Read Online A Home in Drayton Valley by Kim Vogel Sawyer - Free Book Online Page B

dashed toward the circle of wagons.

 7 
    T arsie stood with the other solemn travelers, watching as Mr. Murphy emptied shovelful after shovelful of dirt onto the blanket-wrapped forms of Minnie Jenkins and her newborn son. A mighty lump filled her throat. It shouldn’t be, Lord. Birthings should be times of celebration, not times of mourning. But sounds of sorrow filled her ears—low moans, soft sobs, whispered prayers seeking comfort, and the skritch-skritch of a shovel’s blade digging into dirt, followed by soft plops of earth falling.
    The rosy pink of a new dawn highlighted the scene, and birds chirped a cheerful song from nearby brush. The sweet promise of the blossoming day seemed a bitter insult to the too-soon ending of two lives. Tarsie hugged herself, blinking hard against tears.
    Mr. Murphy used the back of the shovel to smooth the dark mound of dirt, then stepped aside. Minnie’s husband, his steps slow and plodding, separated himself from the throng. He gripped a crude cross fashioned from two thick twigs bound together by a rawhide strip. Using a rock as a hammer, he dropped to one knee and pounded the cross into the newly turned dirt. Each strike of the rock on the wood sent a shaft of pain through Tarsie’s heart. Oh, why couldn’t she have saved them?
    The cross secure, the man rose and stood silently, staring down at the cross with his wide shoulders slumped and tears swimming in his brown eyes. A woman—Minnie’s mother—broke from the crowd and staggered forward. She held out her arms to her son-in-law. The rock fell from his hand as they clung to each other. In unison, cries wrenched from their mouths. From their souls. And then the others joined in, giving vent to their sorrow in a grief-laden melody that rose from the earth all the way to the heavens, where, Tarsie prayed, God would hear and rain down blessed comfort.
    Tarsie wanted to cry, too. But she realized her tears were as much out of guilt as sadness. She’d failed Minnie Jenkins and her baby. She had no place in this circle of mourners. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to leave. She stayed until the song of sorrow died to sniffles and muted moans. The people shuffled away one by one until only Minnie’s husband and mother, still locked in a tight embrace, and Tarsie remained on opposite sides of the fresh mound.
    Mr. Murphy propped the shovel on his shoulder and inched to Tarsie’s side. He spoke in a near whisper. “Gonna let Harp an’ Judith take a little more time here, then we’ll pull out.”
    Tarsie nodded, her throat so tight no words could escape.
    Mr. Murphy’s thick hand descended onto Tarsie’s shoulder. “Don’t be blamin’ yourself now. Minnie’s mama tol’ me that babe was fixed to come out wrong-side first. Nothin’ you coulda done. Your bein’ here, your carin’, was a blessin’. You think on that, you hear, Miss Tarsie?”
    Tarsie offered another miserable nod, then scuffed her way back to Mary and the waiting wagon, cradling her bag of herbs in her arms. Mary greeted her with a warm hug, then pulled back, her hands clamped over Tarsie’s shoulders as her empathetic gaze searched Tarsie’s face.
    â€œWe heard the wailing. Did she lose the baby?”
    â€œThe babe died. And his mother did, too.” Tarsie separatedherself from Mary’s tender grasp. “I need to put my medicine pouch in the wagon.”
    Mary grabbed Tarsie’s arm, holding her in place. “It wasn’t your fault, Tarsie.”
    Tarsie looked away, unwilling to accept the tenderness in her friend’s eyes. She didn’t deserve kindness. Not when she’d failed so miserably.
    â€œDeath . . . happens. Babies die. Mothers die. And we simply have to trust both life and death to our loving heavenly Father’s hands.” Mary’s tone changed from compassionate to contemplative, sending an