One More River to Cross by Jane Kirkpatrick

Author:Jane Kirkpatrick
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical;Survival—Fiction;FIC042030;FIC014000
ISBN: 9781493419494
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2019-07-16T16:00:00+00:00

Wintering Women

Isabella Patterson and her brood were assigned the wall space opposite Sarah and Mary Sullivan. James Miller had created the designations, making sure that his family had one of the two warmest corners. Well, they had little Indie, so that made sense. But there’d been words spoken between him and Maolisa, who had a gift for organizing. The Patterson corner space offered nestling. Being out in the open between Ailbe and James and Ann Jane and her father made Isabella feel like there was no room at all for any privacy in talking with her girls, who were nearly women themselves. Thirteen-year-old Isaac brooded about not being mentioned as a possible hunter by Mr. Miller, granting credit to his own boy who was a year younger. Isabella would build her boy up, remind him that men liked to hunt with those they knew, that his rejection had nothing to do with him or his abilities at all. The truth was, Isaac hadn’t hunted but one time with his grandfather and never with his father, who was so tender he’d carry spiders outside rather than squash them at the privy.

She sighed. “Are you all right, Mama?” Lydia asked. “You’ve been a-sighing all morning.”

“Have I? That’s not a very good use of my breath, now is it?” Lydia smiled back at her. “It’s just the settling in that’s bringing on the sighs. I’ll be fine once I feel like our little nest is made.”

“Nesting is what we women do well.” This from Ann Jane, who couldn’t avoid overhearing anything that Isabella said. “We tend and befriend. Here, Da.” She handed her father his cap. He frowned but allowed her to adjust it over his mostly bald head. “I’m sure Mr. Miller will appreciate your help.”

Mr. Martin grunted. “He should. He’s lucky I stayed behind.” He maneuvered his way around the piles of bedding and clothing and trunks and children. Isabella estimated their cabin was ten feet by twenty, long and narrow. Isabella’s son had set up a tent for the younger children, who giggled inside, while Mr. Martin headed toward the door that had once been part of a wagon floor. The Millers left, leaving a blast of cold air behind them. Mr. Martin grunted at the hide hinges swinging on the wooden covering that had once been a wagon seat.

Whispering, Ann Jane said, “He can’t shoot much anymore with that bad shoulder, but he can help haul in a deer if they find one. And he’s good with a knife for butchering.”

Ann Jane sounded defensive for him. Isabella understood that. She felt protective of her son while wishing her own father had stayed behind. “He’s a good man,” Isabella said. “I’m not sure how my father would have handled being left with all of us.”

“We’ll have to take a lesson from them,” Ann Jane said. “Make the best of what we have.” She parted her brown hair in the center like most of the women. “Including figuring out how to make our spaces .

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