Grace threw all one hundred ten pounds of herself into the plow, clumsily guiding it as she plowed another furrow in the rich Oregon soil. She spoke to Jesse, the Belgian gelding pulling the plow, more for her own encouragement than to urge on the horse. At the end of the furrow, she stopped to catch her breath and opened her blouse to cool herself. Even though Grace was only twenty five, she was soaked with sweat and winded by the time they reached the end of each furrow, and needed the short rest in order to continue.
She took off her blouse for a time, exposing her firm, round breasts to the air, feeling the warm air and sun on her bare skin as she wiped the sweat from between them with her handkerchief. No one lived closer than a days buggy drive, so she had stopped wearing anything under the blouse to make exposing herself easier. Grace lifted the long, coal black hair from her neck to allow the cooling breeze to caress her neck and closed her eyes to enjoy the sensation. She would be able to finish plowing tomorrow, and then work the soil down and plant the five acres over the next week. This five acres of corn would feed her, Jesse and Molly, her milk cow, through the next year, and would leave enough to sell for a few bare essentials. At the end of the day, after a meager meal of the rest of yesterdays rabbit, corn meal mush, and coffee, Grace fell into bed aching and tired. As she waited for sleep to come, her mind wandered back to other times, when she had been more concerned about sewing dresses than planting corn.
Grace was the fruit of the love between her Irish father and her half English/half Iroquois mother; although few people knew of her mothers Native American heritage. From her mother, Grace had inherited her small delicate frame and raven black hair, and her knowledge of nature. Her father had given her an independent spirit and steel will. Grace had married Jacob two years ago, after waiting long past the weddings of her friends in the small town in Ohio where she lived. Grace had waited for a man she truly loved before giving herself, but her selection was limited. Jacob was a hard worker, and had inherited some money, and after insistent urgings from her mother, she had given in.
Her father provided five hundred dollars as a dowry, and Grace and Jacob set up house on his family farm, along with his two brothers. It wasn’t that Jacob was a bad man; she just had hoped for the full feeling of true love to tell her that this man was the right one for her. Their first year was filled with the exploration of their relationship and plans for the future. They learned each other’s bodies, though she did not become pregnant as she had hoped. She assumed that children would come in good time, and concentrated on making a good home for her husband. In early spring, Jacob had decided to seek their fortune in Oregon. After selling his interest in the farm to his brothers, they made the trek to Oregon with two belgian horses named Jesse and Jake, a milk cow she named Molly, six oxen and one thousand dollars cash.
The first six months in Oregon had been good for her. They sold the oxen, and bought fifteen acres of rich valley farmland. She and Jacob built a small cabin and barn, plowed and planted ten acres, and made love often. She loved the feel of Jacob’s hands on her, and even though she always felt that she was missing something after he finished, the thought of bringing a child into their world left her feeling warm and fulfilled after their love making. Somedays, when Jacob was working and couldn’t see, she would touch her body as he did, and remember. She never allowed herself more than a few touches; she thought only bad girls did that, but every month, there were days that her inner feelings told her that her body was ripe for giving life to a baby, and the touches felt so wonderful that it was hard to stop.
In the fall of that year, Jacob started making trips to town on Saturday, often not returning until the next day. When he did come home, he smelled of whisky, and sometimes lavender. He told her he was buying supplies for the winter, but he never brought home much more than a sack of flour or sugar, or some rifle shells. Then one day, Jacob did not come home. The next afternoon, the sheriff rode out to tell her that Jacob had been shot by a drifter while in the company of Sarah, the town saloon keeper. Grace had thought it fitting to have him buried in the “drifter” section of the cemetery, as penance for his sins. She had to spend most of their last two hundred dollars for winter supplies, but she didn’t sell the farm, and she didn’t take Sarah’s offer of a job in the saloon. After a few good cries, she spent the winter planning how to make it on her own. She needed to succeed, if only to show herself she could.
This spring, she had sold Jake to buy seed and more supplies. She could only plant half of the land with one horse, but she figured that would be enough. Today, she looked with satisfaction at what she had done, put on her blouse, and started the next furrow. As she neared the end of the patch the late morning quiet was shattered by a rifle shot. Jesse lunged against the plow, and the right trace broke, causing the plow to jerk to the left. As Grace fell, the plow handle struck her on the right temple, and after a few stars, everything went black.
Grace woke with a severe headache. Raising a slender hand to her temple, she was surprised to find a cool cloth placed there. She tried to rise, but fell back, overwhelmed by the dizzying pain. When she opened her eyes, she saw she was in the cabin, on the bed, and it was after sundown. A deep voice in the distance said “Well, you’ve finally come back. I was starting to worry.”
As fear overtook her, she again tried to rise, but firm hands pressed her back on the bed, and the voice said, “Don’t think you’re ready to get up yet. Better stay there for a while. Want some water or coffee, or something else?”
“Water”, she croaked, surprising herself by both the tone of her voice, and by the apparent volume.
Finding that she could move her hands and arms without pain, she felt around herself, and felt the quilt that covered her. Reaching under the quilt, she found she was still clothed.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t take advantage or anything. I just brought you inside and laid you down. Here’s some water. Slow now.”
A hand raised her head, and she felt the cup touch her lips. She drank a little, and her dry throat felt better. Her headache seemed better, and she tried to sit up. Strong hands helped her to rise.
She found she could see now, and saw a man sitting on the edge of her bed, holding her upright. Focusing on his face, she saw dark hair under a beatup hat, and a pleasant face with tiny crowsfeet at the corners of the eyes. The face smiled and said “Feeling better?”
“Who are you”, she demanded, her head instantly making her regret how loud she had spoken. Then, in a quieter voice, “How did I get here?’
“I had just topped the rise north of here when I saw you fall. When I got to you, you were out cold, so I carried you in here. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up for the last six hours.”
“Jesse. Got to put him up.”
