had ever known who had been thoroughly disgraced. It had happened right here at Quill’s Station. Her husband had caught her in bed with her lover. He had killed the French and Indian trapper and had beaten his wife unmercifully. He turned her out, denying her the right even to see her children. Later, after she had been found hanging from a tree down by the river, the man took his children and moved away.

Now she, Mercy Quill, was in disgrace and was perfectly innocent of any wrongdoing. She might be Hester Baxter posing as Mercy Quill, but she hadn’t known about it until two days ago. After seeing Lenny and Bernie, they had judged her as coming from inferior stock, unfit to teach their children. They assumed that she and Daniel had slept in the same bed because he was at the house all night. The unfairness of it was beyond her understanding.

She walked through the back door of the schoolhouse and straight into Daniel’s arms. He stood there in the middle of the room beside her table with his arms open, his brows beetled with concern. She went to him. He wrapped his arms around her. She turned her cheek to his chest and leaned against him, huddled close in his arms, too numb to cry.