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

Chapter XXIX - Emptying and Filling

Emma returned to the cabin the following week. Having told Elizabeth she wanted to be alone, she had dashed by Jane's house and skirted the cleared fields at the top of the hill to avoid anyone seeing her. Now she leaned against the inside of the cabin door, the smell of cattle and sweat and smoke and long-ago-eaten meals filling her every pore. She slid to the earthen floor, pulling her knees to her chest to keep it from breaking apart.

How long she sat like that she couldn't have said but a gentle knock on the door rattled Emma's spine. She stiffened. The knock came again, only a little louder this time.

"Emma?" It was John. "Emma, I know you are home," he said gently. "If you wish to talk, I am only too willing to listen. If you wish to be left alone, I understand."

Emma swallowed hard. Her voice croaked, "I don't know what I want."

"Then I'll just sit here on the step for now."

They sat that way for a long time, Emma on the earthen floor on one side of the door, John on the stone step on the other. At long last Emma moved to one side of the door, reached up, and opened the latch.

"You can come in," she said in a hollow voice, without looking up. The palm of John's hand rested on the top of her head for a moment as he slipped past her. He sat on the chair by the table and leaned his elbows on his thighs.

"It's awful, isn't it?" he said at last.

Emma nodded. "It's the smell. The touch is gone. The sounds are too. His looks are still in my head; at least, they were a moment ago. Even they are fading now, but...that smell...I suppose it will eventually fade too."

In the north window the flies buzzed, then dropped; buzzed, then dropped.

"What has the strongest smell of your father on it?" John asked.

"I don't know. His frock coat, I suppose. No, his undershirt...but they probably burn..."

"Why don't you take his coat with you. You can smell it whenever you need to."

"I couldn't...it's probably covered in blood...I don't even know where they put..."

"Good afternoon!" came a man's voice with a thick Irish accent from the path.

Emma jumped, thinking it was her father's. John stepped around her.

"Good afternoon!" the man called again. "Perhaps I have been mistaken. I am looking for Mr. Jeremiah Field. I thought this was his cabin."

"It is. It was," replied John.

"Then where might I find him?" asked the man, glancing toward the road.

"I'm afraid that Mr. Field passed away last week."

Colour drained from the man's face. He took his hat from his head and clasped it to his chest, then covered his face with his other hand.

"I...I'm Seamus Field. I am Jeremiah's brother," he said, his voice shaking. Again he looked toward the road, where a worn-looking woman and a group of children stood against the fence. "And that is my family..." He rubbed his eyes.

"Then you are Emma's uncle." John glanced over his shoulder at the open door. "Emma? Did you hear that? Your Uncle Seamus is here."

Emma stepped through the doorway, her eyes cast down, her arms still wrapped around her. She extended her hand. Her uncle reached past it and folded her into his arms.

"I have come too late," Seamus Field whispered in anguish. "I am so sorry I have come too late. I am so sorry. My brother is dead. And you, his daughter..."

They stepped back from one another, uncertain about what to do next. "Come and meet my family – your cousins, Emma. And your name, young man?"

"John, John Williams. I am a neighbour."

•

Emma felt as though she were back at the funeral, shaking the hands of people unknown to her but familiar to her father. She tried to cut through the confusion to do what she knew her father would want her to do. She knew little about her uncle but she knew her father had wanted to help them.

"Please come inside for a cup of tea. We don't have enough cups," she said, "but if you are willing to share...I'm not living here anymore. This house belongs to the Coopers...but I imagine you could stay the night." She looked at John for direction.

"I'll fetch some coal from the Coopers," he said. "You fetch some water for them to wash up in. I'll be right back." John jumped over the fence and ran toward the Coopers' home. He returned a few minutes later carrying a pot, a kettle of steaming water, and a basket. The cool, damp cabin was filled with silent people standing or sitting awkwardly. "Mehetabel Cooper had just made these scones. She wants you to have them," he said, smiling and setting the basket on the table. "The coal is in the pot, Emma."

The two cups had been drained several times and every crumb dabbed into the children's mouths when Mrs. Cooper appeared at the door with a larger basket cradled in her arm.

"Welcome!" she smiled first at the children seated on the bed. "Welcome!" she said to Seamus and then his wife. "You have come a long way. I am certain that you need more than a few biscuits to fill thy bellies."

The children squirmed and their eyes widened.

"I cannot stay, Emma, but once everyone has eaten, please bring thy family over to meet the rest of us."

That night Emma closed her eyes in her own settle once again. The loft was filled with children sleeping under woollen blankets brought over by the Coopers and the Williamses. Her aunt and uncle and their baby occupied the bed in the corner – her father's bed.

Emma felt as though she were watching it all from a distance. She didn't know how she felt, or if she felt anything at all. She went to sleep knowing that she was being carried along like a raft on a stream – a raft she could not control.