“Let’s begin then,” I said.
Keil held up his hand. “We will bless the food,” he said.
It was a custom I’d ignored after Christian’s death. I thought of such blessings then as wasted words, since the food had not blessed us with life or good health or a future without grief. My husband was dead. My son had almost died with illness, me as well. What good did blessing the food bring us? But Keil’s prayer included my name and Jack’s and my children and everyone else who stood in that room, one by one. He asked that each of us would be remembered and blessed by God and he finished by saying, “especially the hands that have prepared this meal.”
My shoulders rose.
We ate our fill, all of us, me sitting next to Margaret on the bed. The men finished off what was left of the stew.
“I didn’t remember you as such a cook,” Helena said. She picked up the tin plates.
“She lived with her mother always back in Bethel,” Louisa reminded her. “And we didn’t have much to eat during the winter we were here. How many ways are there to prepare those salmon? Remember, Emma?” Louisa laughed.
She laughs! One of the worst times of my life brought about by her husband’s demands that we club fish rather than use ammunition to shoot game, and she laughs.
“She didn’t have the chance to show her talents until now,” Louisa continued. Little bits of biscuit fell from her mouth as she talked. She put her fingers to her mouth in embarrassment. “Ja, this is so gut. Our Lord has given you a gift, Emma.” Her pleasure in the eating was a compliment I decided to accept by staying silent.
I hadn’t thought of my cooking as having any kind of talent behind it. It was what must be done to keep my family living. But Louisa was right: I had developed my own style, mixing cabbage with dried berries; thickening stews into sauces as tasty as Strudels. Even more, cooking kept me where the activity was, but I didn’t have to talk with people if I didn’t want to. I was with them yet still apart, and no one would be critical that I acted haughty because I wasn’t gossiping or telling stories. I had good reason to be silent: I was cooking. I was serving. Louisa’s words put a festive hat on an otherwise ordinary outfit.
After the meal, as people rolled out their blankets and covered the floor with them, Keil offered up words I’d never heard him say before, about the power of sleep to bring us peace, to help us be better servants in the morning. I wished he’d been so comforting during the harsh winter when I was pregnant with Kate. I wished he’d encouraged the scouts through those months. The old feelings of resentment returned with the memory of how we’d suffered. The men lifted the chairs and turned the seats onto the table to give more room on the floor.
“Ecclesiastes reminds us that ‘the sleep of a laboring man is sweet,’ ” Keil said. The men all murmured in agreement.
“A laboring woman, too,” Louisa said, then she gave a little gasp with her fingers to her lips. I looked at her. She’d spoken out loud my very thoughts. I looked at Keil but he said nothing. It was as though he hadn’t heard. Helena acted deaf as well. Only Louisa and I shared a glance.
“Children, you sleep in the loft,” Jack said then. He didn’t need to give such an order. It was where they always slept. “We’ll give you our bed,” Jack said, as Louisa rolled out Herr Keil’s blanket and mat. It was the common thing to do when guests came, for the hosts to give their finest, the Diamond Rule, making someone else’s life better than our own. It surprised me that Jack would offer it before I could. I nodded agreement even though I would have welcomed the softness of the bed.
“Nein. Louisa and I will sleep on the floor. This is not a problem,” Keil said.
I caught the look in Louisa’s eye. She was tired and that hip of hers must hurt her as she leaned to the side.
“Perhaps the men would consider sleeping on the floor and Louisa and I could share the bed,” I said.
Jack scoffed.
“Ja,” Keil said. “That is a gut idea, a better one.”
He’s so congenial. He must want something. But what?
“Nein,” Louisa said. “It is not good that my husband should sleep on the hard floor while I lie in a soft bed. No. The men need to be well rested. Emma and I will adjust on the floor along with Helena and Margaret, and you two men can sleep well on the bed as men should.” The other men had chosen the half barn outside.
Keil didn’t protest. It served his purpose.
I wished that if Louisa was going to defy him it wouldn’t have resulted in my sleeping on the floor. I thanked Louisa for the blanket roll she handed me that was hers; she would use her husband’s. I turned to see Jack staring at me. He had a sly grin on his face. He must have known that wherever I slept, I would welcome a good night’s rest lying beside someone other than him. I smiled back at him. My sleep that night was sweet.
In the morning, I prepared a large breakfast of eggs with slices of ham and a cinnamon loaf I’d made two days before. The cabin smelled like a good home should, and as they washed their faces in the cold water, nearly everyone commented about the pleasant aromas and later, how good things tasted. I took time to fry the bread and put some of my jams onto tiny tins that dotted the table. All of it was gone when the meal was finished.
“If only it would stop raining,” Margaret complained as she tied her bonnet. She sighed. “I’m full as a tick and wish I could just stay right here.”
“The mules are surefooted,” her husband reminded her. “You’ll be fine.”
“It surprises me,” I said, “that you would all come in this rainiest of months. It was never a time that you liked, if I remember, Herr Keil.”
“Brother Keil. You must call me Brother Keil,” he said. He patted my shoulder. “We are of one family, ja?” He put on his hat. “That was a difficult time for us all. Willie, our Willie … well, we grieved.” He shrugged. “But it is good to come now to honor him again as we did with Christian’s burial, to stand beside his grave as we will stand beside Andreas’s and Christian’s. We’ll do this together, all of us.”
“Emma, are the children ready?” It was Jack speaking.
I took a deep breath. “I won’t be going with you all today,” I said. I didn’t look at Jack. I could use an audience too. “There’s no reason to take the children into the weather, and my stomach is still upset. I’ll have a good meal ready for when you return. It will save Barbara and her daughter from having to prepare something there for afterward.”
“We’ll spend the evening with Barbara’s or John’s family,” Keil said.
“Ja, that’s good,” Louisa agreed. “Emma was sick twice in the night. All that good stew, kaputt. Such a shame. You should stay home.” She rubbed her hip absently.
“It would be a greater shame for you to miss this service of your former father-in-law,” Helena said.
“My uncle,” Jack said. “They will set a carving today to mark his grave. You will come and bring the children too.”
“Jack, I—”
“No, Jack.” Keil stopped him. “Tomorrow or the next day we’ll return and your meal will give us a good start back home, Sister Giesy. Thank you. Helena will represent you at the funeral,” Keil said. His voice held all the authority that I remembered. “Your wife has served us all well here and will do so again,” he said to Jack. “No need to come out into the rain with the children. Jack, you can show us the way.”
“You know the way,” he said. Keil frowned and Jack seemed to reconsider. “Ja, well, you maybe could have forgotten.”
“Gut. We go then.” Keil clapped his hands together. The party packed up what they needed. I stayed out of Jack’s way. I knew I’d have a large meal to prepare eventually, but I’d also have a day or maybe two alone with my children. And I had been sick in the night. None of that was anything but truth. A bold truth perhaps, knowing that Jack wouldn’t like my using it to get my way.
I watched them saddle the mules and noticed none of the women rode sidesaddle. Pragmatics won out here in this western
landscape. The rain was steady but not as hard as it had been the day before. Still, they all ducked their heads into their necks to keep the water from dripping down their backs. I waved good-bye until they rounded the bend. They’d stop at Mary and Boshie’s before heading on. The gathering would grow as they traveled north. It would grow without me.
I drank a cup of tea to help settle my stomach, then changed clothes, putting on Christian’s old pants and a shirt that worked well to milk the cows in. I didn’t wear those clothes unless I was alone with just the children. “You stay in here and stay dry,” I told them. “Andy, keep an eye on your little brother.”
“Yes, Mama,” he shouted down from the loft.
I wrapped a scarf around my head, found my gloves, donned my wooden shoes. I’d get eggs and make the egg noodles for this evening, let them dry over the little pegs I’d drilled below the redwood shelves. They’d be ready by tomorrow even with the moist atmosphere. Maybe I’d make some special dessert. I felt almost happy and hummed a little tune.
I opened the door. There stood Jack.
26
Emma
Marrow and Fatness
Jack pushed me back into the house. “Don’t you ever defy me in front of others,” he said. “Not ever.” He had his hand at my throat. He squeezed hard. “I will decide what you’ll do, not you. Do you understand that, Wife? No more of this whining about being sick.” He smelled of whiskey and wool. His face glared into mine, the whites of his eyes like a raging buffalo’s. His nose flared. Spittle soured at the corner of his lips. My throat throbbed. “I will decide what goes on under my roof, not you.”
“Mama?” It was Kate. “I’m come down the ladder.”
I croaked, “No, stay there!”
He released me, throwing me back into the table. The edge gouged my thigh. “You enjoy this day, your last day of getting your way. I’ll be back tonight.”
“But they aren’t returning until—”
“I couldn’t leave my poor, pregnant, sick wife home all alone, now could I? It’ll be just us again. You. Me. And your children. I’ll try not to do anything to upset your children.” He scanned the room and I thought he searched for them, but instead he stomped to the shelf that held the oyster painting of the church I’d come to love. His wedding gift. He grabbed it. “I told them I’d forgotten something and had to turn back. It’ll make a nice little addition to the marker on Andreas’s grave.”
I lay awake and startled at every sound; every creak in the roof or the floor made me twitch. In between I thought of Helena. Would she urge her relatives to go to Aurora? Would they all go and leave Jack and me here? I felt sick again. Got up. Lost my supper. How odd that after all this time Keil’s prophetic charge that I’d suffer in childbirth should come to pass. An old psalm wove its way into my sleepless state: “When I remember thee upon my bed, and meditate on thee in the night watches. Because thou has been my help, therefore in the shadow of thy wings will I rejoice.” The sentences didn’t seem right, so I rose and lit Christian’s lantern and read an earlier verse. “My soul shall be satisfied as with marrow and fatness; and my mouth shall praise thee with joyful lips.”
That was what was missing of course: I’d stopped praising, stopped praying, and so I was hungry all the time, never satisfied. Now in my night watch I didn’t feel like meditating. I only knew the shadow and not the sun.
Jack didn’t come back that night.
The next day, Andy stayed close to me, getting me a damp cloth for my face, brewing me savory tea to help my indigestion. It was an herb I added to beans to prevent stomach winds. “Where did you learn that?” I said.
“Martin showed me. He gave it to Opa when his stomach failed him.”
“At least there’s something to relieve the constant complaining of my bowels,” I said.
“Opa got sick, like you.”
“Not like me,” I said and smiled. “But we all get ill sometimes.”
“Opa died.”
“My sickness will pass,” I assured him. I hugged him with one arm. “I’ll be fine. Remember when you were sick? You got better, ja? Why don’t you go work on your lettering or whittle with your knife. Do something restful. Before Jack comes back. He’ll have duties for you, I’m sure.”
He stiffened at the mention of Jack, then nodded his head.
“Jack’s never … hurt you, has he?” He shook his head but looked away. “That’s good. We’ll just try to do what he asks and make him happy, all right?” He didn’t agree but continued to sit with me.
Jack and Keil’s party would be back anytime. I needed to rest just a moment longer and then would finish preparing the supper meal that I decided would be meatballs. I had day-old biscuits I could soak with the dried venison, which needed plumping, and enough bacon to add flavor to the sauce. It would feed all of us and wouldn’t lose flavor if they didn’t arrive until late. I should have planned a dessert, something sweet, but we had no liquor to finish off a great cake and besides, fresh berries were always better. Maybe a thin pancake with maple-sugar chunks would suffice. I just didn’t feel well enough to care.
“You should go play now. Do something else besides take care of your old mother.”
“I like making you feel better.”
“Ja, ja. Every mother should have such a son as you,” I said. I might have had a headstrong child or one demanding or perhaps one injured like my sister Lou, one who had some sort of accident that changed her. I felt a wash of gratitude that I’d been given this kind of child who was healthy and caring and alive.
“I’ll read from the almanac,” he said and climbed the loft. The other two entertained themselves with Kate acting as a teacher and Christian her patient student. I knew it wouldn’t last for long, but for the moment their brother was free of their care.
I worried about Andy. He was seven but he acted much older. I’d done that to him, I knew, depending on him so much. He easily assumed responsibility for his younger brother and sister, and I had to watch that I didn’t just expect him to perform tasks that were really mine to do or might have been his father’s, had he lived. Before Jack, Andy milked the cows. He still did when Jack failed to come home until late. He made sure the wood box never stood empty. He even heated the water for the laundry. He was a kind soul who showed no interest in hunting or being present when the hogs were rendered or when we had to kill the chicken for dinner. He’d reacted with my mentioning Jack and I wondered if Jack teased him about his not wanting to hunt. Perhaps Jack hadn’t physically hurt him, but physical wounds weren’t the only kind.
Jack. When he came back, it would be with Keil’s crowd, a different kind of audience. Perhaps he’d be congenial, polite, compliant.
I rolled myself off of the bed, donned my day-apron, tying it loosely around my thickening waist. It wasn’t even four months. How large would I be when it was time for this child to be delivered? I began the meatballs, got bacon from the smokehouse with Jack ever on my mind. Jack certainly danced to Keil’s tune when the man spoke and Jack didn’t ask him to repeat any notes. “Ach, Emma,” I said out loud. “You’ve managed to make your life miserable with two authoritarian men plaguing your days. Such a waste.”
Keil’s authority managed Jack, at least. Once Keil was gone, would Jack be his old self? I considered that Keil’s influence was not so strong over people who had been his followers for years. Karl Ruge was here in Willapa. So were the Giesys. Yet the Bethel group delayed. I wondered why.
I could ask Keil to talk to Jack about being less … unpredictable. Jack might listen to Keil. But asking Keil for anything would invite a lecture about how I could be comfortable living in Aurora Mills. He might tell me I wouldn’t now be struggling with my morning sickness (and evening sickness, too, it seemed) if I lived a more faithful life, was faithful to his colony. Worse, Keil wouldn’t believe me that Jack could be like an angry cat, pouncing and hissing and scratching the people he claimed to care for, then purring as though nothing had happened.
>
I’d have to comply with Jack’s wishes and maybe find more reason to bring other people around for added safety. But I also had to be careful about not granting him an audience.
The second night, we waited again and still Jack did not come. Neither did the others. Jack and Helena probably commiserated about my refusal to attend the memorial gathering. I imagined him giving that oyster shell to Barbara and her even thinking he’d painted it himself. I shouldn’t have cared about that luxury item with no practical claim, but it was something lovely that gave me comfort. Now the memory of it would chafe.
When the party finally arrived the next afternoon, I had the meal prepared. The men took time tending to the animals, then came inside. The rain had let up and the sky looked like milk with cream spreading through it. The dogs they’d brought along growled over bones.
Jack came in last. He flopped a rabbit on the floor by the door. “And what did Andy do while I was gone?” he charged.
I frowned. “His usual chores. Why?”
“He didn’t check the traps,” he said. “If he had, you could have prepared this for us. It’s been a long time since we’ve had Hasenpfeffer.”
“I prepared a good meal for you,” I said. I kept my voice light. “We can fix the rabbit in the morning. It will give everyone a good start.” I began immediately to dress the animal.
Jack grabbed my arm to stop me. “Andy can do that. It was his chore he failed to attend to.”
“I don’t mind,” I said. “Please, the rest of you, sit, eat before it gets cold and loses its flavor over our discussions here.” I smiled and urged them to fill their bowls with the meatballs and find a place to sit.
“Ja, boys will be boys,” Keil said. “You missed plenty of your chores as a Junge, Jack. Quite inventive in getting out of them, as I remember.” He laughed then and failed to see that Jack did not laugh with him. “We will ask the blessing,” Keil said, his accent thick as he prepared to pray.