Zeke and Ned (28 page)

“At least I can listen, I might hear him move,” Ned said, putting an
ear against her belly, which embarrassed Jewel even more, mainly because it was broad daylight and her sister Liza was visiting.

“You don't know that it's a him,” she said, trying to make him get his head off her belly. “It might be a her.”

“Nope, it's a boy,” Ned said, wishing Liza were not downstairs making corncakes. He would have liked to stay abed with Jewel for a while, to celebrate the big news, but he knew she would not allow it— not with her sister apt to call breakfast at any moment.

“It
could
be a girl,” Jewel said again. In her own secret thinking about the child inside her, she had only seen it as a little black-haired girl. She had even imagined her big brown eyes. But Ned immediately pronounced it to be a boy. It dampened her happiness for a moment, mainly because it reminded her that she and Ned did not always want the same things. Now if she did have a girl, it would mean she had disappointed her husband. It reminded her that nothing was really simple in life, not even having a child by your own husband.

Ned saw a cloud pass across Jewel's expression. It occurred to him that he might have been too blunt in expressing his conviction that the child would be a boy, though he had only said what he believed. In his mind, the child was already a boy—a lively little boy who would soon be hunting squirrels with him, or helping him snare wild turkeys. The business seemed simple to him: first a boy, to carry on the name, and then some girls to help Jewel with the chores, if Jewel wanted girls.

“It's just our first one, Jewel,” he said. “We can keep on and have a few girls, too, if you're set on girls.”

“Get your head off my stomach, Liza might come in,” Jewel said. The first little cloud across her happiness had swiftly been followed by another, the second cloud being the knowledge that she and Ned were not properly married yet. Ned had thought that Preacher Williams would be preaching on the Mountain the Sunday he brought Jewel home to live with him, but Preacher Williams had grown a tumour in his stomach and gone west to the Choctaw lands in search of a famous healer who was said to be able to coax out tumours.

She and Ned had gone along from week to week and month to month, expecting either the old preacher or a new one to show up at the little log church on the Mountain. But then word came that Preacher Williams had gone too late to the Choctaw lands. Despite the Indian healer's skill, the tumour had killed Preacher Williams,
and so far no new preacher had replaced him on the arduous Cherokee circuit.

It was not a case, either, of Ned Christie simply taking for granted what was already his—he was anxious as Jewel for them to be formally married, in front of proper witnesses. After all, he was a senator, and he had both his reputation and Jewel's to think of. He spoke often of going to find a preacher, but the violent business with Zeke had intervened. Jewel did not hold it against him; the fact was, they lived in a place where preachers were scarce. But now that the child was in her, she felt they had to hurry and marry properly. She did not want to be one of those women who simply rode off one day with some man who wanted her to spend a lifetime having children by him. It was the lot of many women in the Going Snake District, but her mother had taught her better—and she expected better.

“The corncakes are cooked,” Liza yelled up the stairs. “You're near out of molasses, did you know?”

“Why, I could just lick you, you're sweet as molasses,” Ned whispered to Jewel. He still had his face on her belly, pretending to be listening for the baby.

“Stop it, Ned—get up!” Jewel said. “This baby's gonna be coming by winter. We got to work harder at finding us a preacher.”

Jewel rolled out of bed. It was the only way to stop Ned, once he was feeling private about her. She skipped on down the stairs before he could grab her, as he was prone to do when in such a mood.

Ned felt Jewel had drawn away from him because of the baby in her, though it could have been because of Liza, who had already been visiting three days and ought to be getting on back home—at least in his view, she ought to. He realized that Jewel got lonesome for her folks and needed a visit now and then. Three days was a long enough visit in his book; a husband and wife needed the house to themselves. His own father had discouraged lengthy visits on the part of relatives, and he meant to do the same in his home.

What Jewel said about the preacher was true. It had occurred to him at times like this morning that the reason Jewel was often so shy with him, not willing to be private with him in the daylight, was because they were not properly married. A good marriage ceremony might correct that, and it was the right thing to do, in any event.

He got up from the bed and reluctantly put his pants on, wondering what to do about the preacher. Of course preachers were thick in

Arkansas; he could always put Jewel on the mule and head for Fort Smith, where a marriage could be accomplished promptly. The problem with that was he might end up getting arrested before he got married. There had been no response from the white law to the shootout in the courthouse, though everyone knew a response would come, and very soon. Rumour on the Mountain had it that Judge Parker was assembling a posse of marshals to descend on Tahlequah and arrest everybody connected with the shooting. A visit to Fort Smith to get married might end with a hanging, if he was not cautious.

The word from Tuxie Miller, who had seen Zeke after he returned home with Becca, was that Zeke was so apprehensive about the arrival of the white law that he planned to go on the scout the very next day.

“Tuxie said Zeke was coming here to see me,” Ned told Jewel, after they sat down at the breakfast table. “He said he thinks I ought to go on the scout, too. He thinks the white law will be showing up soon, and I expect he's right.”

Jewel had been sitting at the table staring out the front door, a cup of chicory coffee steaming in front of her. When Ned said the part about going on the scout with her father, Jewel came to attention.

“No. I can't spare you, Ned, not with the baby coming!” she blurted, with such exceptional vehemence that both Liza and Ned were startled. Jewel was glaring at both of them, the anger in her eyes as exceptional as the force in her voice.

“Don't jump on me, Jewel, I'm just trying to do the sensible thing,” Ned explained. “I won't be no good to you or the baby, if I'm hung.”

“You ain't going on the scout. Pa can, if he wants to,” Jewel said. “I won't be staying up here on this hill alone no more than I have already.”

Ned hardly knew what to think about Jewel's little outburst. He had no immediate plans to go on the scout, but the fact was it often seemed the most sensible practice when the white law was aroused. He himself had never been required to do it, but for many Cherokees occasional periods on the scout were an inconvenient fact of life. Though he did his best to keep Jewel well cared for and happy, it was not for her to tell him what he could and could not do in cases where self-preservation was the issue. His own father had to stay on the scout for six months once, as the result of an accidental killing.

“There's nothing to fear on this hill, Jewel,” he said, trying to keep his tone mild. “We've got good bars on the doors. I doubt even a bear could break in, unless it was a mighty big one.”

“I won't have you going, Ned!” Jewel burst out again, so upset at the thought of him leaving that she could not subdue her feelings. She was not going to have him leaving, not with the baby coming.

“That business in the courthouse was not your fault,” she added. “We've got a child coming—I've got to have you home!”

Ned was astonished by Jewel's bold defiance. It was bad behaviour, made worse by the fact that her sister was sitting there hearing it. Liza was a blabbermouth, too. Soon it would be all over the District that Ned Christie's wife would not let him loose from her apron strings. He wanted to get up and give Jewel a good shaking, but he restrained himself.

“Jewel, you hush that talk, and hush it now!” Ned demanded. “The baby ain't due for six months. I can't be staying home every minute of my life just because you're going to have a baby once the frost falls.”

Ned thought his command would cow her, but instead, it seemed to make her more defiant. Jewel was so mad he scarcely recognized her. The mild, shy eyes that he had come to love were blazing at him. Before he could move, or try to calm her, Jewel grabbed the full cup of chicory coffee and flung it at him. Most of the coffee splashed on Liza, scalding her.

“Ow, Sis, you've burnt me!” Liza yelled, jumping up from the table in order to shake the hot coffee off her clothes.

Ned realized he had a wild woman on his hands. His quiet Jewel had suddenly become a wildcat. He leaped around the table, meaning to shake her until she came to her senses, but Jewel was so angry she started to punch him. Ned would have laughed, if she had not looked so crazy. Instead of shaking her, he swept her off her feet, and carried her back upstairs to the big loft room where they slept.

When he put her on the bed, Jewel began to shriek and kick at him. She shrieked so loudly that he could hear the shrieks echoing off the Mountain. With Jewel shrieking every time she could catch her breath, Ned felt at a loss for what to do. He had heard of instances in which women suddenly lost their minds for no reason, and wondered if he was witnessing such a case in his wife. Why would Jewel throw a cup of coffee and scald her sister? She might not want him to go on the scout, but
that was no reason for wasting good coffee. He remembered, then, that his father, Watt Christie, had told him women sometimes went crazy when they were with child, losing their tempers and having savage crying fits—all for no reason that he could ever determine. Lydia, Ned's mother, had made biscuits one morning while she was carrying Ned, and Watt had merely mentioned that the biscuits seemed a bit heavier than usual. Before Watt had even got all the words out of his mouth, Lydia had started picking up the rest of the biscuits, heaving them hard and fast at Watt before running out the door of their cabin, crying like she had been beaten with a stick. Looking at Jewel, Ned understood now what his father had been talking about.

After a few moments, rattled by Jewel's wild shrieking, Ned knelt beside her on the bed and gave her three good shakes. The strength went out of her then, and she stopped shrieking and lay on the bed looking at him, her hair a wild tangle. Her eyes gradually came back to being the eyes he recognized: his wife's eyes. And yet, though Jewel grew quiet, he had the feeling that she was still defiant.

“I hope you feel silly now—you went and scalded your sister,” he said. “I expect she's packing to go home, before she gets injured worse.”

“She ain't going home,” Jewel said.

“What?” Ned asked, hoping he had misheard.

“If you're going, I want Liza to stay,” Jewel informed him. “I ain't staying here alone, I told you that.”

Ned suddenly slapped her—not a hard slap; one just hard enough to let her know he would not have his wife defy him. But Jewel took the slap, and hardly changed expression.

Ned began to feel futile. Maybe he had brought home a madwoman to be his wife. Nothing he said or did seemed to affect her. He had given her a shake and given her a smack, and she still seemed set on having her way.

“What if the white law comes?” he asked, to remind her of what they had been talking about before she threw the coffee.

“It was Pa they would be wanting to try. You didn't do nothing wrong,” Jewel said.

“That's how
you
see it, that don't mean the white law would see it that way,” Ned told her. “I guess you wouldn't like it if they put me in jail for a year, or hung me so I'd be dead forever. Then you'd be alone for sure.”

Jewel knew well enough that there was reason in what he said, but there was more to this than reason. Sometimes Ned wanted to go, whether there was any particular need to or not. That was the way of men, and that was what had driven her to anger. Usually when she got a little annoyed with Ned, or expressed a criticism as she had the day he was too hasty about digging Tuxie's grave, she felt abashed later at her own behaviour. But in this instance, she felt no regret, just sadness at knowing she and Ned were different. They would always be different. He wanted a boy and the right to go when he felt like it. She wanted a girl, and a man who would always be by her side. She could not make him understand that he could go off someday and be gone forever. Every time he left, she had to live with the fear that she might never see him again. But Ned did not fear like she did, and she knew it was foolish of her to expect him to—maybe men did not feel bad things the way women did.

Jewel saw that Ned was looking at her with puzzlement. He probably wanted her to say she was sorry for throwing the coffee. She did not feel sorry, though, just a little surprised at herself that she had got so angry with him. She had thrown the cup, and even tried to punch him, though he was nearly twice her weight.

Ned did not quite know how to get life back to normal, now that Jewel had practically gone crazy. She had a few tears on her cheeks, but she was not crying, nor did she appear to be angry anymore. He was still kneeling above her, on the bed; but the woman he was looking down at did not seem to be the woman he had awakened with only an hour before. She was there, but they were separate—a troubling thing. He wanted his woman close to him, not separate; he did not want Jewel to be willing one thing, while he willed another.

He thought if they could be private, it might help pull them back close. But when he touched her, Jewel did not stir. She closed her eyes and kept them closed, until he saw it was no good and took his hand away. Then she looked at him again—calm, but separate.

“What are you scared of, Jewel, if it ain't a bear?” Ned asked, hoping to get some notion of why she wanted so badly to keep him home.