Chapter 5 - Summer 1909 – No longer a mother

The following Tuesday, per their custom, the women gathered to make their trades – Mary's finished sewing for Florence's finished cobbling, Cat's cheese for Marta's canned tomatoes and fresh herbs, the eggs from the Haverhill farm for the squash from the Greens'. It was true what she had told Henry: the community helped each other, probably more than some of their husbands even realized. The women all knew how to keep their homes and tend to their farms and gardens and clothing, but why should they each do twenty small tasks when they could do five in bulk?

Abigail had not felt herself that week and had only brought a few dozen biscuits and a chicken pox remedy of her mother's for poor Miles Montgomery. She added a few coins, too, to settle up where the trade was disproportionate. Cat thanked her for the lotion and pulled her aside, a few feet away from the others in the open field where they met.

"Are you alright?" Cat asked.

"My biscuits aren't that terrible of a trade, are they?" she joked.

"It's not that. You look distracted, and I know it has to be tough on you, having Peter out in the mine with Noah."

Abigail sighed. "It is. Thank you, Cat. I know that nothing has really changed – I still have to do the cleaning and cooking for them, and I haven't been able to help Peter with much of his homework since the seventh grade anyway, but it just feels… different. Like I'm no longer a mother. And without that, I'm not sure what's next."

"First of all, Abigail, you will always be Peter's mother," Cat smiled pointedly. "But I understand what you mean. It's a bit of a transition. Maybe this is a time for you and Noah to share with each other, like you did before you had Peter."

Abigail and Noah had spent several unsuccessful years trying for a child before Peter. She didn't talk about it, and the other women never asked, but she knew that she stood out. She was an older mother, with only one child, and that simply wasn't the way of things for a town like this. So the years that she had spent not being a mother were years she had spent trying to be, suffering devastating losses. Sometimes she and Noah would have terrible fights during those times, lashing out at each other in awful ways. She had grown withdrawn from the friends she had in Saskatchewan as well. It wasn't until they'd finally welcomed Peter, healthy and happy, and made a new start in Coal Valley that she felt she could leave those difficulties behind her.

"Maybe," she agreed simply. "I guess Noah and I will need to figure out what we want from here. For now, I think I'm just going to head back."

She gave her friend a quick hug and plucked her baskets of bartered goods from the tall grasses, waving to the others as she departed. Walking into town, she double-checked that she had figured the time right, stealing a glance at the clock at the front of the bank. As she had hoped, Henry emerged onto the main street a minute or two later, headed back from the saloon.

"Henry!" Abigail called over.

"We meet again," he smiled as she made her way to him.

"I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you're going to meet the same people a lot," she teased. "And sometimes," she said, flipping a napkin up from one of her baskets, "we will have biscuits."

Henry let out a noise of appreciation that was somewhere between a grunt and a laugh as he grabbed one of the baked goods. "Well, this is a very welcome meeting then! But you know, I didn't intend for you to make these just for me."

"I didn't really. The other women and I barter every week and this was my contribution."

"Bartering? That's pretty smart. And you do the baking?"

"Well, we rotate around for the more general things, items that don't come from a particular farm. This week I've got a few socks and pants to mend." She lifted up the other basket to show him the small pile of clothes. "But try not to tell the men. We women need some secrets."

It appeared that it was finally Henry's turn to be flustered, which gave her a tiny thrill of victory.

"Uh, well, thank you again. Should I take a couple of these back to Noah and Peter for you?" he offered.

It hadn't occurred to her, but it seemed a reasonable idea. She wrapped the remaining biscuits back up in the napkin for him and they parted once again. She felt better as she walked home, happy to have provided someone else with a little warmth.

ooo


"So you ran into Henry Gowen today?"

Her husband peeked at her expectantly over his fork, in between bites of roasted chicken.

She took a moment to swallow before answering. "Yes, I was out in town running errands. It was a lucky meeting, since he was able to bring you those biscuits."

"Mmm, the men told me to pass on their thanks," Noah smiled widely. "I guess Gowen doesn't have a cook since he's out in town for meals so often. Either that or he likes to spend money just to show off."

"Don't you know if he has someone to cook for him?" she asked, puzzled. "You spend all day together."

Noah shrugged. "We talk some, but he's not exactly an open book kind of guy. Plus, the mine's not the place for talking. You have to keep your mind on what has to be done or any number of things could go wrong."

Abigail shot her husband a glare, but he had already refocused his attention to the pile of corn on his plate, blissfully unaware of how his words had landed. Peter must have seen this tension because he decided to break into the conversation.

"I'll actually be going out to Cape Fullerton tomorrow, to get supplies."

"Cape Fullerton?" she repeated in surprise. "Won't that take a couple of days? Is someone going with you?"

Peter was patient in answering her. "It's me and Tommy Green. He's gone a few times already."

"Abigail, you know we send the men to Cape Fullerton all the time. It hasn't been that long since my own trips," Noah reminded her.

She pursed her lips and said nothing. At least it would be something different for Peter, some time out of the mine. She was probably overreacting.

ooo


"You are not overreacting!"

Florence dropped her needlepoint indignantly into her lap, her declaration demanding full attention. Abigail stifled the chuckle in her throat. Oh, how she enjoyed her friend's flair for the dramatic. Most of the time.

"Who knows what sorts of things those boys get up to out on their own?" Florence continued. "Mr. Gowen ought to be ashamed sending them out at that age. All those city temptations…"

"Maybe it's better he's not sending our husbands then," Molly said with raised eyebrows, prompting a horrified gape from Florence.

Abigail sighed and leaned back against Molly's couch. "That's not what I'm worried about. At least I don't think that's it. I can't really say what it is."

The ladies nodded their heads in sympathy, but she knew they didn't really understand. Neither of them had sons in the mine, or children out to work at all. Rosaleen was still young and under foot, and though Deborah would be leaving for high school soon, she wasn't gone yet, and Florence still had little Paul Jr. to occupy her time.

There was probably an element of truth to what they'd said though. While she trusted that she and Noah had properly taught their son right from wrong, Peter's moral dilemmas had been thus far contained to the trivialities of childhood: telling on someone who had stolen a classmate's book, or reluctantly giving his candy money to the church collection box at Christmas time. Noah would be the one there with him now for the big decisions, or else he would be alone. Where did that leave her?