Hattie Big Sky (11 page)

Karl took a step toward Traft. That step was matched by one of Traft's own.

Leafie broke the spell. “Let's have some music, Pa.” She slapped her hands together so loud it sounded like a gunshot. She crossed the room and held her hand out to Mr. Saboe. “Ladies' choice, Mr. Saboe, and I choose you.” Pa grabbed his violin and began to play.

“But is everyone pulling their fair share? That's the question I'm asking.” Traft's cowboys came to stand behind him, apparently oblivious to the music that signaled a lively dance called the racket. I caught a glisten of perspiration on Mr. Saboe's upper lip. Leafie wedged herself between Traft and the table. My own palms were slick and sticky, my feet stuck to the floor. I glanced over at Perilee, Mattie clutching at her skirt, and back at Karl, whose hands had pounded hundreds of staples in my fence. My fence. Because he was my neighbor. My friend. I took a deep breath, wiped my hands on my skirt, and stepped forward.

“M-Mr. M-Martin.” I took a breath and started over. “Mr. Martin.” I reached out my hand. “This is ladies' choice. Would you please dance with me?”

Traft Martin turned to me with a bemused expression. The look he gave me seemed to see right through me, right to my back collar button. “A most gracious invitation, Miss Brooks.” He took my hand and led me to the dance floor, where we joined the other whirling couples. I swung by Wayne and Grace Robbins, and Leafie with Mr. Saboe. Leafie wouldn't meet my eyes.

“Thank you for the dance, Hattie,” Traft said as the music whirled to a stop. He walked me off the floor. “Take my advice on something.”

“What's that, Mr. Martin?” I brushed my now-sticky hair back off my face.

He tipped his hat. “Don't ever play poker.” He nodded to his men, and they all left.

Pa didn't miss a beat. He began picking out the next tune.

I realized I'd been holding my breath. I walked across the room on rubbery legs and found Perilee.

“Go, swirl a time or two with Karl.” I took Fern from her. “It'll be good for you.”

“He does love to dance,” she said.

“Then go.” I found a chair and settled in. Fern was a sweet, round-faced baby, content with even the most inexpert of baby-handlers. And I certainly fell in that category.

“She likes to be held up so she can see.” Mattie appeared at my side. “Like this.” She turned Fern around in my arms so that her back was against my chest and her face was toward the dance floor. I was amazed to discover what a great comfort it was to hold that warm baby body next to mine. She calmed nearly all my jangled nerves. Mattie leaned against my side. I couldn't help but smile—it was as if these two babies were propping
me
up.

“Mulie made Mama cry.” Mattie tugged at the bow in her dolly's hair.

“She did?” I said. “For heaven's sake.”

Mattie nodded sadly. “Mulie was singing me a song. One Karl's mama used to sing to him.”

“A song made her cry?” Little Fern had grabbed my pointer finger and was working on it with her new bottom tooth. I glanced across the room. Two couples stepped off the floor just as it was time for them to square up with Karl and Perilee. Fueled by Traft's fuss, no doubt. I sat forward, holding my breath. In an instant, Grace and Wayne Robbins stepped across the empty space and snatched Karl and Perilee up in a new square. “God bless you,” I murmured.

“But Chase said it was the fence falling down,” Mattie continued. “He said that's what made her cry.”

“Fence?” I turned to her.

She nodded. “Lots of it fell down. And there wasn't even a storm or stampede or anything.” Mattie wiped Fern's baby drool off my hand with the corner of her dress. Then she turned her face up to me. “Hattie, is Karl a Hun?”

Hearing Mattie give voice to that word was worse than hearing the most vulgar profanity. I wrapped my free arm around her shoulders. “Don't you pay any mind to such talk.”

Mattie fiddled with Mulie's ragged dress. “Karl's making a cradle for Mulie. Mama thinks it's for the new baby, but Karl and me know it's really for Mulie.” She wiggled out from under my arm. “Miss Leafie baked snickerdoodles. You want me to bring you one?”

“A snickerdoodle sounds delicious.” Fern leaned heavily against my arms. I gently eased her against my shoulder and patted her back. Soon she was sound asleep. I turned my face toward her downy head and breathed in the baby scent of her. Perilee and Karl spun by—he tall and solid, she round of belly and homely of face—and my heart filled up so full, it threatened to spill out my eyes. I took stock of my feelings then and there. Traft might cause my innards to flip-flop, but that wasn't what I was looking for. I was looking for something solid, as solid as 320 Montana acres. As solid as good folks like Karl and Perilee.

At midnight, the sandwiches and coffee were passed around again and folks danced some more. I danced several with Rooster Jim and Mr. Saboe and even once with Chase.

“Last dance,” called Pa Schillinger. He launched into “Home Sweet Home Waltz.”

Perilee yawned as we finished washing up the coffee cups and sandwich plates. We set them out on the tables so the women could pick out the ones they'd brought.

The sun was rising when we set off for home. Karl, Perilee, and I each carried a sleeping bundle of child and settled them in the Muellers' wagon. “Night, hon,” called Perilee. She leaned her head against Karl's shoulder and looked to be asleep before they were even out of the schoolyard.

Rooster Jim and I rode along quietly as the night sky softened from navy blue to faded denim to pink.

“Sleep fast,” Jim called as I slid down from the wagon bench in front of my cabin.

“I hope to.” I covered a yawn. “Violet will want milking in another hour or so! Thanks for the ride.” I gave a tired wave as he and his team jingled off.

I bumped open the front door with my right hip and swung the basket I was carrying through the door. Setting it down with a thump on the table, I yawned again. All that dancing had left my stomach hungry. I lifted the towel to grab one of the leftover sandwiches in the basket. My hands brushed against something. Mulie! Mattie would fuss like sixty when she figured out Mulie was missing. I took a bite of sandwich, then turned myself around. Who needed sleep anyway? Plug could get me over to Mueller's and back before milking time. I could catch a nap later.

I regretted my generosity before I'd even gone twenty paces. There is nothing like a predawn prairie to get the juices flowing.
Scritch, scritch, scritch.
Plug's hooves crunched against the stubby prairie grass, speckled with little cactus.
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
But what was that? No doubt some critter snacking on a late supper. My skin crawled, thinking of that hungry wolf from two months' back. He'd have long ago digested Violet's tail and be looking for something more substantial. Something a little over five feet tall and 130 pounds. I shivered, doubly glad to be up on Plug's back.

Folks don't appreciate how open a prairie is, how there is absolutely no place to hide. “Hey there, Plug.” I kicked my heels into his sides to pick up the pace over the hardened sod. Lord knows how I could have thought that old horse would outrun anything, but there's not a lot of clear thinking when you're alone on the prairie at sunrise.

If I hadn't given myself the willies over the prairie's nighttime noises, I might have noticed it sooner. At the bottom of a cutbank, about a mile along, I smelled it.

Smoke.

I urged Plug up the coulee. As we bumped over the top, the smell hit me hard, like a wildly thrown pitch. Smoke.

And it was coming from the direction of Perilee's.

         
CHAPTER 12         

At the end of a sad day in April
Three miles north and west of Vida, Montana

Dear Charlie,

It's funny how you and I have been having similar experiences, despite the number of miles between us. I imagine that everyone benefited from your willingness to share the bars of soap your mother sent. I, too, have had a chance to share my bounty with my neighbors. And in doing so, I have lifted one chore from my ever-lengthening daily list.

Plug's hooves beat out a rhythm on the sod:
Let them be safe. Let them be safe. Let them be safe.
I urged Plug on even faster. “Dear God, please don't let it be the house.”

Bouncing along on Plug's back, I scoured the horizon until my head ached. It's hard to imagine how far you can see on the prairie. It's as if a giant scroll of sod has been rolled out before you. The closer you get to the end, the more sod gets rolled out. Would we never get there?

One more dip down a coulee and back up again and I could see the house. The house. It was not on fire! The smoke was beyond it. I pushed Plug on.

We rode on for several more minutes, pounding against the prairie, until we pounded right into Perilee's yard.

Chase burst from the house with an empty bucket on each arm. Perilee stood at the pump, driving the handle for all she was worth. She took one look at me. “I'll pump—you carry.”

I nodded. By the time I'd tethered Plug, Perilee had both of Chase's buckets full. He and I each took one and ran for the barn.

We handed the buckets to Karl, and he threw the water at the fire. Chase and I ran back to the pump. Back and forth, back and forth we went: Perilee hauling water up from the well, and the rest of us forming a bucket brigade.

We repeated this dozens of times. But the fire burned brighter. I staggered for another bucket of water. Karl grabbed my arm.
“Halt.”
He took the bucket from Chase's hand and set it on the ground.

“Nothing more to do.” He turned and signaled to Perilee to stop pumping.

“The barn!” Chase dropped to his knees. “The barn.”

Perilee ran to Karl, her progress hampered by exhaustion and her round middle. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. Tears streamed down Chase's face, and I dropped to my own knees to stroke his hair.

“There, there,” I murmured. Real words could not comfort.

I was bewitched by the blaze. Blue flames gnawed the timbers like termites. The burning boards groaned and hissed. The barn, solidly built with Karl's own hands, put up a brave fight. But the fire was too hungry. With a final growl, it wolfishly snapped the barn boards like twigs. The last of the walls crumpled to the ground.

It was horrible and horrifying, yet I could not tear myself away.

Chase's sobbing quieted. “Me and Karl got the horses out,” he said. “They're grazing the coulee over behind the house.” He rubbed at his eyes. “But we couldn't get…” He choked.

I glanced over at the coulee and saw the horses. Only the horses. “Marte,” I said. “And Fawn?”

Karl shook his head.

The cows were a huge loss. No milk. No butter. And sweet little Fawn. I glanced at Chase. His sooty cheeks bore muddy tear tracks.

“What happened?” I asked.

Karl stood with his face to the charred building, soot striping it like war paint.

“It was smoking when we got home,” said Perilee, slowly stroking her burgeoning middle. “After Karl and Chase got the horses out, the hay caught, and before we could do anything—” She lifted her hands helplessly.

“I wonder how it started,” I asked.

“Schweine,”
said Karl.

“I'm sorry, I don't understand.” I looked over at Perilee.

“Pigs,” she answered. She brushed at her eyes. “The two-legged kind.”

She took Karl's hand and they walked away from us. Away from the remains of the barn. They walked to where the horses grazed and, wrapped in one another's arms, stood there.

I rested my hand on Chase's shoulder. “Let's get some breakfast for you and those sisters of yours.”

He ran his sleeve under his nose. “I'm not hungry.”

I patted his back. I could feel his backbone and his ribs, all tied together by stringy muscles. “Could you even eat one doughnut?”

“Maybe.” Chase wiggled away from me. He trudged toward the house with the air of old man rather than eight-year-old about him. Watching him caused a dull ache under my breastbone.

I fed the children. Karl and Perilee didn't come in for a very long time. When they did, I gave Perilee a hug and patted Karl's hand.

“Karl will go for Myron Gorley. He'll help us clean up and rebuild.” Perilee wiped her own sooty face with her grimy apron. “So will the folks from the Lutheran church.”

“You'll have a new barn in no time,” I said, wiping an already dry plate with a towel. “Do you want me to stay today?”

Perilee glanced at Karl. He sat at the kitchen table, oblivious to the mug of coffee at his elbow. “No. Thank you, but no.”

I loosened the reins and let Plug amble his way home. I could barely see through the tears that kept filling up my eyes. Just when I thought I'd gathered myself together, Chase's face would flash in front of me and the faucet would turn on all over again.

That's why I couldn't trust what I saw as we rode up the cutbank closest to home. A solitary rider, astride an enormous horse, was riding away from my house. I knew of only one horse that big around here.

I clucked my tongue and once again nudged Plug to pick up his pace. By the time I reached my own yard, there was no rider—no sign of any rider—that I could see. I went inside. Nothing looked disturbed.

It'd been a long night and an even longer morning. As much as I wanted to lower my bed and crawl into it, I had a cow to milk. I changed into overalls and headed for the barn. An idea had planted itself during my teary ride home—an idea so ridiculous I couldn't believe I was entertaining it.

I stepped around to the back side of the barn. A charred bundle of hay, still smoldering, leaned at a drunken angle against a pile of rocks, spitting distance from the barn.

“Oh, Lord!” Snatching up the pitchfork, I smacked away at the glowing straw, all the while dragging the smoky bundle farther away from the barn. Then I ran for a bucket of water and doused the whole thing.

It was Traft. He had done this. Had to have. There was no mistaking his horse. Had he come here to leave this calling card—more to threaten than to harm—after setting fire to Karl's barn? Was he crazy? Was I?

The message sent was clear: my barn was no safer than Karl and Perilee's, not after tonight. I headed in to milk Violet, bumping against Uncle Chester's trunk. If he were here, what would he do?

Violet mooed her impatience. “Hush a minute. I'll be right there.” I unlatched the straps, then flipped the lid open. He would tell me what to do. He'd cared enough about me to leave me this place; surely he was watching over me now. I closed my eyes and reached in. The first thing I touched would show me the way.

I opened my eyes and saw what my fingers were brushing. Tears pricked the underside of my eyelids. “You are a scoundrel,” I said. “But you are right.”

The next morning, I wrapped a rope around Violet's grumpy neck. I carried one end of the rope in one hand and the packet from Uncle Chester's trunk in the other. The closer I got, the more I could smell the sodden ashes and burnt dreams.
Crack crack crack!
The sound of hammering meant Karl was already busy with a lean-to for the horses. I smiled. And their new stable mate.

Chase was in the yard. “Ma!” he called when he saw me. “Company.”

The door pushed open and there stood Perilee, wearing that winning smile of hers despite red-rimmed and tired eyes. She cocked her head when she saw Violet. “Hon, I've heard of walking your dog. But walking your cow?”

I handed the rope to Chase. “You already know how to handle her.” He looked at his mother.

“Hattie, we can't—”

I held up my hand. “I can't keep her when you need the milk more,” I said. “Besides, now I'll have to come over more often. To get some of that milk of hers.” I shooed Chase. “Go get her settled.” To Perilee I said, “Is there any coffee on?”

Perilee pressed her hand to her mouth. Then she took a deep breath. “And fresh biscuits. You get yourself in here.”

After several biscuits, I brought out the slim packet wrapped in muslin and tied with a strip of calico. The calico slipped out of its knot; I pushed back the layers of muslin and uncovered a rainbow of patches—ticking and shirt cloth, gingham and calico, in faded blues and greens and yellows. I fingered the snippets, letting them drift through my hands like snowflakes.

“It's time to start a quilt.” I pointed to the bulge under her apron. “For the baby.”

She didn't say anything for a moment. “Are you sure about all this?”

Sure? I wasn't sure about anything. “I was thinking of an Ohio Star,” I said. “You know, like ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.'”

“Mattie's favorite song.” She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “Thank you.”

We spent that afternoon cutting out the triangles, planning each patch. “What do you think of this piece next to that one?” I held up a blue calico and a green paisley.

She pursed her lips. “Too much friction,” she said. “How about this?” She slipped another fabric over the green, a soft yellow stripe.

“You have an eye,” I said.

“My mama always said piecing quilts is like making friends.” She kept her eyes on the scissors as she cut up a piece of blue ticking. “Sometimes the more different fabrics—and people—are,” she said, “the stronger the pattern.”

I looked up at her. She smiled a sad, sweet smile at me. I felt as if she'd looked right into my heart and seen all my warts and flaws, and held her own heart out to me anyway. I swallowed hard at the lump that had gathered in my throat.

“I ever tell you about meeting Karl?” She layered blue ticking triangles in a stack. “It was after Lemuel left. Lord, what a sorry man. I told him to leave when he'd nearly drunk us broke. He grabbed the rest of our money and I tried to stop him.” She patted her leg. “He got the money and I got this limp.”

I sucked in my breath. “He hit you?”

Perilee didn't answer. She stroked her hand across the oilcloth on the table. “I was pregnant with Fern at the time. I thank God I didn't lose her. Leafie came to stay till I was up and around again.”

I covered her hand with mine. “I am so sorry.”

“Leafie knew Karl from back in Chicago. He'd recently arrived, and she told him I needed a hand. When he stepped across that doorway, it was as if he was supposed to have been here all along.” She rubbed her lower back, all the while holding my gaze. “Really, Hattie. It might be easier if you didn't come here so much. For a while.” She toyed with some triangles. “I'll send Chase with your milk.”

Images flashed through my mind: the note on my table. Traft's face at the dance. The barn fire. The smoldering hay bundle. I drew in a ragged breath. Easier wasn't an option anymore.

“I think, as big as you are, we'd better get going on this quilt or we'll never finish it before the baby comes.”

Perilee looked at me and shook her head. “Hattie, you are—” She paused, then patted her middle. “I am enormous, aren't I?”

We began to talk about babies and crops and tricks for keeping bedbugs out of our beds. We'd talked about such things before, but today it was different. It'd been something big for me to ship myself out here, to work on Uncle Chester's claim. But I was beginning to see there were bigger things in life than proving up on a claim. I was proving up on my life. My choices would no doubt horrify Aunt Ivy, but if they brought me friends like Perilee, it seemed like I was surely headed in the right direction.