Blossoms on the Roof (9 page)

“The coming of Jesus,” said Mother.

Father nodded. “So from this story of Jesus and the children, we know His blessings are for the little ones too.” He smiled at Ben, Polly, Jakie, and Lisbet.

Polly looked around their little house. It smelled of damp earth and grass. It was gloomy because not much light could get in the window, but Polly knew that Father was right about those blessings.

11

A New Team

T
oday,” announced Father, smiling at Polly and Ben, “you may help Mother plant our garden.”

Polly clapped her hands. “May I get the seeds?”

“Yes, you may,” answered Father.

Polly left the table and went to the packing box that was their storage cupboard. She knew exactly where to find the precious seeds they had brought with them from Indiana.

One by one she laid the little oilcloth-wrapped packages on the table. Each one was marked in Grandma's neat handwriting: PEAS, BEANS, CORN, LETTUCE, CABBAGE, TURNIPS, PUMPKINS, SPINACH.

Father looked over the seeds. “You have forgotten our most important crop.”

Polly was puzzled. “But these are all our seeds.”

“I know what's missing,” Ben said, laughing. “You mean the potatoes, Father. We don't need seeds for them.”

Polly laughed too. “All we need are the potatoes from the root cellar.” Last week the whole family had helped to dig a cave where the potatoes would stay cool.

“First, we must cut the potatoes into little pieces,” Mother reminded her.

Father said, “I'll see how much you have planted by the time I come in for lunch.” Then he went out to plow. He was always plowing these days—except when the horses needed a rest, of course.

Yesterday he had plowed and harrowed a patch for their garden. Carefully Polly placed the seeds in a basket and carried them to the plot. The black soil was full of matted grass roots. Polly tried digging a trench for planting. After a while she said, “I can't make a row, Mother. Why didn't Father plow deeper so the grass gets covered up better?”

“Think of the horses, Polly,” Mother explained. “Plowing this tall prairie grass is hard work for them. The deeper Father plows, the harder it is for the horses.”

Ben told Polly, “He isn't plowing very deep in the fields either. That's why we'll plant mostly flax this year. Flax will grow where wheat would not.”

“Oh,” said Polly. Once again she hacked at the soil with her hoe.

Mother said, “Let me try. You can do the planting. Drop the peas about two inches apart.”

Mother managed to hoe some shallow trenches for the
peas and beans and other vegetables. Ben took a turn with the hoe too.

When all the little seeds were planted, Ben dropped the hoe and flung himself down on the grass. “Planting potatoes will be even harder. Potatoes need a deeper trench.”

“We will take a rest now and get lunch,” Mother decided. “In the afternoon we'll plant potatoes.”

When Father came in for lunch, he said, “The horses are tired. I'll let them rest for a few hours. Maybe I can help with the garden if you aren't done yet.”

“We still have all the potatoes to plant,” Ben said, sounding discouraged. “It's hard with all those grass roots.”

“Then I will do it,” said Father. “We'll try using the shovel and just making a hole for each potato.”

Planting went faster when Father helped. Polly and Ben walked behind him, dropping the little pieces of potato into the holes he dug. Then they scraped soil into the holes.

When they were finished, Father looked at the sun. It was sinking low in the western sky. “I'll plow for a few hours yet.”

Ben went to hitch up the horses, and Polly followed along to watch. How tired Jasper and Rob looked! Their heads drooped. Their tails drooped. And they were thin. Polly could see their ribs through their dapple-gray coats.

But Jasper and Rob were still willing. When Father said giddyap, they pulled the plow forward.
Plod, plod, plod
went their feet, and a thin strip of prairie soil curled away from the plow share.

Ben frowned as he watched the horses plodding down the field. “I hope they don't wear out.”

“At least it'll be Sunday again soon,” Polly replied. “The horses can rest all day on Sunday.”

“So you think you can walk four miles to Samuel Miller's?” Ben asked.

“Of course! We'd hate to make the horses work on Sundays too, especially after they've worked all week.”

Just then Polly and Ben heard a shout from Father. Sizing up the situation, Polly gasped and said, “One horse fell down!”

Ben sprinted across the furrows. When Polly reached the team, both Father and Ben knelt beside poor Jasper, who lay in a limp heap on the grass. Rob had to struggle to stay on his feet since he was harnessed to Jasper.

“Come on, Jasper,” Father coaxed. “Get up. I know you must feel worn-out, but you can't stay here.”

Jasper lifted his head and then let it flop down again. After a while Father said, “I guess this team is not meant for so much plowing. Maybe we'll have to sell Jasper and Rob and buy a team of oxen instead.”

Ben's face turned pale, and Polly wailed, “Oh, no.”

Father tried again. “Come on, Jasper. Get up!”

Suddenly they heard a voice saying, “I see you're having
a bit of trouble.” It came from Bill McLellan, who was running across the field toward them.

Bill and Father grasped Jasper's harness and tried to help him to his feet, but Jasper just lay there with a glazed look in his eyes.

Father told Bill, “We may have to sell the team and buy a yoke of oxen.”

Bill looked at Ben, then at Polly, and then at Father. “You'd be sorry to lose this team, wouldn't you?”

All three of them nodded.

Bill exclaimed, “Well, you certainly can't sell a team if one of the horses is down.” Once more they coaxed and pulled. At last Jasper struggled to his feet.

“Listen,” said Bill, stroking the trembling horse. “I own a yoke of oxen that's not being used much because I hadn't planned on plowing this spring. I did lots last year. If you're willing to loan me these horses, I'd lend you my oxen.”

A smile lit Father's face. “Just what we need for now! Later we'd be glad to have the horses back.”

“So, shall we lead the horses to my place now?” Bill suggested. “Here's another good thing. I have some oats from last year's crop. Your team needs a good feed of oats. Oxen are different. They can go for a long time on a diet of prairie hay.”

“All right, Jasper and Rob,” said Father. “Here we go to the McLellans. It's not much farther than home would be.”

Polly felt a little bit sad as she followed the dapple-gray team to the neighbors. At least they were not going far—and they were not being sold.

One of Bill's oxen was red and white, and the other was black and white. “The red one is Roland, and the black one is Trim,” Bill told them. “They're both quite good-natured—for oxen, that is.”

Father said thank you and drove homeward with the oxen yoked together by their wooden yoke.

“I wonder why Bill said that,” said Ben. “I wonder why he said they're quite good-natured—for oxen, that is.”

“We'll probably find out,” replied Father with a wry smile.

12

Firewood and Indians

B
en shaded his eyes against the early-morning sun. From his perch beside Father on the wagon, he spied a flash of silver beyond the waving prairie grass. “What's that, Father? It must be a lake.”

“Yes, Ben, I think that's Island Lake. Looks like a good spot to go fishing.”

Ben almost jumped from the seat. “Can we stop now and catch some fish? Mother would be glad for fish.”

Father shook his head. “We'll have to come some other time. We must get to the forest as fast as we can if we want to be home before tomorrow night.”

Ben settled down again, but he kept his eyes on the gleaming lake as long as he could. Dreamily he thought how it would be if he and Father and Flip—maybe even Polly—could go fishing someday.

“Whoa!” said Father suddenly. “Do you need a ride?”

At first Ben couldn't figure out to whom Father was speaking. Then he saw a stranger on the other side of the wagon. The man wore a slouchy felt hat pulled far down over his eyes. His beard was a dirty yellow color. His coat and trousers were old and worn.

In answer to Father's question, the man said, “Yes, if you're heading for the forest.” Without another word, he clambered over the side of the wagon and sat down beside Father.

“Will you be cutting firewood too?” Father asked politely as Jasper and Rob—which Father had borrowed back from Bill just for this trip—started off again.

“I might,” the man said shortly.

“By the way, I'm Jacob Yoder. Who might you be?”

“Jess Holmes. I'm homesteading west of here.” He waved a hand in that direction.

They drove along in silence for a while. The only sounds that broke the stillness were the dull thud of the horses' hooves and the swishing of the wheels in the grass.

“See that mound over there?” Jess said, pointing. “That's an Indian hut.”

Ben stared hard. He was just about to ask where when he spied a brown, grassy mound on the left side of the track. A thin plume of smoke spiraled from its peak.

Ben's heart beat fast as he wondered,
Is an Indian warrior going to come out of that wigwam—a warrior with paint
on his face and a bright feather headdress? Will the warrior shoot arrows at us with his bow?

Father said calmly, “I understand the Indians in this area are friendly.”

“Right now they are,” said Jess, “but it wasn't always so. My parents pioneered in the Dakota Territory back in the 1860s. Those were wild days! Ever hear of the Minnesota massacre?”

“Ah, no.” Father glanced uncomfortably toward Ben.

Ben thought he knew what Father was thinking. Father probably wished Jess wouldn't tell wild Indian stories when he was able to listen, but there was no stopping Jess, and Ben was all ears as the man continued.

“The Sioux Indians went on a rampage in Minnesota and killed many white settlers. Then the Indians fled to the Dakota Territory, and the army went after them. When I was a boy, I watched some battles between Indians and soldiers practically on our doorstep.”

“That was quite a while ago,” Father said mildly.

“Oh, but there was a battle only four years ago—in 1890,” Jess persisted. “It was supposed to be the last battle, but you never know. Some of those Sioux braves escaped to Canada. If they should ever take it into their heads to come back and incite the local Indians to an uprising…”

Ben shivered. By this time even he was wishing Jess Holmes would stop talking about angry Indians.

Jasper and Rob plodded along slowly as the trail wound upward. Trees grew thick and tall on either side. Father stopped the horses and tied them to a stout tree. Pointing to a huge fallen tree, he said, “Once we've cut that up, we'll have a load.”

Ben wondered if Jess would help them cut up the tree, but he merely said, “Thanks for the ride,” and hurried up the trail. Ben and Father set to work with an axe and saw.

By noon Ben was so hungry that he felt he could eat the whole basket of lunch Mother had sent along, yet he knew it must also last for supper and breakfast and maybe even for tomorrow's noon meal.

All afternoon they toiled. With Father at one end of the crosscut saw and Ben at the other, they pulled it back and forth. Ben was sure he had never worked so hard in his life.

At last darkness fell. Father built a fire and warmed some soup. Ben huddled close to Father and stared at the flames. His eyelids drooped lower and lower.

Father chuckled. “I think we should get our bedrolls.”

Ben helped spread the blanket and then lay down. It didn't matter that the ground was hard. It didn't matter that he had heard wild Indian stories that day. Ben slept like a log!