Twenty-Seven, Wandering

Twenty-Seven

Wandering

30 May 1824

I got up this morning just before dawn, grabbed some bread and some cheese, then out the door.  I was not about to be around for when Father awoke, nor Mother for that matter.  I do not want a part in sorting things out, for sort out, they must.

I took off across the pasture, close to the wheat field and toward Daniel's house.  Most of our relatives had built houses within a mile or two of each other.  This, of course, was necessitated at first because we wanted to be close in the event of the Natives attacking.  Or the British, although I believe they are done fighting with us.

Daniel's house is a two-story structure, very similar to Mother's.  I wrote earlier that Father had helped to build them both, and as I walked, I thought on this.  My brothers have all worked as house carpenters, but only briefly, not as apprentices.  They helped to build other relatives' houses here in Alabama, before starting on our families' houses.  In South Carolina, they also had helped in building family structures.

Memories of those first days here, five years ago, came to me as I walked, blades of grass, fresh with the morning dew and the rain from yesterday clinging to my skirts.  Five years ago, we had no pastures, we had no fields.  Trees were everywhere.

The order in which things would be done was mostly set out by Uncle.  He had much experience in building and breaking camp, and we were to all be something like his soldiers in this matter.  Building houses came first, with only clearings being made for the houses, plus a little more for a garden, and lanes that could be traveled on by wagon.  Clearings for fields came later, although some of our cousins and uncles had come here two years before to prepare some small fields and plant them, in anticipation of our arrival.

At Daniel's house, Father had helped to drive the nails, and he was instrumental in the design, simple though that was.  He chose the site of each house, thinking about where the sun rises and sets, and about where the fields would be.  And he directed most of the building.  He could not perform the heaviest of the work, however.

We live in an area that is mostly wooded, so much clearing was in order.  Mother and the girls were not about to stay a minute longer in a wagon, so we headed to the Mims' tavern several miles away in Vernon for lodging until such time as the houses were complete.  This was a good six months, allowing for weather and time spent in helping others build their houses.  They worked from sunup to sundown, with only brief pauses for meals.  Shelter is fundamental, so haste was in order.

Father's cough was not so bad back then.  And although I thought he looked old at the time, in hindsight, he was in good shape for one of his age and condition back then. 

I arrived at Daniel's house perhaps an hour later.  It had been slow-going through the muddy pasture, and I was a mess.  Daniel's house had not suffered at the hands of the storm, and I was grateful.  I do not often go there.  His is not a welcoming place, not for me.  He reminds me too much of Father, at least the Father I had once known.   

Daniel's wife had died in childbirth.  His son, little Thomas, was named for my brother and perhaps because of that, Thomas Senior keeps an eye on him.  He takes the boy to the fields with him, and is teaching him how to read and write, although I am the primary person to perform that task, there being no teacher in this area yet.  Most of the time, Thomas, Jr. stays with my brother Warner and Warner's wife, Charlotte.  Charlotte is not book learned, so Thomas' time with me is valuable, however short it is.

I walked in the door, there being no particular reason to knock.  Daniel was going about building a fire and putting a pot on to boil. I was happy for this, being myself ready for tea, although the pot was intended for a bowl of porridge.  Daniel poured a little more water in the pot after I asked him to.

Daniel eyed me suspiciously, asking me why was I there at such an hour.  I told him of the storm damage, and particularly of the loss of the cabin and Father's presence in our house.  This fact did not seem to surprise Daniel.  He shrugged, then said it was probably time, and for the best.

This angered me.  Was I the only one who found Father's presence in our home to be unwelcomed?

But I kept quiet, not wanting to pick a fight with someone you don't want to trifle with.  Daniel's temper was to be feared.

I said that I expected that Thomas would be coming to stay with him, probably tonight.  This made sense, given Thomas' fondness for the boy when he is there, and the close proximity of the fields.  At 21, Thomas was needing a new place besides his father's cabin.  Daniel shrugged again, and I realized then that he had been drinking, probably most of the prior day. 

I took my leave, taking with me some dried meat, and pondered where to go next.  I thought perhaps the Falls.  I could think there, and clean my boots and the edges of my skirts.  Off I went, back through the pasture, until I came upon one of the paths to the river.

When I got there, all seemed so peaceful.  I had seen some fallen limbs on the path, and other evidence of the storm, but mostly, the river and the falls seemed unchanged.  I thought again of the Wordsworth poem, and then about John DuBois, for in my mind, I had started calling him by his given name.  This recollection of the man who could be Thomas Jefferson or Benjamin Franklin gave me comfort.  I rested a while, and then fell asleep.

Sometime, when the sun was high in the sky and I no longer was in the shade, I awoke.  A red-tailed hawk circled, floating so high up you could barely see him. I knew what it was by the shape of its tail and its high, piercing scream.  In the stream I could see fish facing upstream.  I had never bothered to learn anything about fish, how to identify them, how to catch them, how to clean them.  I certainly could eat them.

This thought made me hungry, and I realized, reluctantly, that I must go home.