Dollybird (15 page)

CHAPTER 22

i
i
i

DILLAN

I sat up on one
elbow, stunned with sleep. It was voices outside the tent that woke me, and I looked across at Moira standing and looking out the flap. Someone called out, “Hello in there.” And then a woman's teasing song, “Come on out you two. We've got a surprise.”

“Must be the sodding crew,” Moira said. She was looking pleased with herself, eyes shiny, excited. “They've come to build us a house.”

“What?” I jumped up, hopped on one foot and then the other, pulling on pants, suspenders snapping hard over my undershirt. I was outside in seconds. “Hey, what the hell is this then?” A couple of the women frowned.

There were more than twenty people standing there looking at me, smiling kind of silly, like they knew something I didn't. Men and boys were carrying shovels and blades. They were all dressed alike, work pants tucked into tall leather boots, suspenders over shirts with sleeves rolled to the elbows. The women were a wave of housedresses, their arms loaded with picnic baskets and parcels. Little girls were jumping up and down, their pigtails bobbing. They looked past me, trying to catch sight of Moira. Someone had brought a dog, a red-coloured retriever running around as excited as the kids. I started to shake, too nervous to look at anyone properly until I recognized Mrs. Miller in the crowd. She grinned wide and nodded at me like I should say something.

“We figured it's about time you two had a decent house.” It was Mr. Miller, standing with his arms folded across his huge chest, his good eye fixing to look right through me. “Especially with a new babe coming soon.” His gaze wandered to Moira, his face going soft into a smile, like she was the damn Virgin herself.

“I don't know what to say. I'm, I mean we're...” The stuttering wouldn't stop, so I did.

“Me and the missus homestead not so far from here.” A tall man stepped out from the crowd, long arms and legs propelling him forward. He clapped me on the back and waved toward the crowd. “Wanted to get here sooner, but had to get the seeding done.” He glanced at Moira. “The whole countryside's here now, ready to help you and your little woman.”

A strange ping went off in my head, but before I could figure out what it was about, Mr. Miller was there beside me, making things happen. He pointed to tall, lush grass not fifty yards away. “That slough bottom over there is about perfect for good sod. Lots of roots. Helps to hold it together when it rains or the winds get up.”

The men took the furrow plow to the slough and soon the sod rolled up in a dark coil behind it. They brought the strips to higher ground, where other men had constructed a wood frame.

“Make sure that sod's about four inches deep.”

“And cut those lengths a good two feet.”

“Use that sharp spade so the ends are straight.”

“Grass side down, you idiot, or it'll rain as heavy inside as out.”

The men hollered back and forth, setting each layer of sod, lacing the corners and filling the cracks with leftover chunks. Mostly I stood and watched, feeling useless, running from the slough back to the growing house, grabbing a spade only to have someone take it from me. They were quick. Each of them knew his small job, working toward something bigger. They were at ease, efficient, knowing each other in a way I'd never known other men. The suspicion I'd started with melted away with the heat of the day. I saw Moira a couple of times, chatting with the other women busy setting out lunch, chasing after Casey when he got too close to the work. She smiled real big at me.

By lunchtime the sod house was half done. Walls, a small porch, a front door hanging at a bit of an angle ‘cause the sod weren't sturdy enough yet to hold the wooden door frame and hinges. It needed windows cut and a roof built. The sky was clouding up right quick and the men didn't want to take time to eat. But their women stared them down until we were all sitting on blankets on the ground eating bread and lengths of sausage and fruit pies. Cellar-cold milk from Mrs. Miller's Jersey washed everything down. Even the dog was finally taking a break from tearing around.

“It'll be about twenty-four feet long.” The tall man was beside me again. I was feeling groggy from the food and sun. “There won't be no partitions, but at least you can have a little privacy if you put your bed at the other end from the little ones.” He elbowed my ribs and winked at the women, who blushed and looked offended, but weren't.

My breath left me quick. Their faces were laughing, Moira was blushing and Carla was looking at the ground. Mrs. Miller caught my eye and glared, shook her head in a warning.

“When I find a wife, I'm sure she'll be grateful.”

The words echoed in the silence around my head. One of the women dropped the dishes she'd been gathering, while the men stood with mouths hanging open, heads swinging from Moira to me and back again.

“Okay everyone, let's get back at it.” Mr. Miller's voice broke through the blood pounding in my ears. He came over and put his arm around my shoulder. “It's all right, son,” he said quietly. “I'm sure lots of them have stories too.”

“I'm a dollybird,” Moira said, rescuing me. She stood straight, ready to take them on, the baby pushing out against her work dress, sleeves rolled up, sweat shining on her brow. She wasn't no different from the rest of them. But they stared at her a moment and then one by one lowered their gazes and ate their food in silence. The crew was quiet after that, thanking the women for lunch and heading back to the sod. I followed at a distance, hearing the whispers drifting in the air.

“Well, I never.”

“And in her condition.”

“Bad enough to be a dollybird, but a pregnant one?”

Shame burnt my ears hot. I wanted to explain about Taffy, about Moira being the only one willing to help, to tell them she was good to Casey and smart and capable. More capable than me if I was honest. But I couldn't take their dirty glares and wagging tongues. I couldn't look at Moira, caught Carla's eye a moment and looked away quick. She must think me a bugger for not sayin' anything.

The men worked faster now, wanting to beat the gathering clouds. And all the while they were looking at me from under their hat brims, at Moira, shaking their heads at one another, raising their eyebrows. The voices of Arichat wandered through my head.

“
Obviously no morals in either of ‘em.”

“Knocked up. She should be hiding out in a convent somewhere.”

“Why doesn't he just marry her then? That would make everything okay, wouldn't it?”

People are the same everywhere.

Every step I took was like walking in mud. The walls were almost done and the men brought sod for the roof, arguing a little about which had the most grass roots that would make it strong. One of them said they should just put up a dirt roof, as though dirt was good enough for the likes of me and Moira. I recognized the man, knew Moira had helped his son with a rash that about drove the boy crazy with itching. The bastard. I wanted to shout that I had lied to no one, that I hadn't invited them here, that Moira would be as grateful for that house as any wife or mother.

Mr. Miller stepped in. Stroking his chin, starting and stopping, fixing each of them with first his good eye and then the bad, he said very carefully, “No. I think we will build a sod roof.” And when they snorted and mumbled, he added, “You know dirt. One day of rain and it's pouring inside the house for two. There's going to be a baby in there.”

The men grumbled, but started back to work. I tried to smile a little at Mr. Miller. He nodded slightly in return and turned to help the men lift the logs needed to support the roof.

CHAPTER 23

i
i
i

MOIRA

Dearest Aileen,

We have a house, an honest to goodness house...

i i i

There was no party. The sodding done and the house complete, the women entered it quietly and congregated around the table and chairs brought in from the tent. Light filtered through two windows, splashing a patch onto the dirt floor. Casey wouldn't go near the dim corners, stayed close to me instead, gazing tiredly at the strangers who sent tolerant smiles his way. I sat at the table and received their mumbled congratulations, the gifts they offered one at a time as they came forward from the group that stood back just a little. Any intimacy now seemed impossible. But it was for the better. If these women had been allowed to believe Dillan and I were married, and found out the truth only later, the hurt would have been all the greater.

I sat straight and accepted blue embroidered curtains from Mrs. Rehman; a set of tin pots from Mrs. Miller, who squeezed my arm hard before sitting down with Casey on her lap; a green hand-stitched baby blanket from Hazel Baker; tiny baby gowns from Rebecca Long, a woman Silas called the chronic widow. After these things had been passed around and admired, Mrs. Koch's husband came in carrying a worn, but still functional, crib.

“All my babies, all eight of them, slept in this crib.” Mrs. Koch looked around at the other women. Worry etched her eyes. “See these marks on the wood? I couldn't get little George to stop chewing, his teeth bothered him so.” The women peered at gouges in the railing, glancing up to ensure I appreciated the significance of such an heirloom being offered. “And here,” Mrs. Koch caressed a spindle, “is where Emily rubbed the bar between her fingers every night for comfort.” Her eyes teared and the other women made small comforting sounds and patted her shoulders.

It was bewildering. If the woman didn't want me to have the crib...

“Little Emily was taken by a mysterious disease when she was only a two years old,” Carla said quietly.

“I'm so sorry. I can't possibly take this. It's beautiful, but...”

Carla shook her head in warning. “Take it,” she mouthed. “Just take it.”

“Thank you so much.” I gave Mrs. Koch a small hug.

The women nodded their heads in approval and began to gather their things and their children, hollering at the men that it was time to go. Their husbands were enjoying a drink outside, disappointed the clouds had dissipated for today. Everyone needed a rain to encourage the sprouting green crops.

“The wheat's come up real nice. But it's been dry too long.” I'd heard Dillan speaking to the men earlier like he knew what he was talking about, but they didn't pay him any attention, acting like everything he said was now suspect after finding out the truth about me.

“Not much of a party, I guess.” Carla sat down beside me and fingered a baby sweater on the table. She suddenly covered my hand with her own. “It'll be okay. You just gave them a shock. Me too. But they'll be all right once the baby comes. Maybe if you marry Dillan?” She stared at the sweater.

“That is not going to happen,” I said firmly.

She smiled a little, seemed almost relieved.

“Carla.” It was a command. A large woman towered over us. She pulled Carla up and out of her chair. “We should leave now.” Her voice carried a trace of accent I couldn't place.

“You must be Carla's mother then?” I extended my hand. “I'm so happy to...”

“We should leave now,” the woman repeated. She gave me a pointed look and turned to push Carla ahead of her out the door.

I caught Carla pantomiming strangulation, rolling her eyes and sticking out her tongue just as she went through the door. I laughed and shivered all at once, wondering if everyone in this small world now felt it their right to judge me. The wind had picked up and was coming through the windows.

“Better put some greased paper in them, or at least hang some canvas sacks if you have any.” Mrs. Miller was at my elbow. “It'll stop the wind a little and keep the flies down. You'll need something more than those curtains. Nice idea, but not very practical. When it gets cold, put that extra sod in or it'll be so drafty the little ones will get sick.”

It was so much more than anyone else had offered. “Thank you.”

Mrs. Miller gave me a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. “It won't be easy, out here all alone.” I followed her to the tiny front porch and we watched a few stragglers leaving for home. “You'll need to keep your wits about you. Silas says you're smart, the both of you, that you won't be too proud to ask for help when you need it.” She raised her eyebrows. “Never mind the rest. They'll come round. In the meantime, we're only fifteen minutes north by horse should you need anything, or help when the baby comes.”

Mr. Miller pulled up in front of the house, his horses prancing, eager to head home.

“Goodbye now.” Mrs. Miller climbed in.

Dillan and Casey appeared from the back of the house to see them off. Like a family in a portrait, we stood smiling and waving, as though basking in the idea of our new home and the many comforts it would bring. It was ridiculous. I lumbered off to the tent. It was empty, as everything had been moved to the house, and I thudded heavily onto the floor, wondering if I'd ever get up, cradling my head in my hands. Then Dillan was there, confusion on his face, the stupid red dog with him. Apparently the dog was a gift too.

“I thought you'd be happy.”

“I am.” But it was his home, not mine. I had no home. “The house will be wonderful.”

“I made a fool of both of us.” He hunched into himself and sat down across the tent.

“We're not fools. They are.”

“Then why are we sitting in an empty tent moaning?”

“Well you're sad because your wife died. They can't blame you for that.”

He looked at his hands, lying calloused and dark in his lap. When he raised his face it was ashen, his brows drawn together, mouth clenched, cheeks sucked in with pain.

“What? I'm sorry. Did I say...?”

“It was my fault she died. I've never told anyone.”

Time slowed, matching the beat of my heart in my ears. I waited, not wanting his revelation, fearing he'd expect something in return. The confessional at St. Joseph's popped into my head. The parted curtains had revealed a small, dark interior, Mother kneeling in front of the window cut out halfway up one wall. A screen over the window hid the priest from any guilt-ridden soul searching for heavenly absolution from an earthly mediator. I'd always pictured the devil on the other side, laughing at Mother, patronizing her with promises of forgiveness while knowing she would leave his company only to slap my small hands for the least infraction, miserable as always, her clean slate giving her new space for misery. I couldn't be Dillan's confessor.

“Don't. Just don't.” Rising quickly, I started out of the tent, then stopped, wanting to explain and couldn't. “We'd better get back to Casey.”

As his shoulders slumped, I wondered if the shadowy figure that had listened to my mother possessed more empathy than I.