Читать книгу Gabriel's Gift - Cait London, Cait London - Страница 7

From the Journal of Magda Claas, Montana 1881

This beautiful valley, in the land the Indians call “Montana,” and the women who have become my sisters, have given me peace and comfort. In the heat of that hot, dry summer, ten women came together in this beautiful valley with towering mountains on one side, a lake filled with fish, and lush green grass for our stock.

The land is wild and rough with men, who would take us as they would a cow or a horse, caring little for our pride. Who would protect us? we wondered by our campfire and wagons and stock, women without menfolk in a harsh land. We wanted husbands, of course, but we wanted the freedom to choose good men who would treat us well.

Fleur Arnaud, Anastasia Duscha, Beatrice Avril, Jasmine Dupree, China Belle Ruppurt, and Fancy Benjamin had already been treated poorly by their men. They would not settle for less than their rightful due again. Margaret Gertraud, Cynthia Whitehall and myself had not suffered so, but we were determined to keep ourselves free of unjoyful and painful bondage, such as they had suffered. We know little of the woman known as LaRue, except that she is most helpful and inventive. She has loved, she said, and she has lost. Yet her quiet, secret smile tells more.

So it was that women with strong minds decided to become a family, to protect one another, to weigh marriage offers as a father or brother would have done in the Old World, to see that men courted as was proper and that they kept their marriage promises. We decided that our family would protect the brides men would have, inspecting the men’s qualifications as future husbands. At first, we laughed, and then the idea grew into our dream.

Jasmine Dupree had been berry picking when her baby decided to come, and an Indian man, Mr. Deerhorn, came to her rescue. He fashioned a travois, two long poles with a blanket between them, which dragged behind his horse, and brought her back to our camp. He was most shocked when Cynthia Whitehall of Boston society thanked him by kissing his cheek.

I am a midwife, and when Jasmine’s baby came into my hands, we cried. That night, we decided to name our valley Freedom, and our town, too. With the fine big boy nursing at Jasmine’s breast, and joy in our hearts, we sat down to decide the Rules for Bride Courting. By next summer, we will have a town called Freedom.

Mr. Deerhorn came the next morning with a reed basket of herbs from his mother. He explained the uses to us, but his warm gaze followed Cynthia. A bold woman, she has become suddenly quiet.

Magda Claas, Midwife and Healer and

Butter Maker

Freedom Valley, Montana