Prairie Widow (9 page)

“I know,” said Jennifer. “I hope she feels better soon.”

Aaron stepped into the night air and put his hat on.

“If you need anything…” said Will Camp, Nancy on his arm.

“I'll be fine, thank you,” said Jennifer.

“Please think over what we talked about,” said Nancy, turning her head as she left with her husband.

Jennifer didn't answer.

Isaac Caulder passed her, wearing a straw hat. “God protect you,” he muttered, only half-looking at Jennifer as he continued out.

His brother, Joseph, however, hat still in hand, stopped. “I may be a little late, ma'am,” he said, “but I'll be there.”

Jennifer stiffened. “You needn't rush, Mr. Caulder. Really.” “It's Joseph, if you please. And it's no trouble at all.” He then joined his brother outside.

Seth and Lucy saw their guests out. Jennifer was left in the room, listening to Peter and Emma talking in the corner with the three Baker children, the younger two of whom, Jeremy and Mary, were barefoot. Jennifer remembered how Walter one evening in their dugout had suggested that their own children go barefoot “so we won't seem like uppity people.” But Jennifer wouldn't hear of it, and it was one of the few times she had gotten her way.

“Well! The place certainly seems larger with everyone gone!” remarked Lucy, returning with her arm around Seth's waist, and his arm around hers.

“I knew a fellow once,” added Seth, his pale grey eyes twinkling, “who used to bring his cows and pigs into his soddy just so he could kick them out again and feel he lived in a palace.”

Lucy smiled at her husband's story, but Jennifer couldn't manage it, not even to be polite.

“You hardly ate,” said Lucy, noting the full plate on the table.

“It was tasty, thank you. I'm just not hungry.”

“Momma!” called out Emma from the comer. “Todd's got an Indian scalp!”

Todd Baker, sitting with the younger children, slumped and looked to the sod wall, shaking his head.

Lucy put her hands on her hips and stared squarely at her teenaged son across the room. “Todd Baker! What stories are you telling them?”

“Aw, she heard wrong,” said Todd.

“I did not!” returned Emma, hurrying over to Jennifer. “He showed it to us!”

“Scalps! Goodness!” said Jennifer.

“It's just a swatch of buffalo fur,” said Seth quietly to Jennifer, smirking at his son's joke.

“Just for lying, young man,” said Lucy, “you will go to bed early with the young ones.”

“She heard wrong!” insisted Todd, lifting his head pleadingly.

“I didn't!” said Emma. “Ask anyone.”

“That's what he told us,” confirmed Jeremy Baker with satisfaction.

Todd made as if to give his brother the back of his hand.

“Todd!” shouted Lucy.

“Aw, I wasn't going to hit him.”

“Don't even pretend,” said Lucy sternly. “Now, off to bed! All of you!”

In short order, the children washed up and went to bed. They shared two hay mattresses—Todd, Jeremy, and Peter were squeezed into one; and Mary and Emma had the other. A blanket hung from one of the pole beams to block the grownup's light from disturbing them. “Maw, it's too early,” complained Todd from behind the curtain. “I can't sleep.”

“That will teach you to raise a hand to your brother,” responded Lucy, sitting at the table with Jennifer over some tea. “Now, hush!”

Seth, meanwhile, sat himself in a comer and was cleaning his rifle. He kept whistling some indeterminate melody.

“Todd is not a bad boy,” explained Lucy.

“I know,” said Jennifer.

Lucy took a sip from her cup. “How do you like the tea?”

“It's quite good.”

“It's horse mint. I have the children gather it every summer. Would you like to take some home with you? I have plenty.”

“Thank you, I still have tea I brought with me from the east.”

Lucy took another sip. “Well, what did you and Nancy talk about? Your plans, I take it.”

“Yes. I'm afraid she's insisting I stay in Kansas.”

“Well, certainly, I feel the same way.”

Jennifer fell silent.

“You weren't intending to return to Ohio, were you?”

“Lucy, of course I was.”

Lucy shook her head to dismiss the idea. “There's no reason to. You have a hundred and sixty acres of land and a home.”

“They were Walter's acres. I'm not going to till it. And my home is a badger hole.”

Lucy fixed her dark grey eyes on Jennifer. “I assume Nancy told you about the possibility of your teaching school.”

“She did, but I couldn't…”

“We have no teacher in these parts. Never have. We do our best to educate our children, but it's not the same. I fear Todd isn't as strong in his letters as he ought to be.”

“Lucy, I'm flattered that you should ask…”

“You seem well educated…”

“But I have no experience teaching.”

“Let's have no ‘buts.' You needn't decide now anyway. I ask only that you think about it.”

“Yes, I told Nancy I would do that much.”

“I mean, think about it seriously.”

“Yes, I will.”

“Fine. Nancy and I will come by your place tomorrow afternoon to discuss it at greater length—that is, of course, unless you wish to stay here at our home longer. You are entirely welcome to do so.”

“No, thank you, but it's not necessary.”

Lucy leaned back. “May I get you more tea?”

“No, I'm fine,” said Jennifer, already rehearsing how she would tell the two women that she would not be teaching.

For the rest of the evening Lucy didn't press her point, and there were moments for Jennifer when she was truly comforted in her grief by the domesticity of the room. While Seth continued to lavish attention on his rifle, whistling his vague melody, Lucy and Jennifer talked of various things. Surprised at Lucy's interests, Jennifer told her what the latest fashions were back east, at least as far east as Ohio, and she promised to show Lucy some of her own finer dresses and hoops, which were still packed. Then Lucy told Jennifer some of her favorite recipes, especially her preserves made from globe apples, virtually the only fruit within foot gathering distance. Then Jennifer asked how Lucy got the floor to be so hard, and Lucy told her she sprinkled salt into the dirt. By and by, though, Lucy signaled her tiredness with a yawn. “Well, I think that's enough oil burned for one evening.”

“Yep, I'm about through here,” said Seth from his corner, squinting down the barrel of his rifle.

So the three prepared for sleep, and soon Lucy and Jennifer were sharing the Baker's mattress while displaced Seth rolled up cheerfully in a buffalo rug on the floor.

But Jennifer had trouble falling asleep. She felt uncomfortable lying in someone else's bed, and too much had happened to her. So she gazed into the blackness and listened to Seth's snoring compete with the wind outside.

But she did fall asleep eventually, and she even dreamed.

She found herself resuming her eastward trek to Ohio. Only this time she managed to reach all the way to her porch and hurry right into her house. There she went about her housekeeping duties for her father, just as she had done years ago, before she ever met Walter. Her father sat in his usual chair, reading the paper and grumbling. She felt at peace—until she heard distant howling. “They followed me,” she said, rising from her rocker. She returned to the porch and looked out onto the benighted lane. She grew frightened. Out there she saw a long line of wolves sitting side-by-side and sending their woeful cries up into the unseen branches of the tulip trees.

The next morning, Jennifer and her children had breakfast with the Bakers. Everyone crowded around the rough-hewn table and ate flapjacks, eggs, salt pork and, best of all, milk, which was a scarce commodity around the Vandermeer homestead, since Walter hadn't acquired a cow. Jennifer was glad to see her children drink the milk.

Afterward, while Seth and Todd went into the field, Jennifer, Lucy, and the rest of the children brought the breakfast dishes outside and washed them in a large wooden tub. It was almost festive as the Baker children splashed each other. Peter and Emma caught some water, but they didn't splash back, being subdued from the loss of their father. Noting this, Lucy scolded her children to stop.

Later, the children marched back into the soddy with the dishes, and Jennifer announced that she would be returning to her dugout.

“Are you sure you're all right?” asked Lucy, remaining outside and wiping her hands on her apron.

“I'll be fine,” said Jennifer, rolling down her sleeves. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“Very well. But Nancy and I will be by this afternoon to see how you're doing—and to discuss that teaching matter.”

Jennifer turned toward the soddy. “Peter! Emma! Come, we're leaving!”

Emma, barefoot like her little friends, stepped outside. “Do we have to?”

“Yes, we have to! And put your shoes on!”

“It looks like Emma and Mary are becoming friends,” commented Lucy.

“It would seem so,” said Jennifer.

“I think Mary looks up to your daughter a little.”

“Well, Emma is a year older, and a year is a lot at their age.

“And I think it's the same with our boys. Peter is nearly two years older than Jeremy.”

Peter and Emma emerged from the soddy, Emma's shoes now on.

The two children climbed into the back of the wagon, and Jennifer untied the ox. As she climbed up on the wagon seat, Lucy said, “Wait, just a minute.” She hurried into her soddy. Jennifer waited. Off in the distance she could see Seth and Todd toiling in the field. A moment later, Lucy returned with a gunnysack and handed it to Jennifer. “Some provisions. You were so awfully low when I was at your place.”

Jennifer peeked inside. She saw some bread, salt pork, dried fruit, vegetables, and she smelled horsemint tea.

“Thank you, I'll repay your kindness.” She placed the sack behind her with her children, gripped the reins, and started the ox away from the soddy.

“I'll see you later,” said Lucy, raising her voice, her children coming to her side.

Jennifer directed the ox straight through the wild grass, taking the short cut Lucy had shown her, scaring into flight a flock of sparrows.

When Jennifer arrived back at her homestead, she was startled to see a man plowing the field with two of her oxen. It was as if Walter's ghost had returned to finish his work. Jennifer rode the wagon up to the man and saw whom she suspected it was. “Why, Mr. Caulder—Joseph,” she said, “you're early.”

Joseph Caulder stopped the plow and squinted up at Jennifer. “Yes, ma'am,” he said in his low, slow voice. “I guess I am.”

“I wish you had waited,” said Jennifer. “Honest, I don't expect to farm this land.”

“This ain't for crops ma'am. I'm plowing a fire-break. When I'm done here, I'll tend to that wagon axle.” Joseph's face didn't show a glimmer of a smile. “It needs greasing.”

“Yes, it's been like that.”

Joseph turned back to the plow to resume his work.

“When you're done, Joseph, come to the dugout. I'll prepare you some lunch.”

“Much obliged, ma'am,” said Joseph as the two oxen pulled the plow forward.

“And I wish you'd call me Jennifer.”

“Yes, ma'am—Jennifer.”

Jennifer watched him move off. She shook her head. Mr. Caulder was an amusing man. She flicked the reins and continued on to her dugout, where Joseph had tied up his grey-muzzled mule. “Start packing, children,” she said, pulling up on the reins.

“Packing, Momma?” asked Emma.

“We're going home.”

“To Ohio?”

“That's right.” Jennifer descended from the wagon. Her children jumped off the back, Emma lugging the gunnysack. Jennifer decided she would leave her furniture behind. Let her neighbors fight over her rocker, her table and chairs, her cookstove. She meant to travel light and fast. She wondered if she might exchange the oxen for some horses. Perhaps Mr. Turner, the blacksmith, could help her.

Meanwhile, she and her children began packing up their possessions: clothing, dishes, a few curios, toys—along the way she came upon the slender blue volume of
Bridal Greetings.
She paused to leaf through it. “Peace to thee, fair and gentle bride! Thou art now joined to the soul for whom thine was moulded. Blessings rest on thy head.” Jennifer nearly cried as she closed the book, placing it gently in a crate.

Shortly before noon she was in the midst of putting her silverware into a crate when Joseph, sweating, straw hat in hand, appeared in the open doorway, blocking some of the light.

“Oh, Joseph, is it lunch time already?” asked Jennifer. “I'm sorry, I lost track of time. I'll make you something.”

“Didn't come up for that,” he said. “Just thought you' like to know you got company coming up the trail.”

“Goodness, that would be Lucy and Nancy,” said Jennifer, hurrying to the window.

“No, it's not them,” said Joseph. “It's Karl Pfeffer. He's the only one in these parts who owns a buggy. He lives south of here.”

Jennifer looked out the window and saw, sure enough, a solitary figure riding up the trail from the opposite direction of town in a buggy. She stepped outside, followed by Emma. The buggy, pulled by a dark brown horse, soon pulled off the trail and headed up to the dugout. On the side of the buggy were big, fancy letters that read, “Studebaker.”

“Hello,” greeted Jennifer. Emma stayed by her mother, curious to see this new neighbor.

“Goot afternoon,” said Karl Pfeffer, pulling up on the reins. “Vhy, hello, Joe,” he added, noting Joseph Caulder standing by the dugout.