UNDER THE OAK
December 1764
I winced as Lorraine snatched her tattered dress from the bed and glowered. Her trembling hands crumpled the cloth into a ball. “I’ll never wear this dress again after your nasty remark.”
Blast it. I hadn’t intended to say she looked less than beautiful.
She shook the wad of material. “I hate you, Benjamin Christian, and wish you’d never been born.” She flung the threadbare garment over her shoulder, and it sailed in a billowing arc on top of the woodpile by the stove. Two logs clunked to the floor. Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll never wear it again. Do you hear? Never.”
Where had she gotten such a temper? “Honey, that’s your only dress. You can’t go around half-naked.”
She snatched up the mending basket. “You know what I want,” she said and hurled it at me.
I ducked as the wicker handle clipped my arm. It stung, but not as much as her sharp words. The flying basket resembled a tipped-over sack of beans as it dumped sewing items across the floor. A spool of thread clattered, twirled, and wobbled before rolling into the fireplace. It fizzled and popped in the flames.
Through the window, Mrs. Inman, our neighbor, scurried behind the clothes on her wash line as if to gain protection from my wife’s verbal barrage.
I held back a retort and snatched the flintlock rifle from above the fireplace.
She glowered as if daring me to use it.
I glared back. Awful things would happen if I stayed in the cabin. I stomped outside, slamming the door. Chinking fell from between the cabin logs and rattled on the ground like pebbles in a bucket. Her eyes probably shot arrows as I left.
She could be as stubborn as a mule, but never had she been like this. My fist balled. Why did she demand more than we could afford?
The trail sped away from Fort Pitt, winding its way through the trees and ascending the steep mountainside. Like a starving beggar, my legs swallowed the distance, and my shirt clung with sweat. Halfway up the slope, I rested, my breathing raspy. No man should suffer the tongue of an angry woman.
A woodpecker’s rat-a-tat-tat echoed through the trees, and a pair of crows protested overhead. A rabbit skittered beneath the underbrush and the river rushed below. My pulse eased. My temples cooled.
I resumed the climb and gauged my pace not to make a sound. With every step, a bit of my fury evaporated, seeping through my moccasins and onto the trail. The path crested along the ridge and dipped into a dell, hiding the settlement from view.
Why did Lorraine lecture me when she knew we couldn’t afford new clothes? I’d earned a few coins and tried to hold some back. But the Colonel’s tax to fight Indians had depleted it.
The trail opened into a clearing, and I scanned the area. The overhead branches formed a gigantic leafless roof. High fluffy clouds drifted above the mountains, exhibiting an expanse of the Lord’s creation. The wind whispered of God.
A hawk hovered. If I could emulate its flight, I’d glide over the mountains and savor the breeze ruffling through my hair.
I squatted near a tree and rested my gun across my knees. The quiet of the forest swirled around me. My breathing eased. My muscles relaxed.
Two squirrels chattered, bickering over the nuts they’d collected. Did all animals squabble? Did other married folks fight? My first wife never yelled.
An oak in the center of the glade stood like a sentinel. Though similar to the other trees, this one stood taller and more weathered. Despite its leaning posture, its well-planted roots anchored it against the ever-present winds.
My work-swollen hands mirrored the tree’s bark. Lorraine giggled at their roughness last night as they trailed over her stomach when we made love.
This morning, she glared at her torn and faded dress and snarled, “Get me a store-bought dress.”
What was I supposed to do? The frontier didn’t allow for fineries. I tried to envelop her and soothe our inability to buy an expensive item.
She shoved me.
Had it been six months since we’d wed?
It seemed like days since I first saw her. The Indians had killed her family, and a group of soldiers escorted her from the forest, shrouded in a horsehair blanket. Mud cached her legs, and her red, swollen eyes melted my heart into a bowl of pudding. She was an angel arrayed in royal garb, an angel with auburn hair.
Later, I asked if we could marry because my children needed a mother. She agreed. If she remained unattached, she’d become known as a loose woman.
The wind tugged at the oak’s branches and churned the leaves on the ground. My wife’s rants had churned my stomach like soured milk.
I loved Lorraine. Did she love me? Today’s outburst put a question to it.
Caleb, my youngest, had split his toe with a rock. Lorraine set aside her baking to tend to his injury. She bandaged it and cradled him against her chest. She sang songs and told a funny story about a rabbit. The other children congregated around to listen. They begged for another when she finished, and they were all laughing.
Mrs. Inman took sick last month, and her husband was away. Lorraine cared for her, cooked her meals, and watched her children. Mrs. Inman said Lorraine was a beautiful woman, both inside and out. Everyone at the fort said I was lucky to have found such a wonderful wife.
I agree with those opinions, but how do I handle Lorraine’s insatiable craving for nicer clothes?
The trouble started when Colonel Bouquet arrived three months ago and his wife displayed a finery that Lorraine had never seen. She said, “Isn’t that dress lovely,” and “How would I look in it?” and “When will you buy me one?”
A strong gust blew up the valley, and the hawk fluttered, veering away. The wind whistled around the oak, and the remaining leaves whipped like flags.
Lorraine longed for finery, much like the fall foliage. The shopkeeper at the trading post was selling a dress with patterns of reds, browns, and golds. My wife would look lovely in it, and I couldn’t begrudge her the desire. But my money pouch was worse than empty.
Movement at the edge of the glade hooked my attention. Indians? I held still. Had they returned to raid the settlement? Or was it a hunting party in search of game? I tensed, ready to bolt.
A whitetail buck emerged from the shadows and nosed the air. He flicked his tail.
I nearly whistled at the enormous size of the stately animal. It was larger than any deer I’d ever seen.
For an eternity, he probed the meadow with his senses.
He hadn’t spotted me, so I eased behind a tree and counted his antler points, twelve … thirteen … fourteen. He was truly a magnificent animal.
The buck determined there was no danger. He stepped into the clearing, and three females followed him. The four deer glided up to the oak as the buck pawed through the thick blanket of leaves in search of acorns. The females nibbled at the uncovered treats. This buck was their provider, and they seemed content with his protection. Could Lorraine be content with mine?
Slowly, I extended my arms. My kinked muscles protested. My breathing steadied.
In half a heartbeat, the antlered head snapped up. His nostrils flared. His ears pivoted back and forth. The females stepped closer to their mate, their muscles quivering as they prepared to flee. For a long while, they didn’t move except for their twitching ears.
The graceful stance of those wild deer mirrored Lorraine’s elegance. When we chatted in the evenings, she would curl her legs under her. She was lovely, despite her less-than-flattering garb.
Could the buck hear my pounding heart? Did he sense me hidden in the surrounding brush?
The whitetail pawed the earth and raked his antlers against the tree. The loosened bark fluttered in the wind, and the exposed wood declared this meadow as his. He was a guardian in an unchallenged domain, providing for his three females. Could he provide for Lorraine?
My finger twitched. The frizzen pan flashed, and an explosion of black powder shot a half-inch lead ball down my rifle barrel. It whizzed true, straight through the buck’s neck and lodged in the chest of the doe behind him.
The magnificent animal leaped in an ungraceful arc. He landed, took four quick steps, wobbled, and crumpled. Two of the females bounded through the trees, their white tails flashing a warning.
I closed my eyes. Happiness bubbled inside like an artesian spring, and I said a prayer of thanks.
It would take an hour to field dress both animals and, after fetching help, the rest of the day to carry them out of the woods.
Meat would adorn our table for a week.
There would be plenty to sell at the fort for cash money.
And tonight, Lorraine would wear a pretty store-bought dress.