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

Chapter XXVII - Father

The killdeer returned the following week. Emma watched them from the window as she began to eat her porridge. Their spindly legs punctuated the thin line of dirty snow between the cabin and the road. She went to the front step, bowl in hand, and stood observing the birds until a faint honking caught her ear. She ran to the southwest of the cabin craning her neck and saw the first dots of Canada geese in the distance.

"Geese!" she shouted and dashed across the road to the Coopers' barn. "Geese, Father! The first Canada geese! Come quickly!"

"Right you are!" he called, wiping his hands on the sides of his trousers. "Ah – they warm my heart! That's a big flock. My, they are flying low! Probably wanting to get ahead of the storm."

"Look how white their bellies are!" Emma said when the birds were closer.

"And listen to the sound of their wings! They are magnificent," exclaimed John Cooper, poking his head out of an upper window. The flock passed, a lone goose trailing behind.

"Can you touch it?" Jeremiah called up to John.

"No, but I can almost feel the wind from it!"

"My guess is that there will be one heavy wind by dinner, wouldn't you say?" asked Jeremiah, looking up to John in the mow.

"Hard to say, but we could use a good rain right now," came the reply.

"That groundhog over there might not think so," said Emma.

"They are so bold this time of year. They make me laugh," said her father.

"Hello!" came a voice from the road. It was Jane. "Hello, Mr. Field! Mr....John. My goodness, do you always eat in the barnyard, Emma?"

"We were just watching the geese. Did you see them?"

"I think I heard them, now that you mention it. You'd better hurry, Emma. The school door will be shut in a few minutes!"

"Good."

"Off you go!" her father tapped her upper arm and retreated into the barn.

"Goodbye," called John Cooper as he pulled the window shut.

•

The air inside the schoolhouse was damp and cold compared with outside. As she sat down beside Jane, Emma wished she had brought her shawl. She shivered.

"Five more months," she told herself. "Five more months and I will be finished with Mr. Brown, and children will be calling me 'Miss Field.'" She drew herself up tall as she settled on the bench.

The wind rose before the dinner hour and Mr. Brown slammed the windows all the way shut. They rattled in their frames. Dust swirled outside the schoolhouse.

"You will be staying inside today," declared Mr. Brown as the children wiped the last crumbs of their meal to the floor. "Don't – "

An insistent and loud knock cut him off. Mr. Brown strode purposefully to the door, almost relieved to know that someone other than a child would be in his presence. The children could hear a man's voice but could not hear what was being said. Mr. Brown turned his head and looked directly at Emma.

"Emma. Emma Field. Come here, please," he croaked. The colour had drained from his already pale face. John Cooper stood on the step, his hat clenched in his hands.

"It is thy father, Emma," Mr. Cooper managed to say. "Thy father – he has been – he's been killed."

"NO! No – you can't mean that."

"The barn door slammed shut. It..." his voice quivered.

"No! He was right there! You were right there...where is he?" she shrieked, running toward the gate.

"Emma, no!" shouted John Cooper, running after her. "The blood...it is everywhere. There is a gash on his head. I don't think that thee should see him."

"He's my father! I don't care what you say! I've got to see him," she cried. The skirt of Emma's dress snagged on the gate as it slammed shut behind her. She yanked it clear, tearing the fabric. Dust swirled into her eyes. Mehetebel was stumbling toward them.

"Where is he? Where is my father?" Emma shrieked, her eyelids narrowed to mere slits. She grabbed Mehetebel's shawl and pounded on her chest. "Where is he?"

Mehetebel gripped Emma by the shoulders.

"Please!" Emma wailed. "Ohhhhh," she sobbed into Mehetebel's arms. They clung to each other as heavy droplets of icy rain mixed with hot tears. Soon rain was pounding down. Their hair matted against their necks and water ran off their earlobes. Emma didn't notice any of it.

"Thee wants to see thy father now?" Mehetebel asked in a low voice. They turned toward the barn, arms around each other. Her head down, Emma saw only boots parting around her, then a hayfork as it was tossed aside, its tongs holding strands of wet hay. A sickening layer of blood swirled in a puddle of rainwater. Emma shivered. She squeezed through the doorway.

"Over here." The voice was almost drowned by the din of the rain on the roof. Jeremiah's body lay in the bloodied hay, his head twisted to one side, a gash at his left temple.

"Ohhh," Emma moaned, sinking to her knees. Her body felt as cold as a rock in winter. Her hands felt the sticky mass amongst the black and grey hairs. "Ohhh...Father..." She took a deep breath and buried her ashen face against his still chest. Under the metallic smell of blood, he smelled as he always did, of animals and sweat.

An hour later the wind had eased. Mehetebel shifted in the hay where she sat. A slice of faint sunlight cut the darkness as the door opened. Elizabeth Bowerman slipped inside. The door eased shut behind her back. Emma, still kneeling over her father's body, didn't notice. She kissed his forehead, her salty lips trembling. She straightened, bit her upper lip, and felt in her pocket.

"Here," she whispered, "I have a handkerchief today, Father." She braced herself against his left arm and touched the folds of cloth to the dark gash, her tears mixing with his blood. Crimson soaked the embroidered initials EF.

"Thee is coming with me now, Emma," prompted Elizabeth gently, taking the grief-stricken girl by the arm. Numbly Emma stood and they walked, arm in arm, out into the blinding sunlight.