A/N: First of all, I apologize for the long delay. I'm trying to get to the main part of this story, but I keep finding things to say before I get there!
This chapter was something of a struggle, even without the different point of views and the time jumps. Because Elsie is so young in this story, I thought it would be unrealistic to portray her as "having it all together", for lack of a better phrase. I doubt even in canon she started out in life the confident woman she is in her later years. I hope I will be forgiven for going out of character a bit.
More notes on ages – Matthew was born in 1844. John's birth year is 1827 (twenty-six), Richard's is 1825 (twenty-eight), and Beryl's is 1829 (twenty-four). Becky's birth year is 1841, so she is around twelve here.
Everything here about babies, etc., is stuff I've observed or heard from people who have kids.
Historical notes: "Hired girls" were girls or women who lived and worked with families in homes and farms. From what I've read, they were something of a status symbol, something more for the middle class (the Lincolns had hired girls for a number of years before he was elected president).
Stephen Douglas/The Kansas-Nebraska Act – The diminutive senator from Illinois was a forceful advocate of the idea of popular sovereignty. This was the idea that citizens in states or territories should be the ones to decide whether there would be slavery or not. Until the 1850s, states being admitted to the Union of the United States were deemed either slave or free by Congress, so as to keep the political balance equal between them.
The original text of the song "Wee Willie Winkie" was written in the Scots language, in 1841. The poem was written by William Miller. He was born in Glasgow in 1810.
Independence Day in the U.S. ~ July 4th.
Autumn 1853, near Sonoma
She did not know it would be this hard.
The farm work, the vineyard, the endless chores, even keeping the house now seem absolutely easy in comparison.
It is not that she thinks Samuel is a difficult baby (although she doesn't really know). It is simply that she never thought before he was born about how dependent infants and young children are. When he cries, or frets, it is mostly she who calms him. Charles, darling man that he is, thankfully can also soothe their son at times, and often rocks him in the wee hours of the morning or late at night so she can get some sleep.
But if her little lad cries because he is hungry, only she can soothe him. And he is always hungry. Many times no matter what Charles does, Samuel will not be satisfied, and his wails grow ever insistent until she gets up and feeds him.
Elsie feels fortunate that it is not a terrible struggle to get their baby to eat. After the first few days after he is born, with help from her mother, her son learns to nurse. It is a relief to everyone. Especially to her. She has heard horror stories of infants who never latched, of children wasting away, or dying because they never learned to suckle a breast, or their mothers had no milk to give.
At least she does not have to worry about that.
Between Charles, their neighbor Mrs. Cavallo, a couple of other women from church and Beryl (who comes once a week, happy to escape from the boardinghouse and eager to see her friends), she has plenty to eat.
She is proud that she still helps with the crops, milks the cow. Cooks, bakes, cleans, sweeps, sews. Does her share. All the while carrying Samuel with her.
If only she wasn't so tired.
Her husband worries.
Even when she sleeps his wife doesn't seem to rest. He is forever having to coax her to sit, to rest, to let herself heal a bit. She seems even more adamant than before about having a clean house, that she not even think of sleeping until everything is in order.
"You are so thin," he says one evening when Samuel is nearly three months old. "It's nothing for me to lift you in my arms." His arm is wrapped around her, and he moves her braid aside to kiss the nape of her neck. "I can practically see your spine under your skin." He runs a finger between her protruding shoulder blades.
She shifts a little, suppressing a giggle. "Och, you're tickling."
"I don't want you to fade away," he continues, his concern in his voice. Elsie glances over her shoulder, her eyes soft.
"I'm not going anywhere, Charlie." Her eyes return to Samuel, whose little mouth is firmly attached to her left breast.
Moments like these are what she has come to cherish. The quiet, the peace. When she is not trying to figure out how to bend the stove to her will (she hasn't yet, but she is determined), or weeding the garden or making soap.
I have to mend his good trousers before Sunday.
"You're doing it again," he says, resting his chin on her arm. "Fretting."
Relinquishing her bottom lip from between her teeth, she takes a deep breath. "I am not," she says with a touch of frost. "I need to remember to fix the hole in your trousers before Sunday. That's all."
"You should not have to worry about that," he parries. "Never mind my trousers, the Lord will not cast me out of His house because of a tiny hole."
At one time, he would have reminded her about the mending. But lately it seems she's been getting worse. Two nights previously, he woke to find her out of bed, not with Samuel, but in the hallway sweeping by the light of a flickering candle.
The dark shadows under her eyes give away her fatigue. He just doesn't know why she won't admit she is tired, and ask for help. He has suggested hiring a girl to come work for them.
He has not had the courage to bring up the idea since.
"I won't have you looking less than your best on account of me," she says, feeling more upset than she knows she should over something so trivial. Her emotions seem always just under the surface, spilling out when she least wants them to.
"Elsie," he hesitates, then plunges in anyway. "Maybe if you had help-listen, I know you don't like the idea, but Mrs. Cavallo told me…their daughter Ines-"
She snaps her head in his direction, her eyes wide with anger. "You didn't! Charlie, I told you I do not want help! Why do you insist on this? How many times have I told you? I won't have you spending your money on me!"
As if I am some lazy, shiftless wife who cannot manage her own house, husband and child without help!
He swallows back the hurt at the sting in her voice. "I didn't hire her. Mrs. Cavallo simply said that if you needed help, Ines would be willing to work for you. She doesn't have to live here, you know, and she wouldn't even have to come every day-"
"That is not the point!" She half-whispers, mindful of Samuel. Tears form in her eyes.
Mam never had anyone to help her. She kept a clean house, tended her children, saw her husband decently clothed. And all with much less money and more hardship than Elsie has ever had to deal with as a married woman.
Isobel manages without help, too. And without a husband.
When Charlie first brought up the idea of a hired girl, she was aghast. Why would he think of such a thing? Did he not think his wife capable of running a household?
She banished the idea out of hand.
It is not just the humiliation of him thinking she cannot cope. But she remembers the struggle her own family went through, having to leave one country and go to another just to survive. And she cannot bear the thought of her husband spending his much-saved money on her, not when they still wait to see if the vineyard will be successful.
And if it is not? And we have to start again? What if we have little money to do so, all because I could not run a house on my own?
We would be destitute. And it would be my fault. Not his.
He would hate me.
She sniffs, and Charles reaches around her to wipe the tears from her face. He hates to see her like this. She tries so hard, and gives herself so little credit. Her mind is always on the next task, what needs to be done.
He thinks in another life she would have made an excellent housekeeper, overseeing a large house in Scotland or England. Dozens of maids at her disposal. For a moment, he indulges the vision. Seeing her walk through a great hall in severe dress, keys dangling from her chatelaine as she admonishes a maid in a firm, but gentle, tone.
But Elsie sniffs again, and the vision fades away. He sits in bed, his crying wife in his arms, and he does not know how he can convince her to see his suggestion is not because he thinks she cannot run their home.
He thinks she will wear herself to the bone before she will admit she cannot do everything.
What if she gets so weak she makes herself ill? Samuel needs her strong.
I need her strong.
She keeps me steady, doesn't she know that? She is not the weak one. I am.
"Mrs. Cavallo told me about Ines," he says, smoothing Samuel's wild tuft of hair with his fingers. "I said nothing to her." He brushes a soft kiss on Elsie's cheek. "You are the strongest woman I know. But even the strongest woman can't do everything."
His gentleness makes her feel worse.
"I should be able to look after our bairn, you and the house by myself," she mumbles thickly, turning her head so as not to drip tears on the baby – who, blessedly, still suckles in contentment. "Many women do it every day, and with much less help than I already have! Mam was here for weeks, and since then-"
"'Should' nothing," Charles rumbles, a ghost of a hint of a growl on his lips. "You had a difficult time, and you are still recovering. You have nothing to be ashamed of. I just don't want you to get tired," he whispers.
Her first instinct is to argue. But she is already tired, and the effort to contradict him is too much.
She gives in, if only to appease him for a while. Ines comes three days a week to their home to help with the washing, cleaning and sometimes to muck out the barn. The girl does help, though Elsie wishes she did not have to tell her exactly what to do every time. Still, she cannot complain. Ines, unlike her parents, was born in America and can speak English without much of an accent.
December 1853, near Sonoma
The sun is out on a Sunday afternoon, brightening the landscape. When Charles, John and Matthew come up the hill from the vineyard, Charles is happy to see the women sitting outside.
-The hills are as green as Ireland, John comments wistfully. –It's wonderful to see it now. I hope next spring it looks just as pretty.
Charles represses a sigh. If you weren't leaving, you could see it for yourself.
His friend, somewhat surprisingly, has sold his store in Petaluma. He has decided to move to San Francisco. Beryl teases John when hearing the news, asking if he's going to the city to find a wife like Charles did, but the younger man simply smiles indulgently and shakes his head no. He's got a lot of the world to see, he says, before finding a wife and settling down.
Charles knows he cannot stop John from leaving. And that it would be unwise to lecture him. He has an inkling that John is entranced by the city on the bay and its wilder elements. Petaluma does not hold many charms for a young bachelor.
Guilt gnaws at him as well. He has never made friends easily, and that is something he and John share in common. Since his marriage, he feels he has neglected his friend. He wishes they could have seen more of each other, but with both living such different lives, perhaps it was inevitable.
He worries about his friend, knowing his quick temper. But he also feels rather selfish, knowing that it was he once who left his friends, to seek out a different path. He is the last person who can tell John Bates what to do.
But he will miss him.
-You're always welcome to come visit, he says, putting a hand on John's shoulder. –Anytime. Elsie wanted me to tell you she's counting on you to come back next year after the harvest, if only to keep me from drinking all of our wine myself!
John laughs. –Of course I'll come visit! And I'll bring all of my friends with me!
-Do you have many friends in San Francisco, Mr. Bates? Matthew asks, brushing his blond hair out of his eyes.
-None just yet, John tells the boy. –But I intend to.
The women watch from their chairs at the corner of the house.
-I will thank Mr. Carson myself before we leave, Isobel says. –But could you thank him from me as well, for showing Matthew the vineyard? It was very kind of him.
Elsie smiles, looking up from her sewing. –I certainly will. He didn't mind, I'm sure. He wanted to show Mr. Bates before he left.
She leans over a little, peering at Samuel, who is busily waving his arms and legs in the air. –Your turn will come soon enough, lad.
-Enjoy him when you can keep him close. Isobel's eyes are soft. –It seems like yesterday Matthew was that age. He'll be ten years old next year! Where did the time go? She asks, leaning against the back of her chair.
-No matter how old he is, he'll always be your baby, Beryl says. She gets up and sets the unfinished sleeve on her chair. Bending over, she scoops up the baby, who gurgles. –Come on, young Master Carson, let's go visit the cats in the barn. She sets him on her hip and glances at Elsie. –Is it all right if I take him with me?
-Go, Elsie giggles at her son's expression, his wide eyes staring up at her friend. –He's quite happy at the moment.
Beryl walks off slowly in the direction of the barn, careful to wrap part of her shawl around the baby. The two women can hear her talking to Sam, but cannot catch the words. Elsie watches them, love in her heart for the two of them. My wee lad, do you know how loved you are? Da and I, your Gran and Papa, your uncles and aunties…
She swallows, surreptitiously wiping her eyes. It overwhelms her at times, the love she has for her tiny man. For both men in her life.
The two women do not speak for several minutes.
-How are things with Ines? Isobel asks, breaking the silence. Elsie sighs.
-All right, I suppose. She isn't…bad.
-High praise indeed. Isobel's tone is so dry her friend laughs.
-She is a nice girl. And when she concentrates, she works hard. But often I catch her daydreaming and have to remind her of the task at hand! I know Charles wanted me to have help, and I do now. And she has been helpful, she admits. –But when she is here I feel I'm forever looking in on her, making sure she is doing what she's supposed to, rather than me working on something else or resting.
-Maybe you need to hire someone else, Isobel suggests. –Someone with more enthusiasm. A girl to live here all the time.
-You don't have help, Elsie argues, rankled.
-I've had several years of practice, her friend reminds her, calmly sewing, looking up only to squint into the sun. –And my house is not as large as this, nor do I have a farm or a vineyard to look after. And I know what you're going to say, she warns when Elsie opens her mouth. -If Charles can afford it, why not hire a girl? Just for a while? It doesn't have to be forever. Just until you get your feet under you.
Elsie presses her lips together. –I should not need help, she murmurs, feeling shame creep over her again. –Mam never had help. Maybe some women would be proud of having a hired girl, but I am not.
-This is a matter of pride for you. You are proud and stubborn, Elsie Carson, Isobel chides her gently. –I understand what you feel, but there is no harm in taking help if you need it. She stops when she sees tears on her friend's face.
-I don't know what is wrong with me…I was feeling better, but lately I've ached all over, Elsie whispers, her nerves in a tangle. –I cannot sleep, and I know I've been keeping Charlie awake. And then on top of everything else, Samuel has started fussing when he nurses! I never had to worry about him before!
-How long has this been going on? With Samuel? Isobel puts down her sewing on her lap, a line between her eyes.
-A few weeks. He's had four teeth appear, but this started before then.
Even though the men and Matthew are some distance away, and Beryl is out of sight, Isobel lowers her voice. –How long have you and Mr. Carson been intimate since the baby was born?
Elsie's face reddens. Despite trusting Isobel, she is still sometimes caught off-guard by the woman's candor. –Several months, she whispers, her face feeling as though it is on fire. –September? Not-not too soon, Charlie waited for me to heal.
I was the one who could wait no longer.
He has been exceptionally gentle with her, which she has been grateful for, especially early on. But there was that night in October…
The baby sleeps soundly in his wooden cradle. Charles comes into the room and smiles down at him, sees the little arms raised above his head. While he removes his boots, he is startled by the feel of Elsie's arms encircling him, her breath on his back.
"I was waiting for you," she whispers, in that voice he finds impossible to resist. When he turns, he bites back a moan. Her hair is down, flowing past her shoulders. In the dim glow of the firelight, her eyes gleam like that of a cat. He slides his hands down her sides, over the curves of her hips. She has put on more weight in the last few weeks. There is more color in her cheeks.
Her kiss is insistent, her mouth opens, and his tongue slips inside. The feel of her breasts through her nightgown and his shirt makes him gasp.
"Charlie," she whispers, her hands clutching at his shirt, fingering his suspenders. "Come to bed." She kisses him again, her teeth slowly grazing his bottom lip. Going over to the bed she gets in, not bothering to pull down her shift when it rides up. It gives him a view of her legs that he has not seen in months.
He sheds his clothing and joins her without bothering to grab his nightshirt. There is a fervor to her kisses that he has rarely felt in their marriage. When she wraps her arms around his shoulders and digs her fingers into his hair, he breathes out and holds himself above her.
"A ghraidh, I want you," she whispers, raising herself on her elbows, trying to move closer to him. He takes a shuddering breath, and his eyes are wild.
"I don't…don't want to hurt you," he gasps. Her heart melts. She rolls partway onto her side, then sits up, him still on his hands and knees. She kisses his head softly.
"I know you won't. You never do."
He shakes his head slowly. She can say that, but he knows better. If he took her now the way his body is screaming at him, he would hurt her. That is the last thing he wants to do.
She dips her head to capture his lips once more.
"Elsie," he sighs softly as she lays down again, pulling him with her. Her mouth, the taste of it, the taste of her is intoxicating. His nose brushes her chin and she hums as he nuzzles her neck.
He does not want to hurt her, but he cannot stop. He nips at her throat, grazes below her ear with his teeth, his tongue swirling on her soft skin.
He laps and sucks hard on the top of her breasts, making her cry out. She will have marks there the next day. He kisses her belly, his large hands spreading her legs apart. Sliding one hand beneath her shift, he finds her hidden folds.
His fingers are feather-light.
The more he touches her, teases her, the worse the ache for him is. She wants her husband. Desperately. Needs him, all of him.
"A ghraidh, please," she begs, her mind and speech nearly incoherent. "More, Charlie-"
He enters her with the thought that he will be gentle. But she is so wet, so ready for him, and she cries out in pleasure when his hardness fills her.
"Yes," she moans, "please-"
Somehow he keeps a slow rhythm. She presses on his back, her nails scraping his skin. A high-pitched sigh escapes from her lips. He jerks, thrusting forward harder, and she moans beneath him, whispered words in Gaelic. He thrusts again, more erratic-
"God!" Her head is thrown back against her pillow. One hand clenches his shoulder, the other is twisted in her hair. "Y-es-"
She keens low. He feels so good, so good inside her, and that he gives her this gift freely while denying his own makes her love him all the more. She forces herself to unwrap her leg from around his torso, giving him greater leeway.
He gasps, moving his hips faster, but not too much. She comes apart in one long extended moment. Breathing out his name.
By the time he finally gives in to his own pleasure, she has reached hers twice.
Elsie glances up from staring at her lap, meeting Isobel's eyes.
-What? She asks, wondering at her friend's smile. –What does our son's fussing have to do with-
She stops, her heart skipping several beats. Her eyes widen.
And she suddenly knows.
Knows that she carries another child.
Putting a hand to her mouth, she feels tears coming to her eyes. It is not fear or disappointment or any gloomy feeling that overwhelms her. It is happiness and joy, and love.
Charlie said the one thing he wanted as a child was a brother or sister. I was happy with my brothers and sisters, and love them all dearly.
She sees Beryl come around the corner of the barn, chattering away to Samuel.
My baby.
But then, he isn't the baby anymore.
-Is it possible? She whispers, dabbing at her eyes. –So soon after…do you really think so?
-I do, Isobel says gently. –I have helped more than one mother deliver a child scarcely a year after her last. I know you don't like the idea, Elsie, but you are certainly going to need help. Especially next year at the harvest. If you like, I will help you to find a suitable girl.
January-August 1854, near Sonoma
In January, an Illinois senator, Stephen Douglas, introduces a bill in Congress that would allow the settlers in Kansas and Nebraska territory to decide if they should have slavery. The passage of the Kansas-Nebraska Act that spring threatens the balance between slave and free states.
The growing sense among many people, including the Carsons, is that the law will make it likely that slavery will spread further west. California is a free state, but there are vast swaths of territory between it and the East that have not yet been admitted to the union either way.
As much as the political landscape is disquieting, there are other things much closer to home to think about.
Charles is both overjoyed and terrified to learn their family will grow to four. He knows that how the vineyard will produce will determine if they can stay on the land.
Ines comes to the Carsons' home throughout the winter and into the spring. Her help, little as it is, keeps Charles's mind at peace, and keeps Elsie off her feet at least some of the time.
Beryl comes as often as she can. She wishes she could come and live with them, she tells Elsie more than once. But her mother needs her in Petaluma. Stubborn Aunt Ida has recovered from a bout with pneumonia, but the older woman does not have the energy she once did.
-We wish you could stay, too. Don't worry about us, Elsie says one winter's day, squeezing her hand. –We'll get by. Your family needs you, too.
Beryl says Samuel is a quiet baby. Most of the time he is, except when he is hungry. He has a belly laugh that his parents never grow tired of. They are often woken early in the morning by his little voice babbling from his crib.
In a matter of days in February he goes from rolling on the floor to crawling.
Even with his ability to move, he is also content to sit on the floor, playing with spoons, his father's boots, or the cat – although after pulling Stringbean's tail, he is less eager to share the feline's company. Charles loves to read to him in the evenings.
More than once Elsie finds them both in the bed, sound asleep, the tiny boy sprawled on the big man's chest. Both snoring away, their mouths open.
She talks to Samuel all the time. She is not sure he understands any of it, but every night when she sings "Wee Willie Winkie" he looks up at her to listen.
One evening in April, when there is still light outside, she hums by the cradle as it rocks, then begins to sing quietly:
'Hey Willie Winkie, are ye comin' ben?
The cat's singin grey thrums to the sleeping hen,
The dog's speldert on the floor and disna gie a cheep,
But here's a waukrife laddie, that wunna fa' asleep!'
She grins at her boy, who whimpers, struggling, yawning, rubbing his eyes. She rubs her belly and feels beneath her loosened stays the persistent kicks of Samuel's brother or sister. Stifling a yawn of her own, she keeps singing.
Wearit is the mither that has a stoorie wean,
A wee, stumpie, stousie, that canna rin his lane,
That has a battle aye wi' sleep afore he'll close an e'e-
But a kiss frae aff his rosy lips gies strength anew to me.
She bends over with some difficulty, and kisses Samuel on both cheeks. Straightening up, she lets out a knowing laugh when he blinks and smiles at her.
-Ooh, laddie, sleep for your poor 'mither'! She catches his waving fist and blows a raspberry on his hand. He giggles, his dark blue eyes shining.
-Mama.
She freezes, his hand still at her lips. –What, Samuel?
-Ma-mama.
His little voice is clear. Elsie picks him up out of the cradle and fairly smothers him with kisses, laughing.
It is not long before Charles hears his son call for him, though the bairn almost never says one "Da". More often both names come out in a tangle: dadadadadadamamama.
May brings the first flowering of the vines in the vineyard. It is very encouraging, with many appearing. It is a welcome sign that the harvest later will be a good one.
Mam, Patrick, and Becky arrive in June. Elsie's sister is delighted with her young nephew, and he instantly takes a liking to her. She is very gentle with him, having had practice with Malcolm's children, and is always proud to hold him – though taking him from her arms is more of a struggle.
As Sam begins to take his first teetering steps, it is his Aunt Becky who follows him around to pick him up when he falls.
The biggest question on his first birthday (aside from how much of Beryl's cake will end in his hair) is whether Elsie will go into labor. She does not, though Charles constantly worries she will. Mam and Richard try to keep him calm.
For two more weeks Elsie wakes each day hoping she will meet her child. Their second child, even in the womb, is a very different from his or her older brother. Samuel rarely kicked, and worried his mother by how little he moved. This child hardly ever stops.
The afternoon before Independence Day, Richard rides like the wind to Sonoma. Isobel is at the house for only three hours before the youngest Carson makes her hasty entrance.
Margaret Abigail Carson weighs almost nine pounds.
-And still, Elsie says to Mam, -She was easier than her brother. Thank God.
She lets out a sigh, tracing her finger on her daughter's face, her tiny lips. Outside, the sun is setting, the western sky red.
Like her hair.
-Gentle, gentle, she murmurs to Samuel. He softly pats his sister's head, looking bemused at all the eyes watching him.
-Ba, he says, making them all laugh.
–That's right, she's the baby now. Poor lad, Beryl grins. -You'll never get all of your mother or father's attention from this day forward.
Mam picks up her grandson and cuddles him as Charles comes in the room again.
"Where's Richard?" Elsie asks him when he closes the door. "I thought he'd be beating down the door behind you."
"I don't know," Charles replies quickly. Too quickly. He avoids her eyes and walks over to kiss Samuel in Mam's arms instead. He then sits down on the edge of the bed and gazes down at their daughter adoringly. "He must have gone for a walk, or something." He touches little Margaret's cheek.
How is it possible to love someone so much, so quickly?
Elsie sighs, rolling her eyes slightly. Part of her wants to let it drop. Mostly because they have an audience. But a greater part of her wants her curiosity satisfied. "You're a hopeless liar."
"Why do you say that?" He asks, his eyes big. His ears are turning red, and she bites back a laugh.
"Charlie, both you and I know you know where my brother is right now."
"It's not important," he mumbles, his eyes on the baby. "I can tell you later-"
"Not one hour ago I gave birth to her," she reminds him calmly. "You can tell me now."
-Yes, by all means, tell us now, Beryl pipes up from the corner. Charles glares at her before looking back at his wife.
"He…he was in the kitchen."
"Oh?" Elsie raises her eyebrows. "And what has his attention in there? Surely a new baby is more fascinating than the stove."
Charles meets her eyes, his gaze inscrutable. "But not, apparently, more fascinating than Mrs. Crawley."
Beryl drops a book onto the floor with a loud clunk. –What!?
-Shhhh! Elsie quiets both her friend and her infant daughter, who blinks at the noise.
-I knew it. Abigail says with a grin. Elsie barely hears her mother over Beryl's voice.
-Was he kissing her, Mr. Carson? Don't tell me you went blundering in there and-
"Please tell me you didn't interrupt them," Elsie says to her husband. He looks affronted at the very thought.
"I did not! I have more sense than that!" He blusters. "As a matter of fact, I backed out of the room and came right back here. I doubt either one of them heard me. I was just…surprised, that's all."
-Aha! So they were kissing!
-Beryl, please, Abigail frowns at her, Samuel on her hip.
Elsie lets out a laugh, holding Margaret close and kissing her sweet face. "Welcome to this family, love," she whispers. Charles cups their daughter's small head in his hand.
"Your Uncle Richard does want to see you, very much. He's just rather busy with another lady at the moment," he whispers.
Richard returns to San Francisco several days later. Mam stays until late July, helping Elsie and Charles with the little ones, and the vineyard. After she goes home, Isobel visits as often as she can.
-Did you speak with Mrs. Williams last Sunday? She asks Elsie as they gather the washing, one warm August afternoon. –Last week she said her niece Eliza could come and help you.
-I did, Elsie sighs, pulling hair out of her face. Samuel grabs her skirt. –Eliza decided to go back home to Napa City after all.
-Oh. That's disappointing. Isobel frowns as she picks up the basket and they go back into the house. While Elsie sits and nurses Margaret, her friend plays with Samuel.
-I know I'm not as exciting as Matthew, Isobel says to him. –But he will come with me on Sunday after church. You can play with him then.
Isobel's son is very patient with Samuel, and the little boy follows him everywhere.
-There is another girl, a friend of Eliza's from home- Isobel begins, but Elsie interrupts her.
-Please, I cannot think about hired girls anymore, she sighs, leaning her head against the back of the rocking chair. –Not at the moment. Besides, my brother has been very vague in his letters lately. What is going on between the two of you? And don't you dare try to tell me it's nothing!
Her eyes twinkle.
A blush colors Isobel's cheeks. She pats Samuel on the head and gets up from the floor.
-Oh really, it is not 'nothing' as you say, but there is no news to tell you. Not now, anyway.
She sits on a hard wooden chair. –We-we're not engaged. He would like to be, but I could not give him the answer he wanted.
-Richard asked you to marry him? Elsie asks quietly. Margaret lets out a soft coo, and the sound makes her smile even as her heart sinks. So that is why his letters have been rather glum.
-He did. And…I do like him. Very much. Isobel folds her hands. –But...I'm not sure how Matthew feels about it. Nor I, to be honest. I've found I like to be independent.
She does. It is one thing to be a wife, and enjoy the social aspects of that role. But she has a reputation now of a woman who can care for herself, and for her son. And she does not feel quite ready to give that up. Yet.
She always has been a free spirit. Her father never treated her much different than her brother Edward. Reginald admired her strong character, and encouraged her to always say what she thought.
Richard is the same way.
She never thought she would meet another man who treated her as an equal.
Looking up at Elsie, she smiles, feeling a twinge of guilt. –I suppose you think I'm being rather unfair to him.
-No, Elsie gently moves Margaret to her lap. –It would be unfair for you to agree to marry him without being sure.
Elsie is disappointed, mostly for Richard's sake. But she knows he would not want a woman who cannot enter a marriage wholeheartedly. And she knows Isobel would not agree to it unless she was fully ready to do so.
The women are quiet for several moments before talking of other things.
On her way home, Isobel thinks of the conversation with Richard once more.
She hates to see his face fall, the light in his clear blue eyes fading.
-I am sorry, she murmurs, her voice shaky. -Truly, I am.
He tries to smile. -I know you are. So am I.
The memory of their kiss runs through their minds.
-I hope we can still be friends.
She hates how feeble the words sound, even to her.
-Of course. He reassures her. –Write to me whenever you wish. And may I write to you? He asks.
It is not an absurd question. He knows how the gossip spreads from the postmaster in a small town, how everyone knows if an unmarried woman receives letters from an unrelated man.
-Yes, please do. She hopes she does not sound too eager.
She could care less what women in Sonoma think, or say.
He holds his hat in his hands, at a loss for words. –Well. I must go. It's a long ride back to San Francisco.
Climbing down her porch steps, he goes out to the hitching post. Something – she doesn't know what – compels her to follow him.
-Dr. Clarkson. He turns, his hand on the horse's bridle. –I hope you know how honored I am. Any woman would be fortunate to be your wife. You-you deserve a woman who returns your affection properly.
-Thank you.
He mounts up, securing the reins in his hands. Part of him simply wants to ride away, hard and fast, leaving his heartbreak behind him. But he cannot resist one last look.
At her deep brown eyes that say so much without her saying a word.
I am sorry I hurt you.
He almost wishes she felt nothing for him.
-You are a woman who knows her own mind, he hears himself say. –It is an admirable trait. I cannot despise you for that.
She blinks, one hand on her fence.
-I have never met a woman like you, he says. –You are truly exceptional.
He turns the horse around, facing east. –Please give Matthew my regards. God bless you.
Arriving home from visiting Elsie, she makes tea. Matthew runs in the door, his clothes damp. He and his friend William Mason have gone swimming again, and he rattles on about their adventures while devouring several cookies.
My dear boy, she thinks, smiling. You always lift my spirits, even when you don't try.
When he goes out to pump water, she goes into the parlor. The small box Richard left her still sits in the drawer of the desk where she put it. She has never opened it, assuming inside is a ring.
But she is wrong.
There is only a short note and a tiny bundle, wrapped in a soft cloth.
It is a single pearl.
Holding it in her hand, she reads the note.
This reminds me of you.
September 1854, near Sonoma
"You want to hire her."
Elsie's voice is sleepy as Charles climbs into bed.
"Yes, I do. She's young, I know, but she works hard and…" he wraps an arm around her waist. "I think she deserves a better place to live than where she is now."
Elsie rolls over and touches his face. "You have a soft heart."
He watches her face intently. "Maybe. I know how you feel about it, hiring someone on. It would be different, having someone not related living here, living with our family. If you don't want-"
"Charlie." She leans on her elbow, her braid hanging by her ear. "We have talked about this for the better part of a year. I told you, I have changed my mind about this." She bites her lip. "I know I cannot be the best wife to you, or the best mother to our children without some help. And this harvest means everything to us, I know. I won't have you worrying about me when you're in the vineyard morning, noon and night."
He hesitates, then kisses her softly. "Mrs. Williams said she could be here by the end of the month. The lady she works for won't let her go until then.
"What of her family? She's only fourteen. A girl," Elsie says, Charles's hand on her hip.
"They're dead. Her mother and sister to the cholera, then her father to the fire in Sacramento two years ago," he said sadly.
"Poor soul," whispers Elsie. She looks to the corner where their daughter, who they have started to call Maggie, sleeps. Samuel snores in the trundle bed. "Was there no one else to care for her?"
"No. The family were immigrants, apparently. From Yorkshire."
Smiling, Elsie kisses him back, feeling his stubble beneath her lips. "I'm sure that had nothing to do with you wanting to hire her."
"Of course not," he grins. "I think you'll like her. Even if she's English."
Anna Smith looks younger than her age. Slight, with golden hair and blue eyes. Despite her appearance, and seemingly mild manner, she possesses an indefatigable spirit. And, Elsie learns from the first day she arrives, she is not easily daunted.
She takes Anna quickly around the house and barn, showing her everything that the girl will likely be helping with.
-It looks like a lot, but you'll soon get used to it, she says in the kitchen, showing the girl the stove. The bane of my existence. Elsie's heart sinks when she hears Maggie squalling from her cradle. She can see Sam sitting on the porch, playing quietly with one of the cats.
-I have to take the baby, she says, not waiting to explain further. She hurries to her daughter. Both of her children do not like to wait to be fed.
She hums to the baby, relishing her sweet scent. For a few minutes, all is quiet. Then she hears Anna gasp.
-No, not there!
Something shatters loudly onto the floor. It is followed by Sam bawling. She can hear Anna – barely – trying to comfort him, but he will not be comforted.
Of course he needs me now, when I'm feeding his sister!
She stands up and places Maggie back into the cradle. The baby begins to cry at once. As Elsie hastily buttons up her dress, racing back to the kitchen, she thinks she will not be surprised if Anna runs out the door, never to return.
The kitchen is a mess. A sack of flour has spilled, bathing half of her son and the floor in white, along with a glass fruit jar. Sam wails from his seat in the middle of the table. Anna is delicately picking up the shards of glass from the floor.
-He walked in here with the cat right when a mouse jumped from the shelf, the girl explains. –The cat of course went for it and missed, but upset the flour and the jar. It scared him, I think. I set him on the table so he wouldn't pick up glass.
Elsie picks up her boy. Other than having flour all down his front, he seems to be fine. He buries his face in her chest, spreading flour on her.
Maggie screams from the bedroom. Sam hiccups, still crying. The sweet scent of cherries permeates the room, and the red stickiness drips from the shelf onto the white dust on the floor.
She almost feels like crying herself.
-Mrs. Carson, simply tell me what you need me to do, and I'll do it. Anna calmly sweeps up most of the flour, and wipes the edge of the shelf with her apron.
Elsie swallows, forcing herself to concentrate. –Thank you, Anna, she says, rubbing Sam's back and kissing him. –I need you to take him-
-And clean him up, Anna holds out her hands and takes Sam. Thankfully, he does not reach for his mother. –Should I bring him to you, then?
-Yes, please. Elsie breathes a sigh of relief at the girl's steadiness.
-Right. Let's get some of this flour out of your hair and off your face, young man, Anna says cheerfully to Sam. –Then you can give your mum a kiss without covering her with it, too.
The woman and girl look at each other in understanding.
Elsie feels a weight lift off her shoulders. Going to feed the baby, she knows that everything will be fine.
A/N: Posting this in haste, so if there are any major mistakes I will fix them later.
Peace and love to you all.