Blossoms on the Roof (13 page)

Still clutching the kitten, Polly ran into the house. “Did you hear that, Mother? We could have the cat and two kittens. Think of all the mice they'd catch!”

Mother looked at Polly. “We'll see what Father says.”

In the end, the cats stayed. The mother cat's name was Rilla, and she settled her two remaining kittens in the Yoders' tiny barn. She was a good mother cat and took good care of her kittens. Polly spent all of her spare time in the barn, and because of the cats, she wished school would never start.

One morning after breakfast, she said to Mother, “What if the other children at school aren't nice to us?”

“I don't think you need to worry,” Mother said, assuring her. “Don't forget that not all the children will be strangers. Our neighboring homesteaders'—the Millers, Hershbergers, and Masts—children will be there too.”

“Yes, I know,” Polly said, though not very happily. After they washed the dishes, Polly went outside. A chilly October wind blew across the brown fields. Overhead the sky
was filling with blue-black clouds, and before Polly reached the barn, a big drop of rain splattered on her forehead.

Polly nestled down in the sweet-smelling hay.
Purr.
The kittens found her and climbed around on her apron. Soon the rain on the sod roof grew to a steady drumming. “This is the kind of rain we longed for all summer,” Polly said to the kittens.

A drop of water hit her hand, another landed on her cheek, and a third wet her forehead. The barn roof was leaking. Faster and faster came the drops until it seemed to be raining inside the barn.

“I'm going to the house,” declared Polly, dumping the kittens from her lap. Rain hit her like a wall as she left the barn. Across the yard she sprinted. Opening the door she gasped, “Mother, it's raining in the—”

But it was raining in the house too, just like it had when Father and Ben poured water on the roof before the fire. Mother was scurrying about putting pots and bowls under the worst leaks.

At that moment Father came in. He blinked when he saw the dripping ceiling. “It seems we didn't make the roof good enough,” he said in a strained voice.

“Well, we tried,” Mother said, dragging the tub across the floor.

Father helped her with the tub and then sat down on the only box that had no pot or bowl standing on it. “I'll
have to talk with Bill McLellan again. He should know what to do about a leaking roof.”

“The thing is,” Ben said unhappily, “it probably doesn't rain like this very often in North Dakota.” There was bitterness in his voice. “If only it had rained like this in the summer.”

Father rebuked him gently. “Moisture is never wasted on the soil, Ben.”

One little bowl was almost full of rain so Polly took it to the door to empty it. “Why, somebody's here!” she said. “A lady is tying her horse out by the barn, and two girls are climbing down from the buggy.”

“I should help them,” Father said while pulling on his soggy coat.

But the three strangers were already at the door. The woman was tall and had gray hair. Mother greeted them with an apology. “I hope you can excuse our muddy floor. The roof—”

“I know all about leaking roofs,” the stranger said, interrupting Mother. “I'm Elena Whiteside, and these are my daughters, Lora and Patience. The rain feels so good after all the dry weather, that we don't mind getting wet, do we, girls?”

The two freckle-faced youngsters shook their heads. They smiled at Polly, who smiled back.

Mother offered a packing box for Mrs. Whiteside to sit on. Once settled, Mrs. Whiteside began speaking about
the Mylo school. She told how many boys and girls had been enrolled last term, explained what textbooks were needed, and then fixed her kindly eyes on Polly and Ben. “You two plan to attend, I assume?”

Mother answered for them, “Yes, they do.”

“You'll like the school,” Mrs. Whiteside assured them. “The classroom is downstairs, and our living quarters are upstairs. I'm the teacher, you see.”

Polly's jaw dropped. She thought,
This nice, motherly woman is our teacher? Maybe school won't be too bad after all.

Elena smiled. “By this time Lora and Patience have grown used to being taught by their mother.” Then a shadow passed across her face. “My husband died two years ago. We were farming, just like you, and living in a sod house.”

“Maybe you could tell us how to improve the roof,” Father said.

“Build a wooden one with shingles,” Mrs. Whiteside answered. “I guess you know that you can buy timber in the Turtle Mountains.”

Father did not answer. Polly knew why not. There was no money for buying lumber.

19

Cold

P
olly told no one about her secret hope. No one, that is, except God. “Please God,” she prayed on the evening before school started, “let Kettie and Mattie be at our school. I want so much to see them again.”

On the first morning, Father took Polly and Ben to school with the team and wagon. He wanted to be sure they knew the way. The school was a neat, two-story building, appearing small and alone on the vast prairie.

Other children were arriving from different directions. Pulling Jasper and Rob to a halt, Father smiled at Polly and Ben. “I hope you have a good first day.”

Polly nodded. Something in her throat kept her from speaking. She wanted to linger on the seat beside Father, but instead she climbed down slowly while clutching her tin lunch bucket.

Father took Polly and Ben to school with the horses and wagon.

Ben spotted the Hershberger boys right away and hurried over to them while Polly forced her feet to carry her to the school gate. Someone said good morning, and there was Lizzie Miller with her familiar, wide smile. That made Polly feel better.

How strange it seemed to enter a wooden building again. For Polly it was the first time since leaving Indiana. She liked the clean smell of wooden walls and doors. Inside the classroom were smells of chalk and ink and paper.

Lora and Patience Whiteside came clattering down the
stairs. With friendly smiles and hellos, they greeted all the girls.

Eagerly Polly scanned each newcomer's face, but her heart sank after everyone was seated at their desks. Kettie and Mattie were not there. They lived too far away to attend this school.

Polly forgot about her disappointment as the day wore on. Mrs. Whiteside was a very nice teacher, even though she was not at all like Miss Mulligan. She smiled a great deal more than Miss Mulligan ever had.

“I like the Mylo school,” Polly said to Mother when she got home that night. “The other children were very friendly. But…”

When Polly didn't say anything more, Mother asked, “Is something wrong?”

Polly stared down at the dirt floor. “Not really. I had hoped Kettie and Mattie would be there.”

“Oh,” said Mother. “And it turns out they're going to some other school.”

“I prayed,” Polly confided. “I asked God to let them be there, but He didn't answer my prayer.”

Mother was quick to correct her. “God always answers our prayers—just not always in the way we would like Him to. He knows best. He knows where Kettie and Mattie are and where they go to school, even if we don't. I'm quite sure that someday we will find out where Kettie's family lives.”

When Ben came in, Mother asked, “Did you stop and chat with Father in the field?”

“Yes. I'm glad he could borrow the oxen for plowing today. The horses needed a break.”

“And did you have a good day at school too?”

“I guess so,” he replied. “The lessons were pretty hard, but Mrs. Whiteside is helpful.”

Mother said warmly, “I'm glad you both enjoyed your first day at school.”

Ben plunked down on a packing box. “But I'll be glad to stay out of school some days to help Father. When is he going for more firewood? He said I could go along when he does.”

“That might not be till November,” Mother told him. “As long as the ground's not frozen, he wants to keep plowing.”

Mother was right. The next trip to the Turtle Mountains did not take place till the second week in November. Besides Ben and Father, two other wagons started off early that morning. Jerry Hershberger and John Kanagy each drove a wagon and brought one of their boys along.

The three boys were in high spirits, calling to each other as the wagons lumbered along. Though nippy with frost, the air was bright with sunshine. The horses' hooves rang on the frozen track.

As the road led uphill, the horses grew weary. It was mid-afternoon when they finally reached the deepest part of the forest, and fallen trees were still easy to find. Clouds began to cover the sky, and a few snowflakes sifted down.

“We'd better fill our wagons before everything gets snowed under,” Jerry exclaimed.

Ben looked questioningly at Father. “Do you really think we'll get lots of snow?”

“We might,” said Father, throwing the first branch onto the wagon, “though I've heard they usually don't expect a great deal of snow in this area.”

“Not much rain, not much snow,” Ben commented.

That night the snowflakes covered everything with a thick, white carpet, and starting the campfire was quite a chore. Once the flames leaped high, everyone huddled close for warmth.

“Our horses should be blanketed for the night,” John said. “I think I'll use the blankets Abe and I had planned to sleep on. We can keep warm if we sit close, can't we, Abe?” His son nodded in agreement.

Everyone followed John's example. Once the horses were warmly blanketed, the men and boys crowded closer to the fire. At first the boys thought it would be fun to stay awake all night. They laughed and talked and made up word games to play. After a while, though, everyone fell silent. The only sounds were the snowflakes hissing in the
flames, the crackle of burning branches, and the moaning of the wind high in the treetops.

Ben brushed a layer of snow from his shoulders and lap. He tried to find a more comfortable position. His back felt cold while his face was uncomfortably warm. His thoughts began to blur like the whirling snowflakes. Round and round they whirled, hurricanes and tornadoes of snow… Suddenly Ben jerked awake. He'd been sleeping on his father's shoulder. “Sorry,” he mumbled.