Hattie Big Sky (16 page)

My arms wearied as I worked the flour into the stiff dough. My heart wearied, too, that Perilee couldn't enjoy the good in her life after so much sorrow. “If God really was in the punishing game, why doesn't he send lightning down on the whole danged County Council of Defense?” My words brought a small smile to Perilee's worried face.

“Or the Kaiser?” she joined in.

“Or Mrs. Martin for wearing that awful yellow silk every other Sunday?” We both began to laugh.

Perilee shifted Lottie to her other shoulder. “Hattie, you are a caution. You'd better watch out for lightning bolts yourself!”

“I know, I know.” Pleased to have lifted Perilee's spirits, I shaped the dough into two loaves and a dozen rolls. “Now, what else shall I do?”

“Oh, Hattie, not one thing more.” Perilee finished braiding Mattie's hair. “You've done more than a sister would.”

I slipped off my apron and hung it by the stove. “If you think you can manage, I might head home for a few days. I've got an installment to write and some weeding to attend to.” Truth was, even with Rooster Jim's help, I was swamped under with chores, but I didn't want Perilee to feel bad.

It was too quiet at home, even with Mr. Whiskers' cranky meowing to let me know he didn't appreciate my being gone so long. I felt achy as I weeded my fields and carried water to the garden and fed the chickens, and mucked out Plug's stall. At first, I thought I might be coming down with a summer cold. As I sat to a silent supper all by myself the second night home, I figured out what was wrong. It was not illness but loneliness gnawing at my bones. I missed Mattie's songs, Fern's giggles, the baby's sweet smell, reading to Chase at bedtime, and sitting squashed round the supper table.

I missed my family.

June 18, 1918
Three miles north and west of Vida, Montana

Dear Charlie,

I do understand what you mean when you say you have changed since going to France. You only mention physical changes—and no, I don't believe you've gained twenty pounds! But I can read between the lines and know you've gone through others as well.

I told you that Perilee was going to have a baby. Well, she did, on June 11—a little girl, Charlotta, and I helped deliver her! That may give you some small clue as to the changes I've undergone. When I came out here, I thought only of having a piece of property to call my own. But this hardscrabble place has brought me so much more than that.

I hear from your mother that she is sending you copies of my silly installments for the
Arlington News.
Though light in tone, they will help you see that my heart is now planted here, like Rooster Jim's cherry tree.

Your friend always,
Hattie

         
CHAPTER 17         

June 22, 1918
Three miles north and west of Vida, Montana

Dear Uncle Holt,

You know how Aunt Ivy always says a watched pot never boils? Well, here in Montana, a watched sky never rains. Wayne Robbins and Mr. Gorley talk about the rains of '16 that produced beets the size of basketballs and corn tall enough to tickle a giraffe's chin. No one will break any crop records this year. A favorite farmer expression in these parts is “Next year it will be better.” This “next year country” makes for many sleepless nights for this particular farmer.

Rooster Jim brought my mail and paper out to me on Thursday. It'd been awhile since we'd had a game of chess.

“Hey there, Rose,” he called out to the hen. “Lucky for you it's been drier than a Baptist saloon.” He chuckled at his joke.

“She's taken to wearing water wings when it rains,” I said. That made him laugh all the more.

“Hattie, that wit of yours and a nickel would get us a fine cup of coffee.”

“Speaking of which, I've got some. Or maybe you'd rather have something cool.” I stopped on the steps to my house.

“There are oatmeal biscuits to round it out.”

“Coffee, then,” said Jim. He followed me in and helped me carry the coffee things. It was too hot to sit inside. “This is the life,” he said after a vigorous slurp. He nibbled at the biscuit. “Why, Hattie, I believe you've learned to take the lead out of your baking.”

I made a face at him. He did love to tease. Even more than Charlie.

“So, you fixing to go to the big meeting over to the school?” He reached for another biscuit.

“What meeting?”

“Oh, tells all about it in your paper there.” He nodded toward the house. I'd set my mail inside.

I got up, brought the paper back, and found the article. “June 28, National War Savings Day,” I read. “Every man and woman in the United States will be asked to purchase war savings stamps,” I set the paper down. “But I already bought a Liberty Bond.”

Jim shrugged. “War's an expensive proposition. Don't think the Huns much care about the finances of us folks here on the prairie.”

I looked at the paper again. “‘No farmer in ordinary circumstances should be allowed to sign for less than one hundred dollars,'” I read aloud. “Surely we won't be expected to pledge that much. Why, we haven't even got enough money for gasoline for the tractors as it is!”

Rooster Jim shook his head. “With Traft running things, won't none of us have anything in our pockets but moths.”

         

On War Savings Day, the inside of the schoolhouse was hot enough to bake bread. Folks' nerves and wallets were spread thin. But Traft had a group of toughs lining the back of the room. “I'm only following the instructions of the proclamation,” he said to the grumbles about waiting afternoon chores. “These pledges don't total up to our allotment yet.”

I signed my card, underlining the words “conditioned on crop” in the lower left-hand corner. I handed it to one of Traft's crew seated behind the teacher's desk. He handed it right back to me.

“Pledge is to be no less than a hundred dollars,” he said.

I turned the card over in my hand. “Even if I have a good crop, that wouldn't leave me enough to pay all my bills.”

The man shifted the wad of chaw in his cheek. “By order of county director Frank L. Houston, each farmer's share is to be one hundred dollars.”

My hands trembled as I set the pledge card back down on the desk. “Be that as it may, this is my pledge.”

“Everybody's got to make a sacrifice,” he pressed.

I would not let myself cry. “This pledge does represent a sacrifice. I am already committed to a fifty-dollar Liberty Bond.”

“Seems you need a lesson in patriotism,” he sneered. “Maybe you need to be hauled before the judge.”

I thought of Elmer Ren and Karl's barn fire and broken fence and bit back any more arguments. I snatched up the pen, made a cross-out, and wrote “$100.”

He pretended to tip his hat. “Why, that's mighty generous of you, ma'am.” His voice was as slick as lard on a skillet. I gathered up my skirts, pushed through Traft's rowdies and hurried outside. My stomach churned—and so did my temper. I needed some fresh air.

“Hattie! Wait.” Leafie came up behind me. “I'm headed to Wolf Point tomorrow. Is there anything you need from the big town?”

“A miracle,” I answered.

She smiled. “And what store carries those?”

“Leafie, I don't see how I'm going to make it.” I ticked off months on my fingers. “July, August, September, October. Four months to finish the proving-up requirements.” I waved my hands apart. “Yes sirree, I'll be a regular land baron as long as I get my crop harvested—”

“Barring hailstorms and grasshoppers,” she interjected.

“—sell it for a profit—”

“As long as Congress don't fix the price too low.”

“—and have thirty-eight dollars cash in hand to pay the closing fee on my claim,” I finished.

“Thirty-seven seventy-five.” She grinned. “You've heard what they say about us homesteaders, haven't you? Most of us are still walking around 'cause we haven't got the money for a funeral.”

I smirked. “Very funny.” She could afford to joke about this. She owned her land outright. And as long as she could break horses, she'd never worry about money. Not in this horse-crazy country.

She patted my arm. “It'll all work out, Hattie. Don't you worry. Maybe not the way you think it's going to, but it will work out.”

“I sure hope you're right.”

“Listen, I'm taking Perilee's kids with me to Wolf Point. For the parade. Why don't you come with us?”

“Oh, I'm not in the mood.” I brushed a mosquito away from my head.

She tucked her arm through mine. “Come on. It'll do you good.” She raised one hand skyward. “Fussing won't make rain, you know.”

I pressed my lips together.

“We'll come by early. You can take a turn driving Joey and Star.” She nodded. “Nothing like a parade to take your mind off your troubles.”

         

Wolf Point was buzzing. There was little I wanted to celebrate about National War Savings Day, but Fern, Mattie, and Chase didn't need to know that. Let them be children, excited by the prospects of music, marching, and folderol.

We passed by the Glacier Theater as we hunted for the best parade-watching spot. The current feature was
The Kaiser, the Beast of Berlin.
I expected they'd sell plenty of tickets to that one. The streets were lined with people. The children were dressed in their Sunday best, and I, in a flight of patriotism, had tied a red, white, and blue ribbon to my best hat.

Leafie gave Chase fifteen cents to buy three paper flags. Holding a toddling Fern with my right hand and a giddy Mattie with my left, I found a prime viewing spot on the boardwalk in front of Hanson's Cash Grocery.

“Here, girls.” Chase handed his sisters their flags.

The Citizens National Bank of Wolf Point passed out fans with a slogan printed on one side:
Come across or the Kaiser will.
I was given one and used it, gladly. Each day seemed hotter and drier than the day before. Though I didn't own a thermometer, Karl had kept me apprised of the temperature.

“Five days, ninety-five degrees,” he said with a worried shake of the head. Even Mr. Gorley was gloomy: “Wheat's going to roast right on the stalk.”

The heat was a standard topic of conversation.

“Hot enough for you?” asked Leafie, her red face peeking out from under a battered old bonnet.

“Got any eggs?” asked Rooster Jim, all spruced up in mostly clean clothes. “We could fry 'em right here on the steps.”

“I've got some ice-cold sarsaparilla inside,” said Mr. Hanson. “Come on in after the parade and help yourself. My treat.” He tickled Fern under the chin and patted Mattie's curls. Then he handed me three crepe paper flowers, one red, one white, one blue.

“Look!” Chase tugged on my skirt. “Here comes the first band!”

Though they kicked up more dust than proper notes, the Circle town band was warmly welcomed by the crowd. A ripple of applause turned to a roar as they began to play “God Bless America.”

I caught Leafie wiping her eyes, and I felt mine well up, too. It wasn't only the majestic music that tripped up my emotions. My mind filled up like a pretty girl's dance card. There was Charlie—whose last letter had been too long ago—sticking his sweet neck out on my behalf. Then there were Perilee and Karl. I could never have found better friends—a better family—than them. But what would Charlie think of my being friends with them? Did being born in Germany make Karl any less my friend? This puzzle made my head spin. Actually, it was no puzzle to me anymore. But thinking how to explain it to Charlie—that was the tangle.

The wind picked up around me, whirling my thoughts even faster. As if war worries weren't enough, what about money? I'd gone over and over my ledger. Even if I had a bumper crop, I didn't see how I was going to squeeze by. And that was before I pledged for those darn war stamps. I wouldn't even let myself think about not making it, about failing to prove up. My stomach churned with the worry, the heat, the uncertainty. Maybe it was too much to ask to have a place of my own; maybe I was always going to be Hattie Here-and-There.

Mattie reached for my hand and squeezed it,
one-two-three.
As I squeezed back, those worries slipped right out of my fingertips. Would I trade any of my troubles to be back in Iowa, never having known this sweet little girl and her family? That was one answer I was certain of.

The hot, dry wind swept away the last notes of the song. Men replaced their hats as the band launched into their next number. They marched on, followed by the Fort Peck Livery and Sale Barn wagon, all decked out in red, white, and blue bunting. Mrs. Martin sat in the back of the wagon, a tribute to Mother Liberty. Next came two automobiles wearing bunting for Pipal's Garage and Service Station.

“Those are Luvernes,” exclaimed Chase. “The newest thing.” Not to be outdone, the Fuller Motor Company entered a fancy rig. “Touring car,” said Chase in a dismissive tone. Touring cars were evidently old hat.

Behind the autos came the County Council of Defense, all mounted on Tipped M horses. Traft touched the brim of his hat as he passed me. I didn't acknowledge the gesture. Behind the riders, the Methodist church staged a patriotic tableau, and then the children of the Wolf Creek School—minus their star pupil, Chase—marched, adorned with blue sashes and singing “Over There.” As my charges waved their flags in approval, a gust of wind snaked down the street.

Fern's flag flew out of her hand. “Fwag!” she cried, toddling toward the steps.

“Oh, careful, honey.” I pulled her back. “You might get trampled!”

“Fwag! Fwag!” Plump tears rolled down her plumper cheeks.

“There, there,” said Mr. Hanson. “None of that.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out three pieces of ribbon-striped stick candy. “Hold on to this for a while,” he told Fern. He gave a stick apiece to Chase and Mattie and then unwrapped the last one for Fern.

“What do you children say?” I asked.

“Thank you, Mr. Hanson!” Mattie and Chase chimed together. Fern flashed a juicy baby smile around her treat. Mr. Hanson laughed. “A sweet helps any hurt, don't it, Fern?” She kept working on her stick candy.

At the very tag end of the parade came Mr. Cogswell's delivery wagon, its sides adorned with hand-painted signs proclaiming “National War Savings Day Parade.” Unable to resist this ripe opportunity for promotion, Mr. Cogswell had also tacked a smaller banner across the back of the wagon, advertising “Fresh Cherries at Cogswell's. Best price in town.”