She said the word aloud to see if it fit.
Jeanie dragged Ruthie’s body into the shade of the tree. She wanted to clean her body, to make her body presentable. But there was no way to do that. Next, Jeanie lay Ruthie’s baby in the crook of her dead arm. Then she lay Yale in the crook of Ruthie’s other arm, hoping that eternity might be a little easier in the arms of a mother, even if Jeanie had so recently despised that mother’s very being.
She ran back to the dugout and retrieved a shovel and a wet cloth. Jeanie was glad Katherine and Tommy were still at the Zurchenko’s. She didn’t want them to be part of another burial, she didn’t want to explain how she was the cause of Yale’s death, Ruthie’s death and soon, Ruthie’s baby. And if they knew Ruthie died, well, she didn’t want to deal with that or the baby she’d born on behalf of their father. Jeanie despised the man, but she wouldn’t let her children know that. She would not let them feel the disappointment and rejection she had felt when she learned the truth about her own father.
By the time she returned with the shovel and began poking at the stony ground, Jeanie was sobbing, wondering how to tell her children she’d let them down as much as their father. How could she claim herself a mother if she allowed her baby to starve to death or didn’t help her fight a sickness she hadn’t even realized was there?
The shovel bounced up with every throw-down, but Jeanie found the digging came easy because of the spring thaw. Jeanie heard a cry, but wrote it off as her mind playing tricks. Then she heard it again, coming from behind. She turned and her mouth fell open at the sight of stone-dead Ruthie and Yale, while Ruthie’s baby jerked and pulled in her limbs, scrunching her face in disdain. Jeanie crept to the baby, unbelieving of what she saw and heard.
She bent down and poked Ruthie’s baby. It scolded Jeanie with another wail.
“Oh my,” Jeanie said. “You’re alive.”
Jeanie cocked her head and stared at the naked, blood-encrusted baby and marveled at her. Jeanie slid her hands under the baby and picked her up, holding her in the air, turning her back and forth, looking for defects.
“You are alive,” Jeanie said again. She unbuttoned her blouse and put the baby to her breast to nurse. The strong suck that Yale never quite achieved pulled at every inch of Jeanie’s being, the sensation on her breast spread throughout her body. This child would live and she’d be motherless because of Jeanie.
After nursing the baby, she settled her back in Ruthie’s arm and continued to dig, trying to discern what she was to do with a dead mother and a live baby. After digging as deep as she could, partly running into one of the caskets they’d laid there earlier that year, Jeanie still had no answer.
She settled Ruthie’s body into the grave, making her look as though she was comfortable in her death. She positioned Yale inside Ruthie’s arm and then closing her eyes she threw the dirt over the bodies, promising Ruthie that she would find a home for her baby if Ruthie would find a home in the afterlife for Yale. “Take care of my girl. I’ll take care of yours.”
As Jeanie filled the hole, the repetitive spattering of dirt over Ruthie and Yale’s skin was sickening. In just several months, Jeanie had buried her first born and last daughter. How had her life arrived at such circumstances? How could it be?
Chapter 21
1905
Des Moines, Iowa
Though Katherine didn’t read any of Templeton’s letters during the time she sat at her mother’s bedside holding her hand, swimming in confusing memories, she knew she would eventually. Jeanie was lucid for only minutes before she fell back into oblivion. Katherine sat for hours, hoping she might come back to tell her what she needed to know. But it became clear for the time being, she was either going further into death or resting up for another moment of clarity.
While she sat with her mother, Katherine tried to piece the events of the prairie back together. She couldn’t do it though, and it became clear that she first had to read the attic letters, needed to try to understand why her mother had decided to burn them, why Katherine herself would have been compelled to lift them out of the fire and tuck them away where her mother would never see them again. And why would her father write to Ruthie Moore, why would her mother have that letter?
Jeanie stared at her mother’s relatively smooth face. She should have been more wrinkled to have death courting her so hard. Katherine touched her mother’s cheek, its softness made a smile flit to her mouth.
Eventually, Katherine trudged up the attic steps and settled back into the spot she’d vacated the day before. Aleksey had made three stacks of letters, not in any order. On top was the one that didn’t fit with the rest. From an address in Texas to Ruthie Moore. Katherine’s hand shook while holding it, as though she knew what was written inside was something she didn’t want to know. But the feeling that she had to know won out and Katherine opened the letter.
Katherine’s eyes fell over the words and then she reread and reread. What was she seeing? She traced the words with her finger.
“Baby.” Katherine’s hands shook and she dropped the letter, curling into a ball. “Baby.” She bounced her forehead off her knees as though doing so would make her thoughts untangle. Nothing complete or coherent would come to her mind. She read the letter from her father again. Dearest Ruthie. Our baby. Texas. I forsake my family for you…Other words flew through her mind, too.
The words that she’d flung at her mother in hateful ways over the years. Divorce, Mama’s fault. Selfish. Baby. Yale. Ruthie Moore. What happened to Ruthie? Katherine was numb with the disparate thoughts, but amidst it all, she couldn’t stop remembering one thing. The argument with her mother in the dugout, the time she realized her mother was a liar, but wasn’t able to understand why. Images slammed through her mind. Katherine touched her face, the hollow under her cheekbone, where her mother had slapped her, the one and only time she’d ever done such a thing. Katherine had known something was wrong. Baby. Baby. The baby. Yale.
Katherine shot to her feet and tore down the steps into her mother’s room, where Yale peacefully read to Jeanie. Katherine crept into the room, staring at her sister, studying her black wavy hair, thin lips, and prairie blue eyes. Suddenly with the lucidity that should have been there for seventeen years, but went by the wayside with a stinging slap, Katherine admitted what she’d known to be true all along.
Chapter 22
1888
Dakota Territory
When Jeanie headed back to the house with Ruthie’s baby, her mind had sorted through every scenario under which plans for Ruthie’s baby could be made. She could have Templeton drive her to Yankton and drop the baby at the nearest orphanage—they would find a fine home for her. Jeanie would keep her promise to Ruthie for if she didn’t she feared her Yale would wander eternity alone. She couldn’t have that.
But Jeanie didn’t want an attachment to this baby. She wasn’t the right woman to raise her. So, even when she breastfed the baby and changed her diaper, she averted her gaze from the child’s, treating her as though she were an object—a fine, delicate one—rather than human. Or, she could confess to everyone how Ruthie had died at nearly the same time Yale had and that Jeanie would care for Ruthie’s baby. But, it all seemed wrong.
There’d have to be an explanation about Ruthie’s baby. Jeanie’s children would know the story, everyone would know and the humiliation would be too great. Jeanie had a moment when she thought about fear, about how she seemed to be ruled by it yet again, but she told herself there was a difference between doing what was right for one’s children and being scared of one’s own humiliation. It was the children’s lives she was concerned with now, not her own.
Jeanie had been washing up in the dugout after Ruthie’s burial when she got word from the Hunts that Katherine and Tommy were quarantined at the Zurchenko’s with the flu. They’d driven up above the dugout, wagon groaning with all the belongings they could fit as they were leaving the prairie, heading back to Vermont. They bid each other goodbye,
offering platitudes that meant nothing to Jeanie and probably the same amount to the Hunts.
In the absence of everyone, Jeanie had the time and space to fall in love with Ruthie’s child. It was only a day before she’d slipped into calling the baby Yale. Two days passed when Jeanie actually felt as though her Yale and Ruthie’s Yale were actually the same soul, when she felt her own soul commune with her dead Yale who somehow meshed with Ruthie’s baby as one and the same.
Templeton stopped by to drop off mail from Yankton. He and Jeanie barely said a word, just their gaze holding one another, wordlessly agreeing they were both too lost without James to talk about him, but understanding full well their loss.
“I stopped by for two reasons. One, I have news regarding Ruthie Moore. Her aunt and uncle were expecting her in Canada. She never showed up and the train she was to take jumped the track. Casualties everywhere. They couldn’t say for sure who was who. But, she’s gone from her home and so is the train ticket her uncle sent.”
Jeanie covered her mouth. Her hand shook. She swallowed hard, pushing down the truth that was trying to force its way out. Jeanie couldn’t allow it out. She’d dealt with too much already. There would be no way to explain her actions.
Templeton shifted his feet. “I know how much you liked Ruthie, before all that happened. I knew you’d want to know.”
Jeanie nodded and looked at her feet.
“Second, I’d like to take you and the children berry picking in the next week or so. The bushes in the far corner of my homestead are full as though last year’s fire had served to revitalize them.”
“Berries at the end of March? That can’t be right.”
“It’s true.”
“Well, then, berries it is.” Her voice was flat even though she was happy for the invite.
“Let me know when you’re available.”
Jeanie nodded. Templeton leaned forward, his hand cradling Jeanie’s elbow while he kissed her forehead. Her stomach flipped, igniting her nerves, sending excited chills over her skin. They stood there like that, for a minute. His lips on her head, her leaning into him, wanting so much to fall onto the bedstead with him, to be taken care of, held, loved.
When she didn’t move, he finally backed off, placing his hat back on his head. They nodded at one another, saying their silent, “I’m so sorry for the loss of James,” before he left the dugout. How Jeanie wished she could alter her reality, have somehow met Templeton twelve years before rather than Frank. It was only at that point, before Frank and she existed as one, that it would be possible to alter her reality, make Templeton her love, to allow him into her life in the way she wanted him.
She shut the door behind Templeton and leaned against it. “My tired heart never found rest until you, Templeton. My heart rests on your love alone.” Jeanie said that aloud to hear it herself, to gauge whether she’d ever utter the words to Templeton so he could hear them. There was no point entertaining the impossible.
Jeanie went to the letter Templeton brought from Yankton. From Frank, somewhere in Texas. It contained a note—five words long—saying he would be returning to the prairie. Jeanie snorted at the words. Had she not found Ruthie’s letter from Frank, the words would have indicated to Jeanie that he was returning to her.
But, she knew better and though she felt nothing in terms of loss for their love anymore, she did feel scared about how she’d survive with the children. Was there a way she could divorce Frank? If he would send her money, yes. But she couldn’t count on that. She did think she could count on Frank’s love for his children, possibly his guilt for his part in James’ death. Perhaps he would send her money. She no longer cared about the societal forces that would shove her out of important circles of friendship, but eating, surviving with pride was another consideration.
Could she stomach Frank in her home? As useless as he was, he was dependable in some ways—at least periodically. Could she bear to look at him? Really, it didn’t matter, what she felt about their marital circumstances paled against the loss of James. That loss prevailed over everything else, but with the death of her Yale, she’d woken up a bit, ready to at the very least care for her children so to not experience another loss and worse, be the cause of it. There was so much she’d never forgive herself for and she would do her best to be sure she never hurt another one of her children and never allowed anyone else to hurt them either. She’d failed at that enough for one lifetime.
“Mama?” Katherine stood in the doorway of the dugout and even with her body completely outlined by the sun, Jeanie could see that Katherine had lost weight with the illness.
“Oh, Katherine,” Jeanie lay Yale in the crib and ran to her daughter, holding her so tight, that Katherine choked. Tommy came in behind her. Jeanie pulled him by the coat, into their hug and she smattered them with kisses until they were pushing away from her, tired from the walk from the Zurchenko’s.
“Here, let me put you to bed. You’re doing well? I mean to have the quarantine lifted, but you’re still both frail. You’re thin as sunflower stalks.” Jeanie felt both of them over their bodies and tucked them into bed.
“Can I hold Yale?” Katherine asked.
“Well, she’s sleeping.”
“I’m not contagious, I swear. They wouldn’t have let us leave.”
“Well, okay,” Jeanie said. She held her breath and lay Yale beside Katherine. She watched as Katherine studied her sister’s face, cooing at her like a little mother.
Katherine’s eyebrows knitted. She looked up at Jeanie and back at Yale. Jeanie said a silent prayer.
“What’s going on, Mama?”
“What do you mean?”
Katherine sat up and lay Yale on her legs, unwrapped her and played with her legs.
Katherine shook her head, opened her mouth and closed it again.
“It’s all right, Katherine. We’re going to all be all right. I promise. Your father will get well, we’ll move to the city, maybe Yankton, maybe…we’ll all be okay.”
“But Yale’s face.”
“Yes?” Jeanie groped her neck then wiped the front of her apron.
“It’s round.”
“Yes, well, she’s finally gaining weight after well, you know, the blizzard, her early start, there wasn’t much luck on this girl’s side at first, was there? Now she has your face, a real cherub. Like you, wouldn’t you say?” Jeanie’s voice cracked.
“Something’s different. I just…I don’t know. Maybe it’s the fever, but I swear this baby isn’t Yale.”
Jeanie turned and went to the cook-stove, trying to remain calm. “You’re right, it’s the fever, it must have made you silly,” Jeanie forced a laugh into her words, as though teasing.
Katherine appeared beside Jeanie who was stirring an empty pot. She held Yale out for her mother to see.
“Her flat spot on the crown of her head, it’s gone.”
“Well, a baby’s head changes, Katherine. It’s the way of the world. Change. Heads change. That’s what they do.”
“But, her little mole. Right there, that wasn’t there before.”
“What are you saying, Katherine? That I traded our Yale in for another? Just where would I find another baby in this Godforsaken dung-hole?” Spit flew out of Jeanie’s mouth as she became enraged with unfamiliar feelings. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“I don’t know, Mama, it’s just—”
Jeanie took deep uneven breaths and before she realized what she was doing, she slapped Katherine. Tommy ran to their sides, his mouth gaping.
“I should have taught you a long time ago to respect your elders. Hasn’t your mother been through enough this year not to have her daughter tell her she’s a baby switcher. Of all things, of all things. As if it were possible. As if it were so.”
Jeanie’s rage vibrated inside her skin, so hard she could hear it. And before she said or did another thing that would forever haunt her, she ran from the dugout and didn’t stop until she reached the tree. The tree that
held half of what had been dearest to her in the world. How could she not have known they were more important than escaping scandal in Des Moines?
How could she have ever agreed to leave, to follow Frank into a wasteland he had no business in? How could she have been so utterly stupid? There’d be no answer for Jeanie in that vein and all she could do was take the next right step, even if it felt wrong, even if just a year before that next step would have been unfathomable. All that was left for her to do was to burn the letter, get rid of the last trace of evidence that there was a baby born to Ruthie Moore and Frank G. Arthur.
Jeanie had been interrupted by Greta when she was attempting to burn not only Frank’s letter to Ruthie, but the letters that she’d written in the year leading up to her elopement. She’d managed to torch half of the letters, but then Greta pulled her away, in a panic because Anna had gone missing. They found her in the garden, napping without a care.
By the time Jeanie returned to the hole she’d dug to burn and bury the letters, she found them all gone. The wind had obviously had its way with the correspondence and she thought it fitting that her relationship with Frank should have blown into the atmosphere, scattered like tree pollen.
Back at the dugout Jeanie found Katherine asleep, her body curled around Yale’s. Jeanie had buried the truth of Yale so deep that looking at them there, knowing they shared the same father, that they had the same round, blue eyes, the same tiny noses, that even though the baby had Ruthie’s jaw-line, thin lips and black hair, as clear as fresh scrubbed windows, it didn’t matter because no one but Jeanie knew the truth. And she could live with it if it meant keeping them together.
Over long open patches of prairie Jeanie felt Templeton’s eyes rest on her as she gazed down at Yale, fussing with her blankets. She knew he was attempting to pry into her soul and discern what she’d done to turn her playful toughness into bitter resentment.