17
The Parrishes and Jennie attended the State Fair that fall of 1868. Jennie sat beside Elizabeth in her wheeled-chair while they ate at the restaurant operated by the colonists of Aurora, listened to the music of their Pie and Beer Band. Later that day, friends and family held a harvest gathering at the Parrish house to celebrate Josiah’s sheep earning top awards. Van scampered at Jennie’s feet as she brought a tray for Elizabeth, his red-and-white fur swirling in excitement. The little dog rarely barked. Elizabeth beamed in the activity of her children’s families. Even though she could see Elizabeth was tired, Jennie didn’t suggest she lie down. These were moments of sustenance that wouldn’t be possible for long. She envied the ease with which this extended family expressed caring for each other.
Christmas came and once again Elizabeth’s family swarmed in to tend her, bring her music boxes and new bed jackets, a meat bone for the dog. Grandchildren gave gifts of drawings that made Jennie hope Douglas would present her with something like that too. He did not. Too busy being a growing boy. The Parrish clan remembered her with linen handkerchiefs and gifts for Douglas and gentle words about her care for their mother.
Norman’s wife, Henrietta, was especially kind, saying that each time they came, she thought Elizabeth looked better. “We understand you stopped that dreadful bloodletting.”
“Not me. Mr. Parrish spoke to Dr. Wells about it.”
“He said it was at your impetus. Thank you. I, myself, do not do well with sick people. I so admire those who do.” She had a missing tooth near the front. “Meeting the needs of another is a gift not everyone has.” Jennie blushed but inhaled her words.
On Epiphany, the twelfth day of Christmas, Jennie took the star from atop the Christmas tree, the crèche from the hearth, and wrapped them both for storage. The wreaths and mistletoe she hauled to the burn pile, the ending of the Advent and Christmas season always leaving her a little sad. That year especially so, as Minnie had married the day after Epiphany and left to make a life with her new husband in Portland. Change. All of life pushed out through that wrapping, no matter how hard one might try to keep the strings from letting loose whatever unknown remained inside.
Through that spring of ’69, Chen carried on with his cuisine without Minnie and without missing a clang of his triangle, a device he used to bring Josiah in from the barns for lunch. He clanged it now, and Jennie watched from Elizabeth’s bedroom as Josiah began the walk up from the fields, the fresh green of April sprinkled with daffodils and daisies, while white sheep like fluffy clouds dotted the emerald land.
“Father is enamored with his animals.”
Jennie startled at the voice. Then realized it was the Parrishes’ youngest son, Charles Winn. They always added his middle name when they spoke of him. Jennie was sure that pleased Elizabeth, as Winn was her maiden name.
Jennie had just moved Elizabeth’s wheeled chair to the solarium where she soaked in the sun. Van lounged on her lap, and the elderly woman stroked him absently while she spoke with her daughter-in-law, Charles Winn’s wife. Jennie pulled bedding, planned to bring in fresh water to the bedside for when Elizabeth tired and she’d be wheeled back inside. Jennie could never be in the room without taking a moment to gaze at the garden and must have been deep in thought, as she hadn’t heard Charles Winn come into the room. He stood close. Jennie stepped away to put more distance between them.
“Enamored is a good word,” Jennie said.
Charles Winn had his father’s good looks, long face with a wide smile, eyes that took you in and held you, thick well-trimmed hair. She imagined Josiah must have looked like his son when he was younger. She turned back to the view. Josiah walked with Norman and Samuel and a grandchild or two among the sheep, the black-and-white guard dogs lying to the sides, watching as Chen rang the bell again.
“What will you do for employment after my mother dies?”
“What?” His directness startled. His father was always truthful but never blunt. “My efforts are here in this moment, caring for your mother with the absolute hope and prayer that she’ll improve.”
“She has, actually, under your ministrations. But we all know—and she does as well—that these are her last months. Even Dr. Wells agrees.”
“I—I’m sorry, I don’t think of my time with your mother in that way.”
“Perhaps my father will keep you on now that Minnie’s up and married, though Chen should be able to care for him well enough.”
“Your father hardly needs tending, especially as long as he has his sheep to monitor. Have you seen the breeding records he keeps? He’s a man of science, your father.” She stepped away as Charles Winn had moved closer to her, their shoulders almost touching. “Could you pull that end of the sheet there? Thank you.” Jennie rolled the linen, held it at her breast. “Or perhaps you and Mrs. Parrish will come live with him.”
Charles Winn grunted at that. “We’ll soon be heading to Canyon City. Mining towns need attorneys, so I’ll be there.” He took a pipe from his vest pocket. “I wonder at any claims you might make upon my mother’s death.”
“Claims?” Jennie frowned. “Your parents have been a godsend to me. I only hope to return their kindness in some small form. But claims against your mother’s estate? No.” Did the family think she was a treasure hunter? She wondered if the attorney in the family knew of the huge debt she owed to his parents. Maybe that was why he’d broached the subject. “I’m here only as long as needed and I will repay all my debts.”
“Good. I wondered.” With that, he left the room.
With Elizabeth’s family visiting, the decision was made to send Jennie home for an entire two weeks.
“Here our Ladies Commission labors to . . . reduce long working hours for women,” Elizabeth said. “We insist their employers give . . . them ample rest time.” Breathing had grown more difficult for her. “Then we keep you . . . here night and day. You go. Henrietta and Annie . . . will do just fine looking after me, won’t you?” Jennie was tempted to finish her sentences to save her breath but did not, speech being a sign of commitment to living.
“Yes, Mother Parrish.” Henrietta took her hand and squeezed it. “I, myself, will relish the time with you.”
Annie Parrish smiled. “We can speak of babies,” she said, her due date approaching and her condition no longer concealed, now that hoops were going out of style and more slenderizing lines marked high fashion.
Before going home, Jennie stopped to see Ariyah, who knew all her secrets now: divorce, debt, destitution, and new determination to make a new life for Douglas and herself.
Her friend’s face glowed as she hugged Jennie and said the strawberry tea had worked this time.
“You’ve conceived!” Jennie squealed her delight.
“Just,” Ariyah said. “April 1870. Our baby will be born in the new decade.”
“I’ll start knitting booties this afternoon.”
Charles Winn’s question of what she’d do had stirred future thoughts in her as she rode the stage toward French Prairie. Her father had written that they considered moving to Salem to be nearer to the legislature and other legal work that claimed him there. But he would hate to leave his beloved farm.
Maybe I can keep the farm for them, Douglas and I together. She’d never worked the land, only her garden. Still, the thought comforted. It felt good to have a possible next step.
Annie Parrish’s baby was due in August. They planned to stay at the Parrish house until delivery, as Canyon City was still a miner’s boomtown with few midwives or doctors not competing with liquor. She’d asked Jennie to serve as midwife. Jennie considered midwifery as an occupation. The women were well-regarded, more than some physicians. She’d need to live in a city though, in order to support herself and Douglas. This time with the Parrishes had lent respectability to her status, but the reality was that Jennie was “damaged goods”—a “grass widow,” as divorced women were called—so getting employment even as a midwife might be difficult. And hopes for a second marriage weren’t wise. Other women sometimes acted as though she meant to steal their husbands when she nodded to them at church; and single men wanted their own children, not saddled with someone else’s child. The truth was, she didn’t relish the thought of raising someone else’s children either. Unlike caring for ill people, her mothering had never garnered compliments.
For now, as the stagecoach dropped her and her bag at the stop, she would think only of her son and of respite.
“Mama! Mama!” Douglas jumped down from the porch railing. She felt his solid body slam into her, nearly causing her to lose her balance. He’d seen her coming up the lane. There’d been an earlier rainfall, not amounting to much, but just enough to muddy up her shoes and make her watch her footsteps.
“Whoa, goodness, how you’ve grown.” At nearly six years of age, he had shot up, his head nearly to her shoulder. She held him at arm’s length, then reached to hold him. He wiggled free.
“Papa came to visit. He brought me a telescope of my very own. I’ll show you. Come, hurry, before he leaves.”
When it comes to family, nothing is ever really settled. There are pauses of forgiveness and healing, then falling back to that former place a family once thought they’d moved beyond.
After Charles deserted them, she had planned what she would say if she ever saw her husband again—like a lawyer, she’d ask pointed questions of how she might have been different to head off what happened. She’d ask after his health, where he’d been, what had he been doing? Or maybe she’d shout about his having left them in debt, taken everything from them, forced his son to sleep on the floor until she could sell the pearls. Or maybe, after shouts and tears, she’d tell him how great sadness fell upon her as she considered how he’d divorced her without ever giving her a chance, that wound nearly as deep as when Baby Ariyah died, the betrayal a bloodstain that never faded.
Here was reality, staring her in the face, and she was speechless.
“Jennie.” Charles’s eyes were black holes, the bachelor-button blue long sunk into darkness. A ragged beard scruffed his cheeks, his chin, covering up that cleft. His hand shook when he reached out to take hers, steadying himself with both hands holding tight. “I should not have come. But I am in desperate need.”
Her parents stood to the side, both with stiff shoulders.
She felt her stomach lurch. Did he think she had funds to give him, to help feed a habit that still drove him?
“Let’s talk outside.” He began to pull on her while Douglas returned, having scampered to his bed and back, holding the brass and glass. He shoved it between them.
“See, Mama? It’s as nice as yours, the one you lost.”
She’d told her son that lie, that she had lost it, when in fact Charles had taken it with him. She saw it was the same one that Douglas now held, that little ding in the brass having been put there when she’d accidentally banged it against a rail. The calla lily painting now chipped.
“Yes, it is.”
Douglas’s pushing forced Charles to release her hand. “Your mother and I need to speak.” Charles barked the words and Douglas cringed.
“Show me.” Jennie’s father intervened. “Let’s look at the potato field, see if there are any deer marauding out there.”
“No!” Douglas jerked from her father’s gentle hand.
“Go with your grandpa,” Charles told him. “Give me that thing before you drop it.” He grabbed the telescope and Douglas stumbled back.
“Stop it, Charles, please. You gave it to him. Don’t take it back.”
He ignored Jennie, grabbed her elbow, and dragged her out onto the porch, the telescope gripped in his other hand. Douglas screamed behind them. She could hear her parents offering comforting words, moving him out of sight.
“What are you doing here?”
“I need money. Buy this and I’ll be out of your hair. You’ll be done with me. I won’t darken your door again. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
His clothes hung on him. Cheekbones like jagged rocks jutted out, making the hollows under his eyes more pronounced.
“You’re ill. You should see a doctor.”
“You say. You’re working. You’ve got money, I know you do.” He shook the telescope at her. “What coins you have in exchange for me getting out of your life. For good.”
“I—I don’t have coins. What little I have goes to pay off our debt to the Parrish family and to provide for Douglas. My parents aren’t rich. None of us are rich, Charles. You’ll have to find another buyer for your telescope.” Her heart pounded as she saw his eyes narrow, his arm rise with the telescope glinting in the afternoon sun. He’s going to hit me.
In that moment she knew that she would do whatever it took to stay alive, to be there for her son. As he attempted to lower the brass onto her shoulder, she kicked him in the shin, then pushed his head down when he groaned to grab his leg. He dropped the telescope and Jennie picked it up, holding it to her breast. She could hardly speak. “You. Will. Leave. Now. Don’t ever come back. Get help, Charles. But do not come here. Ever. Again.”
Charles backed up, a sly grin his way of saving face.
“Papa!” Douglas sprang from inside the house. “Mama hurt you.”
“Go.” Jennie’s voice shook. “Let me deal with the aftermath, once again, of you.”
“I’ll drive you,” her father said as Douglas broke free and grabbed his father’s knees.
Please let him spurn Douglas, please.
“Douglas, your mama and grandpa don’t see how much I love you, boy. They don’t want me stayin’ around. Got to go now. You be good. Enjoy that telescope I gave you.”
The child sobbed, clinging to his father. Jennie pulled him away, kicking, screaming, while her father rushed Charles to the barn and the buggy. How long would it take them to harness the horse? Please let Charles stay in the barn until they can leave.
That prayer was answered.
She held her son against the wails of disappointment. When they saw the buggy depart, she let him go. He ran after the cloud of dust shielding his father. She knew her son wouldn’t return to her for comfort. And he didn’t.