Now there are more worries here for my husband, as neither Jonathan nor August are here to help him. But Helena Giesy has come. She traveled by ship up the Columbia and did not even visit with her parents first in Willapa. She didn’t even stop to visit her brother’s grave before coming here to aid my husband. Well, the colony.
My husband says she is a saint, turning down a marriage proposal so she could devote her life to the work of the colony. He spends long hours with her. She is so helpful and never tires of tending to him.
I can barely manage all the household work with my leg giving me such an ache. I don’t tell my husband of it. He healed it after all, and it must be my lack of faith that keeps me limping. I miss August, but my husband ordered him to Bethel so it must be for the best. My Aurora, already eleven, is a help almost more than her sister Gloriunda, two years her senior. Gloriunda has a tendency to laziness while Aurora knows no rest. She’s like me in that. While I am honored by the pattern I am also worried for her, as her devotion to family requires the buildup of much steam and the promise of terrible despair when such runs out. One is always seeking fuel. Fuel does run out when one loves others so much. How to fill up again, that is a mother’s constant quest.
We will celebrate this March the beginning of my husband’s forty-eighth year. All believe that we share a birthday, but his is actually later this month. It’s mine we celebrate on the sixth of March. I’m older than Wilhelm by twelve days, but he honors me by telling all we share a birthday. He does not like a woman being older, I suspect, for he assumes wisdom comes with age. His voice is still strong as he preaches. He stands upright and his eyes burn with an intensity I remember from his youth. But afterward, he pales. I prepare him tea and hover over him as he leans back in his rocking chair, his wide chest taking in deep breaths. Others do not see this; it is a wife’s duty to recognize such sinking and to puff up pillions of encouragement to surround her husband’s head. I remind him of his birthday and the partying we’ll do. Those not yet living here, those still in Portland, will come out to celebrate, I remind him. But he replies that it will sadden him because they cannot stay in Aurora Mills as we have insufficient housing. He wants the next group of Bethelites to come out, and yet where would they stay? More here in our house, I suspect. As Helena is. I asked my husband once if this might not have been the dilemma Christian Giesy and the scouts faced. He sat silent for a long time, his eyes closed, and I thought he might have fallen asleep. Instead he said, “I might have been too hard on those good people. Perhaps I should tell them so. Maybe they might even now come here to help us out if I expressed more sorrow.”
An apology? From my husband? I would not have thought of it, but he is so wise! It has good merit. The Giesy family supported him in Bethel. Andrew Giesy Jr. runs the colony in Bethel with David Wagner’s help until August arrives. I think my husband longs for such an alliance here and might have had it with Christian if not for Emma’s forcing those families to stay in Willapa. I wonder if she carries guilt in that, her husband dying on a bay they had the chance to leave but didn’t.
Perhaps that is too harsh. I carry no less a weight wondering if I might have done something different that would have saved our Willie. But no. I have come to believe that death is unrelated to the choices others make. I wouldn’t say that to my husband.
Now Emma forces no one to do anything as far as I can tell. So they ought to come here, those Giesys. And Karl Ruge. Why hasn’t he joined us, my husband’s oldest friend? Karl wrote the letters back to Bethel, dictated by my husband, and I think his good mind added well to my husband’s thinking. He should be here. His presence would so help my husband with his trials. And if Martin Giesy came, he could treat the people that my husband has to heal now, in the midst of everything else he’s asked to do. He is becoming known for his healing, and even newcomers from Portland make their way here for his herbs and concoctions. So in the midst of business dealings, to serve us all, he stops to heal a small child or offer a salve to a man whose wound weeps. Martin could help immensely in Aurora.
Jack Giesy, too, that man of impractical cheer, he would lighten our days if he lived here. What keeps him in that Willapa country anyway? All the dairy cows, all the farmland, all of that work could be put in place here, near Aurora Mills, and we would join together again as we lived in Bethel. All of us except Willie. And Chris.
Well, I believe I have just uncovered the solution to my husband’s strains. If the Bethel people cannot come west sooner as planned, then why not join together those who are already here, who had once planned to be a part of this colony under my husband’s leadership? John has leadership abilities. He’s the school superintendent there in Willapa. We don’t even have a school here as yet. So much would be better if they lived with us. Even with Emma. I must write to John’s wife, to Sebastian’s wife, to Barbara, to remind them of what they once planned to do and let them know how much we need them, how much Wilhelm needs them. It would be the Diamond Rule if they came to make his life better than theirs. And they could see their daughter too.
Ja, that’s what I’ll do, write to the women. Paul himself wrote to women who worked beside him in the church. Ach. Not that I compare myself to Saint Paul, but women had work then as we do now. Those in Willapa have proven they can endure in difficult times. Now they must prove that they are one of us still. It is time for all God’s children to come home. A mother understands that call. “And again, I will put my trust in him. And again, Behold, I, and the children which God hath given me.” So says Paul as he writes to the Hebrews. It is a wife’s duty to address her husband’s needs and to hope those around her will understand how much more they can carry together than alone.
My husband might object.
If he knew.
But I would write as one communal wife to another, a coworker in the service. The women will see the value in our joining up. I will even write to Emma, for all the good it will do. But no one should be left out. All should be called to come home. My husband might even consider me a saint like Helena should I succeed. Ach, no. My husband would say that a mother cannot be a saint. She has no time.
21
Emma
Cheers, and Smart You Are!
I shook my head at Andy, wanting him not to approach too close. My throat felt coated by slivers of glass that ground against each other each time I swallowed. My skin ached to the touch. The winter season might have drifted further into hope but it didn’t. When I found myself too weak to milk the goat, I sent Andy to Mary’s. The child protested, saying he could milk the goat; he could fix our meals and tend me. But he went, returning with Jack and Boshie.
“We’ll take the boys to their grandparents and I’ll bring Martin back to doctor you,” Boshie said. My face flamed from fever. I hadn’t considered that suggestion, but fearful as it was, it held merit. I pointed to Kate, but Boshie shook his head. “Kate’s of an age she can help bring you water to sip.”
“Please,” I croaked. “I don’t want any of them ill.”
“I’ll stay to look after Emma,” Jack told him. “Take them all. Kate’s small. She’ll not take up anymore room than the boys.”
“She’s little. But you here—”
“The widow is ill and in need of care,” Jack said. “I’ll stay only until the women come to help.”
Jack helped the boys find whatever they’d need to take with them. He hurried Kate along as she looked for her stocking doll and nearly had to leave without it, but Andy located it up in the loft. Andy scowled the whole time.
I watched the movements around me as though in a dream, my throat a cave of broken glass, swollen, my eyes throbbing with pain. What might it take for me to get the children to return when I was well? I couldn’t begin to imagine. I pitched the thought away.
They left and Jack proved the perfect helpmate, heating tea, helping me sit up and holding the cup to my lips. I knew the women were all busy, had children and families of their own to take care of, but I would
have liked to hear the sound of a woman’s voice. I would have liked to have a woman help me to the slop jar and settle me on it rather than Jack Giesy just before he turned his back. Oh, he did step behind the curtain. But the sounds one’s body makes embarrasses in the presence of others, especially men. A woman would understand.
“Could your sister Louisa come?” I asked Martin when he arrived.
He shook his head. “She looks after the children and is a big help to Mother, don’t you know.”
He looked at me with sympathetic eyes though, and the next day, when Sarah Woodard arrived, I knew without asking who had suggested she come.
“You should have sent word to me right away,” Sarah said.
“Didn’t want … to bother,” I said.
“Ach,” she said and pushed the air with her hand. She grinned. “Now I’m sounding like you!”
Jack came in with an armload of fire logs, and he startled when he saw Sarah. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
“Martin thought I might be able to help,” she said. She placed the board Edwin was in onto the rocking chair, then put a stick beneath the rockers to keep it from moving and possibly pitching the baby out. “I’m to let you go, Jack Giesy, though Martin says you’ve been quite the good doctor for Emma.”
“Does he?” He hadn’t put the logs down next to the fireplace. “We really don’t need any extra help.”
“I’m enjoying … Sarah’s visit, Jack,” I said. My throat pain had lessened, but now I barked like a sea lion. No one could speak while I hacked. “She’s my friend.”
“She maybe could infect her baby,” Jack said.
“As I feed him from myself, he stays healthy. I won’t let Emma hold him.” Jack scowled. What is going on with Jack? “I brought mail for you too,” she said digging into her pack. “It came to Woodard’s Landing just this morning. I bet it’s the fastest mail service you’ve ever had out here.”
I nodded and lifted my hand for the mail, but Jack reached past me, his long arm taking the letters from Sarah’s fingers. “She can read them later,” he said. “No sense wasting reading time while you have a guest.” He pushed the letters into his shirt blouse before I even got to see who they were from.
“Jack—”
“At least one is from someone in Bethel,” Sarah said. “And I think the other was from Aurora Mills. Oh, and one from far away in France.”
“A cousin,” I said.
Jack’s proprietary manner bothered me. Maybe he felt I owed him that liberty for the care he’d been providing. Once again I could see how receiving a gift came riding on that horse as obligation. I had no energy to push it off.
Jack fed the fire, and when I motioned to Sarah to help me move to the slop jar, he rose from his squat to assist. “No,” I croaked. “Let Sarah, please.”
“She’s as small as you are,” he said.
“I’m small but I’m strong,” Sarah chirped. “It’s a woman’s prerogative to have a sister assist her with her hygiene needs. A gentleman like you should know that.”
“Ja. Well, I do know that,” Jack said, backing off. “But don’t come crying to me if she pulls you over.” He turned his back to us and poked at the fire.
Sarah winked at me, then put her arm around my shoulder to help lift me up. My head spun with light spots, but I steadied myself on her arm as we took the few steps to the end of the bed, then pulled the curtain that separated the bed and slop jar from the main part of the cabin. The porcelain felt cool against my buttocks. I panted a bit to catch my breath, lowered my head. “Are you all right?” she whispered. I nodded. She rubbed my back in small circles, and when a wracking cough came on me, she squatted and held me with both arms. “I hope Martin’s bringing you good teas,” she said. I nodded. “He’s a little worried that you haven’t made the gains he thought you might by now,” she added. “Especially when you’ve been getting such good care.”
“A stubborn cough,” I said.
“Are you finished?” I nodded but as she went to help me up I put my hand to hers to stop her.
“Let’s just sit here for a moment,” I said. “A moment … alone.” She nodded understanding. “Have you seen the children? Jack tells me so little.”
“They are all well. Rosy and happy.”
I coughed. “Whatever this is, they might have missed it then.”
“You did the right thing.”
“How long can you stay?”
“A couple of days. But then one of the Schwader girls will come. And I’ve arranged for Louisa to help while I look after your children. Barbara, John’s wife, will come. Each will spend a night so you won’t be alone and before long, you’ll be well.”
“So Jack can leave.”
She nodded. “If you weren’t so sick, people would already be talking. But we do what we must, ja? See, I speak some German now.” She smiled.
“Ja.” She helped me stand. “Will you tell him?”
“I will,” Sarah said.
I took a deep breath. It exhaled as a sigh of relief.
Jack left begrudgingly. I suppose he enjoyed knowing where he’d be each night, and he’d been helpful. But with him gone I did feel as though my strength returned. The women took their turns with me. Each was gracious and gentle, careful not to let me think they didn’t want to be there. They had their own families to care for, and who knew how contagious I might be? I was grateful that they stoked the fires, kneaded the dough, gathered eggs. At the lamplight they stitched and we talked as my throat improved and the coughing faded, and time passed as gently as a feather drifting in the breeze. I felt like one of them, as though perhaps Christian’s family really was my own. The families were the most gracious when someone was in need, real need, they would have said, not need resulting from one’s willful choices. They each showed a charitable spirit that was always there, but I’d never acknowledged it before. I made a point of saying thank you.
When Mary took her turn, Boshie brought Salome to her for nursing, then took the baby back home. I appreciated this extra effort and told them both so.
She shrugged. “We take care of each other, ja?”
I nodded. “Have you talked to Jack of late?”
“Ah, a little interest?”
“Not the way you think. When Sarah was here, he received my mail from her and I can’t find the letters anywhere. He must have forgotten to leave them. Could you ask him for them? I think one was from my parents and one came from Aurora Mills.”
“Perhaps your brother tells you that Dr. Keil struggles with many responsibilities and needs the Bethelites to come out to help, but they’re not ready. They’re being tardy.” She smiled as she stitched. “Like recalcitrant children.”
“Things aren’t all perfection under Herr Keil’s direction?”
“No need for sarcasm,” she said. “He’s sent August back to help your father and Andrew Jr. move things along so everyone can join them soon. Even some of the Portland people haven’t gone out to Aurora Mills yet. They like earning wages and having a little spending money for themselves, I guess.” She stopped her work to spread butter on a piece of bread that Louisa had made the day before. “I heard that even Joe Knight quit the oyster business and headed back to Bethel.”
Hearing that made me sad. One more connection with Christian was broken and Joe hadn’t even stopped to say good-bye. “What about Karl’s investment?”
She shrugged. “I think Karl lost interest once Christian wasn’t involved. He was never drawn to the rough and tumble of keeping the oyster claims guarded or tonging for oysters in the moonlight. Jack liked that pace, at least sometimes. He can stay up all night, that Jack. Karl has the school and that’s his first love. He’ll get some of his money back if he sells his interest. Who knows, maybe Jack will buy him out.”
“Jack has money to invest?” I said.
“He doesn’t have much to spend his money on except rum now and then.”
“I guess I thought everyone put their e
arnings into a common fund, so there’d be little room for private investment.”
“Not all of it,” she said. “Here, we own our land, just like you do, Emma. But we’re sharing the increase of the cows, and putting a portion of the butter money into the common fund and keeping some to use as we see fit. This new territory demands that we invest but still work together.”
She sounded like Boshie when she said that last.
“I don’t recall receiving any money from my work with the butter contracts,” I said.
She stood up and busied herself at the pantry, wiping the breadcrumbs into the palm of her hand. “I’ll just throw these out to the birds,” she said. She stepped to the door. It took her a long time. I guess she watched the seagulls swoop down to get them. Finally, she came back in.
“Mary. Are some people receiving private pay for their labor and able to keep some to invest for themselves and others not?”
“Maybe people thought that because the men tend to your stock and your firewood and look after things as you’re a widow, well maybe they thought your share of any increase would be better spread around to those who’ve been helping you.”
I felt my face burn.
“Or maybe they’re setting your share aside for your children’s needs. For when they might want to go to school. That would meet with your approval, wouldn’t it?”
“What difference does my approval make?” I said. “My decisions appear to need filtering by what others think, so I rarely get the chance to make them.”
“Oh, Emma. You make it sound so dramatic. We welcome your opinions. Decisions just have to be made whether you’re around to hear about them or not. It’s not a woman’s place to worry over such things anyway. You should be grateful you have so few worries. Think of poor Brother Keil.”