Emma Field Book I - coming of age in the changing times of the mid-19th century

Chapter XVI - Nightmares and Ponderings

In the crazy way that nightmares unfold, Emma saw Mr. Forsythe and the man with the nails adding Mrs. Plank's miserable body to the fire in Bishop's wood stove.

"No! Leave her be!" Emma screamed into the night. "Leave her be. Don't roast her! Don't!" Her dress was twisted like a rope around her slim body.

"Quiet, child," her father called from across the darkened room. "Go back to sleep."

"They're roasting her!" the girl cried, sitting up.

"You're dreaming, Emma. Go back to sleep!" The straw in the tick crackled as he rolled over.

"You don't understand. She's..."

"It's all right now, Emma. Go to sleep."

Emma flopped back onto her mattress. She felt as though a piece of her had been cast into the flames. A few hours later she again awoke in terror. Mr. Brown had now joined the other men around the fire. He stood with the hot poker raised high above Vera's quaking body. "No!" she shrieked again, sitting bolt upright, her arms protecting her head. Why was she in front of her own fireplace? Who was stumbling across the room toward her? "Stop!" she screamed.

"Good heavens, Emma!" chastised her father. "Get up and go to the privy. You went to bed tonight without relieving yourself, and you've kept me up half the night."

"But it was Mr. Brown. He was about to...to...."

"You were dreaming. Now, go relieve yourself."

•

When she stumbled back into the cabin, her father was adding a second log to the stirred embers.

"That dream was awful, Father. I don't want to dream it again. Please sit by me?"

"But it's so cold. I'm half frozen here on this floor."

"Please, just for a moment."

"Alright." Jeremiah swung the chair from under the table.

"I think I remember Mother rubbing my back when I had nightmares. Did she do that?"

"Yes. I do believe she did."

"That was nice."

"Yes."

"Are you worried about something, Father?"

"I'm always worried about something."

"What is it?"

"Nothing."

"I'm worried about something."

"I can tell. Now stop worrying and go back to sleep. It will soon be time for me to get up." Her father padded across the cold earthen floor to his bed. He wiped his feet on the burlap sack and pulled his now-cold sheets and blankets to his chin.

•

His thoughts wandered to the cupboard where his brother's letter lay. They wandered across the ocean to the cottage he'd grown up in, and the fields he'd known to yield potatoes year after year...until this year and last. He thought of his brother, solid and rugged like the cottage, burying his third child in as many years.

He brought his thoughts back to Canada West and felt a mixture of pride and pain as he reflected on the supply of salt pork and turnips and apples and carrots and potatoes which filled the root cellar. They would most likely see Emma and him through the winter...but there certainly wasn't enough to feed six more mouths, and he couldn't think of anyone within walking distance needing a tenant farmer.

He shivered as he thought of the Planks withering on their own in the clay flats by the mill. And then he thought of the Coopers and the buckets of grain they left in his own small barn; the male chicks they gave Emma to raise for meat; and the clothes and cakes and scones and jellies they frequently left just inside his door. The thought of the whole family being like one big generous wife brought a quick smile to his face. But just as quickly, loneliness swept over him again and the smile faded.

The man knew he needed a wife but there were no women to be had in the district. He also knew he needed to help his brother. For a long time he lay on his back listening to the wind whistling around and through the cabin. He thought about how he would fill the chinks near the chimney in the morning, if only it weren't Sunday. And the thought of Sunday reminded him again of the smell and sight of women. And that reminded him of church, and he decided that it was time he and Emma attended a service. He would write to his brother after breakfast on Monday morning.

A pack of wolves howled to the south and Jeremiah Field rolled onto his side, very pleased with himself.