Loving Beth Book One, page 4
“Oh, Beth.” Mrs. Bartley swiped a tear from her eye. “Your mother looks lovely.”
Ruby Mae put her arm around Beth. “Yer mama was a beautiful woman. She had a heart a gold, and we sure ‘nough are gonna miss her.” She sniffed as unchecked tears ran down her cheeks. “Me and Walter ain’t never could’ve asked for a better neighbor than yer mama.” She patted Beth’s hand. “And you too, dear.”
“Thank you. Thank you both.” Beth tried to smile, but tears again trickled. “Please excuse me.”
Beth hurried out the door. The fresh air felt good on her face. She breathed in deeply as she headed to the outhouse. On her way, she spotted the men under the oak tree near the barn. They were still digging the grave. But from the looks of the huge mound of dirt growing nearby, they must be nearly finished. The sight of it tugged at Beth’s heart. Nearby, a wooden cross marked her father’s grave. John Paul McCullough. Beth regretted she didn’t remember her father, except through the stories her mother had told. Even though he had a young family and a farm to work, there was no escaping the war—especially when living in a border state that seceded from Virginia before it was all over. As bad as she felt for both her parents, she was grateful she’d been too young to experience the horrors of war.
Between her parents’ graves stood a double cross where her twin brothers were buried. They had died before she’d been born. No doubt that had been terribly difficult for her mother.
She swiped the tears from her face as she took one last look at the gravesites. “At least you’ll be with them now, Mama.” Beth sniffed.
On her return from the outhouse, Beth slipped in through the back door leading into her mother’s bedroom. She wanted to freshen up a bit. Her mother’s room was small like her own. Of course, her mother’s bed was neatly made. Esther always made her bed first thing in the morning, and she taught Beth to do the same. “Cleanliness is next to Godliness,” her mother had reminded when Beth wanted to shirk her duties. Yesterday morning, her mother had tried to slip out without waking Beth. Looking back now, Beth was grateful her mother accidently kicked one of the chair legs in the dark. It woke Beth, and she jumped out of bed and gave her a big hug and wished her luck. She had no way of knowing it would be the last hug she’d ever give her mother.
Beth turned to her mother’s wash basin and splashed cool water on her face. It felt good. As she dried her face with the little towel, she overheard the women talking in the next room.
“That Jacob seems like a nice young man,” Mrs. Bartley said. “He’s only come into the store a few times.”
“Is he married?” Mrs. Woodrow asked.
“I haven’t a clue,” Mrs. Bartley said. “Never saw him with anyone, and he’s not the chatty type. Always in a hurry when he comes in. He’s polite, pays for his things, and out the door he goes.”
“Well, if he isn’t married,” Mrs. Woodrow said in her loud voice, “he’d be a nice catch for Beth!”
Beth walked silently to the opening in the curtained doorway and peeked out.
“Poor thing!” Ruby Mae shook her head. “Ain’t even eighteen, and all alone in the world. Ain’t got a soul to turn to.” She looked at the other women. “’Cept’n us!”
Mrs. Bartley and Mrs. Woodrow nodded.
Ruby Mae’s voice lowered, “I should a-knowed Esther weren’t coming outta those woods alive.” She shook her head. “I should a-knowed. I heared them wolves howling the night a-fore—and you done know what they say about that.”
“Ruby Mae, you got that wrong.” Mrs. Woodrow hit the floor with the bottom of her cane to emphasize her point. “It’s when a dog howls that someone is gonna die, not a wolf.”
“What’s the difference?” Ruby Mae scowled at Mrs. Woodrow. “A wolf or a dog, they’s all the same.” She lowered her voice again. “Miss Esther loved that forest. I reckon if she had to die, least ‘nough, she done it a-doing what she loved.”
Beth figured it was time to make an appearance. She stepped back and slammed the back door, then noisily went across the bedroom.
Mrs. Bartley placed a handkerchief under Esther’s chin and tied it over the top of her head so her mouth would remain closed, being careful not to mess up her hair. Next, she folded Esther’s arms across her chest, while Ruby Mae tied her legs together at the ankles. It touched Beth to see the women handle her mother with such gentleness and respect.
Mrs. Bartley went to the “goodie bag” she’d brought with her from the store and dug out her pocketbook. She took out two silver coins and placed one over each of Esther’s eyes to keep them closed. “The copper in pennies discolor the eyelids,” she explained when the women all stared at the silver coins. The women wrapped Esther with the sheet, and then tied her body down.
Soon, Walter and Mr. Bartley entered the cabin, holding their hats in their hands. Otis, his head down and his hands folded, remained just inside the door. Mr. Bartley cleared his throat. “We got the grave dug.”
Walter pressed his lips together and fidgeted with the hat in his hands, trying to avoid looking at the table. “Is there anything else we can do for you ladies?”
“As a matter of fact, yes!” Mrs. Bartley motioned toward the table where Esther lay. “You can move the table for us. We need to get her as far from the stove as possible.”
The women, except for Mrs. Woodrow, who watched from the rocker, moved the chairs out of the way as the men carefully moved Esther to the other side of the room.
“Thanks, gentlemen. I think we’ve done all we can do for today.” Mrs. Bartley looked at her husband. “Emmett, you can go on home and take Otis and Mrs. Woodrow with you. I’m going to stay the night with Beth.” Mrs. Bartley turned to Beth. “Is that okay, dear?”
“I would like that, Mrs. Bartley.” Beth’s chin trembled. “Thank you!” She hadn’t even thought about being alone all night with her deceased mother. She couldn’t think past the present moment. But now that she thought about it, she could have hugged Mrs. Bartley.
Ruby Mae pulled Beth to her bosom and held her close. She squeezed Beth so hard, Beth could feel both their hearts beating. “Walter and I need to get home to care for the animals.” She stepped back, sliding her hands to Beth’s shoulders. The warmth in her eyes filled Beth with a sense of peace. “But, we’ll be back tomorry for the buryin’. You jes try to get some shut-eye, ya hear?”
Just as everyone headed out the door, Walter returned, carrying a load of stove wood in one arm and a huge bag in the other. A gush of wind escaped Beth’s throat. She recognized her mother’s ginseng bag, which was bulging with the roots her mother had gone digging for. Beth’s heart swelled with so much love for her mother, it threatened to spill out in a torrent of tears. But she choked them back and took a deep breath.
“I almost forgot,” Walter said. “That city boy split some wood a-fore he left, and he gived me this poke of ‘seng.” He set it next to the door. “He said your mama was still carrying it when he found her.”
After everyone was gone, Mrs. Bartley scooped soup into two bowls. “I brought a kettle of vegetable soup. Try to eat some vittles, dear. You need your strength for tomorrow.”
Beth managed a few bites, then set down the bowl on the side table between their chairs. “I just can’t eat, Mrs. Bartley. My stomach is tied up in knots.” She looked at the kind woman as she chewed her lower lip. “What am I going to do without my mother? How am I going to live? I might even lose the farm.”
Mrs. Bartley looked at Beth quietly, searching her face before she finally spoke. “I know your mama raised you to be a good Christian girl. Do you remember that verse in Jeremiah?” Her chin lifted. “‘For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.’”
Mrs. Bartley gently patted Beth’s hand. “Trust in the Lord, Beth. He loves you, and He hears your prayers, even when you don’t think He does. When one door closes, another opens. Everything will work out. It always does. You’ll see.” She stood and went to the stove. “I brought some chamomile from the store. I’m going to make you a cup of tea and send you off to bed. You need your rest, dear. Tomorrow is a big day.”
Beth didn’t argue. She was exhausted.
The next day flew by in a blur. The familiar faces from the previous day arrived early, followed by a few townsfolk that Beth recognized as the women her mother did washing and sewing for. Everyone brought food. A makeshift table was set up using planks of wood and sawhorses. The little house grew crowded. The menfolk sat out on the porch for the most part. Mrs. Woodrow sat in the rocking chair and Ruby Mae, despite her preference for the dungarees that brought disdainful looks from the townsfolks, had donned a dress for the occasion. She still, however, smoked her corncob pipe and wore her work boots.
A fancy carriage pulled by two horses arrived, followed by a wagon drawn by another two horses Everyone ran out to see. Percival jumped down from the carriage, ran around to the other side, then dramatically lifted Isabel to the ground. Isabel scowled as she dusted off her flowing purple velvet skirt. She opened her parasol and strode to the porch—stopping once again to roll her eyes and shake her head—and then stood there tapping her fancy boots on the good earth.
Percival ran to escort Isabel into the house.
Otis jumped off the wagon. He hurried to the carriage, holding out his arm to assist the last passenger.
Mr. Penrose, the short, rotund owner of the bank, stepped out of the carriage. He waved off Otis’s offer of assistance.
Beth waited on the porch with her arms out. “Mr. Penrose!” She almost knocked over the portly man as he stepped onto the porch.
He embraced her. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” he said. Still holding her, he added, “Your mother was one of the kindest and hardest-working people I’ve ever known.”
“I know,” Beth said, swallowing hard.
Finally, Mr. Penrose released her. His chin trembled and his blue eyes filled with tears. He removed his hat and rubbed his hand through thick, white hair. He looked at the gathered men and waved his hat toward the back of the wagon. “Gentlemen, could you carry in the casket?”
He turned back to Beth. “Some of us pitched in to get a casket for your mother.”
“How can I ever thank you and the others?” Beth dabbed her eyes with a hankie.
“You don’t need to thank us. We all loved your mother very much.” With sad eyes, he looked admiringly toward the house. “Salt of the earth, that one.” He smiled and touched a finger to the tip of her nose like he’d done since she was a child. “And you are just like her, my dear!” He smiled, held out his elbow for Beth to take hold, and escorted her into the house.
Isabel’s cold gray eyes traveled from Mr. Penrose to Beth and back again. Her scowl deepened.
The men—Otis, Walter, Mr. Bartley, and another gentleman—carried the casket through the house. The women waved them over to the body. Mrs. Bartley opened the bag she’d brought and took out a few blankets, which the women quickly arranged in the casket. When finished, the men lifted Esther into the casket, then lifted the casket to the table. The women stepped back in and removed the ties, sheets and coins that had held Esther. When they finished, they stepped back and nodded to Beth.
Beth squeezed Mr. Penrose’s hand as they approached the casket together. “A beautiful woman,” Mr. Penrose said softly. “A good woman.” He viewed Esther for several minutes, then turned to Beth, his eyes shiny with tears. “She was one in a million.”
“I know,” Beth whispered. She shut her eyes tightly to keep the tears inside.
“You’ll be fine,” Mr. Penrose said. “You’re strong like your mother.”
Beth swallowed hard. No, she wasn’t nearly as strong as her mother. She was a spoiled girl. Her lips quivered.
Mr. Penrose pulled her into a tight hug and kissed her hair. “Bless you, my child.” His tears fell freely and mixed with her own.
Later that afternoon, a circle of somber faces stood around Esther’s grave. The men had dug it to the right of her father’s grave, leaving the small grave of the twin boys between their parents.
The local pastor was out of town, so Mr. Bartley had volunteered to read something from the Bible. He turned the pages to the Twenty-Third Psalm, cleared his throat, and read, “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters.”
A few women began to weep. But Beth was out of tears. She wasn’t sure if she was exhausted or numb or both.
“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.”
Otis had made a wooden cross, painted it white, and placed it at the head of her mother’s grave.
ESTHER LOUISE MCCULLOUGH
APRIL 20, 1833
OCTOBER 2, 1878
“Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.”
A cool breeze ruffled the hems of the women’s skirts and sent a scattering of red leaves floating down from the oak branches overhead. One lone leaf lagged behind the others and drifted ever so slowly down until it finally landed softly on Esther’s grave.
“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.” Mr. Bartley closed his Bible.
A sense of peace filled Beth. She took comfort in knowing her mother wasn’t suffering or scraping by any longer. She was in Heaven now, joined again with her husband and babies. She needed to be happy for her mother.
“And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”
CHAPTER 7
Beth sat in her mother’s rocking chair on the porch. She moved the butter churn to her left and shook the tension out of her hand. Her right arm needed a break from the up and down motion of the agitator. As she began churning the cream with her left hand, she raised her face to soak in the sun’s welcome warmth. She was grateful that her father had built their house facing south. There would be fewer days like this, with November making its entrance tomorrow, so Beth wanted to spend as much time outdoors as she could.
A month had passed since they’d laid her dear mother to rest. Most everyone had left for home shortly after the funeral. Mrs. Bartley stayed on a little longer to help with the cleanup. But then even she needed to get back home; she had the store to tend, after all. Ruby Mae stopped in to check on her every few days, but she, too, had to tend to her own farm. Beth had never felt so alone in all her life, so she kept busy. There was much to do to keep their little farm and home going—the washing, feeding the animals, milking Gerty the cow, cleaning out the barn, and the list went on. The same evening of her mother’s funeral, she’d rolled up her sleeves and got to work. Over the next few days, she cleaned the entire house, scrubbing the plank floor on her hands and knees until it shined. Even the walls were scrubbed down and the windows washed inside and out until they sparkled.
Beth had gathered the laundry, including all the curtains on the windows and bedroom doorways, scrubbed them on the washboard, and hung them to dry on the line outside. The next day, she heated the sadirons on the cookstove, starched and ironed the ruffled curtains, and hung them back in their rightful places. The little cabin was spotless by the end of that first week.
She couldn’t bring herself to change her mother’s bedding right away. As a matter of fact, Beth had found comfort sleeping in her mother’s bed those first few nights. She felt somehow closer to her. However, it didn’t stop the vivid dreams that often left her waking with night sweats—dreams of her mother screaming out in pain, dreams of huge rattlesnakes with larger than life fangs.
In other dreams, Percival wickedly laughed while she ran away from him. Her feet would move, but she couldn’t get any distance between her and Percival. Her only good dream was the one in which she and Jacob stood in a field, and she felt safe, warm, and loved. But why would she dream of Jacob? She barely knew the man. Still, he said he’d be gone for a month, and it had been a month, so perhaps he’d return any day now.
The agitator grew increasingly more difficult to churn, which meant the cream was thickening and she would soon have butter. She’d keep what she thought she’d need until her next churning, and take the rest to the mercantile to sell along with her eggs. Thinking of eggs, Beth was perplexed by her hens. Normally, they laid eighteen to twenty eggs daily. But, a couple of days ago, she only had a dozen. But then the next day, she had nineteen again. Egg production would naturally slowdown come winter, which, sadly, would be less income for her. Still, it was strange for it to go up and down.
Beth stood and carried the churn into the house. After draining the buttermilk and setting it aside for biscuits, she put the butter through repeated rinses until the water ran clean. Next, she worked the butter, squeezing out all the excess moisture she could with her hands; some womenfolk used cloth or butter paddles, but Beth preferred to knead the butter with her hands. It was important to work as much moisture out of the butter as possible, as this would ensure the butter would be smooth and would help keep it from spoiling.
When the butter was ready, she pressed it into her wooden butter molds. She was just finishing when a wagon pulled up outside.
Excitement coursed through her. Jacob. Maybe Jacob was back. She ran to the door, wiping her hands on her apron as she went. No, it wasn’t Jacob. It was the Stewarts. She walked outside and waved as Ruby Mae and Walter stepped down from the buckboard.
“Thought we best come and check on you, chil’.” Ruby Mae grinned with the corncob pipe bobbing from her lips.
“I’m so happy you did!” Beth hugged Ruby Mae.
Ruby Mae removed the pipe from her mouth, and she eyed Beth. “So how are you, dear?” Her brow puckered and she pointed her pipe at Beth. “Young’un, I believe you’ve lost some weight. Now, you need to start eatin’ a’fore you blow away in the wind.” Ruby pecked her pipe against the porch railing to empty the tobacco, and then pointed it at Walter, who was still standing patiently at the wagon, as though waiting for instruction. “Walter cut and chopped some wood yesterday, and he thought you could use some firewood.”
Ruby Mae put her arm around Beth. “Yer mama was a beautiful woman. She had a heart a gold, and we sure ‘nough are gonna miss her.” She sniffed as unchecked tears ran down her cheeks. “Me and Walter ain’t never could’ve asked for a better neighbor than yer mama.” She patted Beth’s hand. “And you too, dear.”
“Thank you. Thank you both.” Beth tried to smile, but tears again trickled. “Please excuse me.”
Beth hurried out the door. The fresh air felt good on her face. She breathed in deeply as she headed to the outhouse. On her way, she spotted the men under the oak tree near the barn. They were still digging the grave. But from the looks of the huge mound of dirt growing nearby, they must be nearly finished. The sight of it tugged at Beth’s heart. Nearby, a wooden cross marked her father’s grave. John Paul McCullough. Beth regretted she didn’t remember her father, except through the stories her mother had told. Even though he had a young family and a farm to work, there was no escaping the war—especially when living in a border state that seceded from Virginia before it was all over. As bad as she felt for both her parents, she was grateful she’d been too young to experience the horrors of war.
Between her parents’ graves stood a double cross where her twin brothers were buried. They had died before she’d been born. No doubt that had been terribly difficult for her mother.
She swiped the tears from her face as she took one last look at the gravesites. “At least you’ll be with them now, Mama.” Beth sniffed.
On her return from the outhouse, Beth slipped in through the back door leading into her mother’s bedroom. She wanted to freshen up a bit. Her mother’s room was small like her own. Of course, her mother’s bed was neatly made. Esther always made her bed first thing in the morning, and she taught Beth to do the same. “Cleanliness is next to Godliness,” her mother had reminded when Beth wanted to shirk her duties. Yesterday morning, her mother had tried to slip out without waking Beth. Looking back now, Beth was grateful her mother accidently kicked one of the chair legs in the dark. It woke Beth, and she jumped out of bed and gave her a big hug and wished her luck. She had no way of knowing it would be the last hug she’d ever give her mother.
Beth turned to her mother’s wash basin and splashed cool water on her face. It felt good. As she dried her face with the little towel, she overheard the women talking in the next room.
“That Jacob seems like a nice young man,” Mrs. Bartley said. “He’s only come into the store a few times.”
“Is he married?” Mrs. Woodrow asked.
“I haven’t a clue,” Mrs. Bartley said. “Never saw him with anyone, and he’s not the chatty type. Always in a hurry when he comes in. He’s polite, pays for his things, and out the door he goes.”
“Well, if he isn’t married,” Mrs. Woodrow said in her loud voice, “he’d be a nice catch for Beth!”
Beth walked silently to the opening in the curtained doorway and peeked out.
“Poor thing!” Ruby Mae shook her head. “Ain’t even eighteen, and all alone in the world. Ain’t got a soul to turn to.” She looked at the other women. “’Cept’n us!”
Mrs. Bartley and Mrs. Woodrow nodded.
Ruby Mae’s voice lowered, “I should a-knowed Esther weren’t coming outta those woods alive.” She shook her head. “I should a-knowed. I heared them wolves howling the night a-fore—and you done know what they say about that.”
“Ruby Mae, you got that wrong.” Mrs. Woodrow hit the floor with the bottom of her cane to emphasize her point. “It’s when a dog howls that someone is gonna die, not a wolf.”
“What’s the difference?” Ruby Mae scowled at Mrs. Woodrow. “A wolf or a dog, they’s all the same.” She lowered her voice again. “Miss Esther loved that forest. I reckon if she had to die, least ‘nough, she done it a-doing what she loved.”
Beth figured it was time to make an appearance. She stepped back and slammed the back door, then noisily went across the bedroom.
Mrs. Bartley placed a handkerchief under Esther’s chin and tied it over the top of her head so her mouth would remain closed, being careful not to mess up her hair. Next, she folded Esther’s arms across her chest, while Ruby Mae tied her legs together at the ankles. It touched Beth to see the women handle her mother with such gentleness and respect.
Mrs. Bartley went to the “goodie bag” she’d brought with her from the store and dug out her pocketbook. She took out two silver coins and placed one over each of Esther’s eyes to keep them closed. “The copper in pennies discolor the eyelids,” she explained when the women all stared at the silver coins. The women wrapped Esther with the sheet, and then tied her body down.
Soon, Walter and Mr. Bartley entered the cabin, holding their hats in their hands. Otis, his head down and his hands folded, remained just inside the door. Mr. Bartley cleared his throat. “We got the grave dug.”
Walter pressed his lips together and fidgeted with the hat in his hands, trying to avoid looking at the table. “Is there anything else we can do for you ladies?”
“As a matter of fact, yes!” Mrs. Bartley motioned toward the table where Esther lay. “You can move the table for us. We need to get her as far from the stove as possible.”
The women, except for Mrs. Woodrow, who watched from the rocker, moved the chairs out of the way as the men carefully moved Esther to the other side of the room.
“Thanks, gentlemen. I think we’ve done all we can do for today.” Mrs. Bartley looked at her husband. “Emmett, you can go on home and take Otis and Mrs. Woodrow with you. I’m going to stay the night with Beth.” Mrs. Bartley turned to Beth. “Is that okay, dear?”
“I would like that, Mrs. Bartley.” Beth’s chin trembled. “Thank you!” She hadn’t even thought about being alone all night with her deceased mother. She couldn’t think past the present moment. But now that she thought about it, she could have hugged Mrs. Bartley.
Ruby Mae pulled Beth to her bosom and held her close. She squeezed Beth so hard, Beth could feel both their hearts beating. “Walter and I need to get home to care for the animals.” She stepped back, sliding her hands to Beth’s shoulders. The warmth in her eyes filled Beth with a sense of peace. “But, we’ll be back tomorry for the buryin’. You jes try to get some shut-eye, ya hear?”
Just as everyone headed out the door, Walter returned, carrying a load of stove wood in one arm and a huge bag in the other. A gush of wind escaped Beth’s throat. She recognized her mother’s ginseng bag, which was bulging with the roots her mother had gone digging for. Beth’s heart swelled with so much love for her mother, it threatened to spill out in a torrent of tears. But she choked them back and took a deep breath.
“I almost forgot,” Walter said. “That city boy split some wood a-fore he left, and he gived me this poke of ‘seng.” He set it next to the door. “He said your mama was still carrying it when he found her.”
After everyone was gone, Mrs. Bartley scooped soup into two bowls. “I brought a kettle of vegetable soup. Try to eat some vittles, dear. You need your strength for tomorrow.”
Beth managed a few bites, then set down the bowl on the side table between their chairs. “I just can’t eat, Mrs. Bartley. My stomach is tied up in knots.” She looked at the kind woman as she chewed her lower lip. “What am I going to do without my mother? How am I going to live? I might even lose the farm.”
Mrs. Bartley looked at Beth quietly, searching her face before she finally spoke. “I know your mama raised you to be a good Christian girl. Do you remember that verse in Jeremiah?” Her chin lifted. “‘For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.’”
Mrs. Bartley gently patted Beth’s hand. “Trust in the Lord, Beth. He loves you, and He hears your prayers, even when you don’t think He does. When one door closes, another opens. Everything will work out. It always does. You’ll see.” She stood and went to the stove. “I brought some chamomile from the store. I’m going to make you a cup of tea and send you off to bed. You need your rest, dear. Tomorrow is a big day.”
Beth didn’t argue. She was exhausted.
The next day flew by in a blur. The familiar faces from the previous day arrived early, followed by a few townsfolk that Beth recognized as the women her mother did washing and sewing for. Everyone brought food. A makeshift table was set up using planks of wood and sawhorses. The little house grew crowded. The menfolk sat out on the porch for the most part. Mrs. Woodrow sat in the rocking chair and Ruby Mae, despite her preference for the dungarees that brought disdainful looks from the townsfolks, had donned a dress for the occasion. She still, however, smoked her corncob pipe and wore her work boots.
A fancy carriage pulled by two horses arrived, followed by a wagon drawn by another two horses Everyone ran out to see. Percival jumped down from the carriage, ran around to the other side, then dramatically lifted Isabel to the ground. Isabel scowled as she dusted off her flowing purple velvet skirt. She opened her parasol and strode to the porch—stopping once again to roll her eyes and shake her head—and then stood there tapping her fancy boots on the good earth.
Percival ran to escort Isabel into the house.
Otis jumped off the wagon. He hurried to the carriage, holding out his arm to assist the last passenger.
Mr. Penrose, the short, rotund owner of the bank, stepped out of the carriage. He waved off Otis’s offer of assistance.
Beth waited on the porch with her arms out. “Mr. Penrose!” She almost knocked over the portly man as he stepped onto the porch.
He embraced her. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” he said. Still holding her, he added, “Your mother was one of the kindest and hardest-working people I’ve ever known.”
“I know,” Beth said, swallowing hard.
Finally, Mr. Penrose released her. His chin trembled and his blue eyes filled with tears. He removed his hat and rubbed his hand through thick, white hair. He looked at the gathered men and waved his hat toward the back of the wagon. “Gentlemen, could you carry in the casket?”
He turned back to Beth. “Some of us pitched in to get a casket for your mother.”
“How can I ever thank you and the others?” Beth dabbed her eyes with a hankie.
“You don’t need to thank us. We all loved your mother very much.” With sad eyes, he looked admiringly toward the house. “Salt of the earth, that one.” He smiled and touched a finger to the tip of her nose like he’d done since she was a child. “And you are just like her, my dear!” He smiled, held out his elbow for Beth to take hold, and escorted her into the house.
Isabel’s cold gray eyes traveled from Mr. Penrose to Beth and back again. Her scowl deepened.
The men—Otis, Walter, Mr. Bartley, and another gentleman—carried the casket through the house. The women waved them over to the body. Mrs. Bartley opened the bag she’d brought and took out a few blankets, which the women quickly arranged in the casket. When finished, the men lifted Esther into the casket, then lifted the casket to the table. The women stepped back in and removed the ties, sheets and coins that had held Esther. When they finished, they stepped back and nodded to Beth.
Beth squeezed Mr. Penrose’s hand as they approached the casket together. “A beautiful woman,” Mr. Penrose said softly. “A good woman.” He viewed Esther for several minutes, then turned to Beth, his eyes shiny with tears. “She was one in a million.”
“I know,” Beth whispered. She shut her eyes tightly to keep the tears inside.
“You’ll be fine,” Mr. Penrose said. “You’re strong like your mother.”
Beth swallowed hard. No, she wasn’t nearly as strong as her mother. She was a spoiled girl. Her lips quivered.
Mr. Penrose pulled her into a tight hug and kissed her hair. “Bless you, my child.” His tears fell freely and mixed with her own.
Later that afternoon, a circle of somber faces stood around Esther’s grave. The men had dug it to the right of her father’s grave, leaving the small grave of the twin boys between their parents.
The local pastor was out of town, so Mr. Bartley had volunteered to read something from the Bible. He turned the pages to the Twenty-Third Psalm, cleared his throat, and read, “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters.”
A few women began to weep. But Beth was out of tears. She wasn’t sure if she was exhausted or numb or both.
“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.”
Otis had made a wooden cross, painted it white, and placed it at the head of her mother’s grave.
ESTHER LOUISE MCCULLOUGH
APRIL 20, 1833
OCTOBER 2, 1878
“Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.”
A cool breeze ruffled the hems of the women’s skirts and sent a scattering of red leaves floating down from the oak branches overhead. One lone leaf lagged behind the others and drifted ever so slowly down until it finally landed softly on Esther’s grave.
“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.” Mr. Bartley closed his Bible.
A sense of peace filled Beth. She took comfort in knowing her mother wasn’t suffering or scraping by any longer. She was in Heaven now, joined again with her husband and babies. She needed to be happy for her mother.
“And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”
CHAPTER 7
Beth sat in her mother’s rocking chair on the porch. She moved the butter churn to her left and shook the tension out of her hand. Her right arm needed a break from the up and down motion of the agitator. As she began churning the cream with her left hand, she raised her face to soak in the sun’s welcome warmth. She was grateful that her father had built their house facing south. There would be fewer days like this, with November making its entrance tomorrow, so Beth wanted to spend as much time outdoors as she could.
A month had passed since they’d laid her dear mother to rest. Most everyone had left for home shortly after the funeral. Mrs. Bartley stayed on a little longer to help with the cleanup. But then even she needed to get back home; she had the store to tend, after all. Ruby Mae stopped in to check on her every few days, but she, too, had to tend to her own farm. Beth had never felt so alone in all her life, so she kept busy. There was much to do to keep their little farm and home going—the washing, feeding the animals, milking Gerty the cow, cleaning out the barn, and the list went on. The same evening of her mother’s funeral, she’d rolled up her sleeves and got to work. Over the next few days, she cleaned the entire house, scrubbing the plank floor on her hands and knees until it shined. Even the walls were scrubbed down and the windows washed inside and out until they sparkled.
Beth had gathered the laundry, including all the curtains on the windows and bedroom doorways, scrubbed them on the washboard, and hung them to dry on the line outside. The next day, she heated the sadirons on the cookstove, starched and ironed the ruffled curtains, and hung them back in their rightful places. The little cabin was spotless by the end of that first week.
She couldn’t bring herself to change her mother’s bedding right away. As a matter of fact, Beth had found comfort sleeping in her mother’s bed those first few nights. She felt somehow closer to her. However, it didn’t stop the vivid dreams that often left her waking with night sweats—dreams of her mother screaming out in pain, dreams of huge rattlesnakes with larger than life fangs.
In other dreams, Percival wickedly laughed while she ran away from him. Her feet would move, but she couldn’t get any distance between her and Percival. Her only good dream was the one in which she and Jacob stood in a field, and she felt safe, warm, and loved. But why would she dream of Jacob? She barely knew the man. Still, he said he’d be gone for a month, and it had been a month, so perhaps he’d return any day now.
The agitator grew increasingly more difficult to churn, which meant the cream was thickening and she would soon have butter. She’d keep what she thought she’d need until her next churning, and take the rest to the mercantile to sell along with her eggs. Thinking of eggs, Beth was perplexed by her hens. Normally, they laid eighteen to twenty eggs daily. But, a couple of days ago, she only had a dozen. But then the next day, she had nineteen again. Egg production would naturally slowdown come winter, which, sadly, would be less income for her. Still, it was strange for it to go up and down.
Beth stood and carried the churn into the house. After draining the buttermilk and setting it aside for biscuits, she put the butter through repeated rinses until the water ran clean. Next, she worked the butter, squeezing out all the excess moisture she could with her hands; some womenfolk used cloth or butter paddles, but Beth preferred to knead the butter with her hands. It was important to work as much moisture out of the butter as possible, as this would ensure the butter would be smooth and would help keep it from spoiling.
When the butter was ready, she pressed it into her wooden butter molds. She was just finishing when a wagon pulled up outside.
Excitement coursed through her. Jacob. Maybe Jacob was back. She ran to the door, wiping her hands on her apron as she went. No, it wasn’t Jacob. It was the Stewarts. She walked outside and waved as Ruby Mae and Walter stepped down from the buckboard.
“Thought we best come and check on you, chil’.” Ruby Mae grinned with the corncob pipe bobbing from her lips.
“I’m so happy you did!” Beth hugged Ruby Mae.
Ruby Mae removed the pipe from her mouth, and she eyed Beth. “So how are you, dear?” Her brow puckered and she pointed her pipe at Beth. “Young’un, I believe you’ve lost some weight. Now, you need to start eatin’ a’fore you blow away in the wind.” Ruby pecked her pipe against the porch railing to empty the tobacco, and then pointed it at Walter, who was still standing patiently at the wagon, as though waiting for instruction. “Walter cut and chopped some wood yesterday, and he thought you could use some firewood.”
