Dorothy Garlock (7 page)

Owen came silently into the room. “I’ve sent Uncle Gus for the minister. They should be here anytime now.”

“Did you and Harriet go to the church in White Oak?”

“She did once or twice.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No.” He stood looking down at the baby. “He’ll have to be fed. The minister’s wife will bring a bottle and nipple if she has one to spare.”

“Aren’t you asking a lot of them if you don’t even go to their church?” Ana asked.

“Maybe.” He sat down and ran an agitated hand through his hair, disturbing the lock that had fallen over his forehead. “How old are you?” he asked suddenly.

“Twenty-six,” she answered before she thought. “Twenty-six, not fifteen. How old are you?”

“Twenty-nine.”

The cold hostility on her face discouraged Owen from asking anything more. He knew she was worn out. There were deep shadows beneath her eyes and lines of fatigue around her mouth. Her eyes were on her daughter’s face, her expression bleak. Owen thought he had never seen a sadder face, or a lovelier one.

Time passed slowly. The house was so quiet that Owen could hear the timbers creak and the mice scamper around in the attic.

Ana held Harriet’s hand and gazed at her face. She continued to look at her while seconds turned into minutes, minutes into timeless silence. Her brain knew that Harriet was no longer with her, but her mind refused to accept it. When it did, a keening groan escaped her, and she fell to her knees beside the bed.

Silent tears rolled from her amber eyes and fell on the hand she held clasped in hers. She wept for the young girl taken before she could really taste life; she wept for a baby who would never look on its mother’s face, and she wept for herself, now alone except for the small mite who lay beside his lifeless mother.

Ana felt a hand on her shoulder. She had not been aware that Owen had left his chair and had come to stand beside her. Feeling empty and a little mad with grief, she leaned over and kissed Harriet on the cheek.

“Good-bye, honey,” she whispered. “I’ll take care of your baby. I swear it.” She picked up the child and moved away from the bed.

*   *   *

The minister and his wife arrived shortly after Harriet had breathed her last. He said a prayer over Harriet and then went to the kitchen with Owen. Mrs. Larson, short, plump and motherly, had brought a glass bottle and nipple. She sized up the situation immediately and took charge of the baby. She rubbed the little body with oil, put a soft pad over the child’s navel and wrapped a flannel cloth around his middle to hold it in place. After diapering him, she put him back in the bureau drawer to sleep.

With Mrs. Larson’s help, Ana bathed and dressed Harriet and arranged her hair in the style she liked best. It was comforting to have the little woman with her. She knew when to talk and when not to. She asked no questions, nor did she mention any of the Jamisons by name. When they finished, they laid Harriet out on the clean bed, and Ana went to the room across the hall.

A kettle of hot water, a pitcher of cold water, and a washdish sat on the washstand. In a daze of fatigue and grief, Ana stripped off the clothes she had worn since she left Dubuque, washed herself, and dressed again in her good black dress from which she had removed the white collar.

From the window she could see several buggies and wagons parked in the yard below. News of Harriet’s death had reached the neighbors quickly, and they came with somber faces and gifts of food. A group of men stood at the end of one of the wagons. Owen was not among them. Had it been less than twenty-four hours since he met her in Lansing? So much had happened. So very much.

Ana stood at the bureau and brushed her hair. Her arms felt like dead weights. She was coiling and pinning it when Mrs. Larson came in, a worried look on her plump face.

“Why don’t you lie down and rest for a while? I’ll sit with Mrs. Jamison and keep my eye on the baby.”

“I’d rather not.”

“You’ll want to sit with her tonight, dear. The burial will be tomorrow.”

“Is that what Mr. Jamison said?”

“Yes. He and some of the men are building the coffin.”

“If you’re sure you don’t mind sitting with Harriet, I’ll lie down.”

“Would you like something to eat first?”

“No, thank you. If I fall asleep, wake me in a couple of hours. Did you plan to stay that long?”

“Yes, dear. I’ll stay as long as you need me.”

“Thank you.”

Ana removed her dress and hung it over the end of the bedstead. She eased her tired body down on a bed bare of sheets or pillows. The upper part of her body was covered with her shawl, and using her bent arm to pillow her head, she fell into an exhausted sleep that seemed to last only minutes.

A hand on her shoulder awakened her, and she looked into the face of a young girl with dark auburn hair. Her swollen eyes tried to focus on the person bending over her.

“Uncle Owen wants to know if you want to come down and eat dinner.”

Ana sat up on the edge of the bed. At first she had thought the girl was Harriet. Slumping forward, she braced her elbows on her knees and held her face in her hands until the heavy pounding in her head ceased.

“What time is it?”

“Past noontime. Everybody else has done eat.”

“Who do you mean? The family?” Ana got up, went to the washdish and splashed water on her face. The cold water cleared her head.

“Everybody.”

“Who?” Ana asked tiredly while she patted her face with the towel.

“Mama, Grandpa, Grandma, Uncle Gus, the Hansons, the Ericsons, the Kephardts and” —the girl frowned— “I don’t know if the Neishems are here or not.”

“Is Mrs. Larson still here?”

“Yes, but the preacher went home.”

Ana hung the towel on the bar at the side of the washstand. “What’s your name?”

“Lily.”

The girl was tall, thin and very pretty. She wore a loosely fitted dress with a round collar and two pockets on the shirt. Her hair was in braids, the ends looped up to just above her ears and tied there with a ribbon. She kept her eyes on the floor but darted quick glances at Ana when she spoke.

“Were you and Harriet friends?”

“I didn’t see her much.”

“Why not? You’re about her age.”

“I got to go now. I got to do dishes.” The girl hurried out and closed the door.

Ana dressed. Her eyes felt dry and scratchy as if filled with sand. While brushing her hair, she looked once again around the room at the dark polished furniture. The beautifully crafted pieces seemed out of place in a room without floor covering or curtains. The carved headboard of the bed was decorated with insets of a lighter color wood. The same matching design decorated the drawers of the chest and the washstand. Ana opened one of the drawers. It was empty and obviously had never been used.

After she coiled and pinned her hair, Ana braced herself to leave the room and cross the hall. She felt emotion begin to infiltrate the barrier she had erected to protect herself from the crushing grief of losing Harriet. At the door she waited for the sickening, spinning feeling to leave her. It had been more than twenty-four hours since she’d had anything in her stomach but two cups of coffee, and she realized she had put off eating for as long as she could.

The door opposite hers was open. She stood in the doorway for a moment, her eyes on Harriet. She looked so young, so peaceful, as if she were sleeping.
I’ll be sleeping for a long, long time.
The words would haunt Ana forever. Harriet couldn’t be gone! She couldn’t be!

Mrs. Larson sat beside the bed. The baby lay in a cradle of polished dark wood. It had a high headboard, slanting, spindled sides and was beautifully made.

“Where did that come from?”

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Mrs. Larson asked in hushed tones. She gave the rocker a little nudge with her foot and it rocked gently. “I’ve never seen one so well balanced.”

“Yes, it’s beautifully made.”

“Mr. Jamison brought it up while you were sleeping. I took the liberty of using the new little blanket to cover the pillow he brought to go in it.”

“How is the baby?”

“Sleeping like an angel. I heated some bricks and packed them around him to keep him warm. He took almost an ounce of milk. It’s three parts water and one part milk. He’ll need to be fed about every two hours for a while.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Larson. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”

“You’d better go eat, dear. I’ll have to head for home soon and take care of my brood. Reverend Larson is not the most patient man when it comes to taking care of little ones. And they’ve closed the school so the older children can help with the planting.”

“I’ll hurry then. I appreciate your staying.”

“It’s all right, my dear. I’m glad to do what I can. I’m only sorry I didn’t know young Mrs. Jamison better.”

“You’ll have to tell me what you’ve been feeding the baby. He seems content.”

“I’ll do that before I go. He’s hardly cried at all. Poor little mite. Unless you’re able to find a wet nurse, dear, you may want to speak to Mr. Jamison about getting a goat. Goat milk is often more agreeable to a newborn than cow’s milk.”

“I’ll do that.”

The door at the bottom of the stairs was open. Ana didn’t remember that there was a landing where she turned and went down several more steps to reach the hallway that ran through to the front door. It was open and sunlight streamed in across the bare floor. Ana had been in houses built similarly. They were built for large families. The parlor was in the front with a bedroom opposite that was usually used by the head of the house. Adjoining it would be another bedroom and four more upstairs. Only the front of the house was two-storied. A long single-story kitchen-dining room fanned out from the back with a side porch attached.

Ana could hear voices coming from the kitchen. Feeling like an intruder, she went toward the sound. As she neared she could hear the rattle of pans and dishes and a voice that could only be Esther’s giving orders.

A
na
paused in the doorway leading to the kitchen. The aroma of food assailed her nostrils, making her acutely aware of her hunger. The table, with an extension added, was laden with food; pies, cakes, loaves of bread, ham and other meat dishes. On a side board were glass jars of fruits, vegetables, jams and jellies—all of which Ana was sure had been brought in by the neighbors.

Hettie was up to her elbows in dishwater at the dry sink. Lily, drying dishes, glanced at Ana and then quickly away as if not wanting to be caught looking at her. Two women wearing dark dresses and bib aprons worked at the end of the table. One peeled potatoes, the other peeled boiled eggs. At the back door Esther was accepting a cloth-covered dish from a man in overalls and a wide brimmed, sweat-stained straw hat.

“Helga she be down in the back, Mrs. Knutson.” He spoke with a heavy Norwegian accent. “She can no be come this day but tomorrow we come. Ja, we be but sad ’bout young Mrs. Jamison, but glad Owen has son.”

“Thank you, Sophus. If there’s anything I can do for Helga, let me know. Tell her we’re holding up. Of course, we’re heartbroken about losing Harriet, but we know the good Lord had his reasons for taking her and leaving the babe. We trust in him. Who are we to question his wisdom?”

Who indeed!
The words came so strongly to Ana’s mind that she was not sure whether or not she’d said them aloud. Esther turned. On seeing Ana, the pious look on her thin, bony face dropped away. Her dark eyes narrowed angrily, then passed right over Ana as if she were not there.

“Helga sent gooseberry cobbler. This makes three cobblers and six pies.” She spoke to the women at the table as she unwrapped the cloth-covered granite pan. The woman peeling eggs looked up and saw Ana.

“Esther, someone’s here.” She smiled and started to get to her feet, but sank back down when Esther’s hand landed on her shoulder.

“As soon as you finish peeling the eggs, Elsie, slice them lengthwise and take out the yolk. Oh, my! I don’t know what I’d do without my neighbors. Owen said just this morning that the neighbors might not come knowing so little about Harriet, her being unfriendly and all, but they’ve gathered around the Jamisons as they’ve always done during troubled times.” Esther positioned herself with her back to Ana and began to rearrange the dishes on the table.

A puzzled look came over the face of the woman peeling eggs. She glanced at Ana, then back at Esther. Ana felt a blush of embarrassment creeping up no matter how hard she tried to stop it. Never in her life had she known such crude, rude people. Even working as a servant she had been treated with more consideration.

What to do now? Owen had invited her to eat. Would it cause a scene if she took a plate, filled it and carried it back upstairs? Or should she retreat like a puppy with its tail between its legs? Tired and steeped in grief, she had neither the strength or the patience to confront Esther now. She would ask Mrs. Larson to bring her something, because if she didn’t eat soon she would be sick.

As Ana turned away, wondering how she was going to handle the huge lump that lodged in her throat, Owen came in the back door. She looked over her shoulder and their eyes met across the room. His alert eyes read the situation immediately.