...all MSR all the time..
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Chapter 8
It was still dark the following morning when I heard Rosaline's soft knock. After I extricated myself from Mulder's arms, I slid out of bed, found my clothes and began to pull them on quickly. I struggled with my shoes in the dark, but I managed to get them done up. Remembering the brush I'd seen on the wash stand the night before, I felt around for it and quickly ran it through my hair. It was then that I realized that I'd lost my hair ribbon.
"Should I get up now, too?" Mulder wondered sleepily as I searched the bed. I found my ribbon tucked between the pillows.
"Breakfast is in an hour, and I think if you miss it, you're out of luck," I warned him gently.
"Bed's not comfortable without you, anyway," he sighed.
"I'd love to crawl back in with you, Mulder, but I have work to do." I leaned over to give him a quick kiss.
"Mmm, see you downstairs, Scully."
Rosaline was waiting for me in the kitchen when I dashed past on my way to the outhouse. Once I was back, I washed my hands at the pump in the sink.
"I try to thank Eben every day for putting this pump inside for me. It certainly is a blessing and such a time saver," she smiled as I slipped into my apron.
By the flickering light of a lantern, Rosaline pulled my hair back with the ribbon.
"Remind me to give you a lantern tonight, so you can do your own hair in the morning, but mind you don't burn it too long. It's not that the colza oil is dear, but we have a hard time getting it out here."
When she'd finished with my hair, she took some water she'd been warming on the stove and poured it into a bucket. Then she handed a couple of shallow pans and a wooden spoon to me. Before we left she picked up a basket--it made me wonder how she'd ever managed to cope on her own.
The barn, which was also made of logs, was a long building with low ceilings. Judging from what I could see protruding from cracks above me, I assumed that hay was stored up there in a loft. Lantern light was shining halfway down the center hall of the barn that Rosaline was leading me down. I followed her lead and picked up my skirts so that they didn't trail on the dirty floor.
"Mornin', Mrs. Mulder," Mr. Peck called from one of the stalls as we passed. He was sitting on a short three-legged stool, his cheek pressed up against the flank of fawn-colored cow.
"Good morning, Mr. Peck," I smiled. As we passed I heard the hiss of a stream of milk as it hit the side of the pail. When we got closer the end of the barn, I could see a wooden frame covered in chicken wire protruding toward us.
Rosaline lifted the lid of a box that sat next to the fence and scooped some of the contents into the pans I was carrying.
"Set those down, Dana, so I can add the water," she instructed. "And give a stir, will you?"
As I stirred up the mixture she began to explain what she was doing. "I like to pamper the hens with warm mash. I find they lay better that way--I give them warm water to drink too. I think it's worth the trouble to keep my girls happy."
The chickens must have known they were about to be fed because they'd left their roosts and were milling around a door in the barn wall.
I took the pans of mash while Rosaline carried the basket and water bucket. None of the hens tried to get out of the wire-frame door when she opened it; they were too busy trying to get out of the other door. In fact, we had to wade through them to get to it.
On the other side of the wooden door was a large enclosure built up against the side of the barn. It ran the width of the building, about 30 feet, and was the same distance deep. The frame of the pen was covered with chicken wire and half of it was topped with split logs, to provide some shade I assumed. The rest was finished like the walls of the enclosure.
Rosaline asked me to put the pans down on opposite sides of the yard while she filled the small trough. Once the hens were busy with their food, we went back inside to collect the eggs. I collected from one side of the henhouse, putting the eggs in my apron, while Rosaline took care of the other side. After I'd added my eggs to the basket, we headed back to the house. On the way I noticed that Mulder had joined Eben in a whitewashed room at other end of the barn.
When I mentioned that it looked like we didn't have enough eggs to feed all of the men, Rosaline explained that they served eggs a couple of times a week. The rest, she told me, were used for cooking. Wednesdays and Saturdays the men had eggs for breakfast and, if the hens were laying particularly well, they got eggs a third day. Other than that, they got porridge.
"Mind you, we'll have eggs every day; there has to be some benefit to running the place." She winked at me.
Once we were back in the kitchen, Rosaline set the eggs down and then showed me the proportions to use for the porridge. After she disappeared with the eggs for a minute, to put them somewhere cool I assumed, she came back and began to cut up several loaves of bread. Then she lifted two of the lids off of the stove, revealing the fire below. Over each opening she set a wire rack onto which she placed six slices of bread.
"Dana, will you watch the toast and butter it when it's done? I'm going to put the cream, sugar and preserves on the tables." While she spoke, she put four plates in a warming oven above me. "If I put the butter on the table, these men would spread it on like molasses."
It was no trouble to watch the porridge and take care of the toast. As I was putting it in the warming oven, I felt someone brush up against me.
"What's for breakfast?" Mulder whispered in my ear.
"The men are having oatmeal and toast, but I think we're having eggs." I smiled at him over my shoulder.
"That toast smells really good." His breath tickled my ear.
"Don't let him sweet talk you into any of that food," Rosaline laughed behind us. "As soon as the men are fed, Dana and I will cook breakfast for the four of us."
"Why don't I dish out the porridge? That way you and Dana can cook?" Mulder offered.
"You'd be willing to do that?" Rosaline's eyes widened in surprise.
"If it'll get me fed faster, I'd be more than willing," he assured her with a smile.
"Well I can cook the breakfast on my own, but Dana will need to make another two loaves of toast. So if you serve, Mr. Mulder, that should really speed things along. I like to see a man who's not afraid to do women's work when it will help out--even if he's just looking out for his own stomach."
When I'd finished toasting another loaf, I took it out on three plates and set them on the tables. Mulder was dishing out a second helping to a burly man, but he was watching the men like a hawk. As I excused myself to reach between them, they gave me a wide berth. I wondered if they would have reacted the same way if Mulder hadn't been watching.
It wasn't long before the dining hall had emptied out and the four of us were sitting at the small table in the kitchen. Our meal consisted of eggs, toast, and back bacon. Apparently another benefit of working with Eben and Rosaline was coffee. Rosaline explained that it was too expensive to give to the men, so she never started to brew it until after they'd left.
For some reason though, the coffee was upsetting my stomach. When I declined her offer, Rosaline offered me a glass of milk instead, which I gratefully accepted. I was surprised when I took my first sip that it tasted like someone had poured perfume into it. I decided that it must be because it was whole, unpasturized milk and vowed to stick to water after that. Mulder and Mr. Peck were finishing off the last of the toast with a second cup of coffee when the innkeeper cleared his throat.
"I know I mentioned that there was plenty of work in town, what with the capital buildings and the hotel, Mr. Mulder, but I was wondering if I might be able to interest you in working here with me?"
"What kind of work would I be doing?" Mulder set down his coffee cup.
"Mostly helping me, the way Mrs. Mulder is helping Rosaline. I have the cows to milk in the morning, then the work in the dairy. After breakfast I take the cows to pasture and then muck out the stalls. Then I don't have anything set until I bring the cows back, but I have all kinds of odds and ends to do in between. I was hoping you could help me out with those chores. Then we should have enough time to fix up the barn *and* get a store building up on the other property I own. The way people are flooding in here, I should be able sell it or rent it out, easily."
"I've never worked in a dairy, but I'm sure I could learn," Mulder replied quickly.
"You seem like you're willing to work, and the way I see it, that is what matters most," Eben continued earnestly. "Now, I'm going to offer you sixty cents a day, and that includes Sunday--the cows still have to be milked on the Lord's day. You'll find that laborers around here make sixty-five cents a day, but they don't get paid for Sunday."
"I'd get thirty cents more a week," Mulder noted.
"Right," Eben smiled. "And on Sunday we only do the necessities-- milk the cows and clean out the stalls, but I'll still give you the full day's pay."
"That sounds more than fair to me, Mr. Peck." Mulder extended his hand.
"Please call me Eben." He shook Mulder's hand vigorously.
"I know it sounds odd, Eben, but I'd like you and Mrs. Peck to call me Mulder. That's what Dana calls me--I never did like my given name."
"Eben said Fox was your mother's maiden name." Rosaline looked puzzled.
"It was," Mulder affirmed. "But that didn't stop me from being teased all the time."
"That's a shame," Rosaline shook her head.
The rest of day passed quickly; I only saw Mulder at meal times. In between cooking and doing the dishes, Rosaline and I worked in the garden. Since she'd been so busy before she hired me, it had become somewhat overgrown, but with three hours of work we managed to get it cleaned up.
"We could use a good soaking." Rosaline stood looking at the garden with her hands on her hips. "It's been well over a week since we've had any rain and the last thing I have time for is hauling water."
"The soil is a little dry." I kicked at it with the toe of my shoe.
"Well, worrying won't make it rain any faster, will it? Since we have some extra time, why don't we make some pies? It will certainly surprise the men, it not being Sunday," she smiled. "I still have plenty of dried apples left and it's almost time for the new crop."
While the apples soaked, we made the pastry and then Rosaline stoked up the fire. Soon the mouth-watering scent of apple and cinnamon began to fill the kitchen.
"Would you like to make up the corn bread today, Dana, and I'll make the stew?" Rosaline asked while we were cleaning up from making the pies.
"Maybe I could make bannock instead. It goes well with stew." I had no idea how to make corn bread and I didn't want Rosaline to think I was completely hopeless.
"Bannock?" She looked at me questioningly.
"It's a kind of flat bread made with flour, fat, salt and baking powder," I explained.
"Baking powder?" she repeated. "Do you mean soda?"
"It's baking soda and cream of tartar." I had to think quickly.
"If that's what you'd like to do," she shrugged. "If the men don't like it, they won't be afraid to say."
I was only guessing at the ingredients based on a soda bread recipe that my mother used to make for my father. Rosaline watched me as I mixed up the dough, obviously curious, but she said nothing. After I fried up the first one, I tested it to make sure I was okay. It wasn't exactly the same as Wanik's, but it was okay. I offered a piece to Rosaline; she seemed a bit skeptical, but smiled her approval as she was chewing.
"That's quite nice. Where did you learn to make that?"
"When Mulder and I were staying with the Indians one of the women taught me how to make it."
Rosaline's eyebrows flew up. "Well keep that to yourself, Dana. Most of the men here won't touch if they know it's Indian food."
"I don't see what the difference is, but if anyone asks, I'll say it's my mother's recipe," I sighed as I began to fry another piece.
"I know the Indians were good to you and your husband, but you have to remember the history in these parts. It would be like rubbing salt into a wound."
"I guess you're right." I gave in--mostly because I didn't know specifically what she was referring to. I did know, however, that if there was any violence on the part of the Indians, it was with just cause. However, I kept my thoughts to myself.
The only noise in the kitchen was the sound of Rosaline's knife on the wooden table and the sizzling of the grease in my frying pan. Working like this in the kitchen reminded me of times spent in my mother's kitchen when I used to help her prepare the family meals. Suddenly I felt very alone.
Sorrow washed over me like a wave, starting with nausea that gripped my stomach, followed by a sob that caught in my throat, and ended with the tears that welled up in my eyes. I couldn't blink them back fast enough to stop them from overflowing onto my cheeks.
I kept cooking the bannock blindly, hoping that I could recover my composure before Rosaline noticed. But I couldn't stop myself from sniffing, making her look over at me immediately.
"What is it, dear? Is it what I said about the Indians?" She dropped her knife, hurried to my side and laid a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
"No," I sniffed again. "I just got homesick all of a sudden. I miss my mother, and my brothers and their children." My voiced cracked. "I can't get used to the fact that I'll never see them again."
"Never is a long time, Dana. Maybe they'll decide to head west eventually too." She tried to soothe me.
"I don't think so," I shook my head.
"It's hard to up and leave your friends and family. I know, I did it when I was much younger than you to follow Eben. You have your husband, and he loves you very much--anyone can see that," she reminded me.
"I know, Rosaline, thank you." I tried to convince myself that my family was just far away. It was easier than trying to deal with the fact that they didn't exist yet.
Rosaline began to chat again, telling me about the farm that she and Eben had owned outside of Blue Mounds. I knew she was trying to keep my mind off of my troubles, and that fact alone was enough to make me feel better.
Supper passed without incident, except that the men enjoyed the bannock and were thrilled to see the pie. Rosaline made sure there was enough of both left to go with our supper too. Eben liked the bannock so much, Rosaline said I'd have to teach her how to make it. Mulder liked the pie so much, I'm sure he would have eaten the whole pie by himself if he'd been given the chance.
That night as I lay in Mulder's arms and he told me about his day, even though my heart ached, I hadn't felt this safe or loved since I was a little girl. My only real concern was that my mother might think I'd been killed or injured. I closed my eyes and prayed that she knew in her heart I was safe.
The following day was Saturday and it passed as quickly as Friday had. After breakfast, Rosaline and I cleaned out the chicken coop and after lunch we made bread. As we were kneading the dough I thought about how busy we'd been. I couldn't imagine how Rosaline had managed on her own--she must have worked from before dawn until long past sunset.
That evening, when the supper dishes were done, Mulder said he had a surprise for me in our room. I followed him up the stairs carrying the lantern and matches Rosaline had given me. I had no idea what his surprise might be and I laughed when he produced two newspapers.
"Don't you want to catch up, Scully?" he grinned.
Mulder let me choose between the Chicago Democrat and the Milwaukee Sentinel.
"Madison doesn't have a paper yet," Mulder informed me. "But according to Eben there's talk that one will be starting up soon."
Since the Chicago paper was larger, I decided to let him have that one first, and I took the Sentinel.
"This paper is dated Monday August 6, 1838, Mulder. Do you know what today's date is?"
"I asked Eben that, claiming to have lost track. He said it's August 18th," Mulder smiled as he flopped down on the bed. After I took off my shoes, I joined him. We'd intended to read our papers and then switch when we were done, but as we came across interesting articles we ended up reading them to each other. It was like a history lesson I recalled from high school; taking historical events and rewriting them like newspaper articles.
Martin Van Buren was president and his detractors said that he was responsible for 'The Panic of '37', but both newspapers agreed it was the policies of the Jackson administration that had created current fiscal problems. On the other hand, Van Buren didn't do anything to help his own cause by refusing to help the poverty-stricken. There was no public assistance of any kind, and it shocked me that he could remain so callous when people were starving.
Both papers also featured articles on the plight of the Cherokee Indians in Georgia. I was amazed that some of the public seemed to be siding with them. In fact, that had been the reason why, 20 years earlier, Davy Crockett had left politics. Yet the government was insisting they be evicted from their land. In 1838 public opinion apparently mattered little to the elected officials. At least the Clinton administration tried to appear to care what the public thought.
"When did the 'Trail of Tears' begin, Mulder? Do you know?"
"I can't remember when the actual exodus begins and I don't think that phrase has been coined yet," he told me. "It turns my stomach, knowing in advance what is going to happen to these people. These papers are predicting disastrous outcomes--and their estimates are woefully low."
"What can these bureaucrats possibly be thinking? They have documented evidence that far shorter forced migrations have resulted in huge losses of life. How can they turn a blind eye?" I'd been looking forward to reading the newspapers, but now I was depressed.
"That is something that has me confused." Mulder pursed his lips.
"That the government is turning a blind eye?"
"No, similar forced migrations," he clarified. "I thought the Fox Indians had been evicted from their land as well, but I assumed that I was misremembering."
"And?" I prompted.
"This paper cites the results of the migration of the Sauk and the Fox Indians from the Iowa territory to Kansas. There aren't supposed to be any Fox Indians left here, not for a long time now. The article mentions how they left this area over 100 years ago, after the French and Indian Wars."
"Maybe we met a different tribe. Maybe we misunderstood," I suggested.
"I don't think so, Scully. It would explain why Namid was not pleased to see us."
"You think they could be in trouble if they were discovered?" My stomach churned in realization.
"I think so," he nodded.
"I haven't said anything specifically about where we were or what tribe it was." I thought back to my conversations.
"Me either, and I think we should avoid that topic from now on." He folded up the paper he'd been reading.
I nodded my agreement. I couldn't bear thinking about being responsible for anything happening to Namid's band. For the rest of the evening, all I could think about was the horrible tragedy that was about to befall the Cherokee; knowing the future was not all it was cracked up to be. I vowed to keep my mouth shut in order to prevent a similar occurrence from happening to people that I knew and respected. I wasn't sure how much the government cared about 75 people, but I didn't want to find out either.
The next morning Reverend Foster held a service in the dining hall. Mulder, as with most of the men, wasn't thrilled about being there, but he put on a brave face. He knew it was expected. After lunch I was still feeling depressed about what I'd read in the paper the previous night. I hadn't realized how quiet I'd been until Rosaline spoke up.
"You're mighty quiet, Dana. Are you still homesick?"
Since I couldn't explain the real reason for my mood, I told a half-truth. "A bit."
"I think I'm just going to make baked beans for supper," she changed the subject. "I can handle that on my own, if you'll look after the dishes. You should go and get some fresh air. I'm sure that'll spruce you up."
"Are you sure, Rosaline? I don't want to leave you all of the work."
"You'll have to do the dishes by yourself, that's all."
"That's fine, that's great. Thank you, Rosaline," I gushed.
"Go on then," she waved me out of the kitchen with a smile. "And take my bonnet," she called after me. "Or those freckles will never fade."
Mulder and I spent a wonderful afternoon exploring Madison. It sent shivers down my spine to realize that during our investigation, we had walked these same streets--162 years in the future. Even though I had finally accepted the fact that we were in the past, I was still having a hard time getting my head around it.
Rosaline was right; the fresh air and sunshine did improve my mood. Walking along the shore of Lake Mendota hand in hand with Mulder had its merits too. By the time we returned for supper, I was feeling more like myself. I'd decided that if protecting my friends was all I could do, it would have to be enough. As happened in my future life--my real life--my life in the 20th century; whatever I should call it--terrible tragedies always upset me, but I'd learned not to let them run my life. I could never get them out of my mind completely, though.
The next week flew by and we received a couple of the days of rain that Rosaline had been hoping for. When I got faster at my work, I ended up having some spare time and got to go with Mulder when he took the cows to pasture early in the week. It made for a nice change of pace. He and Eben had finished fixing the roof on the barn and had almost finished the extra stall as well. Eben was anxious to get to work on his store building--new people were arriving in town every day. We had no beds left, but more and more people were taking their meals with us. By Friday there were two entire sittings for every meal; all of my spare time had vanished.
It was a relief when Sunday finally came again. Rosaline and I made the same arrangement as we had the previous week. This time, Mulder and I took a picnic with us. We didn't have to go far to be by ourselves and we got to spend a romantic afternoon together. When we were in our room, after he'd helped me with the dishes, Mulder decided to clean up a bit and pulled one of the rags Rosaline had given me out of my drawer. It was then I realized that I still hadn't started my period, but I figured my body was in shock from the time travel.
It was still nagging at me the following morning as I went to feed the chickens and collect the eggs. I was usually very regular, but I'd never had an experience like this before. There was nothing I could do about it here, anyway.
I was still wondering what might have happened to mess up my cycle as I headed back to the kitchen. I stopped dead in my tracks though, when I saw a figure standing in the shadows at the other end of the hall watching me.
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