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

Chapter XVII - Sunday Morning

Emma was absent-mindedly poking the coals in the fireplace. She didn't know what to think of the jumble running through her mind. Her father had been so swift to chastise her for being in the presence of John. She'd never seen her father behave so strongly over something so small. John had been so unaffected and comforting with her enormous anguish. And Mrs. Plank had been so...She didn't have words to match all of these experiences. Oh, how confusing it all was. Emma heard her father's footsteps and groaned. She wanted to be alone more than anything else right now.

"Good Sabbath morning, Emma."

Emma continued to stir the embers. "Good morning."

"Porridge ready?"

"Hmm, almost." She reached over and scraped the bottom of the pot. It was gluey, but not yet bubbling.

"Do you know what we Fields are doing today?"

Emma rolled her eyes and continued to stir. "No."

"We are going to worship today. The circuit rider is coming to the village and I think we should avail ourselves of his words of wisdom."

"Why today? We haven't been to a service in years."

"Mr. Williams has been talking about Mr. Green, a circuit rider who comes to his brother's. He says that this preacher is an inspiration to the youth. You're rather youthful...wouldn't you like some inspiration?"

"No...and I thought you said we weren't to have anything to do with people of higher standing than us anyway," she said quietly.

"I said that you weren't to be alone with young men of such standing. At least that's what I meant. They have no need for people like us. Let them court amongst themselves."

"John wasn't courting. He was helping me with something."

"Courting, helping, it's all the same thing with young men. But going to church is different. It's a chance to be amongst them, but not with them. There's nothing wrong with that."

"I'm not going. I'm too tired this morning."

"Well, you're in luck because the service is not until after dinner. I'll need to get the manure off those boots of mine, and put a little fat on them – if I want to keep my feet dry."

•

Several hours later Emma found herself sitting stiffly in the parlour of John's uncle and aunt, Mr. and Mrs. John Platt Williams I. She was embarrassed by her father and his sudden exuberance and wished she were still at home, poking the coals. She looked at him twisting his hat on his lap as he smiled across the room at the MacDonald girls. He leaned toward Joseph Smith, who was sitting in front of him.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Smith. Lovely day isn't it?"

"That it is, Mr. Field, that it is," came the reply. Turning his head slightly, he continued in a whisper. "So you decided to get away from your dangerous neighbourhood for a day, did you?"

"I beg your pardon...dangerous?"

"Women killing their husbands and all," whispered Mr. Smith.

"What? Women killing their husbands? What women?"

"And babies – yes. And she'd have killed off the others if – you must know about this, Mr. Field. I hear your girl had a hand in saving the one daughter."

Jeremiah glanced at Emma, who had heard nothing of the conversation. She was coiling her handkerchief round and round in her hands and looking toward the doorway at Jane Morgan in her brick-red skirts and black woollen mantle. The inside brim of Jane's bonnet was filled with red and grey flowers right from the top of her ears down to her chin. Such ostentation! However, Emma felt a twinge of satisfaction knowing that at least Jane had not yet acquired her new dress. She glanced around the room at the empty seats as she moved her knees to let Jane pass.