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Photo copyright 1996 by Robert Clark Nielsen
Chapter Ten
Time Flows Softly By
The children hadn't acquired very many items of clothing on their little shopping spree.
They both stood looking at the floor as if it was there fault the bank had been robbed to begin with.
The school season had pretty much bought out most of the sizes which were most frequently purchased.
Jimmy did happen to like one of the shirts and Gemma didn't really favor any of the dresses or blouses, which were available there.
They each had Ann purchase one pair of blue jeans and Jimmy had her buy a red cotton shirt; although, by the looks of them, Jimmy's pair of jeans weren't going to be fitting him for another year, but the pair Gemma had seemed like they would shrink down to where they should look pretty good after just a few washes.
Joan and Ann had quite a bit to discuss while Harold was returning the horse that Ann had hired to visit the Evans', the night before. He needed also to make arrangements to rent two horses to enjoy a ride with his wife, that afternoon, and to arrange to have two horses brought to their hotel at a certain time, the next morning.
Joan had made a list of groceries for which Gemma was asked to shop at the market which had opened just a week earlier.
Most of the markets that had opened in Mancos since the Evans' had arrived hadn't had a very good selection and had only done well for a short time. Most of the earlier concerns had sold out on the first day and had to make the long trip to Durango for another load of goods. Usually, any food market that had stayed open for an entire week was good news.
The only reliable foodstuffs outlet had been McIntyre's Dry Goods, which usually had a nominal supply of flour, coffee, sugar, tea, and whiskey. Beer and tobacco was usually scarce by Monday, or Tuesday, unless specially ordered. All of these items had to be shipped by train, and had only been available on a regular basis since 1891 when the railroad had been completed. And, the economy hadn't really picked up all that much, since then.
Talk had gone full circle around the business community by the time Harold had gone to the livery. Joan and Ann where standing outside the little restaurant when he came riding up on a large buckskin gelding, as he held the reigns of a Palomino mare.
"Ladies, you won't believe the reception that I received when I brought in Ann's horse, from yesterday, and paid the fee for the rental," Harold exclaimed. "I thought that they would certainly refer to me as His Majesty, sometime before I left. Evidently, they had heard about Her Majesty, here" he waved his hand gracefully toward Ann, "having cashed a twenty dollar bill in the clothing store to buy two pair of jeans and a shirt. Also, I do very much like their livery rates." He winked at Joan. "I had only to pay two dollars for the entire course of rentals. I would have charged the equivalent of nearly four dollars, American, for the same. Although, I had only to pay for half days for these two, for this afternoon. And, I do suppose that their holiday rates are comparable. It still seems as though I have, at least, had a quarter dollar savings, relative to my prices. Will it be well enough with you, dearest, if I were to tip them an half dollar, tomorrow?"
Ann smiled at Joan and then to her husband. "Why, certainly, dear heart. They were very pleasant to me, yesterday. I think that it would be a fine gesture. Thank you, Harold."
Joan had to ask the children to wrap up their new clothes. She then handed Gemma her youngest, as the party made their way down the street and back to the hotel. Jimmy carried a small sack of sweet potatoes, Ann took another sack of foodstuffs, Joan had the four loaves of bread and the clothing, and Harold held on to a burlap bag with a live turkey, fussing and gobbling, inside.
Harold dismounted his horse and fastened its reigns to the Evans' buckboard and as he waited for the rest of the group to join him, he tied the bag, which held the turkey, to the seat.
As they arrived, he asked, "Joan, what time, tomorrow, will you be expecting Ann and me, for your Thanksgiving meal?"
"I should think that by two o'clock we should be able to have had enough time to have prepared quite a formidable feast, don't you, Gemma?"
Gemma folded her arms, defiantly, and said, "As long as I don't have to kill that poor turkey. I was fortunate enough to meet the kind, Reverend Sarney, on the way into that market, or we wouldn't have the noisy bird, now. You know, they not only wanted for me to pick out the bird, but catch him, too. And, after seeing the look on his face when the reverend put him into that bag, I think that I am going for a stroll until I can smell roast turkey in the breeze, east of the cabin."
Gemma's face had become more and more pale as she spoke, but Joan didn't seem to notice.
"Gemma, I will need your help dressing that tom. I shall cleaver the head, before you will have awaken, and then, you and I shall pluck him, clean off all of his . . ." Joan watched as her daughter descended down behind the back of the wagon.
Gemma didn't fall to the ground this time. She was near enough to the wagon that she was able to hold on to the back of it and sit herself down onto the ground.
Harold had noticed her looking weaker with each word that her mother had spoken and, by the time that she had seated herself on the ground, he was there beside her. He sat himself down and began to ask if her father's passing was still bothering her.
"No, Uncle Harold. I have, quite well, come to terms about daddy's having passed away. I know that it has only been six weeks, since. But, what is troubling me now is that poor turkey's passing away and the thought of his body, lying there, belly up, dead in a pan. I just don't think that I could take watching the blood pour out as we tore his feathers from his large body. He looked at me, Uncle Harold, and I sort of understood his fear. I do believe that I could eat turkey, again. I have eaten turkey, before, of course. Only, I don't want to have to see him being dissected, anatomized, gutted, and stuffed. That's all. I am feeling a bit ill, just speaking of it." She put her head on his shoulder and sighed, deeply.
Ann had been holding Joan as they listened to what had been said and asked her, "Will it be all right with you if we were to come by, quite early, to help with the food? I think that Harold might like to help Gemma with this. And Joan, we are here to help you and your family, not just to enjoy our time away from home. We are enjoying ourselves helping you".
Joan held her face in such a way as if to say that she would not want to impose on a second honeymoon, as it appeared to her that it could be for Ann and Harold, were they not such an imposition.
Ann understood her sister as well if Joan had spoken all that she had just thought. "It is our pleasure to be here for you, sister mine. And, I happen to know that Harold always has had a special place in his heart for you and your children. Your husband was considered to be the best friend whom Harold ever has had. So, let's don't be so concerned with any bother that you think you might be to us. That’s just a big load of malarkey."
Joan only shook her head to the affirmative and held her older sister more tightly.
Harold walked around to that side of the wagon and asked Ann if she thought that it might be all right, with Joan, for them to arrive at about six o'clock to help with the food, to which Ann replied that it had already been arranged. Then, Joan began to cry.
Joan was the one who was still bothered by Ben's passing. She and Ann had not ever had a brother and Joan was in need to be held by a man's strong arms, but she was still a bit afraid that Harold might misread her intentions, her wanting to be held by him.
Harold, without any idea of Joan's need, draped his arms around both women and gave them a good, strong, compassionate hug. "The young lady simply cannot bear to see her Thomas defrocked," he said, and kissed his wife on the cheek.
The three terminated their embrace and each had to chuckle just a bit.
Jimmy had joined his sister, whispering to her about how the bird hadn't made a sound since Gemma had so slowly sat onto the ground. "I think he wanted to hear what was said", Jimmy confided.
Gemma toughened her frame of mind for her little brother and said, "I think that we had best just keep it a bit closer to the chest. Aye, good thinking, Jimmy. Aye, aye." She gave him a playful salute, as if to honor his disclosure from which she had conceived her recommendation.
"Aye, aye, miss Gemma." Jimmy saluted his sister and scrambled out from under the wagon to report to the adults. "Mummy, auntie, uncle Harold, we are keeping it close to chest."
Harold, who thought that Jimmy's behavior was a good ticket to a release of pressure, responded with his hands fanned out in front of his mouth like a megaphone, "Now, hear this. All hands shall abide the order of the day, which shall be, 'Keep the main course close to the chest'. I repeat 'Keep it close to the chest'."
A fatigued, travel weary man, riding by on a horse, who was apparently invigorated by the thoughts of a Thanksgiving meal, pointed to the burlap sack struggling on the bed of the buckboard wagon, and asked, "Is that a turkey?"
The group efficaciously and in choral unison softly uttered a forceful, "Shhh," and, with a dynamic conviction, Joan said, "Order of the day. Close to the chest."
The man smiled, tucked his chin into his coat, touched the brim of his hat with his forefinger, and said, "Aye, aye, ma'am. Close to the chest."
As Ann and Joan tried not to laugh, Harold ran up to the man to offer to help furnish some sort of Thanksgiving meal (for his having gone along with their little jest).
But, the man turned out to be a member of the Webber community, who was on his way home to his wife and five children of his own. The man was only curious about the turkey for he’d sold the new market most of the turkeys which were there for sale. And, he would certainly be having a fine turkey dinner for Thanksgiving.
As this was all taking place, Jimmy went back behind the wagon and did his best to help Gemma to get up onto her feet.
The man thanked Harold for his thoughtfulness, turned in his saddle and said, "May the Good Lord bless you, and yours, on this Thanksgiving holiday". He broke into a trot and hurried through town on his way home.
It had begun to feel a little chilly in the town of Mancos. The breeze began to rise and the sun was lengthening its shadows as the Evans family reached for their gloves and hats.
Joan suddenly remembered that she had intended to stop by the Union Hall schoolhouse to find out when it was that the school administration had decided to resume its class sessions for the rest of the fair weather, that winter. She had heard a few of the women, a week before in the dry goods store, talking about the teacher having been asked to stay for another school year, by the mayor. But neither of the two, to whom she had spoken, could offer any definite answers.
Joan had decided to go to the school to find out for herself. She felt they had best leave Harold and her sister some time on their own.
A few brief goodbyes ensued and the Evans quickly drove the short distance through the town to the Union Hall schoolhouse.
Joan could see that there was someone in the building since a horse was tethered to the hitching post and Gemma had informed her mother that it was the janitor's old roan.
Joan got out of the buckboard and tried the door which turned out to be unlocked. She could see no one on the main floor, so she called up the stairs to the second floor. "Hello? Mr. Farner? Are you upstairs? Hello?"
She soon heard footsteps coming down the stairs.
A middle-aged man with slightly grayed, black hair, in overalls and a blue checked cotton shirt appeared on the bottom step. He looked somewhat taken by surprise at Joan's beauty, until she told him that she was Gemma's mother and that she had come to see Miss Jensen about when they would be resuming classes for school.
"Oh, I know your daughter," he said and smiled at Joan. "Pretty little thing, isn't she? Miss Jensen's gone home for the holiday. She and the new school superintendent from Cortez have decided to hold classes, next Wednesday. Miss Jensen didn't think it was such a good idea, but Mr. Caldwell, that's the new superintendent, he was pretty raring to go with his new job, or so it seemed to me, ma'am. They decided to contact the families by mail. I guess that you should be gettin' a letter from the school board, in the mail next Monday, with any luck."
Joan thanked him and mentioned that he certainly has done a fine job, “keeping the place looking so clean". To which he smiled and told her it was only due to the fact that the children had not been attending classes for the past six weeks.
"No tellin' if those letters will get those people in time to get their youngsters to school, by the middle of the week," he said.
"Well, I have a rather good head start on that then, haven't I?" Joan waved and thanked him, as she made her way out the door.
She climbed up into the buckboard and looked at Gemma, who had a slightly silly look to her face.
Gemma hesitated, only for a few moments, then asked, "So, they've decided to hold classes, next week, haven't they?"
"I simply can't imagine how you knew that they would do that." Her mother had a rather sly appearance to her face, which quickly changed to one of concern. "You don't think that they would have their children, here in this little place, as small as it may be, going without an education, do you?"
"No. But, I would have liked to have gone into Denver, some time soon, since we now have enough money to buy a few of the things that we have thought we would have to do without, I mean, before we get snowed in, again." Gemma had her hands clasped, raising her shoulders, and looking down at the side of the road as the wheels rolled on it.
She glanced up at her mother who was doing her best to make the ride as smooth as possible while driving into the setting sun.
Jenny and Jimmy were in the back, sleeping on a pile of blankets brought to weather the cold and Gemma noticed they weren't very well covered. And, Jenny was being jostled from side to side each time the wagon would sway.
Gemma carefully climbed into the back and slowly adjusted her sister in a more diagonal position, so that as the wagon rocked it wouldn't toss her about so much.
This Thanksgiving holiday was extremely special to Joan. She had never celebrated Thanksgiving holiday, per se, as a holiday in the American tradition; but, she now could quite well understand why the English colonists at Jamestown had found the bounty of their harvest and the friendship of those American natives, who had taught them many ways and means to facilitate and ameliorate their growing of crops and preparations of food, things for which they felt compelled to give thanks to a kind and generous Heavenly Provider. So many of their predecessors not fairing, so well as did they, at that time, more than two hundred and sixty years, before.
Her sister and her brother-in-law were safe and both in very good form. All of her children were in good health and thriving in their environment. She was in a good state of health and, for the most part, happy with herself and her direction.
When she had felt an acute feeling of isolation, it was merely an ignorance of pecuniary acquisition. Now, she has learned that she has had access to a vast fortune of wealth for the entire time they had been in the United States about which she had not known.
And, even more importantly, she had found that there were friends, there in Mancos and in Webber; friends who would help you to build your house, who would share their food, and would share your grief.
There, also, were friends who were her family. Family who were friends enough to sail across an ocean and take a train across a continent to hold you and tell you that you are loved, to remind you of your beginnings and that you are well thought of by those whom you love.
Joan had made a decision that morning, as she and her sister, Ann, prepared the food, to begin a tradition in which each member of the family, and any guests present, would take a turn telling of what he or she felt most thankful.
Gemma had walked with her uncle, Harold, down to Vallée Caché, the name that she and her aunt had decided best fit her little secluded glen. It means, “hidden vale.” She had described the place to Ann, they had discussed it, sorted out several options, and that was the name that Gemma felt best suited the lovely little vista.
Jimmy had been appointed the responsibility of 'taking care' of his younger sister. He sat on the foot of Gemma's bed, watching every twitch of Jenny's sleepy little face. Her crib had been set next to the next to the base of the bed and over by the fire in a way so that Jimmy would attract at least someone's attention should he try to go outside to play or get up to get into anything. But, he took his vigil quite seriously. He even tried to blink only one eye at a time, for a short while.
Gemma and her uncle returned from their walk and they sat, talking in the front room, waiting for the turkey to finish cooking. Also, they were giving Jimmy a break. He was outside, playing with a stick and hoop which Harold had bought for him.
Jimmy was mentally exhausted thinking that the duty of 'watching' his little sister required him to look at her every waking moment, observe, and report any mishap, straightaway. Which in a sense and to a degree was quite true, but, haplessly, he had taken Gemma's exited comment, "just keep an eye on her, Jimmy," just a mite too literally. Joan didn't mind his unimaginative view, in the least. It had kept him out from under their feet in the kitchen.
The women sat in the kitchen discussing how to best wash clothes with the foot-powered washing machine that Harold had found in Mancos, the night before, and had brought in the wagon he had rented from the livery stables. It looked like the old plunger agitator machine from about ten years earlier, with a clothes ringer on top, but it had a tub that was set into motion with two foot-pedals attached to rods that extended up into the outer shell of the body. He hadn't realized that the absence of ball bearings and the poor water seal would soon make it nearly useless, no matter how much grease was applied. Unfortunately, McInyre's didn't have the wood-burning stove he had hoped to acquire.
By and by the food was prepared and set onto the table.
The kitchen was a bit crowded and, even with their small table, the five chairs took all the room there was left to move about. Once one was seated, that is where one stayed, although, there was a good feeling to that.
Ann had the best idea to put all the food on the sink counter to provide the adults with the most room, to serve the food, and hand each item when required. With the end of the table pushed up against the east wall, there was room for one to navigate on the west of the kitchen. After Joan appraised the situation, she determined it to be the only method with which it could be done.
As they all were seated, Joan related to them her idea of a new tradition to be kept by the Evans' family, thereafter. They all agreed that it was a fine idea. And, Joan thought that it would only be proper, for the guests to initiate their declaration of gratitude, then the children, finally the head of the household would conclude, and offer the blessing of the food.
Joan completed laying the ground rules by suggesting that a simple precept of etiquette be observed. "I feel that we should follow customs of deportment which are common to our heredity, in order to keep harmony and avoid confusion. Therefore, in each of the categories, which I have mentioned, I believe that the rule should be 'ladies first', except in the case of the children, where, perhaps, the wisest course might be to allow the youngest to expel his nervous energy. Is that agreeable?"
After everyone consented, there was no question as to who would begin.
Ann was most thankful for her parents, for their Great Eternal Provider, and for her loving husband.
Harold was most thankful for the livery rental prices, for the care of the Good Lord, and of course, for his beautiful wife, Ann.
Jimmy had wanted his turn right after his Aunt Ann, but Joan had to remind him that uncle Harold was also their guest. He said that he wanted a palomino pony. And, when he was explained meaning of the new tradition, he said, "Then, I'm sure thankful that He didn't make it snow."
Everyone had a good laugh, including Jimmy, except for Jenny, who was busy making all the noise that she could with the rattler Ann had picked up for her in town on the night before.
Gemma said that she was "most grateful for my education which has brought me the ability understand some of the French that my aunt has begun to teach me".
Ann looked a bit shocked as she raised her eyebrows and said, "And, is that all for which we are thankful, miss Gemma, my lady?" She had put her comment in a very lofty form of speech to illustrate to Gemma her displeasure in her air of sophistication and evident lack of gratitude for the many blessings that had recently come her way.
Gemma turned a noticeable shade of crimson and softly said, "T’was merely a joke." Then she spoke up. "Seriously speaking, I meant to say, how grateful I am to have had such a wonderful mother and father who have raised me to know right from wrong, have kept me well fed, warmly and modestly clothed, have loved me, and made me to feel safe and secure my whole life, long". She contritely looked at her mother and said, "Thank you, mother, dearest".
To this all the adults there all breathed in at the same time.
After Joan exhaled quietly, she said, "Yes. Right. Of course, you are welcome, dear heart. And, I always shall love you and care for you, Gemma, darling, as do I love and care for all of my family.
"I myself am very thankful for my children, Gemma, my son, Jimmy, my youngest daughter, Jenny, my sister and dear friend, Ann, and, last, but not least, my dear brother, Harold. I am also, very grateful for those of our family who are not present, for my late parents, James and Camille Stewart, for Jonathan, the late Marilyn Evans, who brought into the world, their only son, my late husband, Benjamin Thomas Evans."
Joan said all of this in a very clear and controlled manner, but as she finished, her emotions took over and she began to weep.
Ann knew, immediately, what it was that she had to do. She bowed her head and thanked the Lord for His great bounty, the good earth and all her fruit, grain, flora and fauna. She thanked Him for all of His children, and especially, for those whom He had given to them, the Evans and the Longelys. She thanked Him for the food they had to eat and for their homes in which they so comfortably lived. And, she appropriately closed their Thanksgiving prayer.
Joan had collected herself and she looked at those with whom she was celebrating the holiday. She smiled and said to her sister, "That was a very lovely prayer, Ann. Thank you, so much. But, might you not have asked Him for a kitchen in which we might comfortably have eaten?" And in response to Ann's shocked expression, she said, "I was kidding, dear sister. Come now. I'm quite sure that the Good Lord has a very grand sense of humor. Doesn't He?"
"I do believe He does, that." Ann had to laugh at herself for being frightened of such a kind and generous Being. She had always felt that He does have a very keen liking for a good mood and always has requested that His servants be of good cheer. Ann was also pleased that her sister shared this opinion.
They all enjoyed themselves that day, eating turkey, and talking about old times and times ahead.
It was a beautiful day out of doors. And, as the adults lay down to rest, Gemma and Jimmy went out to revel in the winter sun.
Jimmy had taken a drumstick and started to dig a pit to try to catch a wolf, lost interest, and followed his sister down to her hidden vale.
A little while after they had finished eating, Joan began to complain of some nausea and another malady which she wouldn't discuss in front of Harold. She and her sister went into her room to talk about her ailments more privately.
Joan had her sister sit on the bed. "I think there may be some thing terribly wrong with me, Ann." Joan began to pace from the north side of her room to the south. "I haven't, you know, discharged at all, for over two months."
"Hold on, Joan." Ann caught her sister by the waist as she past her for the third time and sat her down onto the bed next, to her. "What are the chances of your being pregnant?" Ann looked wistfully into her younger sister's eyes.
"None. Remember what daddy said about the sheep? That they can't have another lamb, until they have completely weaned their offspring. And, of course, you do remember what he said when I asked if the same thing applied to people?"
"He told you to get him a willow and clear it of its leaves." Ann couldn't help but grin. Then, she gave her a sympathetic gaze. "I knew that you would catch it, but there was nothing that . . ."
"Well, he could not have piqued my curiosity more. After that was the first time I went to the library. It took me two weeks, but I found out that it is the female's defense mechanism against immediate conception. The male has been deprived, for at least a few months. And, for some women, it's the only reason that they don't, snap, go through the same thing all over again. I read a few case studies, where women, when they employed a wet nurse, and wouldn't control their husband . . ."
"Please, Joan. I'd rather you didn't tell me about the case studies." Ann appeared a bit flushed. "Then, It is the same, applying to humans, I mean. We can't, when we are still nursing, then."
"No, almost, certainly not. This used to be common knowledge. That is, until the reign of the current monarchy. With all due respect to our gracious, I mean, your gracious Queen Victoria. I have spoken to at least one medical doctor and two different mid-wives who claim that it's the only sure way, not to get pregnant."
Ann stood and quietly went to the door. She slowly and carefully opened it a peep, peered through, and closed it without a sound. Harold is asleep on Gemma’s bed," she whispered, returned, and sat on the floor. "Please, Joan. Sit yourself down here, with me, where I can feel sure that he can't hear us."
"Very well," Joan said, in a slightly exasperated tone, "but not for long, mind you. I'm not feeling too well, Really, I'm not."
"Then we should sit on the bed. But let's not let Harold hear any of this. It has been a very sensitive issue between the two of us for quite some time. Last night was the first time, for... Well did you happen to have relations with Ben, since the birth of your youngest?"
"Only thrice. We will normally wait, at least a week. But, with this child, I felt like it only two days after delivery.
"Actually, I felt like it the next day, but he told me that he could wait another five days if I could wait another week. That next morning, well he held me so gently, before we rose out of bed that I told him that I wasn't going to wait a week, and, well you know."
"No. I'm afraid that I don't know what it is that you mean."
Ann was a little jealous of Joan and Ben's love for one another, she always had been, ever since the day before the wedding, when Ann had caught them holding each other, in the kitchen, at their parents’ house.
They were just holding each other. But, it was such a passionate embrace, almost an urgent grasp, something Ann had felt that she couldn't understand. Until, this morning, in the early hours when Harold had exhibited a desire for Ann which she was quite unacquainted. "I am sorry, Joan. I suppose, that I do know what it is that you mean, somewhat."
"Oh, Ann. I can see the same feeling that I have had for Ben beginning to blossom in your relationship with Harold. Just try to have faith in him. It often takes some time." Joan could finally see that Ann had always been jealous of her for her relationship with her Ben. It made her to understand that there was so much more to life than the simple-minded pettiness which Joan had occasionally felt toward her older sister as a young girl back in Liverpool, as she grew into her teen years and beyond.
Ann absorbed the situation in an instant, assessed its relevance, and determined that the most critical problem was her sister's health and vitality. "Joan, how long has it been since you have noticed these particular symptoms?"
"Well, they started to really worry me around the time of the funeral, six weeks ago."
"You had experienced them, before that?!”
"Well, not so profoundly. And, only in the morning. But, I couldn't be. . ."
Ann had already gone into the front room to rouse her husband and get her coat. "Harold can watch the children?" She went quickly to the bedroom door and whispered to her sister. "Joan, you and I are going into Mancos to see a doctor."
Joan had been putting off that very thing for more than a month. In the first place, there had not been anyone to look after the children save for Gemma, who might have been seized by panic. But, the hysteria was all in Joan's mind. All that she had to do was tell Gemma that she was going into town. Gemma never asked her mother, why. Secondly, Joan didn't really have an awful lot of confidence in doctor Reese Bingham, nor did she appreciate his bedside manner, not because of his performance when he attended after Ben's death. He was fairly kind and compassionate towards Joan, then. Just, something about his personality rubbed her the wrong way.
Joan didn't say anything at all. She simply followed her elder sister's orders.
And, Ann was taking charge. She walked back into the bedroom, took her sister's coat from the wardrobe, handed it to Joan, walked into the front room again, put her hand down onto Harold's stomach, and pushed gently, until he woke.
"Harold, dear. Joan and I need to go into town. We want you to watch after the children until we return. Is that all right with you? We shouldn't be too long, darling. Just call for Gemma should the baby need a change of nappie. Thank you, dear." She smiled and walked out of the door.
As Joan finished buttoning up her coat, she thanked him and closed the door behind her.
Ann had begun to harness the horses to ready them to pull the freight wagon Harold had rented. Joan walked out toward her and was looking around for the children, when Ann told her, "They're most likely down almost to the end of your road, around two hundred yards to the west, there's a little glen which opens up into quite a pretty vale or a dell, as one might call it.
"She told me that it was where those boys, who took her for the ride into Mancos, hid their horses, that day that I met them in town." She tightened the strap around the horses belly and checked it for breathing room.
Joan knew about the place from Gemma's incessant magnificent illusions she had drawn. "Yes she's told me that I must go to see it sometime. I have been wanting to, but I've felt such dizziness that I would not trust myself on a two to three mile hike, which is as she makes it sound."
"Oh, it's really no more than a mile. Let me help you up into the wagon."
"I haven't broken a limb. For goodness sake! You sound more like a worried father than a concerned sister. Oh, my!" Joan caught herself on the side of the wagon. "Oh. Ann the more I think about it, the more I feel like it could be another boy. I felt a bit less nauseous, though, with Jimmy. I suppose that I could have eaten less of that bread. I could do with that hand, you offered me, before. Please?"
"Certainly, love." Ann had only been pregnant once before, when she had miscarried, eight weeks into the first trimester and it had really frightened her. She took Joan by the arm and helped her, up into the wagon.
"Harold and I were due to have a child, once, before you met Ben. But, I lost it after about eight weeks. I think that it was the stress of Harold's memories of his father's treatment of him, before he finally left home. He had told me of old Roger's abusive demeanor when first we found that I would be having a child. I am afraid that, in my impressionable state, I began to think that he may turn out to behave somewhat like his father and then I wouldn't share my concerns with him. Harold started to sense my wavering and wouldn't let me alone to work it out for myself. It was my mistake. I have learned, since. I have often thought that if I had only spoken to him," She climbed up, shook the reigns, and continued, "she might have been almost fifteen years old by now. At first I had wanted a boy and so did Harold, but after we began to argue about who it was with whom I was or wasn't having an affair, I soon changed my choice of gender. When I lost it, all of it, ultimately, came out into the open and I got to know Harold a great deal better. And it is quite a pity, though, that he didn't learn to know and trust me better, then. We might have had another chance. If only he were Abram and I were Sarai."
Joan raised her eyes to heaven and said, "Ann, Sarai was 80". You are only thirty-five."
"I'll have you know that I shall turn thirty-six years old, in three months time." Ann was being playful, now.
"Yes, but there are still a few years. Years."
Ann slowed the wagon to see if they could spot her niece or, perhaps, her nephew, but they weren't anywhere in sight. They looked at the position of the sun, which appeared to make it about four o'clock.
Joan gestured to go with a wave of her arm and off they drove.
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