Their Frontier Family Page 6

  Sunny nodded, hoping she hadn’t asked the wrong thing. “I’ll speak to Noah. But unless he forbids me, I’ll be there.”

  Both women looked startled at this announcement.

  Sunny cringed. She’d said the wrong thing, hinting that Noah might not be a Christian. And she couldn’t let that simmer and turn into gossip. She leaned forward to give some explanation. “Noah was raised Quaker. I wasn’t. So I don’t know if he’ll...” Words failed her.

  Caroline patted her hand. “I understand.”

  “Quakers were against slavery,” Nan said stoutly. “They did a lot of good with helpin’ slaves get free.”

  Sunny gave a fleeting smile, tension bubbling inside.

  “Nan and I will pray that you get to come to the meeting,” Caroline said in a low voice. Nan nodded vigorously. And Sunny knew she’d made progress on making friends this morning. Her mood lifted—for a moment.

  What would Noah say about going to the Sunday meeting? And her telling these friendly strangers that he’d been raised Quaker?

  * * *

  In the last rays of twilight Noah sat by the fire, his stomach comfortably full. Sunny didn’t know how to cook many things but what she did cook tasted good. Exhausted from felling trees all day, Noah realized he’d discovered a few muscles he hadn’t known about—and they were not happy with him.

  He held a narrow block of wood in his hand, whittling it into a new handle for a small ax. During this quiet time Sunny was acting funny—opening her mouth as if to speak, then closing it, and worrying her thumb by picking at it and hiding her hand behind her skirt. Why, he didn’t know. Or want to ask. Last night had been enough honesty.

  “How many more logs do we need for a cabin?” his wife asked.

  She sat by the fire nursing Dawn who seemed fussier than usual. The firelight highlighted the gold in Sunny’s hair. Once again, he realized he had married a pretty woman. Everything about her was so soft and this world was so hard. He wondered what it might be like to hold her.

  “Noah?” she prompted.

  “Sorry. My mind was wandering.” He shut his mind to a surprising image of holding Sunny close, a daunting thought. He shaved some more from the wood. “Another day and we should have enough for a cabin. Then Charles and Martin will help me lift the logs into place.”

  “I’m so grateful to them.”

  His hands were beginning to tremble with fatigue as he whittled. “Who was that other woman who stopped by?”

  “Nan Osbourne. She and her husband live nearby. She seems very nice. From her accent, I’d say she was from south of here.”

  Noah nodded. Sunny’s continued pensiveness piqued his curiosity. In spite of himself, he asked, “What did she have to say?”

  Sunny startled as if caught doing something she shouldn’t. “We just talked about recipes and they told me about the people who live hereabouts.”

  Noah examined the handle he was crafting, running his thumb over it. Sunny was definitely holding something back. But he was too tired to risk asking for more. He didn’t have the energy to be irritated by hearing something he might not like. So he hesitated.Sunny also had a way of stirring him. She was now.But he couldn’t act on this. He found it impossible to make a move.

  The bottomless well of sorrow and dark things roiled up within. Sunny made him long to feel normal again. But he’d seen too much, done too much that was unforgivable. Repressing this, he rose while he still could stand. “I’m going to go to bed now. I’m worn out.”

  “I’ll bank the fire. You go ahead, Noah. I should have seen how tired you were.” She rose and briefly touched his arm. “Go on.”

  Her innocent touch made him ache with loneliness. He moved away, obeying her. Noah shucked off his boots and then hoisted himself onto the hard wagon bed and rolled into his blankets. His last thought as he fell asleep was that Sunny deserved better than him.

  * * *

  A few days later Sunny stepped inside their new cabin. She hadn’t anticipated how it would make her feel. This is my home, our home. She’d never lived in a real house, never dreamed she would. She wanted to hug the walls and do a jig on the half-log floor that Noah had insisted on laying. A dirt floor might be all right in the summer but not in the winter, he’d said. Dawn whimpered in her arms and struggled to be put down. Sunny bent and set her on the floor.

  “I’m glad this is done,” Noah said from behind her.

  She turned around and nearly hugged him, but his expression held her off. “Me, too. It’s a wonderful home.” During this bright moment the way Noah always held himself apart chafed her. Would it always be this way?

  “Hello, the house!” Caroline Fitzhugh called out. “We came to see your new home.”

  Whisking Dawn up into her arms, Sunny stepped outside to see that Caroline and her family and the Osbournes had come to celebrate. Charles Fitzhugh carried a fiddle and the women each carried a covered dish.

  “Oh, I have nothing prepared!” Sunny exclaimed.

  “We’re makin’ this party!” Nan called out cheerfully. “We won’t stay long, just wanted to see your fine new cabin and congratulate you.”

  Sunny said all that was proper but when she turned to Noah, it was as if he’d slammed all the shutters and locked the door against their company. She gave him an understanding smile but he stood like a tree, not responding by even a flicker of an eyelid. She went up on tiptoe and acted as though she were kissing his cheek in order to whisper, “They won’t stay long. Don’t spoil their happiness.”

  He glanced down at her, stony-eyed. Dawn began to cry and Sunny jiggled her in her arms.

  Then he gave Sunny a tight-lipped nod. “Welcome to our new home.” Sunny sighed silently with relief. “Come right in.”

  Nan had brought her husband, a tall lanky man with curly blond hair. He, along with the other guests, admired the large cabin with its roomy loft and lean-to for the animals.

  Sunny was a bit embarrassed because Dawn continued to fuss. She tried to distract their company by talking about future plans. “Noah is going to dig me a root cellar. And build a spring house,” Sunny said, caught up in the flush of showing her new home. She tried to check herself, knowing that Noah was scrutinizing, gauging each word.

  “You’re going to have a right nice place here all right,” Nan said. “You must be plannin’ to stay here.”

  “I plan to stay longer than five years to get title to the land,” Noah said. “I traveled all over northern Illinois, eastern Iowa and southern Minnesota. I decided this land was the best I’d seen.”

  His loquaciousness shocked Sunny. Maybe Noah was feeling a bit of pride and happiness. Remaining cautious, she kept her mouth shut and let Noah do the talking.

  “Well, you haven’t tried to plow yet,” Mr. Osbourne said wryly. “You’ll find that Wisconsin’s best crop is rocks.”

  “As long as they don’t sprout and grow new ones, I’ll do fine,” Noah responded.

  His voice was pleasant enough but Sunny sensed his disdain for a man put off by rocks. Dawn chewed on her hand and whimpered.

  Mr. Fitzhugh drew his bow over his fiddle. “I’ll play one song and then we all got to get back to our own work.”

  “And we’ll help carry stuff from your wagon to your door,” Nan said. “That’ll lighten your load.”

  Before Sunny could speak, Mr. Fitzhugh began to play a merry tune, the kind that beckoned clapping. Sunny hadn’t heard music for so long. She had loved to dance in the saloon—it was the only fun she’d ever had there—and she was a good dancer. But Quakers didn’t dance.

  Dawn again wriggled to be put down. Sunny obliged and then tapped her toe to the cadence and couldn’t stop her smile from widening.

  Dawn stared at the violin, distracted from her fussing. Noah bent down and swung her up into his arms and
Sunny’s heart skipped a beat. Noah held Dawn by her waist and swung her gently back and forth to the tune. Dawn squealed with laughter. Then Sunny reached over and showed Dawn how to clap her hands. The three of them together, like a happy family. It was like a moment sent from Heaven.

  But of course the song ended. Everyone clapped for Charles’s fiddling, shook hands and the two couples started to leave. Just as Sunny was relaxing her guard, Nan turned and asked, “Have you and the mister decided whether you’re comin’ to meetin’ this Sunday?”

  Sunny’s breath caught in her throat. “I’ve been meaning to discuss that with Noah,” she managed to say.

  “Meeting?” Noah looked askance.

  “Yes, we got a preacher, a real nice old one who’s come to live with his son’s family in his declining years,” Nan explained. “He’s preachin’ at ten o’clock in front of the general store.”

  “Can we pick you up in our wagon?” Mr. Fitzhugh invited. “We’ll be passing right by your place. Even though I’m thinking we’ll be heading to Kansas soon, I wouldn’t want to miss preaching.”

  Sunny waited to see what her husband would say. She didn’t meet his eye—she couldn’t.

  “I’ll think on it,” Noah said at last.

  The other two couples tried to hide their surprise at Noah’s less than enthusiastic response.

  “I don’t think he’ll be preachin’ anything that would go against you being a Quaker,” Nan said.

  Sunny’s face burned. She knew she’d done the wrong thing by not telling Noah what she’d done.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Noah said, his jaw hardening.

  I’m in for it now. Sunny stood at her husband’s side and felt waves of sick worry wash over her. Dawn began fussing again, chewing one of her little fists. Sunny knew Noah wouldn’t raise a hand to her but he could freeze her with a glance. Oh, Lord, help me reach him. Help me make him understand why I told them that he’d been raised Quaker. Lord, I want to do what is right. Help me explain this to him.

  * * *

  Sunny couldn’t get Dawn to hush. Night had fallen and she’d tried everything in vain—nursing her, bathing her, rocking her. Now she paced the rough new floor. What could she do to soothe her child?

  As she paced, she scanned her new and very empty home. Earlier Noah had helped her arrange pegs in the wall to hang clothing and pots and pans. The only furniture was the rocking chair that the Gabriels had given them money to buy as a wedding present, a three-legged stool and a chest near the door which held their linens.

  Her bedroll sat against the wall. Noah had put his up in the loft. Their continued nightly separation was a constant twinge in her side. Would he never forget that she was damaged goods?

  Noah entered the cabin. Since the two couples had left, he had not said a complete sentence to her. Sunny wished Dawn would stop crying—the incessant sound had tightened her nerves like a spring. Sunny sat down and tried again to get Dawn to nurse so she would fall asleep as usual.

  Noah stood watching Dawn fight Sunny.

  “I’m sorry,” Sunny apologized. “I think it’s her mouth. She wants to nurse but I think it hurts her.” As she tried to soothe the inconsolable baby, Sunny felt like crying herself.

  Noah turned and went to a smaller chest he’d moved just inside the door. He lifted out a small bottle Sunny instantly recognized—whiskey. Dawn wept in pain, Sunny was frantic and Noah was going to get drunk? Sunny burst into tears.

  Noah came and knelt in front of her. “Here. See.” He opened the bottle and the all too familiar, unpleasant smell wafted to Sunny’s nose. He tipped the almost full bottle and then stuck his little finger into the amber fluid. Then he slipped the little finger into Dawn’s surprised mouth.

  “What are you doing?” Sunny gasped.

  “I saw a woman do this once when I was traveling. She said the whiskey numbs the gums. And the few drops of alcohol will soothe the baby. The woman said it was an old remedy for a teething child. See how red and swollen Dawn’s gums are?”

  Sunny felt like an idiot. Teething. Of course. Constance Gabriel had mentioned that the baby would teethe and it would hurt. Noah dipped his little finger in the bottle once more and then ran it around Dawn’s swollen gums again. “That should be enough, just enough.”

  They both watched Dawn. In a few minutes she fell back exhausted, resting against Sunny.

  “Thank you,” Sunny said.

  “Wish I’d thought of it earlier.” He rose, capped the bottle and stowed it away. “This whiskey’s just for medicinal purposes. I never cared for strong drink.”

  He turned and faced her. “I did get drunk a few times in the army,” he confessed, “but never again. It doesn’t help, just makes you sick and the next morning everything’s as bad as it was before you got drunk. Only you’ve got a headache to boot.”

  Sunny nodded. She’d seen too many drunks in her life and the drink never did them any good. This was one of the rare times he offered something of his past, himself. She took it as his way of easing her worry over Dawn, over the bottle of whiskey. Sunny felt fatigue replacing anxiety.

  Of her own accord Dawn began to nurse. Within a few minutes Dawn fell asleep, her lips still quivering as if she were nursing.

  Noah lifted the baby and put her in the hammock he’d suspended from the high ceiling.

  His tender care of her baby snapped Sunny’s reserve. “I’m so sorry, Noah,” she said impetuously. “I didn’t mean to tell the women anything about you being a Quaker. I’m sorry.” Embarrassing tears welled up in her eyes. She turned away and wiped them with the hem of her apron.

  Noah just stood beside Dawn, making the hammock sway gently.

  “You haven’t told me,” Sunny said, even as she tried to stem the flow of words, “why you’re not using thee anymore. And then they told me about the preaching this Sunday. And I didn’t know what to say. They were looking at me, wondering why I wasn’t saying right away that we’d be coming. So I said you’d been raised Quaker and I didn’t know if you’d want to go to a different kind of meeting.” She ran out of words and put her hands over her face. “I’m so tired,” she whispered.

  Noah pulled up the three-legged stool and sat beside her. His nearness made it possible for her to staunch her tears.

  “Sorry,” she whispered.

  “When I enlisted in the army, I was put out of the meeting.”

  His tone sounded flat, unemotional. Yet Sunny sensed the words concealed a volcano of feelings. She waited, tense.

  “When I came home, I just wanted to go back to my life, the way it was before the war. So I publicly repented of going to war and asked for forgiveness and was restored to the meeting. But of course, I couldn’t go back to being who I was before the war. And at meeting, everybody still looked at me differently. Like I was...” He shrugged.

  Like you were damaged goods. Stained. She knew how that felt. Awful.

  “I’ve stopped using thee because I don’t feel like a Quaker anymore.”

  She wanted to ask, What do you feel like then? What do you have nightmares about? But the words wouldn’t come. Long silent moments passed as they sat together.

  Noah rose and offered her his hand.

  She let him help her from her chair, stunned by the fact that he initiated the contact. “We’d better get some sleep.”

  He nodded. “Good night, Sunny.”

  He climbed a ladder to the loft and left her alone in the sparsely furnished room, still reeling from the feel of his hand in hers. She slipped off her dress and apron and hung them on pegs as she realized she still didn’t have the answer to the question that had been weighing on her for days.

  Were they going to the Sunday meeting—or not?

  * * *

  Steady showers came the next day, forcing the three of them to
stay inside though Noah went out to fetch wood for the fire. He’d wisely left some in the wagon to keep it dry. The unusual April heat had fled, replaced with a chill and damp air.

  Though Sunny thought they had cleared things up, Noah was brooding once more, which did not encourage her to ask what he’d decided about the Sunday meeting.

  Dawn still fussed some, but Sunny had made a “sugar baby,” a tightly knotted rag with sugar inside. Dawn gnawed on it and it seemed to give her some relief.

  Noah had brought in a few slender logs about four feet in length, obviously not meant for the fire. He stripped away their bark.

  “What are you making?” she ventured.

  “Legs for our table.”

  “I see.” I see that you’ve gone back to your usual dour self. She lifted the pan of breakfast dishes and carried it out. She set it on a convenient stump. She’d let the rainwater rinse the soap from the dishes she’d scrubbed.

  Inside again, she sat in her rocker and lifted a shirt from the mending basket, trying to ignore the unspoken question between them.

  Noah methodically stripped the bark, making a neat pile of the shavings. Finally he rose from the three-legged stool. “I’ll go see to the cattle.”

  He opened the door, letting in chilly moist air. “You can go to the meeting if you want. I won’t be going.” He shut the door behind him.

  Sunny sat, staring at the needle in her hand. Dawn rolled on her back, watching her mother as if asking for Sunny’s response to this. Should she go to the meeting without him or stay home, too? What did God want her to do as a good wife—stay home with her husband and wait till he wanted them to go? Or was she supposed to go because that was the right thing to do? What if Noah never wanted to go?

  Chapter Five

  Sunday dawned bright yet cool. Sunny wished her mood matched her name, but a heavy cloud weighed over her undecided heart.

  She stood outside the door of their new cabin at the white enamel washbasin, set on a waist-high stump. She was washing her hands, preparing to go to meeting—without Noah. With closed eyes, she scrubbed her face and then bent over to rinse away the soap, shivering from the cold water and chill air.