Spring for Susannah (13 page)
“Either, both.”
“Both!” Jesse beamed. “Log entry for this day reads: âMet friendly native.'”
Your idea about becoming one flesh,
Godâit's the best.
A
half dozen prairie chickens burst out of the dark green slough grass with a flurry of feathers and squawks.
Jesse grabbed the reins. “Easy there, Pa. Have to remember this place. They tend to feed in the same area.”
Susannah pried her fingers from the wagon's seat and watched the birds disappear on the horizon. “Seems like a lot of hunting for so little meat. Could they be tamed? Then you wouldn't have to buy chickens.”
Jesse shook his head. “They're wild. Don't worryâwe'll see enough from the wheat to get your Rhode Island Reds.”
The Sheyenne River meandered under a canopy of bright yellow leaves. The tallest trees were cottonwoods, reaching seventy or eighty feet. Despite their size, Susannah could see why Jesse didn't build his house from them. Before the trunk reached the height of a man, it split into sections that curved too much for use as lumber. Other species, mostly oaks and box elders, grew only a foot or two in diameter.
Jesse set fishing lines, then started chopping. Susannah collected windfall from the underbrush, noting the location of wild grapes, gooseberries, and raspberries for next summer's picking. Next summer. Would she have a baby by then?
When they had collected a cord of wood, Jesse rigged up a block and tackle to a square of canvas. A few yanks on the rope hauled the pile up from the riverbank.
“How did you learn this? Were you an engineer in the army?”
Jesse coiled the rope. “Nope. Pa taught me to take every opportunity to try new things.” He hauled in the fishing lines and tossed three trout under the seat, then reached for her. “This warm day could be an opportunity.” His finger stroked her lips, down her throat to the neckline of her basque. The top hook popped open.
“Outside? In the middle of the day?”
“Can't think of anything I'd rather do.” He unfastened the second hook.
“But the fish will go bad.”
He chuckled. “They already have. I saw their reports from school.”
The third hook opened, exposing the edge of her corset.
“Jesse!”
He slid his finger into her chemise, pulling her toward him. “This is one of the unique opportunities available in the territory.”
“The
Emigrants' Guide
didn't mention it.” She pushed his hands away.
“What a waste of a perfect day.” He exhaled heavily and lifted her to the seat.
Susannah fastened her bodice with trembling fingers. Never once had she seen her parents touch, much less express affection. A man might escort his wife, her gloved hand on his well-clothed elbow. But more ardent displays of feelings crossed the line of propriety. Kissing in public belonged to the lower classes, foreigners, loose women. Removing one's clothing outdoors was completely unthinkable. And what Jesse suggested was no less than animal behavior. But she couldn't change him, so she would change the subject.
She nodded at a long line of birds migrating below the cirrus wisps. “Could those be pelicans? This far north?”
“Yep.” Jesse swung into the seat. “They nest upriver.”
“More traffic than Woodward Avenue on a Sunday afternoon.”
He aimed the wagon for the soddy. “Tell me, pretty lady. How come you turned down all those city boys? The ones who took you driving up and down Woodward in their cabriolets pulled by fancy trotters?”
“They all went to war.”
“None of them came back?”
“Mother took ill in '64. Caring for her kept me busy.”
“You needed a sister to help you.”
“We tried to hire someone. If her difficulties had been only physical . . . I don't know if it was the apoplexy or losing her only brother in the War, she just wasn't in her right mind. Ellen arranged for ladies from the church to sit with her, but they decided she was possessed. Nothing Reverend Mason said changed their minds.”
“Was your pa sick too?”
“He worked himself to death, battling the horse epidemic.”
“I read about that. Hit Boston, New York, as far west as Milwaukee.”
“It was awful. Detroit lost hundreds of horses, despite everything Father tried. He passed away one morning on a call at the police stables. At least he didn't suffer.”
“And there was no one to help you.” He shook his head.
“My father was the only member of his family to emigrate. Mother just had the one brother.” Mother had drilled into her the principle that girls who talked about themselves were bores. “What did you do in the War?”
“Against the wishes of my folks, my older brother and I volunteered. For God, Country, Glory, and Adventure. We'd all be home by Christmas. But I came home alone, leaving him dead at Gettysburg. Thank God Matt and the rest were too young. Guess that's a big part of my leaving, that empty place at the table. If I could have reloaded faster, stood in his place, taken that bullet . . .”
His spiral into despondency unnerved her. “How did we get started on such a gloomy subject?”
Jesse straightened. “I was trying to figure out how you escaped the clutches of the Detroit bachelors.”
“Then let me ask you the same question.”
“Don't think Detroit bachelors would be interested in me.”
“No, I mean, why didn't you marry before you came here?”
“And miss the adventure of writing off for you?” He tickled her under her chin. “It's embarrassing to admit, but even with the shortage of men caused by the War, no one chose me.”
“You mean, no one chose to come out here.”
“I might have stayed back east, for the right offer.”
“The right offer? New York girls do the asking?”
“Not exactly, but they sure do let a fellow know how his question will be received.” He stretched his legs against the footboard. “Truth is, that yearlong binge after the War blew my reputation to smithereens. I got nothing but cold shoulders at my sister's wedding.” He turned to look at her. “Did one of those Detroit boys bother you?”
She returned his gaze. “None of them bothered with me at all.”
“Their loss, my gain.” His eyebrows twitched together. “Anything else you want to ask me?”
Susannah thought a moment. “How many others did you write to?”
“Just you. Ellen said you'd be perfect for me, so no sense wasting money on stamps.”
Her heart sank. He hadn't chosen her after all.
Jesse halted the wagon and leaned over to kiss her. “I'm happy with the way it worked out. Hope someday you'll be too.”
Happiness, she thought, was too much to expect.
When they had left for their afternoon trip, Susannah had pulled a handful of corn kernels from her apron and scattered them in the grass. Jesse had raised an eyebrow but hadn't interrupted his rendition of “Tenting Tonight.” Now, as they returned at dusk, he sat bolt upright.
“Susannah, the prairie chickens are waiting for you! You've tamed them with one meal.”
She jumped off the wagon, gathered three docile fowl, and climbed back on.
Jesse inspected her catch. “Still alive but acting mighty strange. What exactly did you feed them?” He stuck his nose into her apron pocket. “Clever girl! You've gotten them drunk! But on what?”
Susannah folded her hands. No one had called her clever before. “They're not inebriated, they're medicated. Simmons Liver Regulator. Ellen packed it.”
Jesse hooted. “Have to tell her you've found a new use for her favorite concoction. All right, let's get these birds home before they sober up and figure out they've been shanghaied.”
After dinner, Jesse picked out a few notes on his guitar while Susannah mended his socks and shirts. The melody wandered without words from “Battle Hymn of the Republic” into “John Brown's Body,” then “Johnny Comes Marching Home.” She left him alone in his wartime reminisces to delve into her own.
In this particular memory, seventeen-year-old Susannah Underhill toiled over her schoolwork in preparation for final examinations. The fragrance of hyacinths filled the parlor. Father unfolded the
Detroit Free Press
, tilting it toward the kerosene lamp in the center of the marble-topped table. “An army of secessionists occupied a Federal garrison in South Carolina.”
Her literature anthology slipped to the floor with a thud. “Does that mean war?”
Mother stabbed the hem of Susannah's graduation dress with her needle. “Ladies do not talk about such things. Go to your room and remain there.”
Six weeks later Susannah was arranging a freshly ironed cloth over the dining room table when Mother appeared in the archway. “You need set only two places this evening. Your father has enlisted.”
Jesse slapped his hand against his guitar, returning her to the present. He said, “I hope we have only daughters. No sons.”
Susannah let her needle pause. “Most men prefer sons.”
“I've seen too much war to want any son of mineâno, that's not right. War hurts women tooârefugees, mothers, wivesâ” His focus reeled in from an unknown distance. He nodded her way. “Daughters, nieces. Thousands of years of so-called civilization and all we got to show for it is killing each other more efficiently. Wonder why God puts up with us. We're not getting any closer to peace.” He shook his head. “Men have had their chance. I say, let women run the country.”
“Are you saying women could keep the country out of war?”
“Let's say Ellen had been president instead of Lincoln.” He stowed his guitar and paced between the bed and the table.
“I can't imagine a woman president.”
“Sure you can.” He poured a cup of coffee and handed it to her. “What does Ellen do when there's trouble at church?”
Susannah considered the tumult over instrumental music in the service, the uproar when women's clothing styles became more elaborate, the tensions over support for the Freedmen's Aid Society. “She meets with each person involved, hears them out, then brings them all together to work out a compromise. Of course, she prays a lot.” Susannah sipped the coffee. “She has this amazing ability to make the people involved feel ashamed of themselves for the disharmony they've caused. That's when Reverend Mason steps in to bring reconciliation.”
“She keeps the church together. It's better than Reconstruction.” He took the cup from her and polished off the rest. “I think you may have hit on the answer, or part of it anyway. It's not in men giving up so women can run things but in both working together. Wonder how it's going in Wyoming Territory.”
Susannah resumed mending the shoulder seam of Jesse's shirt. “You're in favor of women's suffrage?”
“Absolutely. The women in my family, present company included, are all smarter than us men.”
He included her in his family? A lump formed in her throat. She swallowed and regained control. “Reverend Mason is in favor too, but this may be another issue threatening church unity.”
Jesse sat and unlaced his boots. “You can call him Matt. He's your brother-in-law now.”
“No, I can't. Ellen calls him Reverend.”
“She does? What do the children call him?”
“Papa.”
Jesse changed into his nightshirt. “Well, I'm not going to solve all the country's problems this week. Come to bed. We're due at Ivar's by dawn.”
“I'll be done shortly.” She hoped he would be asleep by the time she slipped between the sheets.
He wasn't. And he made her glad of it.
Lord, please take away these nightmares.
Or make Susannah strong.
G
et down!”
A hand slammed into Susannah's shoulder, jolting her from sleep and shoving her to the edge of the bed. “Here they come! No time to reload! Bayonets!”
