“These must be terribly expensive,” I told Jack in German.
“Get a keepsake,” he said. “It’s what a husband does, ja, gives his wife something for their wedding?”
I thought of Christian’s presents to me months after our marriage, brought back from his journey to the world outside: a ruffled petticoat that we later tore up to use as bandages in Willapa. He’d made a chatelaine for me to hold my sewing needles, and he’d given me a tiny Willapa Bay oyster pearl the year before he died, the most precious gift of all. None of them extravagances like those in this store.
“Look here, for now,” Jack said, tapping on my shoulder as I stared. His words brought me back to the present. “Something to remember this occasion.”
What was this occasion? Not a honeymoon, not sweetness hoping to return. Seek something practical, something to remind me that I did this for a reason, a good reason, the love of my children. What attracted me first was a plate, made up of six oyster-shaped wells to hold oysters on the half shell. A depression in the center would serve for a sauce. Someone had painted the outside edge and the center piece so it was like a work of art. The shop owner said it was French imported and the thin lip ledge was painted with gold. “This is lovely,” I said. It made me think of my cousin in far away Honfleur, France.
“Shall I wrap it for the missis?” the shopkeeper asked.
“Not yet,” Jack said, as he saw me set it down and pick up something else. “She’s not one to easily make up her mind.”
What won me was nothing practical at all. It was a single oyster shell, four or five inches across. I knew it couldn’t be a Willapa oyster, as those I could hold in the palm of my hand. This would fill Jack’s big paw. On the smooth inside, someone had painted what looked like an old mill beside a sea, using reds and rusts and purples. Mountains marched down to the water alongside the building.
“This is beautiful,” I said. “I wonder who …?”
The owner shook his head. “Not signed. But it’s a beauty. Wouldn’t want to ever serve anything on it but rather hang it on the wall. Or maybe set it on an easel.” He pointed to the little stand.
“Completely impractical,” I said.
“Would you like it?” Jack asked.
“It must be very expensive.”
“That’s not the answer to my question.”
“Ja,” I said. “I would like it.” I could sink into that scene.
Jack paid the storekeeper, and I received it as a gift from my husband, though I did wonder what price he might extract for my reception of it. I also wondered where he got the money. Perhaps the Willapa colony, knowing we were marrying, gave him resources. Maybe he did keep some of his earnings to spend as he saw fit just as everyone else appeared to do. When the census taker had come around in June, he’d mumbled something about my own assets being among the highest for the region, but that was the land, of course. I owned the land. Had owned the land. Having discretionary currency was a luxury a colony widow did not have, nor, apparently, did a wife.
I held the shell up to the window light to better see it. It might have been a scene from Spain or Portugal, judging from the terrain and the building’s shape. Maybe one day I’d go to such a place of promised serenity. It would remind me that peacefulness existed somewhere along with security and calm. The mountains were treeless and the water looked almost transparent. Onto the water, the artist had painted a reflection of the mill and a small boathouse. Inside would be a boat. I could imagine that, a boat to take its owner back and forth to deliver items from the mill. A tender, I’d heard such transferring crafts called. I squinted, then gasped.
“What is it?” the shopkeeper asked. “Is it broken?”
“No, nothing,” I said. “It’s beautiful.” I had seen in the reflection something I’d missed in the painting. I looked at it now with new eyes, my keepsake with a deeper meaning. The building wasn’t a mill at all, it was a church. A tiny cross had been placed at the top, a cross I would have missed except that I’d seen it reflected in the water.
23
Emma
Flaming Fires
We married on a Sunday, the sixteenth, and returned to Willapa a week and a day later to collect the children and to tell any who didn’t already know that we were now husband and wife. We stopped for Kate at Sarah’s, who patted Edwin’s bottom as she held him on her shoulder. Does she wear a worried look? Sam came in and took him from her easily, curling the child in his arms. He was a natural with the boy, as Christian had been. Jack was … fair with my children. He gave distinct orders laced with teaching instruction. Hadn’t he explained the drills to Andy well? Gentle words came from him, except for the outburst over the drawing. He’d even made me laugh a time or two. The oyster painting was packed in my valise, a sign of his generosity and that he sought forgiveness with objects rather than words. We were compatible. I stuck tendrils of hope like wispy strands of hair into the braid of my life.
“Looks like Jack’s ready to get on home,” Sam said. “Declined my invitation to share a meal.”
“He’s anxious to have some say in the farming of my place. Our place.”
“You’ve married Jack Giesy,” Sam said. “Didn’t know any courting had gone on. Guess I don’t get as much news from you Germans as I thought.”
I cleared my throat. “I told him about my drawings,” I told Sarah cheerfully. “He wasn’t pleased at first. But he adjusted.” I picked up Kate’s bag, held my daughter’s hand in the other.
Sam smiled. “No wonder he’s thinking of home.”
“For the boys,” I said. “That’s who I did it for. So my in-laws will stop wondering about their future. Not much courting involved with that.”
“A business arrangement, is it?” Sam said.
“Ja, I guess.”
Sarah squeezed me when I left, whispering in my ear, “You’ll have to give me details later.”
“Jack’ll be fine. A little volatile but that’s an artist’s prerogative, ja?”
I’m not sure what I expected from my in-laws. Were they still my in-laws? I hoped I’d see relief that in their minds at least, I was at last under someone’s control. Perhaps joy if they thought our union had been brought about by a romantic inclination. Maybe Barbara would plan a party for us after all. Maybe John would authorize the stockade for such an event.
Andreas tapped his cane as we approached. “You don’t even have to change your name, Frau Giesy. Very practical.” He smiled.
Jack wore a cocky grin. Henry teased him about leaving bachelorhood behind. Barbara offered us something to eat, and Louisa, Christian’s youngest sister, ran between her fingers the new bonnet ribbons Jack had let me buy. I did feel as though I’d been brought into a family circle of sorts.
After the pie, Jack said, “Get Christian. We should head home.” My son Christian held a wood carving of a horse that I suspected Martin had made for him. I hadn’t seen it before.
“Ja, ja,” Andreas chided. “You’ll want to be home a lot now that you have a bed already warmed up for you. Boshie will get you regular at the mill now too, and he won’t need to keep that bed there for you.” Andreas’s laugh turned into a cough. Louisa patted her father’s back and Martin said soft words to his mother. She nodded, looked away.
Andy had come into the room again. He’d welcomed us when we first arrived, then returned to help fill the wood box for his grandparents. He stood before me now, his hands on his hips, elbows out. “Jack says it’s time to go,” I told him. “We need to listen. Do you have your things?” He nodded. “Let’s go then.” He turned to get his bag.
“I said get Christian.” Jack reached out to prevent Andy from getting his bag. “No need to have Andy come with us now.”
“Ja, he wants time with his wife without big ears around,” Andreas joked. Everyone laughed.
I looked up at him. “You’re joking, ja?”
“School term is on. I’m sure Andy went to school today. I’ll pick him up at the end
of the week.” He kept his voice light but I felt a tension there that none of the others seemed to notice.
“But … that was the point,” I said. “Why—”
“Oh, their first argument,” Henry joked. “You picked yourself a hot coal when you fired up Emma Giesy.”
“I know how to manage fire,” Jack said. To me he said, “I told you to get Christian. Come along, now. Wife.” He patted my hand. “Kate’s waiting and so am I.”
“But you said—”
He put his hand behind his ear as though he needed a horn. “I can’t hear you.” I saw Andy flinch out of the corner of my eye. “You said we married so you’d have your boys and Andreas and Barbara here wouldn’t have a hold on your sons.”
“Jack!” I felt my face grow hot. “There’s no need to—”
“That’s why you married?” Barbara said. She set the pie plate back down at the table, clasped her hands in front of her. “Because you don’t want us to have time with your children?”
“Of course I want you to have time with them. I want Andy to go to school, of course, but he’s old enough to ride the mule each day during the term, and with Jack at home, he won’t have to help with so many chores when he gets back each night, and if the weather is bad, Jack can take him to school. Jack and I can do the work there; we won’t need to trouble the rest of you.”
“I’m the hired hand, am I?” Jack said.
“Jack—”
“The owner of the land but a hired hand.”
His voice had gone from snarl to a forced banter. I knew from the fire in his eyes that he fumed.
“I meant Andy’d have you to help influence him. In the evenings of the school term as well as weekends. There’ll be less need for everyone else, Boshie and others, to come to help us and they won’t have to worry about my son’s future influences.”
Martin shifted from side to side, glancing at the children. I wished he’d take them outside. Andy frowned and now Kate whined, “I’m hungry, Mama.” Into her whining, Christian threw the wooden horse. It landed at my feet.
Quick as a snake, Jack grabbed Christian’s hand. “You maybe could hurt someone.” Christian’s eyes were as big as a bear’s paw and his lower lip slipped out. Kate whimpered. “You, young lady,” he turned to Kate, hovered over her, “have no need to cry about what to eat. You eat well from the way I see it.” Kate backed away from him, sniffed, then buried her head in my skirt. I picked her up.
“Jack, please. She’s just a child.”
“Jack, please,” he mimicked.
Jack had provoked this for the audience, I suspected. He understood our agreement. I’d given him what he wanted. He needed to be reminded. He needed to treat us all with a little more respect, but I couldn’t say that to him here. It would only enflame the smoldering rage, and I knew one should never feed a fire one wanted to go out.
“By golly, what do we have here?” Karl said. He must have been out walking or working late at the school. He stepped inside, a blend of welcome then confusion on his face.
“A little family spat,” Jack said, his voice light again, joking.
“Let’s just go,” I said, my heart pounding. “I’ll bring Andy back in the morning. We all need to be together now. Come along, boys.” I didn’t want Andy wondering if he was to be left behind again. He’d already been through that. I turned Kate to me to wipe the tears from her face.
“Andy stays.” Jack’s words wore hardness of coal. “I’ll collect him at the end of the week. It’s been decided.” He whisked my youngest son up into his arms, not in a gentle way, not in the way Sam had held his son nor as Christian had once lifted Andy. Christian leaned away from him and fidgeted, pushing against Jack’s tight hold. “Stop it,” he said. “Listen to me. Just listen to me.” He shook him. My son looked like a terrified kitten held in the jaws of a dog. He stopped squirming. “Come, Wife.”
“Wife?” Karl said.
“Wife, my old bachelor friend,” Jack said. He slapped Karl on the shoulder as he passed.
“By golly.” Karl looked at me. I couldn’t describe the expression in his eyes.
“Auf Wiedersehen,” Jack said, all cheery again. He waved to everyone, then meandered out of the room, shifting Christian onto his shoulders. Through the open door, I watched as he plopped Christian on the mule’s back, then swung up behind him. “Are you coming, Wife?” He almost sang it.
“You’d better go, dear,” Barbara said. “No sense in having a major feud. Andy’ll be fine here. You’ll see him at the end of the week.” She actually sounded sympathetic but I couldn’t be sure. I could never be sure.
My hands felt wet. Taking Andy out with me would enflame Jack more and make Andy the target. But to leave him …
I kissed Andy good-bye, held his slender shoulders against me for a moment, then left without my son.
We rode back in silence. I slipped Kate a piece of sausage, which offered her comfort. She remained quiet, taking her cue from me as she sat before me on the other mule. At least I wasn’t riding sidesaddle. At least Jack had succumbed to that little practice he obviously didn’t approve of. That was a sign he could change. This was a temporary outburst, a quirk of his character. He’d calmed after the Olympia drawing fiasco, even became generous afterwards. He’d do so again.
I thought about his tactics. He used an audience to his advantage, getting other people to help affirm his belligerent wishes maybe even because he was belligerent. Like a school bully. He hadn’t threatened force, really. His abruptness with Christian concerned me; I didn’t like how he’d silenced Kate. But if I complained about it to Barbara, for example, she’d probably tell me he was just being an attentive father, getting accustomed to his new role. Still, he threatened in his quick movements, grabbing, moving close to a child’s face. It was a violation, though I couldn’t describe why. My in-laws would simply say children need to behave and I’d spoiled them. A child wasn’t supposed to throw things; that was true, but the fright surely did not fit the crime.
I wondered how Christian fared sitting in front of Jack. I couldn’t see him. I kicked the mule to ride beside them, to offer an encouraging smile to my son.
Jack pressed his knees to the mule. They moved ahead. The trail narrowed and I wouldn’t have been able to ride beside them for long anyway. Was it the trail or was he excluding me? We crossed the river without incident, rounded the bend.
I’d always found comfort in the sight of my home and breathed a sigh of relief that in my absence it had not gone up in flames. I’d never lost anything to a fire as many had, and yet I always feared it. My home had been my refuge since Christian’s death. A warm hearth welcomed, though I knew that if one wasn’t diligent about putting sparks out, they could cause destruction instead.
Jack was unpredictable. Self-centered. I’d known that. But I hadn’t counted on his perfidiousness, nor had I ever seen it directed at my children before. Being firm had always worked, even when we’d been alone. We were home now, on safe ground. I’d deal directly with him. Such men might pretend strength when underneath they felt weak. His offense at my little drawings back in Olympia supported that. Jealousy was an emotion rooted in insignificance. I needed to weed that out.
“I’ll fix us something to eat, Jack,” I said, riding up beside him as we came into the yard. The cows munched contentedly and the goat gave a perfunctory bleat, so I knew Boshie had been by and milked them. The chickens cackled from their tree branches, safe from predators for the night. “After the children are in bed we can talk.”
“Nothing to talk about, Emma,” he said.
“Well ja, there is. If this is going to work, we’ve got to talk things through. Andy’s schooling is one of those things.”
“Already decided,” he said. “You made the right choice in following my directives.”
“I wanted to avoid a scene,” I said. “I complied though I didn’t agree with you.”
He laughed. “As if I care about why you did it. Just so you d
o what I say.”
“Jack,” I cajoled. “We really can’t keep up a lifetime of your giving me orders without my having any say in them. I’ll resist every time, and it’ll fatigue you if nothing else. Make you old before your time.” I gently poked his arm in play.
He grabbed my chin, surprising me. He held me, fingers firm. “I’m not worried about aging quickly,” he said. “Though you might be.”
He released me, pushed me away. Christian patted the mule’s neck and when Jack told him to stop, the action was instantaneous. “Good boy,” he said. Then, “That’s the response I want from you, Emma, when I tell you something.”
“You can’t be serious,” I told him. At least he was speaking to me in a civil voice. “I’m not ever going to sing every note in the tune you call.”
He slipped off the mule, then lifted Christian to the ground. “You’ve got yourself a challenge, Emma Giesy, learning to sing the tunes I want you to play.”
I felt sick to my stomach, even a bit dizzy as he led the mule away. It was the long trip, highs and lows staining each other, the washing of emotions, hope scrubbed now with anxiety and bleached by the uncertainty I’d placed us all in.
He fed the animals while I took the children into the house and started the cooking fire. The room smelled sour from being closed up for a week or more. Even the cedar shelves I’d made needed fresh air around them to renew their fine scent. Spiders flitted across the floor and a new web had been produced in the corner of the only window sill. I opened that window, wiped the stickiness of the web onto my apron. I left the door open to the outside and felt the breeze pull through. My hands shook.
But the children’s delight in being home made me forget my discomforts for the moment. They ran around the cabin, bounced on the rope bed. Kate crawled underneath to find a wooden toy she’d been missing. Christian danced a little dance, his bare feet slapping on the floor.
By the time Jack came in, I had a stew going and added fresh vegetables from the garden. The carrots would take a bit to cook, but added to the onions and cabbage and potatoes, we’d soon have a hearty meal. I mixed up cornbread, aware that Jack pulled up a chair and sat at the table. I waited for him to speak, and when he didn’t I told him I thought it would be a few minutes before the carrots were tender and the cornbread browned well.