The Women of Artesia Springs

It was oppressively hot! So hot, even breathing was an effort! A sweltering oven making the room seem as if the walls would ignite at any second. The heat was compounded by the fact that she was in labor. It was her first, and at this point she vowed, it would be her last! What had she done to deserve this agony? It was her punishment, she decided. Punishment for a few brief seconds of raging hormones, and clandestine coupling that should have never happened. At sixteen, she was unmarried and about to be a mother. Her mother would never let her forget the shame that she had brought to the family! She had been confined to the house for months now, so as not to be a further embarrassment. The fewer people who saw her, the fewer who would know that she was with child. At least this was their way of thinking. Delivery would be at home, as was the general practice of the day, and would be assisted by the women of the family.

*

The women. They were a strong lot, this group. They had to be. Mortality rates were high for males in their lineage. Whether it was genetic, or something else was not known. The patriarch of the family had died some years past from typhoid. As he lay sick for many weeks, all of his eight children fought the same battle. Molly, his adoring wife, neared exhaustion as she washed all of their clothing, bed linens, and the necessities of treating illness. It was said that she had kept a fire burning in the fireplace continuously for two months to heat the wash water and the cook pots. Doc Sauls made rounds throughout the community during the month, and stopped by when he was in the area to bring more laudanum to help soothe the pain.

The disease was contagious, and only by the grace of God, was she able to care for her family without succumbing to the ailment. She armed herself with a myriad of remedies passed down for generations—mint, ginger and onion were chopped, mixed, infused, and dosed in separate potions; fresh buttermilk had to be given at least three times daily. Blackberry wine from last summer’s making, was on hand to treat the diarrhea, as well. And, of course, there was the laudanum. But, it was used sparingly. It was much too costly, and far too dangerous to be used to excess!

While she could see improvement in her younger patients, her husband was losing his fight. His pallid coloring was heart-wrenching. Shad was usually so robust. He was such a handsome man, strong and lean from years spent tilling the land he loved. Land, that had been farmed for generations, even before the arrival of the Europeans here in this remote corner of the deep South. He had been a good husband and father, and she could not bear to think of life without him. But, life must go on.

She had a house full of children to care for, and what would become of them. The older girls had not yet left home. At 19 and 18 they had been so much help with the chores. They would leave soon. She had seen the signs. The quarantine imposed by the illness was felt most by them, especially when they fell victims to the typhoid. She longed for their help, now, but knew that they were too weak to do much. Their fevers had broken, and they were up to comforting the smaller children, rocking the baby, and churning the fresh milk until the tiny, golden flecks of butter began to rise. This did give some small respite from her labors.

December. The Christmas season would soon be upon them. But, there would be no Christmas this year. The only presents that she
longed for were her family’s restored health and to rest. She was terminally tired...tired of fighting this disease; tired of tending the sick; tired of not feeling well herself; and most of all tired of being tired! In the early morning of December 18th, 1898, Shad lost his battle with the typhoid fever that had wracked his body since just after Thanksgiving. He passed into eternity an emaciated shell of the man he once had been. Molly mourned him as she continued to nurse the children, and prayed to God that none of the others would follow him to an early grave. His burial was swift and performed by only a few family members who dared to enter the house of sickness long enough to gather up his corpse and return it to the ground.

Molly was the strength and backbone of the women. She had to be. Losing Shad at such an early age, she had to be both mother and father for the children. Five daughters and three sons had blessed their union. Her daughters had now blossomed into maturity. Etta and Amy had married in the spring following their father’s death. So had Gloria and Isabell. Maddie was a precocious 16 year old and Essie, who was barely two years old when Shad died was now 12. Amy had a beautiful daughter of her own. Molly vowed she would be a great grandmother! How she loved Lizzie. She had eyes like a gray dawn and silken olive skin. Of course, her mother was a beauty as well. And, her father, Isaac, was a true ladies’ man, much to the dismay of both Molly and Amy.

He and his brother, Evan had courted Amy and her sister, Gloria. Amy had married first, and Gloria had married only last year. The brothers continued their “visits” into town, and were acclaimed to be very handsome and friendly to all who met them. In fact, they were often mentioned in the gossip columns of the newspaper. Funny, though, no one ever mentioned their wives. It was almost as if they were still eligible bachelors! This was a constant source of worry to Molly. But, what could she do!

*
Amy looked at Isaac. He was so handsome. Thick black curly hair framed his face. His skin was dark--olive. He looked to her like what she supposed a Greek god would look. He was also charming. A smooth talker, some would say; especially so, when he was talking to other women. Lately, when he talked to her, he had become petulant. It seemed that he was always peevish with either her or Lizzie. She wasn’t sure of the cause. He was especially so when he returned from town on Thursdays. Thursday was supply day. He always left early and returned late with the commodities needed for the week. He also took care of any family business that needed attention. Often, Amy and Lizzie accompanied him, but not for the last month or two. He seemed to have a mountain of reasons why they shouldn’t go with him these days!

Farming was tough this year. Maybe that had something to do with it. At least she reasoned it so. The lack of rain was wreaking havoc on the crops. The corn was already tassling and the ears were far from being filled out. Though it was late July, the peanut rows still did not meet; a sure sign that the crop yield wouldn’t be a good one. The payment on their farm was due at the end of the year, and they had hoped to make some improvements to the old farmhouse.

Lizzie would begin school in the fall; Lizzie, so much like her father. She was their only child, and if she had anything to do with it, she would so remain. The pregnancy had not been an easy one. She had been sick almost since conception, and it lasted until Lizzie’s first cry had broken the December morning’s stillness six years ago. The doctor had told her each time he saw her that the sickness would pass, but it hadn’t. It came in waves and lasted for entire days. No matter what teas and concoctions her mother had insisted that she try, nothing relieved the nausea. She had even chewed raw ginger root to no avail. Now that was truly nasty tasting! It had only resulted in her learning to hate ginger! The only foods that she could manage to keep down was apples and buttermilk. What a strange combination!

It had worked, and although she finally had managed to gain some weight with the pregnancy, the baby had been tiny; tiny and perfect! With gray eyes that reflected the December morning sky, she had her father’s skin tones. Ten tiny toes and ten perfect little fingers were all accounted for. She grew so fast! Her mother, Molly, was thrilled at having a grandchild! And, Isaac, well, Isaac thought she was a princess. Although he did not take up much time with her, he thought her the most beautiful child ever. He often bragged to his family about his little Princess.

Lizzie was smart for her age. Amy had already taught her the basics of reading from the pages of her Blue Back Speller left from her school days. She caught on so quickly! Her ciphering skills were amazing, much quicker than her own. Lizzie accompanied her with her daily chores, and they would recite the alphabet and do sums while picking the vegetables, and milking, Maudie, their Jersey. Gathering the eggs always resulted in counting games. Lizzie loved to hold the egg basket as Amy reached deep into the straw nests to extract the morning’s offerings.

Church meeting was coming up soon. The tiny congregational church was formed forty odd years ago by her grandparents and met only one weekend out of the month. They had services on both Saturday and Sunday and usually spent most of the day at the church. Isaac would have to hitch up the wagon and take some time off from working the fields in order to get them to the services. Amy loved to attend. It was like a family reunion. All of her brothers and sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles and her mother would be there. And, the best part—dinner at home! Not hers and Isaac’s home, but her mother’s home. No one could cook like her mother. Molly prepared all week for the occasion! Her fried chicken was the best in three counties, if not in the entire State. And biscuits! Biscuits so light, they rivaled the puffiest white cloud in the sky! Mama always had cane syrup and may haw jelly, too! Isaac loved her mother’s cooking. She was sure he would want to take her to church just to go to her mother’s home for dinner. “I’ll remind him this evening,” she planned.

*

Isaac came in from the fields hot, tired, and grumpy. He wanted only to have something to drink and maybe some cornbread. The last thing he wanted was to listen to what he deemed were Amy’s complaints. She had become a nag, nothing like the town women. Amy was downright plain in comparison! When he came in from a day’s work, he wanted to see a woman who was dressed up and powdered up and smelled of cologne. One who was ready and willing to give him her undivided attention. He deserved it! He was the breadwinner, and he worked hard for these privileges. The women in town always seemed to be willing to give him their wholehearted interest. He could hardly wait until his next visit into McPhaul. He and Evan had such fun! It was like courting all over again. The women smelled nice. They were always willing, too! No guff about canning and cooking! Amy was always telling him how busy she had been. And, Lizzie, was continually underfoot. Amy had no time to tend to his baser male needs on a whim. She wanted him to wait until bedtime, and even then, she found excuses not to give him the satisfaction he craved.

Some of the stores had taken to closing early on Thursdays, and there were card parties and backroom get-togethers among a lot of the merchants that had become his friends. There were also upstairs rooms where a man could have his fantasies relieved. Those were his kind of women! Several came to mind immediately. Women who shared his sexual abandon whenever he felt the desire. Yes, it came at a price, but, the price was small in comparison to the way he felt. The money was not much. He won many times over the price of his trysts in card games weekly. He and Evan were popular among this set and much in demand!

He had considered moving into town and leaving Amy and Lizzie on the farm. He knew that this would not fly with his family. They were God-fearing, staunch Christians who believed in a man’s responsibilities to his family. He had a wife and child to support , a land-debt to pay, and a farm to run. He could hear his father, James, now. There would be no running away from his duties. But, he had changed. He no longer wanted to be the dependable breadwinner. There was a bigger world waiting! He continually thought about leaving Georgia for more exciting destinations. Places he had only read about in the newspapers. Places where the apron strings of responsibility didn't wrap around your neck like a noose. But he knew this freedom would come at a great price. The twentieth century had just recently been born. It was only twelve years old. And, he was missing it!

He would tell Amy that he was leaving. He just could not continue pretending. So what if his family disowned him. He could make it on his own with only himself to look after. Amy and Lizzie could move back home with Mother Molly. There was plenty of room there. Evan might even want to accompany him in searching for fortune in fairer climes. Evan's wife, Gloria, had just given birth to a girl, and Evan felt much the same way that he did. Gloria had become an albatross. Evan was his brother not only by blood, but by spirit as well. They felt they deserved better, and by damn they were going to get it!