Spoonful of Sugar
by Jennifer Davis

"Are you sure?" I searched Carrie's porcelain blue eyes for signs of mischief, but found none.

"Positive, Ella. It was Jed." Carrie's tight blond curls bounced mockingly with her emphatic nodding.

The butter churn felt leaden in my hands. I struggled to keep my rhythm.

"I think you should go Carrie. I need to think."

"Of course, Ella." She patted my shoulder consolingly with her soft, milk-white hands. Her high-laced boots tapped daintily amidst the swish of her ruffled calico skirt, across the rough plank floor, and down the porch steps. I listened as the trit-trot whirr of her white fringed surrey blended into the quiet scratch of oak leaves in the light afternoon breeze. I released the churn, too upset to care if the butter spoiled. Staring into the cold fireplace, my mind raced like a spinning wheel.

Was it true? If it was, how could he?! Had I worn out my usefulness? After all we'd been through: the harsh journey across the prairie, the distance from our families, the death of our first child, the lonely, agonizing absences while he drove the stage to and from San Francisco and Los Angeles. I mentally ticked off every other inherent difficulty of frontier life. Was I being punished by God?

I was roused from my desperate introspection by the quiet mew of little Alice. Groaning, I stood, wiping tears and perspiration from my face with my shabby apron. Gently, I picked up my dainty babe from the cradle Jed had made from an apple bin, and sat to nurse her. As I stroked her soft cheek, my hopelessness curdled into indignation. If Jed kept another girl in San Francisco, I couldn't allow him to play father to our daughter. Alice must grow up strong of mind and heart with a discerning eye; able to choose a respectable husband out of the rough and tumble lot of gold mongers, desperados, ranchers, and brash adventurers of San Juan. Jed had seemed a fine catch back in Missouri, but my girlish naïve sentiments had soured this morning with Carrie's revelation.

Swaddling Alice in a makeshift sling across my chest, I mechanically went about the evening chores. Jed might arrive home that night from his circuit. Should I leave him without confirming Carrie's accusation? If I stayed, how could I broach the topic? Would he attempt to speak more falsehoods, as he likely had numerous times while I was yet ignorant of his crime?

I hurried so that I could return to the cabin and bar the door against my pounding fears. The subtle sounds of evening screamed in my ears; the closeness of our valley yawned menacingly. Every shadow was a womanizing demon, tendrils menacing in the waning light.

Jerky and day old bread made up my simple evening meal; then I prepared Alice for bed. I was pacing in front of the dying fire when I heard pounding hoof beats. I grabbed my rifle, taking no chances. It could be horse thieves just as easily as it could be Jed. Furtively, I raised the corner of the burlap curtain that hung across our only window to squint into the darkness.

"Ella! My sweet Ella, dear!!" sang a very drunk Jed in an off-key slurred screech.

Lord almighty, if the horse thieves didn't know our whereabouts prior, they surely did now. Not to mention any Native with foul intent.

I unbarred the door. In the porch's evening gloom I waited, primed rifle clenched white-knuckled in my skirt. The bastard, I thought, how dare he call me his dear? It's probably what he calls his mistress in San Francisco.

Jed reined in his lathered chestnut stallion in the yard. Alighting in disgraceful fashion, he continued to hum his unintelligible tune and sauntered open-armed towards the cabin door.

"Ella, come kiss yer lonesome husband. I need the warmth of a woman to rest me from my journey."

"Lonely?!" I scoffed. "But it can't have been long since you saw your San Francisco woman"

"Whut?" Jed dropped his arms and cocked his head, squinting to see my expression in the blackness. The crickets added their ruckus chirps to the anticipation.

"You heard me. Your jig is up."

"Tis only scuttlebutt, Ella," Jed sneered, stroking his short brown beard, suddenly sobered.

"There is talk in town that you were seen shamelessly gallivanting around San Francisco with another woman on your arm, smiling to high heaven and drunk full as a tick no doubt." My heart quickened; would he deny it?

Jed was somber. Likely thinking how to assuage my anger and still get a warm bed out of it, the cur.

"You mean Betsy?" he said too quietly.

Damn, she has a name. I raised the rifle, cocked, and took aim.

"Who's Betsy?" I was surprised how even my tone was, despite a downward slinking feeling in my gut.

Jed stuttered, "Well she's . . . I was . . . It's tricky to explain."

I stepped forward until the moonlight polished the stock of my weapon.

"Who's it going to be Jed. Her or me?" I thought desperately of Alice. What would become of us if Jed chose Betsy. I cringed inside picturing the unsavory possibilities.

"Well there's something you should know about Betsy and me," Jed offered, sidestepping the question and beseeching me with upturned palms to lower the gun.

In answer, I raised my aim from his chest to his head.

"Speak then, but choose well your words," I growled.

Taking a slow deep breath, Jed monotoned with slumped shoulders, "We is married, but —"

I fired.

Dropping the rifle upon the step, I ran to his crumpled form. Consumed with anger I spat, "Bigotrous bird. Rot in hell."

In spite of the night-ridden unknown suffocating me, I tended his horse (no reason he should suffer), brought in Jed's pack, pistol, and my rifle, and then barred the door. Let him lie in his gall, I ranted to myself, slamming Jed's pack into a corner. I'd deal with that in the morning; I couldn't let any supplies go to waste in our humble situation. Cradling Alice for comfort, I spent a sleepless night startling at every sound, sure it was Jed revived and after me for revenge.

Bawling sow and babe finally revived me from an uneasy torpor early the next morn. I attempted to be about as usual. After washing my face, I pinned up my hair, fed Alice, set the bread to rise, and tidied the cabin. When all indoor duties satisfied, I turned to stare at the barred door. It loomed large. The barn chores needed doing, but that meant walking by Jed.

I couldn't, but I must.

With Alice snug in her cradle, I placed my hand upon the wooden plank, closed my eyes, and hefted its weight. The sun shone and the birds twittered too merrily amidst the morning haze. Jed lay face down, though not where I remembered leaving him. I approached breathless, shifty step by slow tip toe, heart beating like an Indian war dance.

At his side, I nudged Jed's shoulder with my boot. He groaned.

Dreadful hell, he was still alive!

My head flooded dizzily with uncertainty. Had I been too hasty? Should I have heard Jed out? The question, "What if he's innocent?" goaded me like tornado-driven hail.

I stopped thinking and began to act. Dropping the milk pail I dashed inside the cabin for clean rags and a bottle of whiskey. Racing back, I drenched the cloth and began cleaning the wound on Jed's head. It had bled well, but was scabbing around scorched edges.

Using all my strength, I rolled Jed onto his side. His mouth hung slack but his eyes fluttered, revealing the whites. Thank heaven I didn't have to see his intensely blue eyes. I loved his eyes. Shaking my head to clear it again, I grabbed beneath his shoulders and drug Jed to the shade near the porch. Panting, I wiped my hands on my apron and smoothed my hair. After peeking in hurriedly at Alice, I raced to the barn to saddle my mare. When ready, I tied my rifle across my saddle horn, put a bonnet on Alice, and cursed calico as I clambered into the sidesaddle. Galloping toward El Camino Real, I took only one glance back at the solitary ranch. Jed lay where I left him.

Her nap interrupted, Alice fussed upon my lap at the yank and sway of the swift gallop I urged from my buckskin mustang. I swept away thoughts of what might be. I resolved to make things right, no matter the outcome. I knew I needed Jed to mend if I were to ever hear out his tale and learn the truth of the situation.

After what seemed an endless dusty ride, I drew up on the outskirts of town. The stage was not due in yet, so the streets were relatively placid. I tried to ride sedately to the doctor's establishment so none would take notice. I especially did not want Carrie catching sight of me from the large General Store window in which she and her husband worked.

Hitching my horse to the post, I entered the dim building.

Doc Gilbert greeted me warmly.

"Mrs. Jensen, how do you do? How's little Alice?"

Before I could lose pluck, I said vaguely but quickly, "There's been a blow out at our place, Jed's been shot. Please, come."

The doctor had his hat and bag in hand a moment later. Shootings might be a regular occurrence, though not to be taken lightly. We rode swiftly back to my place in his swift gig, my mare tied behind. Poor Alice wailed for milk.

"Who's done it?" Doc Gilbert asked. "Who was at your place?"

Lord, what should I respond? Blame it on horse thieves, warring Indians, a drunken squabble? Or tell the truth? Doc Gilbert watched me quizzically, but did not prod.

"I did." I said softly.

"Pardon?"

"I shot Jed," I responded louder, lip trembling. Let hell fire rain down. I owed it to religious decency and my own inner peace, though an itch of righteous indignation still twitched within.

"Bosh! I don't believe it," Doc guffawed. "Who you trying to shelter? You know you could get jail for this, maybe even hanged." His dark eyes were piercing beneath the shade of his wide-brim. The tips of his long twisted mustache quivered.

I hastened to explain.

"Carrie saw him in San Francisco with another woman, making merry quite intimately. I confronted Jed about it when he came home last night." My voice wavered, "He told me he was married to the woman."

Doc Gilbert let out a long low whistle.

"Never thought of Jed as a bigot or a chiseler. Do you have proof?"

"Only his and Carrie's word as yet. But that's why it's so important for Jed to revive." I turned to the doctor in earnest, "Jed was about to say more, before I shot him, but I didn't let him. I have to know." I was trembling now, spent nerves no longer under control.

Doc Gilbert patted my knee but did not reply immediately, staring out across the dry hills. I bit my lip in frustration. We were nearing our plot, perhaps he was waiting to know the extent of Jed's injury before advising me. Perchance he'd turn me in himself. Could I get away fast enough on my spent mare with Alice on my hip and no provisions? Dear girl, we'd never make it alone in the wilds. I felt trapped by marital duty and social propriety.

Finally, we forded the shallow stream and came upon my lonely outpost of a home. Jed still lay in the shade of the porch, though he had shifted. I hoped he still clung to vitality.

With the doctor's help, Jed was brought in upon the bed. I sat upon the porch step feeding Alice as the doctor tended Jed's wound. He waited politely until I finished to pronounce his findings.

"Jed's a stalwart one. He's got a concussion; lost a large quantity of blood, but I have his head stitched. I couldn't find the bullet, but perhaps he'll come round in a couple days. Keep him quiet, clean and watered. Broth and mild gruel to build his strength up."

"Of course," I paused, "Should Jed begin to talk, what should I do?"

"Hear him out; then send me word. Don't speak of this to anyone else. They might not understand"

I nodded.

"You well provisioned?" Doc Gilbert asked, scanning the room.

I gestured to Jed's pack. "I should be for a time."

Doc tipped his hat and left.

I sunk into a chair, emotionally spent. It was nigh as lonely with a comatose companion as it was without. With the daily chores to be finished and Jed's bundle to unpack, I could not sit for long.

I saved Jed's pack until last. Ironically, it seemed an intrusion. Unfastening the buckles, I removed each brown paper wrapped packet, jar and burlap bag: flour, cornmeal, coffee, salt, molasses. I expected these. I reached in for the last bulge and pulled out an unmarked bag. Curious, I untied the string and peered inside. White sugar! A rare, expensive treat. I glanced at Jed, overcome with healing sleep upon the bed. Was it meant to be an indulgence or a guilt-ridden confession gift, I wondered?

That night, I made myself a make-shift bed on the floor near Alice's cradle; I couldn't stand Jed's smell. Tossing and turning, the darkness could neither answer my questions nor assuage my fears. Only Jed could. A pack of coyotes whined to the moon, their echoing cries reminding me how alone we were. Should I dare to hope for a happy ending to this muddle?

By the next afternoon, Jed had been able to sip water and some mild chicken broth, though he burned in fever. I changed his wound dressings and set out with Alice to visit a neighbor, renowned for her knowledge of native herbs. She was full-blooded Mutsun, married to an Irish immigrant that worked at the Plaza Stable in town. Along the way I gathered acorns for her.

It took a couple hours to walk, but the fresh air felt wonderful, despite the growing warmth of the day. Even Alice seemed in higher spirits, gurgling happily as she sucked on her fists. As I neared the McCoy farm, I saw their oldest son working a yearling in the corral. His shirt was off. Sweat balled and slid down the well-defined muscles of his tan arms and chest.

What a fine specimen, I found myself thinking.

As if he heard my thought, he turned and watched us approach.

"How d'ya do?" he said politely, inclining his hatless head.

Before I could stare too much as his smooth hairless face, strong jaw, and dark fathomless eyes, I inquired if his mother was about. He gestured to the house. As I hurried to the door, my cheeks felt hot as if his eyes still watched me. What was wrong with me? How improper!

Later, I thanked Mrs. McCoy for the herbs and went my way, disappointed that Patrick was no longer in the corral.

The herbs did wonders for Jed. His fever soon reduced and he asked for food in a husky voice. I spooned him some mild corn mush. He spat it out angrily.

"Tastes like dirt!" he croaked.

Taken aback, I retreated to the table to wipe my hands and apron. Jed had every right to be angry with me, but I hadn't expected such a disrespectful response to my care. I searched my shelves for something to sweeten his meal; after all, I was the cause of his current condition. My eyes rested upon the canister where I had stowed the white sugar. I had dreamed of making a fine cake or delicious cookies as Carrie had so often in her house, a mark of their relative wealth. But alas, my life was not one of such indulgence. I carefully mixed a heaping spoonful of the precious crystals into Jed's bowl. He ate it heartily and asked for more.

A couple weeks later, with Jed's physical condition much improved, I felt it time to ask him about Betsy. I sat carefully on the side of the bed, placed my hand upon his arm, and waited for him to open his eyes. Their blueness seemed sharper, almost harsh. But I had to know, so I persisted.

"Jed, remember that night you came home and I confronted you on the porch?"

"Nah," he said sarcastically, "I clean forgot, what with my head throbbing all the time and the room spinnin' so's I can't visit the privy by myself."

I swallowed the insult and forged on.

"You were about to tell me something about Betsy, but I didn't let you finish."

Jed's eyes drifted to where my rifle hung above the mantle.

"You're not gonna shoot me again, are ya?"

I mutely shook my head, but my stomach tightened. Would what he had to say change my life?

"Betsy and I got married in Ohio, before I ever met you. I got hot headed about gold out here in California and urged her to come out with me. 'Cept we never made it. Our wagon train was attacked. I got knocked out in the skirmish, but when I came to, Betsy and some of the other women and children were gone. A few of the men tried to go after the Injuns, but lost the trail. I thought she was dead."

A whispered "Oh," was all I could muster.

Jed continued, taking strength from my quiet response.

"I didn't think I could love anyone like I loved her." He put his hand over mine and in a glimpse of his old romantic self said, "'Til I met you."

I blushed.

"I know life's been rough for you, but you're tough, Alice too. It's what I dreamed to have with Betsy."

I examined my sunburned hands, calloused and scratched from labor.

"And what of San Francisco? How did Betsy come to be there?"

"She didn't entirely say, trying to forget a lot of what happened I expect. The Injuns made her some sort of slave and eventually a third wife of some warrior. She said this broad-chested brave lost a bet to some trader who took pity on her and brought her to San Francisco. Of course I was dumb struck, but so glad to see her."

It was a lot to take in. I sat quietly, pondering for a long moment.

"So what do we do Jed? You can't keep two wives without someone finding out. It's not proper."

"The Injuns do it, why can't I?" Jed sneered.

My heart sank. Was he still so inclined to Betsy that he would stoop to impropriety to try to keep us both? Not that I wished her more harm, but I had Alice to think about.

"Would you seek an annulment?" I asked hesitantly.

Jed stroked his beard. "I don't know," he said finally, "But she wants to meet you."

"Meet me?" I stood up quickly and began to pace the floor in irritation and indignation. "Whatever for?"

Clearing his throat Jed explained that Betsy knew of a place in Nevada territory where some Mormon settlers had several wives. We could likely abide there without too much consequence, she thought, even though we did not share their religion.

I pressed my hands on my temples. This was too much. I had to get some fresh air. Telling Jed only that I would think it over, I took Alice out to the shade of the largest oak to nurse her and be alone in my thoughts.

Wasn't Nevada one of those places rustlers took their haul and bandits hid out? We didn't have much here, but at least we were settled. Starting over, and with a strange woman sharing my husband, how absurd! What would Jed do for our sustenance? Did the stage lines run through this settlement?

Yet I began to dwell on the isolation of my present existence. If Jed was gone frequently, as he had of late, perhaps I would not be as lonely with Betsy there to share the work and pass the time. Strength came in numbers after all.

When I came in to the house later, I told Jed that I would meet Betsy. I didn't tell him that partly I was just curious about his first love. Not to mention, someone who had survived living among the Indians sounded quite fascinating.

With Doc Gilbert's approval, we took the stage to San Francisco when Jed felt up to it. It was dark when we arrived, but I was overwhelmed by the amount of people coming and going. The noisy crowded streets overshadowed by grand buildings several stories high. We spent the night in a hotel. The next morning, I waited nervously for Jed while he went to find Betsy. He returned around noon with an invitation for dinner in her room that evening. She was working as a laundress at another hotel some distance across the city.

She met us near the entrance and ushered us to a small back room. I couldn't help but stare at the veil she wore over her face, even indoors. What was she hiding? Her plain navy-blue muslin dress and plaited blond hair seemed modest enough. She was neither a heathen nor Helen.

"Welcome," she said in a deep velvety voice. "Please have a seat."

In the cramped apartment, there was only one chair next to a dressing table of sorts on which a meager meal and a coffee pot rested. Jed and I sat on the edge of the bed. The quilt was of high quality and I wondered if she had made it herself. But the pattern was a slap in the face: double wedding ring. Betsy turned to remove her veil and hung it upon a simple nail in the wall. When she turned, I caught my breath. She smiled knowingly.

"Hideous, yes?"

"I'm so sorry. I shouldn't stare," I said quickly.

Betsy shrugged. "Tis part of me now. I'm nearly used to people's reactions."

I nodded mutely. Jed and Betsy talked naturally of our journey as I tended to Alice, trying not to let my eyes fixate on the black curling tattoos around Betsy's mouth and along her chin. How awful to be marked so! No wonder she wanted to get away to Nevada.

As we ate, I took note of Betsy's mannerisms. Despite the obvious depravity of her situation, she was easy to converse with, kind, responsive in a dignified way. I couldn't help but like her, perhaps better than Carrie. But as a friend, I chided myself, not as a second companion to my husband.

After dinner, Jed excused himself to "whet his whistle" in a nearby tavern and let us ladies talk. Betsy poured me some coffee.

"Sugar?" she asked.

"P-please." I stammered. How could she afford white sugar? Had Jed bought it for her too? Again, I swallowed my indignation and commented on her quilt. Yes, she had made it, she confessed. Conversation drifted to our pasts. How we had each met Jed. We were both young and naïve, carried away by his flirtatious nature and the pull of his hypnotic eyes. He was a charmer we admitted, but perhaps a bit too inclined to drink.

She told me snippets of experiences with the tribe she had spent the most time with. Not all bad. In fact, some of the persons she described sounded more respectable than many of the hardened frontiersman I knew of about San Juan. I briefly pictured Patrick in the corral and the tranquil wisdom of his mother.

As I drifted off to sleep that night back in the hotel with Jed, I felt peaceful.

"I like her," I whispered. We could make it work.

Voice heavy with emotion and relief, Jed replied, "Thank you." And kissed me goodnight.