Read Online The Personal History of Rachel DuPree by Ann Weisgarber - Free Book Online
Authors: Ann Weisgarber
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hundred and twenty acres,” I said.
“Hell.” Then he squared his shoulders. “All right,” he said, turning to face me. “But there’s one condition. We’ll give it six months. That’s enough time to get me started, get me through planting season. Then we’ll end it. You’ll come back home. There’ll be talk, but gossip never bothered me. We both get what we want. You’ll have been married, and I’ll have the land.”
I wanted Isaac to say that I meant something to him, that he’d be proud to take me as his wife. Instead, I felt cheap. This wasn’t how I wanted it to be. I had sold myself for a hundred and sixty acres of land. But it didn’t have to stay that way. I’d work hard. I’d prove myself. Isaac wouldn’t be able to do without me. He might come to like being married. I said, “A year. I want a year.”
His eyebrows rose.
I said, “A year. Four seasons.”
“You drive a hard bargain.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Most women don’t last that long homesteading, but all right. A year. I’ll come for you mid-June. Have your things ready.”
“I want a preacher.”
“I figured that.”
He opened his gold pocket watch. “I’ve got just enough time to tell Mother.” He snapped the watch closed and put it back in his pants pocket. “But first your statement for the claim.”
“That’s right,” I said. “My claim.” A chill ran through me. “And your mother.”
I waited in the kitchen while Isaac was upstairs telling his mother about our plans. Waiting turned my nerves bad. I went out back to get some air. Mr. Jackson, the coal man, had driven his wagon into the alley and was calling to his horses to keep moving. Trudy stood on the back stoop watching him, her hands on her hips.
“Trudy,” I said. “He’s marrying me.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“Isaac DuPree. He’s coming for me mid-June.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What’d you do to get him?”
“Nothing. He just came out and asked me. Mid-June, that’s when.”
“Lordy. You must have done something.”
“Can’t you be glad for me?” I turned away and went back into the kitchen. She followed me. “Rachel,” she said. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
I started to say that she did mean it, but then I put my hand up. Isaac was coming down the stairs; he was coming to tell me what his mother said. His footsteps echoed through the parlor. I held my breath. The front door opened, then closed. The house was quiet.
Trudy looked at me. “There goes your groom.”
“Tramp,” Mrs. DuPree said to me. “Get out.” She stood in the kitchen in her nightdress and bed jacket, her face heavy with rage. Isaac hadn’t been gone over ten minutes.
Stunned, I shook out my wet hands and left the frying pan I’d been scrubbing in the washbasin. “Tramp,” Mrs. DuPree said louder, as if I hadn’t heard her the first time. I fumbled with the knot in my apron strings, my hands still wet. “That’s how you got him,” she said. Trudy came in from the dining room holding her broom.
I hung up my apron and got my cloth bag.
“Give it to me,” Mrs. DuPree said, pointing at my bag. “Some of my silver’s missing.” I gave it to her; I was used to obeying her. She emptied it onto the floor.
“Lordie, Lordie,” Trudy said.
Mrs. DuPree shot her a warning look. With the toe of her shoe she pushed at my things—my tapestry coin purse, my pocket mirror and comb, my handkerchief, some pieces of hard candy in silver foil. My cheeks burned.
“Mrs. DuPree,” Trudy said. “You know Rachel. She wouldn’t steal.”
She glared at Trudy, shushing her. She pointed at me. “Get out, right now. Get out of my house.” I stuffed my things back into my bag, all thumbs and jittery. I struggled with the door and then I was outside and almost to the alley when she opened the door and yelled at me to get back in the kitchen, the dishes weren’t finished, and there was dinner to cook this
“Hell.” Then he squared his shoulders. “All right,” he said, turning to face me. “But there’s one condition. We’ll give it six months. That’s enough time to get me started, get me through planting season. Then we’ll end it. You’ll come back home. There’ll be talk, but gossip never bothered me. We both get what we want. You’ll have been married, and I’ll have the land.”
I wanted Isaac to say that I meant something to him, that he’d be proud to take me as his wife. Instead, I felt cheap. This wasn’t how I wanted it to be. I had sold myself for a hundred and sixty acres of land. But it didn’t have to stay that way. I’d work hard. I’d prove myself. Isaac wouldn’t be able to do without me. He might come to like being married. I said, “A year. I want a year.”
His eyebrows rose.
I said, “A year. Four seasons.”
“You drive a hard bargain.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Most women don’t last that long homesteading, but all right. A year. I’ll come for you mid-June. Have your things ready.”
“I want a preacher.”
“I figured that.”
He opened his gold pocket watch. “I’ve got just enough time to tell Mother.” He snapped the watch closed and put it back in his pants pocket. “But first your statement for the claim.”
“That’s right,” I said. “My claim.” A chill ran through me. “And your mother.”
I waited in the kitchen while Isaac was upstairs telling his mother about our plans. Waiting turned my nerves bad. I went out back to get some air. Mr. Jackson, the coal man, had driven his wagon into the alley and was calling to his horses to keep moving. Trudy stood on the back stoop watching him, her hands on her hips.
“Trudy,” I said. “He’s marrying me.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“Isaac DuPree. He’s coming for me mid-June.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What’d you do to get him?”
“Nothing. He just came out and asked me. Mid-June, that’s when.”
“Lordy. You must have done something.”
“Can’t you be glad for me?” I turned away and went back into the kitchen. She followed me. “Rachel,” she said. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
I started to say that she did mean it, but then I put my hand up. Isaac was coming down the stairs; he was coming to tell me what his mother said. His footsteps echoed through the parlor. I held my breath. The front door opened, then closed. The house was quiet.
Trudy looked at me. “There goes your groom.”
“Tramp,” Mrs. DuPree said to me. “Get out.” She stood in the kitchen in her nightdress and bed jacket, her face heavy with rage. Isaac hadn’t been gone over ten minutes.
Stunned, I shook out my wet hands and left the frying pan I’d been scrubbing in the washbasin. “Tramp,” Mrs. DuPree said louder, as if I hadn’t heard her the first time. I fumbled with the knot in my apron strings, my hands still wet. “That’s how you got him,” she said. Trudy came in from the dining room holding her broom.
I hung up my apron and got my cloth bag.
“Give it to me,” Mrs. DuPree said, pointing at my bag. “Some of my silver’s missing.” I gave it to her; I was used to obeying her. She emptied it onto the floor.
“Lordie, Lordie,” Trudy said.
Mrs. DuPree shot her a warning look. With the toe of her shoe she pushed at my things—my tapestry coin purse, my pocket mirror and comb, my handkerchief, some pieces of hard candy in silver foil. My cheeks burned.
“Mrs. DuPree,” Trudy said. “You know Rachel. She wouldn’t steal.”
She glared at Trudy, shushing her. She pointed at me. “Get out, right now. Get out of my house.” I stuffed my things back into my bag, all thumbs and jittery. I struggled with the door and then I was outside and almost to the alley when she opened the door and yelled at me to get back in the kitchen, the dishes weren’t finished, and there was dinner to cook this
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