The Journal: Cracked Earth (18 page)

While John was showering, I got a jar of
sausage patties from the back storage to break up for his sausage
gravy, plus one of the few cans of milk. The chickens had slowed
down laying, nonetheless, I was still getting four eggs a day and
there was bacon already thawed. I added more wood to the stove to
bring up the oven temp for the biscuits.

“John, what’s the matter?” I asked when he
returned. He looked so sad.

He took a deep, shuddering breath. “That felt
so good. I can’t understand why I waited so long to come here,” he
said.

I can’t understand that either, still, it was
his choice. The clothes fit him fine, though a little loosely.

“I don’t want to run the generator too long.
While I take a quick shower, would you please fill these three
buckets from the kitchen sink? You can leave them on the floor.
Then I’ll shut the gennie off and finish fixing our breakfast.”

I’ve found that having something to do is
often the best tonic and John needed something to do.

I showered in record time and while toweling
off, I started the washer filling so the clothes John put in there
could soak. The room was chilly and prompted me to dress quickly. I
combed my wet hair then fluffed it so it would dry quicker.

John was sitting in front of the stove when I
came out.

“If you show me what you do with the
generator, I can do that for you,” he offered.

Oh, my, if he wants to help like this, maybe
he plans on staying. I smiled gratefully and put a knit hat over my
wet hair to go back on the deck to show him what to do.

* * *

“Is that…?” John asked wide-eyed, looking at
the biscuits in a basket, sausage gravy with eggs and bacon on his
plate.

“That’s what you said you wanted,” I said,
knowing that he was impressed. Shame on me, I was
trying
to
impress him. “Don’t get used to it though. I did this for a special
reason. It’s your first day here and you need food. If you decide
to stay, it won’t always be like this, it can’t be. As a rule, I
only have two meals a day. No real breakfast, just toast, with soup
for lunch and a more hearty dinner. I hope you can adapt.”

“One meal a day will be more than I’ve had in
the last two weeks,” he admitted as he dug into his food. I
chuckled over the ecstatic expression on his face while he ate, his
comment haunting me.

After he’d finished eating, I poured him the
last of the coffee.

“Oh, that was wonderful. Thank you. I really
should have come here sooner.”

“Why didn’t you?” That question had been
plaguing me.

“I dunno, Allex, pride maybe, and I didn’t
want to be a burden to you.” He looked away. “We all kept waiting
for things to go back to normal. Then the generator quit and with
it went our heat. We were burning logs in the fireplace but it
wasn’t enough. When Steve and Sandy stopped coming, I knew it was
bad, and I didn’t want to abandon the others. We ate what was left
in the refrigerator and when that was gone, several of them piled
into the big van and went to Marquette. There were only three of us
left,” he explained, a sad cloud passing across the back of his
eyes. He took a sip of coffee. “There wasn’t much left this past
week, except cheese puffs. When I woke up two days ago, the guys
were gone and so was the last truck. I waited a while thinking that
they went in search of food, but they never came back. That’s when
I remembered what you had said to me the last time you were there,
to find you. It’s okay, isn’t it?”

I took his hands in mine. “Of course it is,
John, absolutely! I meant it. In a way, waiting like this has made
it easier, I couldn’t feed all of those men. I
can
feed
you
.”

* * *

We talked for another hour or two about the
different things that were going on in the country. The guys on
Eagle Beach never knew about the Stone Soup Kitchen. Perhaps it
might have made a difference.

Awhile later, we went out to the barn with a
pail of water for the chickens and the basket to collect eggs. Once
in the barn, I remembered to grab the mattress pads, and since my
ankle was still sore I had John climb the ladder to get one off the
top shelf. I also grabbed the blow-up mattress and foot pump. We
struggled to get those bulky things back to the house in the high
winds.

My inner doubts were fading. John and I
seemed to work well together, at least so far. It was only changing
his bedding around, yet it was a start. He didn’t question what I
was doing or why, like so many men do, he mimicked what I did and
we were done in no time. When he offered to bring in wood, I
assured that him there was plenty for now. He could do that
tomorrow. He seems anxious to earn his keep.

While he was re-shoveling the deck and all
the steps, I started on dinner. Remembering a comment from what
seems like so very long ago, I know that he likes pasta. A jar of
homemade sauce from home grown tomatoes, plus a jar of meatballs
from when I emptied the freezer back in October. We would have
spaghetti and meatballs with garlic bread. Everything was from
storage except the bread. I had made two loaves of Italian bread
last time and froze one in the cooler outside. All I had to do was
heat everything through and cook the pasta. I hope he likes
spaghetti pasta. Pasta stores so well that I have lots of every
shape that’s made.

* * *

Dinner was a big hit. I even opened a bottle
of wine. I felt I deserved it and John would appreciate it. There’s
tension building between us, in just this short time. I know I have
felt this attraction for many months, though I’m not sure I’m ready
to change our relationship. My emotions are too much in flux, too
much pressure, everyone wants something from me. I don’t know
what’s real and what isn’t. I know I can’t shut down; I also can’t
open up. Not just yet.

* * *

JOURNAL ENTRY: December 22

After such a heavy snowstorm we’ve been
graced with incredible blue skies and blinding sunshine this
morning. I can’t see any clouds except for the ever-present
blackness over Lake Superior. The trees are bent in a cloak of icy
white. Some have already cracked and are broken from the weight of
so much snow. Those trees will make for good firewood for next
winter.

* * *

John and I finished our morning coffee and
toast. He emptied the last of the blueberry jam on a single piece
of toast. I retrieved a jar of strawberry jam from the back pantry
and set it in front of him.

“I don’t see you eating much of this, yet you
seem to have a lot of it,” he said, spreading the second slice with
a scoop from the fresh jar.

“I know it might seem odd, John. I love to
can, to cook, to make things, even if I don’t always like to eat
it,” I laughed. “I’ve got pickles from three years ago. I had an
abundance of cucumbers that summer and I just can’t let good food
go to waste. I made seven quarts of pickles, though I rarely eat
more than one jar a year. And the jam? My friend Kathy and I love
to pick wild blueberries. It’s a wonderful way for us to spend some
time together during the hectic summer when I’m always working and
she’s entertaining houseguests. It’s peaceful, quiet and
productive.” I smiled at the memories. “Our favorite place to pick
is up on the Plains, near the mine. Usually I freeze the
blueberries so I can put a handful on my oatmeal in the winter, and
a few years back I had so much that I made a lot of jam too. It’s a
good thing that I did. The next two years were a bust for any wild
fruit.”

“What’s the matter?” he asked, when he
noticed that sad thoughts were on my mind.

“Thinking of picking blueberries reminded me
of when Kathy’s dad came with us. Oh, how he loved to pick berries!
In June, the three of us would travel over an hour to the
strawberry farm. Kath and I would pick, and Ken would playfully
flirt with the ladies. At eighty-six he wasn’t able to stoop to
pick berries, so we picked for him. He so enjoyed the outings,” I
said with melancholy and took a sip of coffee. “He and Kathy’s mom
died a couple of weeks ago.”

The tears prickled behind my eyes. I took a
deep breath, and another sip of coffee. John got up, took my hand
and pulled me into his arms.

He looked down at me, reached out and tucked
a wayward strand of hair behind my ear, grazing my cheek with his
fingers. “Any time you need a hug, just say so,” he said softly,
and dropped his hand to his side.

“Talking about Kathy reminds me that she and
Bob will be coming over for Christmas dinner. I’m hoping that my
son Jason will come too with his family. I haven’t talked to them
lately. He knows that they are always welcome.” My knees were shaky
with John standing so near and I could still feel the trail his
fingers left on my face. I turned to clear the dishes to avoid his
eyes. I didn’t want him to see my hunger when he didn’t feel the
same.

* * *

Chores still loomed before us. I needed the
driveway cleared so I could get to town and we needed wood for the
stove. I showed John the woodpile and handed him the carry
sling.

“This is the last of the first burn wood.
It’s wood that was left over from last year and since it’s now two
years old it needs to be burned first.”

The clear skies also meant lower
temperatures, and thankfully the wind had died down. The snow
crunched underfoot as I limped my way through the deep drifts to
the barn.

We both worked quickly. This was the shortest
day of the year and dusk was already threatening. By the time I
finished removing the snow from the entire drive, the plows still
hadn’t come by. Now I could get out of the driveway, although I
might not be able to get to the main road. Come to think of it, I
haven’t heard the plows out on CR695 either. I might be the
emergency manager, but I can’t do anything if I’m snowed in.

Back in the house, I was pleased with the
pile of wood John had stacked behind the stove. He had also fed
wood into the stove, so it was pleasantly warm inside. I opened the
warming door over the stove and set my gloves there to dry. John
picked his up off the floor and set them there too, giving me a
sheepish grin.

Dinner was simple. I warmed a jar of
hamburger, some onions, and a few crushed herbs then added a jar of
green peas. I thickened the broth to make gravy and served it on
top of penne pasta. John finished off the bread sopping up the
gravy. I guess it’s oatmeal in the morning instead of toast. It
also means making bread sometime tomorrow.

* * *

The next day, I lit the stove slightly after
daybreak, which is now around 8:15A.M. I’ve found from experience
it’s easier for the woodstove to maintain a baking temperature
early in the day, so making bread I do right after I get up. I
mixed a double batch in a big bowl, adding a couple of eggs to make
it a bit richer and more flavorful. I kneaded it while thinking
about the day to come, then set it to rise in the oiled bowl next
to the warmth of the stove and covered it with a towel.

Christmas is in two days, and I still haven’t
planned out an actual menu for Christmas dinner. I sat down to do
that at the same time John made his way into the kitchen.

“Good morning,” he mumbled, still half
asleep.

“Good morning. There’s coffee on the stove.”
Tufts finally wandered out from under the bed. I know he’s been out
and about during the night because his food is gone and the litter
box is used. He’s avoided John, not sure what to make of him. Tufts
doesn’t like strangers. Maybe he’s decided that John isn’t a
stranger anymore. It’s good to see him getting underfoot again.

With two of us doing the few chores, it all
gets done quickly. John likes keeping the wood full, and I do
understand that. If we get hit with a surprise blizzard— and
without a weather report, it’s
all
a surprise—having a few
days’ worth of wood already inside can be a lifesaver. Early this
afternoon, while he was getting wood, I heard voices. Don had come
over to give me a hand, and met John loading up the sling.

I had put the two loaves of bread in the oven
a half hour earlier, and the baking aroma permeated the kitchen.
When the two walked in, John stopped, closed his eyes, breathed
deep and sighed.

“I see you’ve got some help,” Don said
looking
uninterested, though he arched his brow at me to ask
a silent question.

“And I see that you’ve met John,” I said meet
his gaze and just smiled. “John’s my friend from Eagle Beach.”
That
took him by surprise, and it showed.

Don stayed for a cup of coffee and a chat
with John. They discussed numerous things, then when it came around
to guns, Don was impressed by the fact that John is a gunsmith. Don
was getting ready to leave when I was taking the bread out of the
oven. “Before you go, Don, how are your supplies holding out? Do
you need anything?” I asked.

“Only gas for the generator to keep the
freezers going. Since now we can pack things outside we don’t run
it as much. Nancy has been canning up a storm. Say, do you have any
extra jars that we can use? And what about rice? She stocked up on
pasta, but we’ve gone through the ten pounds of rice that she had
stored.” Don had a lot of food in freezer storage, where I had a
lot in dry storage.

“Tell you what,” I said, “I’ll trade you a
five gallon bucket of rice and a dozen quart jars for a half dozen
nice steaks, rib-eyes if you have them.”

“Deal!”

John and I loaded up the sled with the rice
and an unopened case of quart jars, then we snow-shoed across the
road. I had to show John how the shoes were strapped on. He’s a
quick study and got the hang of it real fast. Knee deep snow is
hard to walk through regardless how far one has to go.