Too Soon a Woman, continued

When Mary crawled into the quilts with them, they moved away as far as they could get. 

I was so scared that my stomach heaved, empty as it was. 

Mary didn’t stay in the quilts long. She took a drink out of the water bucket and sat down by the fire and looked through the smoke at me. 

She said in a low voice, “I don’t know how it will be if it’s poison. Just do the best you can with the girls. Because your pa will come back, you know. . . . You better go to bed. I’m going to sit up.” 

And so would you sit up. If it might be your last night on earth and the pain of death might seize you at any moment, you would sit up by the smoky fire, wide awake, remembering whatever you had to remember, savoring life. 

We sat in silence after the girls had gone to sleep. Once I asked, “How long does it take?” 

“I never heard,” she answered. “Don’t think about it.” 

I slept after a while, with my chin on my chest. Maybe Peter dozed that way at Gethsemane as the Lord knelt praying. 

Mary’s moving around brought me wide awake. The black of night was fading.

“I guess it’s all right,” Mary said. “I’d be able to tell by now, wouldn’t I?”  

I answered gruffly, “I don’t know.” 

Mary stood in the doorway for a while, looking out at the dripping world as if she found it beautiful. Then she fried slices of the mushroom while the little girls danced with anxiety. 

We feasted, we three, my sisters and I, until Mary ruled, “That’ll hold you,” and would not cook any more. She didn’t touch any of the mushroom herself. 

That was a strange day in the moldy cabin. Mary laughed and was gay; she told stories, and we played “Who’s Got the Thimble?” with a pine cone. 

In the afternoon we heard a shout, and my sisters screamed and I ran ahead of them across the clearing. 

The rain had stopped. My father came plunging out of the woods leading a pack horse—and well I remember the treasures of food in that pack. 

He glanced at us anxiously as he tore at the ropes that bound the pack. 

“Where’s the other one?” he demanded. 

Mary came out of the cabin then, walking sedately. As she came toward us, the sun began to shine. 

My stepmother was a wonderful woman. 

(page 3)

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