Spring for Susannah (24 page)
“Maybe later.” He patted her backside. “Now I'll show you why our door opens inward.”
A solid wall of snow packed the opening. Susannah filled the biggest pots and set them on the stove to melt, then joined Jesse in shoveling. The sun bounced off the snow in a blinding whiteness.
When they had dug their way to the shed, Susannah paused to let her eyes adjust to the dimness. “So where have the little biddies been hiding eggs lately?”
Jesse shooed the flock off their roost and outside. “These chickens are certifiable geniuses. They never stash their treasure in the same spot twice. You'd think, small as this stable is, they'd run out of hiding places. But no. Every day it's different. Think of this as the quest for the poultry grail.” He picked up the buckets and ax and went for water.
Susannah rooted through the straw, discovering one egg in the manger and a second atop the nesting box. Not bad for winter.
Sun warmed the pile of grass in front of the door. She sat to wait for Jesse. Familiar livestock odors formed an undercurrent to the sparkling clean air. A chicken, the one she'd named Victoria after the queen, flapped majestically in the yard. The storm was over.
Lord, if You're listening . . . I want to thank You for Jesse, my
husband, my life
.
Jesse returned with the buckets. “You all right?” His voice held concern.
“Yes, just enjoying the sun.”
He filled the water trough and stood looking down at her. “Remember watching your first hatch? One of the eggs started wiggling. There'd be a little crack. Then a hole. Pretty soon the egg tooth would come through, chip away a little more. I'd get tired of waiting, want to break the egg, let the chick out. Ma would tell me no, I'd hurt the chick. If she hadn't kept an eye on me, I'd have tried it anyway.”
His sideways smile showed the headstrong child he'd been. “Sometimes it seemed like the little fellow'd never make it. He'd work awhile, then stop, like the business had worn him out.” Jesse closed one eye. “I'd peek in the hole, see how he's doing, try to cheer him on. Pretty soon he'd knuckle downâdo chickens have knuckles?âand get back to work. The hole got bigger. I'd want to pull off that sharp triangle of shell, give him a hand. But Ma said working at getting out makes the bird strong. I'd finish my chores, then race back to find the little guy scrabbling free. He'd made it without my help.”
Jesse leaned the pitchfork against the wall. The tenderness in his eyes warmed her more than the sunshine. He squatted in front of her and put his arms around her. “Like you, chipping away at your shell. I know you're in there. I saw you deliver the calves and stand up to the threshing driver. I felt your body answer mine when we joined together. All of that is you, the you I love, the you I want. It's time for you to break out.”
He picked up one of the eggs from her lap, rotating it in the sun. The clear light transformed its plain brownness so it glowed like an opal. “That stuff you said yesterday was the most honest you've ever been with me.”
How could he love her so much? Susannah shook her head.
“Keep trying, Susannah-girl. If you could talk to me like that every day, without running away, I'd declare you hatched.” Jesse put a hand under her elbow and helped her to her feet. “And speaking of breaking some shells, let's have breakfast.”
Lord, she's so different . . . thank You.
T
he plopping of muddy drips drove Susannah from her sleep. She wiped her face with the corner of the sheet and sat up. Every bucket and cook pot had been assigned a different leak and now sounded discordant notes with each splash. The air hung heavy with dampness. “Now I know why the Chinese use dripping water as a torture method.”
Jesse rolled over to nuzzle her neck. “Ah, but the soft April wind in your hair, the warm sun on your back, the prairie bursting into bloom . . .”
Her melancholy dissolved in the flood of his exuberance. “And you're sowing magic fairy dust, not seed wheat.”
He pulled on his boots. “Is there a song about that?”
“You compose one while I make pancakes.”
He left the door ajar. A fresh breeze carried the honking of migrating waterfowl. Tough as their meat was this time of year, it would be a welcome change from salt pork. Removing the shotgun from its rack, Susannah settled the butt into her right shoulder and braced her feet. Swinging just ahead of the flock, she squeezed the trigger. A duck dropped into the yard. Jake barked in approval.
Jesse burst from behind the apple tree. “You scared the you-know-what out of me, woman!”
“I'm sorry.” She pointed. “I thought you might like duck for dinner.”
Jesse ran his thumb along her right collarbone and slipped her nightgown off her shoulder. “No bruise. Not even a red mark.
You know how to handle a gun. What else haven't you told me?”
She brushed the wisps at his collar. “Did I tell you I have scissors?”
“If you barber as well as you shoot, I'd like a shave too.”
“Gladly.”
“But first I have a duck to clean before church.”
“Do you think they'll come?”
“Nice day like this? I'm sure of it.”
Jesse and Susannah hurried through morning chores and breakfast, then went off to the ridge. The wind and sun had firmed the mud. Tomorrow Jesse would worry about adequate rainfall, but today Susannah would enjoy the easy walk through the pasqueflowers.
Without the coverings of grass and snow, the contours of the prairie were visible.
“This is the edge of a glacier.” Susannah set down her violin and fought the wind to spread a blanket on the bluff.
Jesse rubbed his freshly shaved chin. “What?”
“A glacier pushed down from Canada, like the scraper used to build the railroad bed. It pushed rocks in front of it into this ridge and pulverized the rocks underneath into soil.”
“You can tell all that just by looking?”
“Not me, a geologist named Louis Agassiz. When I received your first letter, I wanted to learn about where you lived. There wasn't much information. Lewis and Clark and Audubon went up the Missouri River, quite a bit west of here. Mr. Agassiz's writings and General Sibley's military account were all I could find about the eastern part of the territory.”
“Here's your piece of Dakota history: Sibley's trail.”
Susannah leaned her cheek on Jesse's shoulder, sighting down his arm to faint marks of wheel ruts from ten years ago.
He turned west. The Sheyenne River had overrun its banks, streaming around the trees where they'd met the Volds last autumn. “Tell me about this side.”
“It's lower, older, formed before the glacier. See how far away the other bank is at this elevation? The Sheyenne used to be a big river, a half mile wide maybe. The banks are steep, terraced, indicating the river level dropped suddenly, probably ice breakup at its outlet.
You're right, thanks to the glacier, the soil is bound to be richer east of here. Anyone who farms in the valley will have plenty of rocks to plow around.”
“Don't know much, but I do know dirt.” He smiled down at her, his hazel eyes bright under the shade of his hat brim. “You're the smart one.”
“If I were really smart, I could tell you if we're standing on a drumlin or a moraine.”
“Impresses the socks off me either way.”
The prairie remained a dull tan, but the area blackened by last October's fires showed a smattering of green.
“Perhaps you should burn the rest of the fields.”
Jesse frowned. “Set a fire? Deliberately?”
Susannah straightened her shoulders. He wanted her opinion, she would give it to him. “Where the old grass was burned away, the sun warms the earth faster and new growth sprouts.”
Jesse compared the two areas. “Maybe I could round up some help. If it could be done without setting the whole territory on fire, you might be onto something. Sure be easier to plow.”
“The old is gone, the new has come. Like my life. Those things that happened in Detroit . . . could God have caused them, to bring me here?”
Jesse gazed at her. “I don't believe God can ever be the source of evil, so no, He didn't cause that banker to attack you. And your folks were getting up in years, so you can't blame their deaths on Him. But God does work all things together for good. And we can learn even from the most difficult circumstances.” Jesse grinned. “Want to do the sermon today?”
“No, thank you.” Susannah smiled. Jesse thought she had something worthy to say.
A column of smoke to the west caught her attention. “Are there neighbors on the other side of the river?”
Jesse gave her a lopsided smile. “I believe you've already made the acquaintance of Mr. Abner Reece.”
Susannah shuddered.
“He's a big galoot. But as long as I'm around, he won't bother you.” Jesse stroked his index finger across her cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The morning sun outlined the strong angle of his nose, the cleft in his chin, the gentle curve of his smile.
Let all our sons look just like him
.
The breeze brushed her cheek, soft as cake flour, fragrant with new growth. A flock of goldfinches chased each other in a scalloped flight down the valley. Three people appeared on the northern horizon. “It's them! Look how big Sara's grown!”
“Go on, kick up your heels.” Jesse waved her off.
“Susannah!” Marta ran toward them. Susannah hiked her skirt and raced to meet her. The woman embraced her, then touched her flat belly. “Baby?”
Grief caught Susannah in the heart and pulled her under. She had married in August, so her pregnancy should be well along by now. She shook her head. “I had a miscarriage.” How, she wondered, could God work that for good?
Ivar joined them. Holding Sara in one arm, he lifted Susannah off the ground with the other. “Sara's catching up to you.” Marta asked him a question in Norwegian. He interpreted, “You half no baby?”
Susannah looked at the ground, unable to speak. Jesse stepped up behind her and pulled her close. “We lost the baby, before Christmas.”
“I'm so sorry.” Ivar interpreted for Marta, who hugged her again.
“Look at this big girl!” Jesse reached for Sara, who beamed at him. “She remembers me! Hey, she's got a full head of hair, a full mouth of teeth. She's a regular little person. Must have doubled her weight over the winter. What have you been feeding her?”
“Good, solid Norwegian food. I'll give you some for your little wife.”
“Enough about my weight.”
Jesse winked and pointed to the violin. “Well, look what my little wife brought.”
“
En fiolin!
Start the music!”
“Do you know âWe Plough the Fields'?”
“Of course.” Ivar nodded.
The chorus was one of Susannah's favorites:
All good gifts around us
Are sent from heaven above.
Then thank the Lord,
Oh, thank the Lord, for all His love.
She looked at each person in the circle, and her eyes lingered on Jesse.
Yes, thank the Lord for love
.
Wednesday morning Jesse yoked the oxen for the spring trip to Worthington. He'd reminded Susannah to hold back on purchases, so the shopping list consisted of only a few items, just the absolute necessities. If the Roses would take in trade their eggs and the straw hats Susannah had made, perhaps he could buy a tin of cocoa. And a spool of blue thread. And maybe a cake of soap.
On this first warm day of the year, the morning sun pulled the dew from the grass. Blue, pink, and white flowers danced in the mist. Dakota Territory puffed out its chest with pride. Susannah shrugged out of her coat and bonnet, liberated at last from long underwear, itchy wool socks, and heavy flannel petticoats. She felt so light and free, she thought she might float across the prairie.
Jesse turned his probing gaze her way. “See, it's not so bad here.”
“It's beautiful.” She returned his smile. “Do you supposeâ would you mind teaching me to drive?”
“You know how to drive horses, don't you? Same thing, only easier because the oxen are so slow.” He handed her the reins, then rested his arm across her back, tickling her arm with his thumb. “If we had horses, I'd have this whole section in wheat. And we'd be to the store already. We wouldn't have been stuck in the house all winter. But first got to put up a barn.”
Horses. Jesse was saving for a team. No wonder he was so careful with his money.
