Blossoms on the Roof (12 page)

Polly wanted to learn how to use the spinning wheel.

At last Mother had a bundle of fibers ready for spinning. “Maybe it's not enough for all the clothing we would like to
make,” she said, looking at the small pile of flax fibers. “Oh, well. I don't really need a new dress yet.”

Polly said nothing. She knew that her own dresses were getting much too small and wondered,
What if there is not enough linsey-woolsey for even one dress?

Mother borrowed a spinning wheel from Peter Mast. Jakie, Lisbet, and Polly watched in fascination as she set the big wheel to whirling.

“I wish I could learn to do that,” Polly said as the spun fiber wound onto the spindle.

“You can,” Mother assured her. “I will teach you how.”

Just then they heard Flip barking excitedly. Polly and Jakie scampered out to see what the matter was.

Flip was chasing King, which made King flap his wings mightily to try to get away. Suddenly King stopped and turned around.
Hisss!
The goose sounded loud and angry. Flip skidded to a stop. King looked twice as big as usual with his feathers fluffed up in rage. Flip yelped, turned tail, and ran. After him ran King, hissing and snapping at his heels.

Polly and Jakie laughed and laughed, but for Flip it was no laughing matter. When King finally stopped chasing him, he slunk back to the house with his tail between his legs.

“So the dog and the goose don't get along anymore,” Mother said seriously when Polly and Jakie told her what had happened. “Maybe it's time for King to go away.”

“Go away?” Polly repeated in surprise. “But he can't fly.”

“Yesterday while I worked in the garden, King was nearby. I had a good look at his injured wing. Those feathers have grown out beautifully.”

“Oh,” said Polly. The thought of King going away made her feel sad. King was her friend.
Why do I always lose my friends? I had to leave my Indiana friends far behind. Then Mattie and Kettie, my train friends, had to disappear into the huge prairie. Of course, I have new friends now, but…I really wish King could stay.

One morning when Polly went to fetch water, she heard a honking sound overhead. Far up in the sky, she saw lots of birds flying southward in the shape of a V.

How excited King was! He flapped his wings and honked as loudly as he could. He recognized those voices. They were Canada geese!

Did the flying geese hear him? Did they turn around and come back? Polly didn't know, but the next day a whole flock of geese had settled in the slough.

King was gone. All was silent near the haystack. “He must have gone off to the slough,” Polly told Mother.

“Let's hope his wing is healed,” responded Mother.

Polly thought that over. “I guess King would be sad if he had to stay behind.”

For two days the flock stayed near the slough. On a bright sunny morning, the geese lifted high into the sky and formed a straggling V and headed south.

Polly watched them until they were out of sight. Then she took Jakie and walked across the burnt grass to the slough. The only sound was the wind in the grass. No long black neck popped up. No kingly head turned to gaze at her with bright eyes.

“Goodbye, King,” Polly whispered.

17

The Secret

B
ill McLellan managed to raise some wheat in spite of the drought and insisted on sharing the wheat with the Yoders. “You need something to make flour with. Next year you will get a good crop, and then you can pay me back.”

Carefully the Yoders gathered every poor little vegetable that had survived the summer. They stored the potatoes and turnips in the root cellar. The onions were hung from the ceiling in the house. Father had built a tiny barn just big enough for two horses or two oxen, and there they stored the pumpkins.

“We may not be able to get enough firewood,” Father admitted. “The dead trees in the Turtle Mountains are free, but we are supposed to pay for any trees we cut down.” Though Father didn't say it, Polly knew the rest. You couldn't pay for anything if you didn't have any money.

“So anyway,” said Father, looking at Ben and Polly, “we want you to gather all the buffalo chips that you can while the weather is dry. Chips work fine for cooking and heating.”

Next morning, even before the frosty nip had left the clear September air, they set out with baskets to gather chips. At first it seemed like an adventure to wander across the prairie. Then Polly grew tired of it. Her basket was only half full, yet her legs were weary.

“There's a flickertail burrow, Ben! Let's sit here and watch. Maybe a flickertail will pop out.”

“Aw, we better keep going,” Ben replied.

Polly sat down anyway. “I'm tired. I'm going to rest.”

“Well, I'll go on hunting chips. My basket will be full before yours.”

“I don't care.” Keeping her eyes on the burrow, she lay back on the ground.

A few minutes later, Ben was back. “Let's go now, Polly! You've rested enough.”

“No, I haven't,” she snapped. “My legs are still tired.”

Ben stood there frowning. At last he said, “We'd better head for home, or else the Indians will find us.”

Polly just laughed and stayed in her comfortable spot. “Why do you say that? The Indians are friendly.”

Ben shook his head. “You don't know everything I do, Polly. There's reason to be afraid of Indians.”

“Really?” Polly sat up and looked at him.

Ben scowled and said, “Actually, it's a secret. I'm not supposed to tell you.”

“That's not fair! You've started telling me so now you have to finish.”

“If I do, you won't like what you hear.”

“Tell it!” Polly didn't like secrets—at least not when she didn't know them.

“Do you remember the time Father and I went for firewood and we told you about Jess Holmes, the fellow who took a ride in our wagon? Well, there's something we didn't tell you about. His Indian tales. He said the Sioux Indians killed a lot of white people in Minnesota back in the sixties. After that the Indians fled to North Dakota, and the soldiers came here to fight them. The last battle was only about four years ago.”

Polly felt sick inside. She whispered, “Indians and white men killing each other?”

“I said you wouldn't like it if I told you.” Ben felt a little sick himself, looking at his sister's pale, scared face. He decided not to tell her the rest of Jess Holmes's tale—that those Sioux braves might come down from Canada anytime and kill more people.

“Let's go home,” Polly said with a quavering voice.

“We'll go 'round that way,” Ben said, pointing. “We haven't hunted chips along there yet.”

“O-okay.” Polly agreed, though what she really wanted to do was go home as fast as her legs could carry her. She
found a few more chips, but her basket was not full when she got home. She was too busy glancing over her shoulder to make sure there were no Indians following them.

“Listen,” Ben said sternly when they reached the haystack. “You begged me to tell you the secret, and I told you even though Father told me not to. So don't tell them you know, okay?”

Polly stared at him. She badly needed to talk with Mother about the Indians, but she could see that Ben was speaking in earnest. “All right.”

“And by the way, Polly, Father doesn't really think there's any danger from the Indians. He thinks Jess was exaggerating.”

“Oh.” Polly breathed a sigh of relief. It certainly helped to know that. Still, Polly could not forget what Ben had said. Whenever she went to get water at the well in the next few days, she hurried back to the house. Playing outdoors was not fun anymore.

Ben noticed that and felt miserable.
If only I'd never said anything about the secret!
he thought.

Not long afterward Father said, “We should go fishing again. It's been a while since we've had a meal of fish.”

“Yes, let's!” Ben looked at Polly. “You'll go too, won't you?”

Polly hesitated and then shook her head. “Guess I'll stay home.”

Ben felt sick again. He knew Polly liked fishing and
knew why she didn't want to go this time. She had greatly enjoyed their first trip to the lake. Later, as he and Father sat together on the shore of the lake, Ben made a decision. Shamefacedly he told Father, “I told Polly about Jess Holmes's Indian stories.”

Father was quiet, and Ben could see the disappointment on his face. Father said sadly, “I had asked you not to.”

“I know. I'm sorry. I—well, when Polly caught on that I had a secret, she begged me to tell.”

Father looked at him. “I know it's a temptation to try to make excuses, but we must learn not to do that. We must learn to take the blame, fair and square, when we have done wrong. You should not have hinted to her in the first place that you had a secret.”

“I'm sorry,” Ben said again. “I see that now.”

“Mother and I will talk it over before we decide what punishment you should have, and I will have a talk with Polly as soon as I can to set her mind to rest.”

Somehow the fishing was not as exciting as it had been the other time. After catching ten fish, Ben and Father decided they had had enough. Ben called Flip, who was sniffing around in the underbrush, and then he shouldered his share of fish and started off.

“Ben,” said Father, walking beside him. “I'm glad you confessed your disobedience. Remember, the Bible says, ‘Be sure your sin will find you out.' ”

18

Rain at Last

O
ne afternoon at the end of September, a strange team of horses came driving up to the Yoders' home. A man climbed down from the wagon and walked to the door.

“Hello,” he said to Mother while twisting his hat in his hands. “I'm Adam Tracey. My wife, Verena, and our two boys are on the wagon. We've staked a claim on a homestead west of here. What we need right now is a place to stay for the night.”

“Do stay,” Mother said quickly. “Father and Ben could sleep in the barn. We—”

“Let me sleep in the barn,” Adam interrupted. “Just as long as my wife gets a warm bed to lie down in and maybe a bit of warm supper…She hasn't been too well.”

“Of course. You may tie your horses near the haystack. My husband will be in for supper soon.”

The two little Tracey boys tumbled from the wagon and stood staring at Polly and Jakie. Polly and Jakie stared back.

Verena did look rather pale and ill. Mother told her to lie down while she and Polly got supper. As soon as Father and Ben came in, everybody squeezed around the makeshift table to eat Mother's good soup and brown bread.

Adam Tracey was a talkative man. He told how he and his family had left Illinois because they could not make a living there. His two brothers already had homesteads in North Dakota, and by tomorrow night he hoped to reach their homes. The Traceys' own homestead was right beside those of his brothers.

After supper Verena seemed to feel better. She helped with the dishes and talked about their long trip across the prairie in the wagon. “And wouldn't you know,” she said with a tinkling laugh, “our cat had kittens right there in the wagon.”

“Kittens!” said Polly, forgetting to be shy. “Are they here?”

“Yes. Two are black and white and two are gray. Maybe you'd like to have a look at them before it gets dark out there.”

Out ran Polly. Jakie and the two little boys trotted after her. “There,” said the oldest Tracey, pointing to a green box. “In there.”

“Oh, the dear things,” cried Polly. She cradled one gray kitten against her chest. What a loud purr came from such a tiny creature!

“Would you like to keep two of them?” called Verena from the door.

“Oh, yes! But we have no cow. Kittens need milk.”

“Well, you may keep the mother cat too,” Verena said.