Читать книгу Their Frontier Family - Lyn Cote - Страница 13

Chapter Three

In the morning Sunny awoke to Dawn’s hungry whimpering. She stared up at the cloth covering of the Conestoga wagon, illuminated with sunlight, and stifled a sigh. She touched the rumpled blanket at her feet that Noah had slept upon—when he wasn’t tossing with another awful nightmare. She heard him already outside, stirring up the cook fire. Lassitude gripped her.

Dawn began to cry and that moved Sunny. Noah had crafted a kind of hammock just inside the front opening of the canvas top. Sunny lifted her child down, changed her soaked diaper and then put her to nurse. The breeze blew warm and gentle.

Tears slipped down Sunny’s cheeks. She clamped her eyes closed. Loneliness was stripping away her peace. Weeks had passed since she’d had a simple conversation with another woman. The faces of her mother’s friends, her only friends in the world except for the Gabriels, came to mind. She’d left them all behind. How would she handle this loneliness, keep it from destroying her peace?

“Good morning, wife.” Noah looked in from the rear opening.

Sunny blinked rapidly, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tears. “Good morning,” she replied, forcing a smile.

“I’ve got the coffee boiling.” His words revealed little but the mundane. Didn’t he ever long to sit with another man and talk of men things? Men came to saloons to do that, just to jaw and laugh. Not that she wanted Noah to go to the saloon in town.

But, Noah, why don’t you want to talk with other men?

She patted Dawn, who wore the seraphic smile she always had when nursing. When Sunny looked up, she glimpsed a look on Noah’s face that she hadn’t seen before.

He looked away quickly.

She sensed such a deep loneliness and hidden pain in him. But she also keenly felt the wall he kept between them. “I’ll be out soon.”

“No rush. We have a good day. Perfect for felling trees.”

Sunny tried to look happy at this news. He turned away and she heard him unloading tools from the storage area under the wagon.

This won’t last forever. We’ll go to town from time to time. I’ll meet local women, become part of this community. Again she pictured Dawn dressed in a fresh white pinafore, running toward a little white schoolhouse, calling to her friends. And they were calling back to her, happy to see her.

I can do this. This is Dawn’s future, not just mine.

* * *

After breakfast Noah picked up his ax and headed toward the edge of the clearing.

“Please be careful, Noah,” his wife said.

Her concern made him feel...something. He couldn’t put a name to it, but it wasn’t bad, whatever it was. “I’m always careful with an ax in my hand.”

She didn’t look convinced, but in time she would be. He looked at her for a moment, at the way her lush blond hair flowed down her back as she brushed it, getting ready to pin it up for the day.

His wife was beautiful.

Turning away to shut this out, he studied the trees at the edge of the clearing and chose which one would be the first for their future cabin. He selected an elm thrice as tall and wide as he. He gauged where he wanted it to fall and took his position. He swung and felt the blade bite the bark and wood, the impact echoing through his whole body. He set his pace and kept a steady rhythm.

Finally at the right moment he swung and the tree creaked, trembled and fell with a swish of leaves. It bounced once, twice and shivered to a halt. Wiping his brow with a handkerchief, Noah grinned.

Sweat trickling down his back, he began to chop away the branches so he could roll the first fresh log aside and start on the next tree, a maple. Then he heard something unexpected. He stopped, checking to see if he’d actually heard it.

In the distance came the sound of another ax. And another.

Irritation prickled through him.

“Do you hear that?” Sunny asked from behind him. “Sounds like someone else is felling trees. Maybe they’re building a cabin not too far away.”

Hoping she was dead wrong, he glanced over his shoulder and glimpsed her smile as she listened intently. She’d obviously just walked back from the creek, a dishpan of washed breakfast dishes in her arms.

“Might be loggers. Or someone cutting wood for winter so it has time to cure before then.” He turned back to the maple. “You need to keep back from me. When I take a swing, I don’t want to hit you.”

“I’ll stay back. I’m setting up my outdoor kitchen and such,” she said, moving away.

The sound of the other axes on the clean spring air echoed around his own swings, making it harder to concentrate and keep his own rhythm. He fumed. I chose this site because it was miles from town and any other homestead. Whoever you are, go away.

As if the logger had heard his thoughts, the distant chopping stopped.

He shook his arms and shoulders, loosening them. With renewed purpose, he swung his ax, eating into the corn-hued wood pulp, sending chips and bark flying.

In between swings he overheard Sunny singing to Dawn. He’d made the right decision. Sunny always kept cheerful, never complained and worked hard. They’d make do.

Noah was sizing up the third tree when something startled him.

“Hello, the wagon!” called a cheerful male voice.

Noah was puzzled for a second, then realized the greeting was a twist on the usual frontier salute of “Hello, the house,” which people often said to let the inhabitants of a house know someone was approaching, giving them time to prepare to welcome rare visitors.

Just what Noah didn’t need—clever company.

“Hello!” Sunny called in return. “Welcome!”

Her buoyant voice grated Noah’s nerves. He lowered his ax, trying to prepare himself to meet whoever had intruded. With one swift downward stroke he sunk the ax into a nearby stump.

Two men, both near his age, were advancing on him, smiles on their faces and their right hands outstretched. He didn’t smile, but he did shake their hands in turn.

He wanted to be left alone, but he didn’t want people talking behind his back, thinking him odd. He’d had enough of that in the army and in Pennsylvania. In the army his Quaker plain speech had marked him as odd and back home, he was a Quaker who’d gone to war. He hadn’t fitted in either place. And he’d given up trying.

“We heard your ax,” the taller of the two said. “I’m Charles Fitzhugh and this is Martin Steward. We’re your closest neighbors.”

“I’m Noah Whitmore.” Then he introduced the men to Sunny and Dawn, his wife and child. “Your claims must not be very far away.” He clenched his jaw. He’d checked every direction but one—northeast—since he’d been told that no claim lay in those rolling hills.

“Mine’s a little over a mile away on the other side of a hill—” Charles pointed northeast “—and Martin’s another half mile farther from mine.” The man grinned affably. “I’ve a wife and two daughters, and Martin’s building his cabin to bring his bride to.”

Martin’s cheeks reddened at this announcement. He had a round face and brown hair in a bowl cut. “She lives south near Galena, Illinois.”

“What’s her name?” Sunny asked, waving the men toward the fire. She soon was pouring them cups of coffee.

Noah ground his teeth. Maybe it was time he made things clear to Sunny about not being overly friendly. He hadn’t thought it necessary, based on her difficult past. He’d assumed she’d want to keep to herself as much as he did. Clearly he had much to learn about his wife.

Charles complimented Sunny on the coffee and then turned to Noah. “I’m helping Martin get his cabin up. Why don’t we join forces and work together? Three men can get a cabin up in days. Since you’ve a wife and child, we’ll come and help you first and then we can help Martin out. Get him married off sooner than later.”

Martin face turned a darker red.

Noah nearly choked, his reluctance shooting up into his throat. “I—”

“Oh, how wonderful!” Sunny crowed. “So neighborly.” And she wrung each man’s hands in turn. “Isn’t that wonderful, Noah?” She turned, beaming toward him.

Noah wanted to object, to tell them he didn’t want their help. But the words wouldn’t come. Quakers—not even his father—wouldn’t rudely rebuff any offer of help.

He nodded and folded his arms over his chest.

“I already told my wife that we were coming down to stay the day and get a load of work done.” Charles grinned, apparently oblivious to Noah’s reluctance. He and Martin handed Sunny their empty cups.

“I’ll have lunch enough for all of us,” Sunny promised. She quickly glanced at Noah. “I’ll warn you though, I’m not much of a cook.”

Noah turned away and the men followed him, discussing which tree to cut down next. Martin said he was good at squaring off and produced his adze, stripping bark from the already-downed trees.

Soon Noah and Charles were chopping the maple as a team. With each stroke of the his ax, Noah swallowed down his annoyance. Why couldn’t people leave him alone?

Sunny must be made to understand exactly how he wanted the two of them to live. He needed to make that clear. Once and for all.

* * *

By the cook fire Sunny and Noah sat on logs across from each other. Supper eaten, she eyed him in the lowering sunlight, her nerves tightening by the moment. The instant their neighbors had appeared, she’d noted her husband withdrawing. No one else had noticed. But it had been obvious to her. Now he was clenching and unclenching his hands around his last cup of coffee, frowning into the fire. Why didn’t he like such kind neighbors coming to help?

Rattled, she didn’t know what to do in the face of his displeasure—whether to speak or keep silent. She couldn’t imagine Noah lifting a hand to her but in the past men had. One—in a drunk rage—had broken her hand.

Fighting the old fear, she nursed Dawn and then put her down for the night in the little hammock in the wagon. Then she stood in the lengthening shadows by the wagon, unable to stop chafing her poor thumb. As she watched her angry husband, she felt her nerves give way to aggravation. Nothing had happened that should make any man upset.

Finally she recalled one of Constance Gabriel’s few words of advice: “Do not let the sun go down upon your wrath.” These words from the Bible must be right. But could she do it? Could she confront this man who’d only been her husband for a period of weeks?

A memory slipped into her thoughts. Constance and Adam Gabriel had been alone in the kitchen, talking in undertones. She’d overheard Constance say, “Adam, this must be decided.”

So wives did confront husbands. Sunny took a deep breath.

“Noah,” she said, “what’s wrong?”

“I don’t want people hanging around,” he muttered darkly.

“Why not?” she insisted, leaning forward to hear him.

He sat silent, his chest heaving and his face a mask of troubled emotions.

“What is wrong, Noah? The men just came to help us.”

“I don’t want their help. I want to be left alone. I don’t want us getting thick with people hereabout. I picked this homesite far from town to steer clear of people. I’ve had enough of people to last me a lifetime. In the future, we will keep to ourselves.”

His words were hammers. “Keep to ourselves?” she gasped. The happy image of Dawn in her white pinafore shifted to a shy, downcast Dawn hanging back from the other children who looked at her, their expressions jeering as tears fell down her cheeks.

“No.” Sunny said, firing up in defense. “No.” She came around to face him. “Why did you marry me if you wanted to be alone?”

Noah rose. They were toe-to-toe. His eyes had opened wide.

“Why don’t you want to be neighborly?” she demanded, shaking.

He took a step backward. “I...I...”

“What if I get sick? Who will you call for help? If I get with child, will you deliver it alone? We have no family here. How can we manage without our neighbors?”

They stared at each other. Sunny shook with outrage at his unreasonable demand.

Noah breathed rapidly, too, as if he’d just finished a race. Finally he shook his head as if coming awake. “I don’t want people here all the time,” he said. “I just want peace and quiet.”

“People have their own work to do.” She clamped her hands together, feeling blood where she’d chafed her thumb. “Once the cabins are built, Charles and Martin will be busy with their own work.”

He let out a rush of air and raked his hands through his hair. “All right. Just remember I don’t want people here all the time.”

She wanted to argue, but sensed much more was going on here than was being said. “I will keep your wish in mind,” she said, scanning his face for clues as to what was happening inside him.

He stood, staring at her for a moment as if seeing her for the first time. “I’m going to clean up at the creek.” He grabbed a towel from the clothesline she’d strung earlier in the day and stomped off.

Sunny slumped against the wagon, calming herself, consciously shedding the fear and anger. He didn’t want people around him. Maybe he didn’t want her around him? Maybe he’d only brought her here to cook and clean. That would explain why he showed no interest in getting closer to her.

The thought made her angry all over again.

Climbing into the wagon, she checked on Dawn who slept peacefully in her little hammock. She’d be safe here. Sunny climbed down, grabbed another towel from the line and headed toward the creek, too. The unusual high temperature and humidity combined with the argument had left her ruffled and heated. Earlier she’d noticed a bend in the creek that was shielded by bushes where she could discreetly cool off.

Noah already splashed in the wide part of the creek, deep with spring runoff. In the long shadows she skirted around, barely glancing toward him. Within the shelter of the bushes, she slipped off her shoes and tiptoed over the pebbles into the cool water. She shivered, but in a good way. Soon ankle-deep, she was bending and splashing water up onto her face and neck, washing away the grime and stickiness.

The cool water soothed her, the sound of its rippling over the rocks calmed her nerves like a balm. She sighed as the last of her indignation drifted away on the current. She waded out onto the mossy bank and dried off.

At the sound of her name she turned and found Noah walking toward her. Night had come; moonlight glimmered around them. She braced herself, waiting for him to reach her. Had he come to start the argument anew?

He paused a foot from her. “I’m sorry, Sunny.” The soft words spoke volumes of anguish.

She gazed at him, uncertain. Their disagreement had been over nothing—or everything—and she sensed that Noah was struggling just like she was. She recalled his words on their wedding night, when he’d asked which was worse, lying with strangers or killing them.

Amid the incessant frogs croaking around them, he whispered, “Sunny, I just need space, peace.”

His voice opened the lock to her heart and freed her. “Noah,” she murmured.

“But I want you to be happy here, too,” he added.

His tenderness touched her, but she didn’t know how to respond. They were still strangers.

In the silent darkness he helped her gather her shawl around her shoulders and then they walked to the wagon. Sunny tried to figure out what had happened this evening, what bedeviled her husband, and how she could bring him peace. She had no answers.

At the wagon she hoped he would follow her inside so she could comfort him. But, as usual, he let her go in and then he wished her good-night from the foot of the cramped wagon bed.

Sunny lay very still, wondering if Noah would have another nightmare tonight, and if he’d ever reveal what the dreams were about. She had a feeling his nightmares and his reluctance to be around people were connected.

And she was determined to find out how. She just needed to be patient. But patience had never been one of her talents. Someday they would have to talk matters out. Maybe when Noah’s nightmares ceased?