A Light in the Wilderness (9 page)

Inside, the chatter of the Hawkins children pleased Letitia. She
could see how the older ones helped the younger children. If she had more than one child, Letitia decided, she would raise them to be kind to each other and nip in the bud any signs of domineering spirits. She felt her child quicken in her womb and turned so as not to smile too broadly in her joy. She hadn’t told Nancy yet; wasn’t sure how people would take this union, especially with a child. It could be seen as something more and, for some, offensive.

The men returned from their wagon foray even more enthused. Davey pushed wood into the fireplace while Nancy stepped to the bed to nurse Nancy Jane, and in the lull Doc gathered his children to read the Christmas story from the Gospel of Luke, his offspring like dumplings cuddled together in a stew. He kept his eyes open while he read, unlike Davey. The Hawkinses gave her hope for what lay ahead for her and Davey. She knew spirit moments were rare and could be whisked away in a second. But for now she remembered Davey’s words about the sparrow and she savored like a good stew this feeding of the soul within the gathering of friends.

After they ate, Davey offered to go home and milk Charity. “Doc here says we should stay the night and add to the game-playing. We’ll sing some songs for the children maybe. I ’spect they’d like hearing your fine clear voice, Tish.”

“Been a time since I sang ‘Pop Goes the Weasel.’”

“Samuel, you go along and help Mr. Carson. By the time you boys are back those pies will be warmed at the hearth and be mighty tasty.” This from the doctor.

“Lookee, I can do it alone. Bring my Irish whistle back and teach you a jig.”

“I’d like to come, Mr. Carson. I got all my chores done. I can keep Rothwell company if nothin’ else.”

“Well, all right, son. We’ll make a fast return. Don’t you kids eat up those pies!” He shook his finger at them and they giggled. Letitia liked the way he’d called Samuel
son
and how he teased
with the girls. Before long he’d have one of his own to use those words with.

The doctor went out to milk and then feed the chickens and the hogs. He came in brushing a light drizzle from his wool coat. Letitia sat in the rocker cuddling Edward as he slept, a blanket across his small body, though he still held his wooden wagon. Across from her Nancy rocked her youngest as both women took a needed rest before the final pie serving and whipping up the cream. Water heated on the stove for washing dishes later. Ah the joy of rest.

Doc settled down in front of the fireplace when they heard a tap at the door.

“Wonder what Davey forgot.” Doc looked at his watch and frowned. “He couldn’t be back already.”

“I hope no one needs your doctoring tonight,” his wife said.

Doc Hawkins eased his tall, skinny body to the door. “Can I help you?” A youngish man in his early twenties stepped inside at Doc’s invitation, a fine rain drizzled on his hat that he now removed. His face was beardless and he had a hint of red in his full head of hair that curled tight from the outside mists. Letitia tensed her shoulders even before he spoke.

“I’m looking for David Carson.”

“Oh, you just missed him. He’s gone home to milk his cow and check on his stock, but he’ll be back before long. Warm yourself by the fire. What’s your business with Mr. Carson on this Holy Day, if I might ask?”

Letitia could tell by his gaze focused on the doctor that he didn’t see the women. He was that kind of man. “My business? Well, he’s my pa and I’ve come to take him home.”

Letitia’s stomach lurched. Edward, curled on her lap, shifted his weight with the unsettling and awoke.

“Didn’t know he had kin in these parts.” Doc motioned to the bench, for the man to sit, but he stood, continued to fill the room.

“I ’spect he doesn’t know I’m in these parts. Haven’t been before. David Carson,” he said holding out his hand to the doctor. “Folks back home in North Carolina call me Junior.”

Her mind swirled like leaves caught in a whirlpool, spinning, spinning, with nowhere to go. He carried on a conversation with the Hawkins pair but she heard little of it.
Davey has a son
?
Why had he not told her? Could this “Junior” be a fraud? No, the reddish hair, the shorter legs and long torso, those blue eyes, they all spoke of Davey Carson. She’d thought she was giving him a family. He already had one.

Maybe Junior was the reason Davey failed to put his words into writing. He didn’t want to leave everything to her and their children. He’d have to divide it, give portions to this son. Or all
of it to Junior.
And what about
Junior’s mother?
The room felt stifling now. The smells of roasted meat or berry pies made her queasy. She put Edward down on his mat. “I needs to step outside.”

“Are you all right?” Nancy’s voice held warmth.

“No. Yes, ma’am. I needs air. Excuse me, suh.” She had to walk past Junior, couldn’t look him in the eye.

“Watch it, girl.”

She brushed his shoulder as he’d failed to move when she’d excused herself to leave.

She heard the doctor’s “Here, here now. She’s our guest,” but she kept going, wouldn’t let someone’s defense remove the sting of betrayal.

Outside she headed for the privy, the cool air making her cough. Raindrops mingled with her tears. She had created a dream out of nothing. How could he take care of her if he also had another family to care for? Maybe he’d abandoned them. This son said he’d come to take him home. Davey never spoke of a wife, not a word. She should have expected it. She was too happy and see where it took her.

How I miss this?

She went from blaming Davey to blaming herself, her own stupidity. Her eyes were blinded by belief in love, in a man’s offer of security. His brother’s words came back, carrying a disappointment of some kind. She ought to have known better. The cut-out in the privy door that she stared through was of a goat’s head. She was a goat for thinking her life could be anything but loveless, hard, and alone.

“Letitia?” It was Nancy. “There you are. I checked the little house. You can’t stay in the barn. It’s shivering weather out here.” Nancy pulled the heavy door behind her, hung the candle lantern on a nail, casting shadows over Letitia. She bent to where Letitia sat curled in the empty stall. Mules nickered at the woman’s voice.

“I . . . I be all right.”

“Goodness. You’ve been gone so long.”

“Maybe ate too much.”

A pause and then, “You didn’t know. About the son.”

She felt the tears come then. Nancy nestled beside her. “It’s a dastardly thing, it is. But men . . . they can be dense as oxen. What is so essential to our very being they look upon as pure surprise. ‘That bothered you?’ or ‘You wanted me to say what?’ I swear we may as well be chickens to them sometimes clucking around, pecking at making their lives better while they act like we don’t even exist. Yet they love us, dear and tender.”

“Not all.”

“Oh, yes. I’ve seen the way Mr. Carson looks at you. He adores you, Letitia. This . . . this hurt, it will pass. Has to. For your child’s sake.”

She knows.

“I . . . needs more time. Here.”

“Don’t get too chilled. I’ll get a quilt. Take my shawl.”

Nancy wrapped the knitting around her shoulders like a blessing, spreading it over Letitia’s knees. “It will be all right.” She patted Letitia’s knees. “This hurt will pass.”

Letitia nodded, let herself be taken into the warm words of this good woman. “I needs . . .” She couldn’t say what she needed.

Nancy left, returned moments later with the quilt, tucked it around Letitia. She patted Letitia’s shoulder and left.

In the flickering light she saw the quilt pattern, a wedding ring quilt.
Ain’t that a funny
thing.
A wedding ring quilt worn on the night her wedding promises fell apart. The cold didn’t deaden the comforting smells of the mules and horses chewing at their troughs nor the sound of the barn door creaking open.

“Tish? Lookee here. You come inside now.”

She stiffened.

“You’ll catch your death. You got to worry over our wee one, so you come on now.”

She sat quiet as snow falling. She heard his feet shuffle and then he squatted next to her.

“I brought your coat.”

“Got a quilt. A
wedding ring
quilt. Not that it matter to you.” She wanted to hurt him the way Davey Junior had cut into her. Girl. He’d called her girl. And he’d come to take his father home.

She couldn’t stay there all night, she knew that. But she didn’t want to go home with Davey Carson, either. “You best head back, be with your
son.
He here to take you home, he say. Where home be, Mr. Carson? Not the property down this road.”

“My home is with you, Tish. It is.”

“Maybe Doc Hawkins let me spend the night right here. I come get my things in the morning.”

“What are you talking about? You can’t go away. We’re wed, fair and square. Besides, Junior won’t take up much room. He can use the larder or the barn. His showing up was as much a surprise to me as to you.”

She hissed, “You at least know he alive.”

“You need your coat.”

He tried to push it around behind her back but she resisted. Accepting anything from him would turn the tide of her anger and she wasn’t ready to let it go. She pushed back against the stall boards.

“Not for me, now. For our wee one.”

Her baby,
yes.
Her shoulders sank.

“I am sorry, Tish. Mrs. Carson. I ought to have told you. But his mother died years ago and he’s been on his own for ten years or more since I’ve seen him. I . . . went a little crazy when his mother passed. Came to Platte County, started over.” He hung his head. “Should have told you.”

“Yessuh. You should have.” She opened the coat to the furry inside and pulled it over her arms, wrapped it around her belly, soaking in the warmth. It didn’t stop her body from shaking. He pulled her to him then, his arms a cloak until she sagged, spent.
She’d choose tending over being right. “You . . . he goin’ to live with us now? Does he know that we . . . married? Have a baby comin’?”

“He knows you’re with me. Nothing else.”

“He think I your . . . property.” She spit the words. “He call me ‘girl.’”

“No, now, he don’t think that far about it. He came looking for his pa and found me. I don’t know what his plans are. In the morning we’ll figure something out. But now you need to come in and get warmed up.”

She did need to do that, for the baby’s sake. But she didn’t want to sleep at the Hawkinses’ home now; didn’t want to share a bed with Davey Carson nor have his son see them sharing like husband and wife, either. She didn’t look forward to bearing the stares that men like David Junior gave women like her. And now those judgments would be right beside her hearth.

“Letitia?” It was Nancy who opened the door. “Oh, good. You’ve got her to come in. Why don’t you folks have some pie and then we’ll play a few games and get everyone settled for bed. We’ve floor room and plenty of feather ticks and lots of quilts. You can make your way home in the morning.”

Davey said, “Mighty kind of you. Don’t you think, Letitia? ’Spect we’ll fall asleep like logs listening to the rustling of those children.”

“We stay and thank you.”

There was safety in numbers and lying nearby another woman who understood things without saying. So much better than hearing Davey Carson play his whistle and acting like life was a jig.

“You’d already left before your ma died, so don’t you now decide I abandoned you!” Davey and his son had embarked on their feud as soon as the Carson family left the safety of the Hawkinses’ home. Letitia had gone out to the little house and upon returning heard the continuation of the words they started shouting at each other even before breakfast.

“You sure didn’t come looking for me.”

“How was I supposed to find you, Junior? You ran off when you was twelve and now you’re what?” He paused. “A young man.”

“You don’t even know when I was born.”

“I do so. March 1, 1825.”

Letitia was surprised that Davey knew the birthday of his son. Why had the boy run off so young? No, she mustn’t let herself think of him as a “boy.” He was a man now, a man who interrupted their lives. But then her child had been younger than twelve when he was sold. Would he have come one day to find her if he hadn’t died? Should she have tried to find him all those years before? The thought softened her toward the man, the boy.

The blaming continued, each holding up evidence enough to wear down a judge.

“They may be blame enough to go around.”

“What’s that you sayin’, girl?”

“She’s not a girl, son. She’s my wife.”

The words washed over Letitia like balm on a sore.

“Not like Mama was. She’s a colored woman. She can’t be saying vows and all.”

“Well, she did. We did. And you got to accept that if you’re to be in my house. Our house.”

Junior glared at her. “What do I call her?”

“Mrs. Carson will do,” Davey said.

“Can’t.” He looked away.

“Call me Letitia. I call you Mistah Carson. Or Junior.”

“Don’t no colored woman tell me what to say.”

“Junior . . .”

The younger man shook his head. “Mr. Carson, then.”

“Lookee there? We’re on the road to working things out. Now let the woman fix us our breakfast.”

Letitia turned away, felt Junior’s glare bore into her back. She skimmed the milk of cream.

“What did you mean by ‘blame enough to go around’?”

She turned to face him. A mist formed above her upper lip and Letitia risked being known. “You leave home for some reason, no stayin’ to solve the problem, whatever it be. Maybe your pa not find you ’cuz you good at hidin’. Then you hear your mama’s died and you come lookin’ but your pa’s gone in his grievin’. Guess you can find fault all around, maybe even win your lawsuit. But stayin’ there won’t get you anywhere you’d rather be.”

Junior grunted, grabbed a chair, and pulled it to the table. “You lecturing me, woman?”

“Speakin’ truths.”