Chapter Three Melly's Story
"Aunt Melly, how did you meet Uncle Heath?"
"It's not a very exciting story. Not like my dear friend and sister, Miranda."
Miranda arched her eyebrow, "Seriously, Melly? You are the bravest soul I know. You survived conditions I wouldn't have been able to. A ship? A mine? Escaping from an evil Lord? Smuggled as a boy! You are smart and all science-minded. You could write a novel. Tell them, sister."
She blushed. Her pink cheeks and freckles across her nose still gave her a young girl quality. She wore her straw hats while working the horses with her husband, but she still was more tanned than a lady should be. Their Isabella horse breeding farm was known worldwide now, and her experiments with Hungarian paprika and beet pulp became used in the national industry. Heath's name was credited, but his wife's infinite patience had perfected the supplements.
"I was born in New South Wales. In Australia. My mother died, giving me life. Melissa Jasmine Jones was her name. My daughters carry her name as I do," and she smiled at her two daughters. "My parents had no permission to marry, so they jumped a broom with the Africans they were indentured and enslaved with."
Every eye in the room widened. Victoria had been the only one she confided her story with when Heath brought her home from the mines.
Melissa gasped, "Oh, Mama. I never knew. Australia? I thought you were Welsh."
Jasie added, "Me either—Oh, Mother, please keep telling your story."
She shrugged her shoulders, "I probably am, or Irish or Welsh or English or maybe Scottish. It didn't matter in the colony. Everyone was sent for debts like my father or crimes like my mother's family originally. I don't remember much except Father's stories. He worked from sun up to sun down."
"Gold was discovered there in 1851. It was a madhouse of claims and prospectors and settlers. Papa became a miner by necessity. When I was five years old, Papa was the head of a mining crew of Lord Willoughby. It's been years since I have been brave enough to say his name." she sighed deeply.
"He owned my mama and papa in his evil way. He traveled to the mines in San Francisco and the Comstock Lode on a ship to find ways to make his mining more profitable. 1861, I think. He was an engineer by training, and the mine owners in New South Wales sent him as their envoy. I believe he chose Papa to go because he was his brains."
"Papa couldn't bear to leave me behind. The night before, the ship sailed. He cut all my hair off and traded my dresses for britches. I was to be his servant boy. Even when I met your Papa in Rimfire in 1875, I wore dungarees."
Elisabeth said, "You hardly wear pants except for riding."
Her daughter Jasie agreed, "That's so true. I haven't thought about it much, but Elisabeth is right."
She grinned, "The look on yore daddy's face, the first time I ever wore a dress for him, broke me of that real quick. Yore daddy could charm me from the very first. After all, there is a whole passel of y'all."
All the eyes in the room were full of mirth. Jane laughed heartily.
"Miranda has been a bad influence on you, Melly. Her plain speaking and all."
"Lord Willoughby got a fever in Virginia City and was down ill in the hotel. We had traipsed around with him all over the West. Father got the idea that he wanted to be an American. He loved this country and the idea of freedom. We packed a knapsack, stole a mule, and headed for California. We ended up in Rimfire, working with Sidney Glover. That's where I met your father, girls."
" put me in the stables, and I learned to ride and groom the horses. His daughter, Janice, and I became friends. You have all met her. She was my first friend in life, and then the Good Lord gave me all of you. She went back East to school, and I married your father."
Melissa and Jasie looked at their mother. There was more to the story. They had heard pieces when mama had her sad times.
"Lunch is ready, ladies."
—&—-
The men got to the damsite camp at sun-up. They unloaded their gear, and the younger boys were busy digging in the soil for worms. Crickets had been caught the night before, and all the poles were out and readied.
Jarrod's oldest daughter—-Elisabeth's husband, Paul corralled his three young sons and took a place on the bank by his father-in-law. They cast their lines and listened to the boys whisper in excitement.
He liked the quiet Stockton attorney that his daughter married. Elisabeth and her father had always been close. After Beth and Eleanor, he assumed he would not have children—-he had vowed never to marry again. Then came Paris. His marriage to Elize had been so unconventional and surprising to him—-to have his firstborn at 42; then six more children. Claire had come fifteen years ago when he was 55.
They say the Lord works in mysterious ways.
Elize was in labor for hours with their first child. Everything in him was terrified. Beth's blood was still on his hands- His second wife and child dead from childbirth. Elize was only seventeen. "What in the hell was he thinking? I have already ruined two women's lives". He paced like a caged animal, not taking any comfort from anyone.
His mother had come to him as his sisters-in-laws, Melly and Miranda, talked her through the pains.
"Jarrod, why don't you go to her? I bet you could calm her, and things will go faster. She's scared, and I think you would be better off yourself. Just get your courtroom face back, son. Hide your fear for your wife." she told him firmly. The look on her face brokered no opposition.
He swallowed down his scotch and went into their bedroom. Immediately Elize smiled when she saw him, "Jarrod."
The ladies went outside to allow the couple some privacy. He went to her bedside and squeezed her hand.
"Mother says it won't be long. You are doing well. You are strong, my Cherie."
"I don't want to disappoint you. I will be braver, I promise."
"You are brave. I couldn't be prouder of you." and another contraction hit. She grimaced and squeezed his hand hard.
She closed her eyes and breathed through the contraction. He stared at her beautiful face. She was so lovely. The scared woman-child he had reluctantly married at the American Embassy magistrate's office in Paris disappeared that very year. This child they conceived in love, yes love—- he wasn't sure when it became love and not kindness and charity—-But it was love. Deeper than he ever knew.
The pain subsided, and she opened her eyes again.
"Jarrod, you saved my life in Paris."
"Elize, I love you and believe you saved mine."
He kissed her quite tenderly and another contraction began. She bit her lip and held onto his hand. She moaned quietly this time— longer. She finally relaxed.
She opened her eyes again. He gave her a tender smile and wiped the sweat from her brow.
"I love you, Jarrod," and her eyes widened, "Oh my," and pain racked her face.
He felt the fear surging through him but her eyes searched him for trust and strength.
"Relax as much as you can honey. You can do this."
Several more times, they repeated the sequence.
"Jarrod? I need to push."
He got up quickly and opened the door for the ladies. They hurried back in. He closed the door as he walked out.
"No. I need to stay." and he quietly opened the door. He walked around the bed to the head and took her hand again.
"I won't leave you." and three pushes later, Elisabeth Elize Barkley was born.
The eight-pound baby girl was cleaned up and handed to her Pappy. Jarrod had tears in his eyes, and Elize was crying for joy herself. The ladies walked out again to tell the family.
Elisabeth opened her sapphire blue eyes and stared into her Pappy's identical ones. Her hair was her mother's but she was her Pap's little girl—from the very first breath she took.
Jarrod stopped and looked at his stair-step grandsons. His and Elisabeth's eyes stared back at him with a smile and twinkle.
"Hey Pap, you got a pull on your line."
"Well, come help pull it in, little buddy."
