Ten Thousand Charms (14 page)

Gloria dampened a soft washcloth and brought it over to where the babies played. One by one, each little body was washed and let to dry in the warm summer air. Then Gloria tied a fresh diaper around each tiny belly and settled in to nurse. This afternoon, Danny was first. She brought her son to her breast; baby Kate lay in the nest of her skirt. She leaned herself against another tree, where she wouldn't be in full view of John William should he suddenly wake, yet keeping him well within her sight.

With one hand she held Danny firmly; the other hand played gently across Kate's soft, clean skin. Gloria ran one finger from the
top of Kate's brow to the middle of her tummy then back up for a
bop!
on the tip of Kate's button nose.

“What a pretty, pretty girl,” she whispered. “You're such a pretty girl. Do you look like your mama?”

Gloria spoke to the wide blue eyes that seemed so entranced by Gloria's own face. She'd only met Katherine MacGregan once. Now she tried to recall the woman's features, to see them in this little one's face. Gloria had never seen Katherine smile; Kate's face was constant, toothless joy. Katherine's eyes were dead, distant; Kate's eyes danced with searching curiosity. Katherine's hair was shiny, blue-black. Gloria ran her hand over Kate's soft head— perfectly bald since her second week of life.

“Or do you look like your daddy?” At this, Kate emitted a moist gurgle and kicked her little feet in delight. Gloria laughed, softly, and glanced over at the sleeping form a few feet away. The man Jewell wanted her to fear.

Her hand abandoned its job of tickling Kate and came to stroke her own son's face. Danny's eyes were closed in the contentment of suckling, but they opened wide at his mother's touch.

“And you? Do you look like your daddy?” Danny's eyes held her gaze, almost as if demanding an answer. Having none for him, Gloria looked away.

With both babies fed and dressed in clean cotton gowns, Gloria went to John William, knelt, and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“MacGregan, wake up now. Time to go.”

He was instantly alert, eyes open midsnore.

“How long did I sleep?”

“Long enough.”

John William laughed. “Can't argue with that. Are the babies still awake?”

Gloria sighed and rolled her eyes. “Yes, but—”

“Good. Gather ‘em up.”

“MacGregan, it's late. 1 really think we should—”

“I'm going to step over that rise for just a minute, then I'll be right back. Get everythin’ ready. The Bible's up under the seat.”

Muttering under her breath, Gloria went to the wagon seat and pulled out the thick leather-bound book. Then she gathered the babies, sat down, and settled them into her lap. When John William returned, he took Danny into his arms, sat down, and settled the little boy into a semireclined position supported by his leg.

Gloria handed him the Bible.

“Where were we?”

“How should I know?” Gloria said. “That's your book, not mine.”

She could tell he was smiling even though he didn't look up. The tiny wrinkles at the corners of his eyes were a dead giveaway.

“It is your book, too,” he said. “You should read it.”

“I don't read any better than these little ones do,” Gloria said. “And I don't understand it any better, either.”

“My family will know Gods word.” John William looked Gloria straight in the eyes, his smile gone. “Now, I think we were in chapter thirty-three.”

“We just read when the two brothers met each other again, when they're old.”

“Ah, yes. Jacob and Esau reunited. Then we're in chapter thirty-four,” he said, and he began reading. “And Dinah the daughter of Leah, which she bare unto Jacob—'”

“I thought Jacob just had sons.”

“Well, I guess he had a daughter, too.”

“Why wasn't she mentioned when she was born?”

“I'm not sure—”

“I mean, we heard all about how she bore a son and named him this and she bore a son and named him that,'” Gloria grew more irritated, “why didn't we hear about the daughter?”

“I guess she wasn't important to the story until now,” John William said.

“Why is she so important now?”

“Well," John William's voice was full of patience, “why don't you let me read and we'll find out?”

John William continued reading the chapter, but was soon interrupted again.

“What does it mean to have your ‘soul clave?” Gloria asked.

“It means Shechem loved her. The verse goes on, ‘he loved the damsel and spake kindly unto the damsel.'”

“So when it says he ‘defiled’ her—”

“It means he…took her virginity.” John William was clearly uncomfortable.

“But he loved her?”

“Yes.”

“So why use such an ugly word?
Defiled”

“When a woman loses—lost her virginity in this culture…before she got married, she was…unclean. Undesirable.”

“And these are God's people?”

John William wouldn't meet her gaze.

“Tell me," Gloria continued, “does God see me as unclean? Undesirable? Defiled?”

“I don't know how He sees you,” John William said. “I'm not God.”

“Is that how you see me?”

Now, finally, his gaze met hers. “No.”

Gloria wasn't sure she completely believed him, but she rewarded him with a smile steeped in gratitude.

“Now,” he said, “may I please finish? At this rate we'll be readin’ till dark.”

Gloria nodded her consent and listened to the rest of the chapter in silence. It had been their habit, a chapter or more each day, beginning in what he called the first book. This in itself had confused her: after all, it was just one book, wasn't it? But she soon caught on, and though she'd never tell him so, she somewhat enjoyed the stories John William read each afternoon.

Today's was especially exciting. Dinah and her lover, the wrath of her brothers, the slaughter of Shechems family. She had
one pressing question, but was reluctant to interrupt the reading again. She filed it away until they resumed their journey

When John William finished the chapter, he closed the Bible and bowed his head to pray Sometimes Gloria closed her eyes, too, but not today Today she looked at John William as he prayed the familiar words—thanking God for the Bible, asking for a safe journey, asking for health and strength—and she wondered if he had felt the same passion for his wife that Shechem felt for Dinah. She wondered if any man would ever put himself in danger of of a love for her. She wondered if she would have known her father if she'd been a son instead of a daughter. She wondered if she was undesirable. Defiled.

John William's deep, reading voice always put the children to sleep. Now, as a continuation of the routine, Gloria tucked them into their little crates in the back of the wagon while John William hitched up the team. He helped Gloria up into the seat and settled himself next to her.

“I'm still a little beat,” he said. “Think I'll ride a while.”

He slapped the reins softly against the horses’ flanks and made a clicking noise with his tongue. The horses began their plodding stride.

“Dinah was lucky,” Gloria said after they'd been riding in silence for a while.

“How do you figure?”

“I was…defiled…when I was thirteen years old.” Some part of her had been dwelling on the memory since John William first read the word, but the voicing of it seemed to be out of her control. “It wasn't anybody who loved me. We were in California. My mother was extremely ill. We were kicked out of the house where she…worked. We found a room in a building on the edge of town. Cheap, but not cheap enough.”

While she spoke, John William stared straight ahead. For a second she thought about just how much time he spent not looking at her. Then she continued.

“We had nothing. Just a few dollars and the clothes on our
backs. The owner of the building took one look at us and knew what we had. What we were.”

The horses were taking them through a green, lush valley. The sky was clear, the air was sweet. But as Gloria spoke, she was in the small, stuffy room at the mercy of Stan Corsetti.

“We didn't have enough money for rent,” she said. “But my mother would not be turned away again. 1 remember she grabbed Mr. Corsetti's arm and said, ‘Look at her. She's beautiful, isn't she? Wouldn't you like to be her first?'”

“Dear God,” John William whispered, still not looking at her.

“So, right there, with my mother in the room, Mr. Corsetti defiled me. I don't remember much, only that he stank, and 1 was worried that 1 would smell like him.” Gloria gave a short laugh.
“Unclean.
After that, he visited regularly to collect the rent, and he sent up a few of his friends so we could…live.”

“I'm sorry Gloria,” John William said, still not looking at her, but looking down. “I'm so sorry.”

“So when I think about how I have never been loved even once,” Gloria said, “I can't help but think that Dinah was so lucky.”

John William cleared his throat. “I s'pose,” he said.

“Did you love your wife?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Done anything for her?”

“Of course. I took up minin’ because she wanted me to.”

“Did she love you?”

“I hope she did,” he said. “1 tried to give her everything. Do everything.”

“I hope she did, too,” Gloria said, never envying a woman more than she did the late Katherine MacGregan. Not because John William had loved her, but because somebody had.

“Any other questions?” John William asked. “Or can we give the horses a break from all this chatter?”

“Just one,” Gloria said. “What's ‘circumcised'?”

John William turned to look at her, his face puzzled. “I beg your pardon?”

“Circumcised. That's what caused all the problems in the story today. What is it?”

“It's…well…” John William stammered through a definition, breaking eye contact once again and, as far as Gloria could tell, blushing. When he finished, he gave a short laugh, looked at her, smiled, and looked away.

“What's so funny?” Gloria asked, a little embarrassed herself, but amused at his obvious discomfort.

“It's just…” he began.

“What?”

“I figured, if anyone should know…” His voice trailed off as he shrugged a gesture in her direction.

“I never looked,” she said. “It was easier that way.”

They retreated into silence again, an oddly comfortable silence that gave Gloria a sense of the beginning of healing. The feeling intensified when John William reached over and covered her hand with his own.

“That's all behind you now, you know,” he said, giving her hand a small squeeze.

“It's never really behind you,” Gloria said, drawing her hand away.

“It can be, with God.”

“I know what God thinks of me. I know what I am. I just never had a word for it until today.”

hey had never traveled this late before. Normally by this
S
time, John William had scouted ahead for a suitable camp space. But this evening, though their shadows stretched up the rolling hills that bordered their path, John William said nothing about setting up camp for the night. He walked just ahead of the wagon, one hand resting lightly on the neck of one of the horses.

“When are we stopping?” Gloria asked. She leaned forward on her bouncing seat and repeated the question when he didn't immediately respond, but he seemed lost in thought. In fact, for the past week, besides the obligatory bits of conversation and the daily Bible reading, there had been nothing but silence between them. He had even been more subdued with the children, opting to hold them close rather than spin them, squealing with delight, high above his head.

Now, the team plodded forward, and John William's eyes remained focused just ahead of his boots.

“MacGregan, answer me! Do you plan to walk all night?”

“Do you see that?” he said, pointing to a small pointed rooftop at the edge of the horizon. “That's Fort Hall. We should get there before full dark.”

Gloria pushed her bonnet off her head and stood, straining to make out the details of their destination.

“Sit down,” John William said, still not turning around, “else you'll fall.”

She wondered how he'd known she was standing, then noticed her elongated shadow. She stretched out her hand to give a little wave before complying with his request.