The Last Letter (21 page)

An hour later, Templeton, Frank, Mr. Hunt and Jeanie stood over the plans for Templeton’s home. The paper, held down at each corner by scraggly rocks, lay across the table Frank had fashioned from old pine he’d discovered at the far end of the homestead. It was the first work Frank did after the fire.

The pine graveyard lay near the top of a dried creek bed that snaked through all of their properties. The pine was scattered as though piece by piece it had bounced off a wagon or perhaps it was split right there where live pines grew, when the spot was conducive to it.

Jeanie had been irritated that Frank went to the creek bed, the one they knew was dry, but once she saw the table the morning it held the plans, she felt proud of his work. She smiled at him and patted his shoulder, hoping he knew she did think his work was brilliant even if his attitude wasn’t. The others slapped Frank on the back or shook his hand, all making Frank’s face come to life with satisfaction that Jeanie hoped would lead to more hard work.

The men discussed who would do what in terms of raising the house as quickly as possible. Jeanie traced a pencil drawing next to the bigger drawing of the house Templeton was building.

“Mr. Templeton,” Jeanie said. She dropped her hands to her side and balled and released her fists before running a hand over her hair, squeezing the bun that sat at the nape of her neck.

Templeton turned and raised his eyebrows.

“Looking at your plans—you’ve drawn the house to be 16x20, much the same as the original house.”

Templeton nodded. Frank looked between the two, his body shifting away from the group, eyes rolling a bit. Mr. Hunt rubbed his scruffy chin, but listened.

Jeanie pointed to the squarish drawing. “Not to leap out of turn, but I can’t hold my tongue and feel right about that either. But suppose we build it 12x24. And face it east instead of west, thereby drawing the daytime sun, and making it more rectangular in shape.”

Jeanie tapped her finger on the drawing then smiled up at Templeton. He squinted at her in a suspicious smile. Jeanie wondered what she was doing, giving her ideas, and all of it really just an opportunity to flirt. Frank rolled his eyes at her which only made her rip open her wealth of smarts, dwarfing Frank’s, embarrassing everyone but her.

“In the center would be the door which by and by may be ornamented by a porch and pretty flowers. On either side of the door could be a window. Inside, a tiny hall, with one side a boxy sitting room—12x10, with a window in front and on the side.” Jeanie began to draw pictures in the air, showing Templeton where the rooms would be situated. Watching him watch her facile hands etch out a drawing in thin air made her shudder with excitement, that Templeton valued her thoughts.

“Let it be, Jeanie,” Frank said, “he has his plans, he doesn’t need to choke them up with new ones. Some of us have other work to do.”

Frank nodded at Templeton, clearly waiting for him to agree, to put Jeanie back where she belonged. But Templeton circled his hand through the air, urging Jeanie to continue.

“On the opposite side of the hall, a door would open into the kitchen with two windows, also. The stairs, depending on your purse, could go up from the hall or up from the kitchen.”

Jeanie turned back to the drawing and poked at it. Templeton drew near her, leaned over the table on his hands and followed Jeanie’s finger with his gaze as she pointed to aspects of the map. His closeness, the smell of him, earthy, but clean, caused Jeanie to flush.

“Wait, let’s make these changes,” Templeton rested his pencil and looked at Jeanie, their faces so close they could have caught the nature of one another’s breakfasts. Jeanie shuffled away, pointing to a part of the map in the far corner.

Frank snickered from behind Jeanie. Jeanie knew she was acting improperly, but what did it matter, her husband only saw her as a source of release. The days where his first order of business was to make her feel loved had dwindled long before the fall of the family in Des Moines.

She never had to notice it before, she never had to feel the absence of such attention because every other aspect of their existence had been in place. Now, the simple gaze of Templeton, his interest in her thoughts was enough to make full resentment of Frank come forth. And though she’d drown in guilt for her behavior later, at that moment, all she felt was a warm embrace from a neighbor man who wasn’t even touching her.

Damn Frank. Her flirtations were all his fault and so she indulged them. For the first time since she secretly eloped with Frank, Jeanie allowed ill-advised action to overcome sensibility. After all, if Frank was going to forget she was not a slop-house mammal subject to the whims of another or its owner, she was going to forget polite society.

She felt guilt that she was bringing to life the very condition Frank had feared existed all along—she might not need him as he did her, she might see strengths in others that he lacked and in flirting she was telling him that she saw something in Templeton.

She hated for a second that she could be so mean, that she would flagrantly lead Frank to what would be bouts of emotional seclusion then when he couldn’t pout one more second he’d wring his soul all over her.

“Mrs. Arthur?” Templeton said.

“Oh, yes, right here. Put the stairs between the two bedrooms and it will make the sitting room much cooler in summer. And because there is no door opening from the outside into it, it will be warmer in the winter. A real advantage, I think.”

“Jeanie,” Frank said butting in between the two. “Templeton here, doesn’t need all that horseshit.”

Jeanie recoiled. Templeton caught her gaze, but didn’t intrude in the tension between the married couple. This only grew the tension between the spouses.

“Not to be ill-mannered, dear wife, but old Temp’s batching-it. He can make adjustments as you suggest when he adds on in the future. He just needs a place to sleep.”

Jeanie rubbed her belly as a contraction pulled. She ignored it. “It’s more practical to add the second floor rooms now. It’s still half the size it was before. But, it will offer the same—”

“Yeah, okay, okay,” Frank said. “Let’s just get building or I’ll never get my commissions for any of us or the men in Yankton by fall. Now isn’t the time for—”

“You’re right, Frank. Let’s get going on this.” Templeton straightened and turned to face Frank, squeezing his shoulder, defusing Frank’s anger as Jeanie had lost her patience to do so. “Your changes are well taken and I believe I’ll have the funds to add the rooms come next year, but I’m going to keep things as simple as possible for now.”

Templeton’s hand flew over the paper, making the changes they’d discussed. Jeanie watched, feeling triumphant, that even though Templeton couldn’t make her changes now, he valued them enough to note them on his plans.

By the end of the afternoon, Frank, Templeton, James, and Mr. Hunt had erected the small frame.

Jeanie prepared and served a small lunch of day-old bread, spread with the last of the butter and dried meat, and then settled into the space that would serve as Templeton’s kitchen and began lathing the walls with James. This was something Jeanie could do that wouldn’t tax her body too much. She would only do what she could, not push too hard. But she couldn’t stand not to offer her hands where they could be useful.

They nailed the two-inch strips of wood horizontally up the frame, leaving a quarter inch space between each lathe so it would create a skeleton from which plaster would hang.

James stood at one end of the lathe and hammered his end into a stud and Jeanie did the same to hers. Templeton came into the room, puffing on a pipe. Jeanie squinted up at him.

“Mr. Templeton,” she said.

He lay down more boards and squatted beside Jeanie where she knelt amid the nails. He lay more lathing beside her then puffed smoke away from her face before turning back to her with a smile. Jeanie felt rushed by excitement.

“While I will freely admit I’m ravenous with jealousy at building this frame home, clean, new, fresh,” she took a deep breath and shut her eyes while letting out the smell of whatever she considered clean and fresh, “I can’t quite grasp why you’re insisting on rebuilding a home that is indeed so vulnerable.”

Templeton tamped out his pipe, set it down beside him and lifted another lathe for Jeanie, putting it into her hands, covering hers with his for a moment. “For the same reason you’ll build a frame home just as soon as you first can.”

Jeanie opened her mouth as though about to reply, but pursed her lips instead and narrowed her eyes at Templeton. “Yes, well, I suppose that’s correct. I suppose it is. But so soon after the fire. As much as the muck and animals who reside in my little hole in the earth set my stomach to nausea, I have to admit the fire has softened my hard stance against that abode.”

“But still,” Templeton said cocking his head toward the six strips of lathing Jeanie and James had completed so far.

Jeanie looked at the wall. “Right,
still.”

Templeton patted Jeanie’s shoulder and inquired how she was feeling in regard to the baby in her belly. Jeanie responded to the question by lifting a lathe to the stud and nailing it in. She hammered her thumb three times before plugging the nail in. She shook her hand then sucked the throbbing thumb.

“You’re sure it’s not too much for you? I could take over this before I start hauling the rest of the wood. Or James’ side. I could do his and he could help on your side. I don’t want you to strain, to hurt yourself.”

Her breathing wavered as Templeton attempted to hold her gaze and offer his concern. He clearly wasn’t going anywhere until he’d gotten his answer. She looked up at him and shook her hand again feeling as though she might crawl right out of her skin with this line of questioning.

“I’m fine. Things are as expected. Things are proceeding as expected.” Jeanie trusted this baby would live, sitting around, thinking of it every moment of the day would do no good, she’d learned that hard lesson back in Des Moines. But, discussing it with Templeton, well she might as well, heave up her skirts and let him have a look between her legs if she were going to discuss these matters with him. It felt the same.

Templeton tipped his hat, stood, and lugged a tarp full of earth that would be used to make serviceable though not pretty plaster down the way until he reached James. Jeanie watched the two of them talk about strategy for building and finishing a home, and they entertained the topic of Templeton’s passions—the weather.

She couldn’t make sense of what she was feeling toward Templeton. She’d never felt any sort of attraction to any man besides Frank. Ever. And so within the confines of marriage, she felt quite safe entertaining her crush, knowing it meant nothing, would lead to nothing, that no one would ever know of its existence. She especially felt safe in its one-sidedness. Perhaps had she been approached by Templeton, the recipient of special advances, a different tone of voice than she’d seen him use with others, she’d have been scared. Scared of him and herself.

She banged another set of nails in and set another length of board against the wood. She waited for James to lift his end, but he had turned to look at something in the distance, some place Templeton pointed. Jeanie guessed it must be the weather flag station they were discussing—a station where flags could be flown to let residents know the weather that was on its way. Mostly it was for dangerous blizzard warnings, but as they all protested before, only a few homesteads were placed so its owners would see it.

To Jeanie, the weather was only important once it was overhead or under her skin. Though there was no way to determine what type of conditions would approach with any reliability and so discussing it, the subtle clues of what’s coming seemed to provide some map of the atmospheric future. Frank dismissed such avenues of thought and made Jeanie pause, curious why he, a person who clung to what lived inside his brain, abstract ideas, art, music, all manner of things not normally leading to a materially abundant life, would not join Templeton in desirable, wide-minded thinking. But, even though Jeanie saw the usefulness in turning the invisible workings of the air into observable science, she thought discussing it with James, at that moment, was a waste of time.

A contraction pulled hard. Jeanie bent at the waist, feeling a wave of heat kick in with the muscle cramping. Templeton came beside Jeanie, sitting behind her, taking her weight while she recovered from the pain. He smoothed the loose tendrils of hair back from her face. When she opened her eyes, she realized Templeton was cradling her, that his chin rested on her head, and he soothed her with gentle words. She stiffened.

Templeton released her and slid around to see her eye to eye.

“That was a bad one,” he said. “Why don’t you lie down. James and I can lathe this—get the plaster in—in no time. The night’s clear. As far as I can tell, there’s no bad weather coming this way for some time. You go on home and rest for a time. For the baby.”

Jeanie steadied her breathing and took his hand when he offered it to help her stand.

“I’m sorry Mr. Templeton. I suppose, I’ve had a hard time with several pregnancies since the twins. I don’t mean to drag the operation to a stop like a body across the railway.”

Templeton didn’t laugh at her joke, but studied her instead. Her gaze darted from his, feeling self-conscious that he hadn’t laughed with her. Finally Jeanie’s gaze locked with his. Templeton’s head dropped to one side slightly as though examining a rare gift, his gaze never broke hers as a small smile curved his mouth. He put his hand on her belly. “May I?”

“You already are.” Jeanie’s voice was hard though not cutting.

“It’s just…it’s so…it’s divine.” He stepped back, hand still on her belly.

Jeanie felt her nerves leap to life, she was instantly drawn into Templeton’s awe of her. She knew she wasn’t far enough along for him to feel the baby move, but she didn’t tell him that and she didn’t tell him to remove his hand. In the one touch, in his gaze, she was paralyzed by something wrong and wonderful. She couldn’t say it aloud, but staring at Templeton as he marveled at her, she told him that his words, interest in her touched a hidden chord in her heart and caused it to send electric thrills, peculiar to love, through her whole body. It couldn’t be possible that she felt that way—she must have mischaracterized it. The pregnancy must be getting the best of her senses.