Years (58 page)

He glanced over his shoulder, rose, and crossed the room to her.

“Yes, ma’am?”

She tried to sound nonchalant. “Kristian, while we were still cleaning the yard did you see your father and John pass by on their way home from town?”

He glanced at the window, then back at her. His hands came slowly out of his back pockets and concern sharpened his features.

“No.”

She affected an even lighter tone. “Well, chances are they’re still in town, probably at the blacksmith shop all snug and cozy around the forge.”

“Yeah... ” Kristian replied absently, glancing back to the window. “Yeah, sure.”

She forced herself to wait a full five minutes after Kristian had rejoined the group before moving to the edge of the circle. “Raymond, would you mind climbing back up to the cupola and tying the rope back on the bell again? It occurs to me that on a day like this we may not have been the only ones caught unawares by the blizzard. It might be a good idea to toll the bell at regular intervals.”

It was terribly hard to keep her voice steady, her face placid.

“But why you gonna do that?” Roseanne inquired innocently.

Linnea rested a hand on the child’s brown hair, looked down into an upturned face whose wide brown eyes were too young to understand the scope of true peril. “If there’s anyone out
there, the sound might guide them in.” Linnea scanned the circle. “I’m asking for volunteers to stay in the cloakroom and ring the bell once every minute or so. You can take turns, two at a time, and we’ll leave the cloakroom doors open so it won’t be quite so cold in there.”

Kristian was on his feet immediately, followed by Patricia whose troubled eyes had been resting on him throughout the exchange.

Skipp Westgaard spoke up next. “Mrs. Westgaard, don’t you think our pas will drive to school to get us?”

“I’m afraid not, Skipp. Not until this snow lets up.”

“You mean we might have to stay in the schoolhouse overnight?”

“Maybe.”

“B... but where we gonna sleep?”

Allen Severt answered, “On the floor — where else, dummy?”

“Allen!” Linnea reprimanded sharply.

Allen demanded belligerently, “What I wanna know is what we’re gonna eat for supper.”

“We’ll share whatever is left in the lunch pails, and I—”

“Nobody’s gettin’ my apple!” he interrupted rudely.

Linnea ignored him and went on. “I have emergency crackers and raisins on hand. There’s water to drink and I have a little tea. But we’ll worry about that if and when the time comes. For now, why don’t you all think up a game to keep yourselves occupied? In case you hadn’t guessed, school is over for the day.”

That brought a laugh.

Overhead the school bell sounded. Automatically Linnea checked her watch.

She moved back to her desk to make a second entry: 3:55.
We will toll the school bell every five minutes to guide in any ships that might be lost in the night.

But she couldn’t sit at her desk a moment longer. The windows drew her, eerily. She stood staring out at the obscured world, shuddering within. With her back to the room she folded her hands on the sill and twisted her fingers together till the knuckles paled. Her eyelids slid closed, her forehead rested against the cold pane, and her lips began moving in a silent prayer.

* * *

The horses had been acting skittish all the way from town. Theodore continuously checked the sky, the horizon, the road behind, the road ahead, wondering at the animals’ restlessness. Coyotes, he thought. You always had to be on the lookout for coyotes out here. They spooked the horses. Not that they’d attack, only make the horses bolt. That’s why Theodore carried the gun — to scare the varmints off, not to kill them. Coyotes ate too many grain-eating critters to want to see them dead.

Seeing none, his thoughts turned to Linnea. He shouldn’t have been so rough on her, but — hang it all! — she didn’t understand. She was too young to understand! You raised a boy, pinned your hopes on him, watched him grow, nurtured him, provided love, sustenance, everything, only to find yourself helpless when he took a fool notion into his mind to jeopardize his life.

But he’d been unfair about the other part, too. It rankled, how he’d taken her to task for bringing about the pregnancy as if he’d had no part in it. Displeased with himself, he forced his mind to other things.

The burrowing owls were back, nesting in the abandoned badger holes from last year — a sure sign of spring come for good. The snowshoe rabbits had exchanged their white coats for brown. Ulmer said the trout were already biting down on the Little Muddy. Maybe the three of us, me and Ulmer and John, should try to get down there together one day soon and dip our lines.

“Ulmer says the trout’re bitin’.”

Beside him, John’s eyebrows went up in happy speculation, though he didn’t say a word.

“Sounds good, uh?”

“You betcha.”

“We get an early start tomorrow and we could have the northeast twenty done by four or so.”

They rode along, content, picturing fat, wriggling “rainbows” flopping on the creek bank, then sizzling in Ma’s frying pan.

Cub shied.

“Whooooa... Easy there, boy.” Theodore frowned. “Don’t know what’s wrong with them today.”

“Spring fever, maybe.”

Theodore chuckled. “Cub’s too old for that anymore.”

John noticed it first. “Somethin’ up ahead.”

Theodore’s eyes narrowed. “Looks like snow.”

“Naw. Sun’s out.” John leaned back and gave the blue sky a squint.

“Never saw snow that looked like that. But what else could it be?”

The first bank of chill wind struck them full in the face.

“Might be snow after all.”

“That thick? Why, you can’t see the road on the other side of it nor nothin’ behind it.”

They stared, intent now, puzzled. Theodore stated wryly, “Better turn your collar up. Looks like we’re about to leave spring behind.” Then he calmly rolled his sleeves down and settled his hat more firmly on his head.

When the wall of wind and snow struck, it rocked them backwards on the buckboard seat. The horses danced nervously, rearing in their traces while Theodore stared in disbelief. Why, he couldn’t see Cub’s and Toots’s heads! It was as if somebody had opened a sluice gate that held back the Arctic. Like an avalanche it hit, a flaky torrent mothered by a fearsome wave of cold air that grew colder by the second.

Struggling, Theodore finally got the animals under control. Though they moved forward, he had no idea where to direct them, so he let them have their heads. “You think it’s only a snow squall, John?” he shouted.

“Don’t know. That air’s like ice, ain’t it?”

The air
was
ice. It bit their cheeks, pecked at their eyelids, and filtered into their collars.

“What you wanna do, John? Go on?”

“You think Cub and Toots can keep on the road?” John shouted back.

Just then the team answered the question themselves by rearing and whinnying somewhere in the white blanket that kept them from sight.

“Giddap!” But at the slap of the reins the horses only complained and shied sideways.

Cursing under his breath, Theodore handed the lines to his brother. “I’ll try leading ‘em!” He vaulted over the side, bent into the wind, and groped his way to the horses’ heads. But when he grasped Toots’s bridle, the team pranced and fought him. Theodore cursed and tugged, but Toots rolled her eyes and planted her forefeet.

Giving up, he made his way back to the wagon again and
shouted up at John, “How far you figure we are from Nord-quist’s place?”

“Thought we passed it already.”

“No, it’s up ahead.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“We could take Cub and Toots off the wagon and let them lead on. They might get us there.”

“But will we see the house when we’re in front of it?”

“Don’t know. What else we gonna do?”

“We could walk the fence line.”

“Don’t know if there’s any fence along here.”

“Hold on. I’ll check.”

Theodore left the wagon behind, walked at a right angle from it, feeling with his hands. He hadn’t gone five steps before he was swallowed up by the snow. He checked both sides of the road. There were no fences on either side. He had to follow the sound of John’s voice back to the wagon. Sitting beside John again, he announced, “No fences. Try the horses again.”

John shouted, “Here, giddap!” He slapped the reins hard. This time the horses lurched forward valiantly, but in moments they became disoriented and started shying again.

Theodore took the reins and tried coercing them. “Come on, Cub, come on, Toots, old gal, on with y’.” But they continued balking.

The temperature seemed to be dropping at a steady, relentless pace. Already Theodore’s fingers felt frozen to the lines, and though he’d rolled down his shirt sleeves, they were little protection against Nature’s unexpected wrath. The wind keened mercilessly, straight out of the west, smacking their faces to a bright, blotchy red.

Holding his hat on, Theodore took stock of the situation. “Maybe we better wait it out,” he decided grimly.

“Wait it out? Where?”

“Under the wagon, like Pa did that time. Remember he told us about it?”

John looked skeptical, but his eyebrows were coated with white. “I ain’t much for cramped spaces, Teddy.”

Theodore clapped John’s knee. “I know. But I think we got to try it. It’s gettin’ too cold to stay up here in the wind.”

John considered a minute, nodded silently. “All right. If you think it’s best.”

Together they climbed down and released the traces with stiff fingers. They removed the singletree, laid it on the ground, and beside it piled flour, sugar, and seed bags, then did their best to kick away the snow and clear a place for themselves. When they overturned the wagon it landed atop the sacks, braced up far enough that they could shinny underneath the opening. They tied the horses to a wheel and Theodore went down on his knees.

His gun went under first, he next, on his side, shivering, hugging himself, watching John’s heavy boots shuffling nervously on the far side of the opening.

“Come on, John. It’s better out of the wind.” Inside the cavern his words sounded muffled.

John’s boots shuffled again, and finally he got down, rolled himself underneath, and lay facing the thin band of brightness with wide, glassy eyes.

Rocks and last year’s dried weed stalks gouged into Theodore’s ribs. In spite of their efforts to kick the snow away, some remained. It melted through the side of his shirt and clung to his skin in icy patches. Something with prickles scratched through his sleeve and bit the soft underside of his arm.

“Best try to get comfortable.” Theodore raised up as best he could, tried to scoop the biggest pebbles and dried plant stalks from under his ribs, then lay down with an elbow folded beneath his ear. Beside him, John didn’t move. Theodore touched his arm. “Hey, John, you scared?” John was trembling violently. Theodore made out the stiff shake of John’s head in the dim light. “I know you don’t like bein’ cooped up much, but it probably won’t be for long. The snow’s bound to let up.”

“And what if it don’t?”

“Then they’ll come and find us.”

“Wh... what if they don’t?”

“They will. Linnea saw us heading for town. And Ma knows we ain’t back yet.”

“Ma ain’t rid a horse in years, and anyway how could she get through if we couldn’t?”

“The snow could stop, couldn’t it? How much snow you reckon we can have when it’s almost May?”

But John only stared at the daylight seeping in beneath the wagon, petrified and shaking.

“Come on. We got to do our best to keep warm. We got to combine what little heat we got.” Theodore shinnied over and
curled up tightly against John’s back, circling him with one arm and holding him close. John’s arm came to cover his. The cold fingers closed over the back of Theodore’s hand, clenching it.

When John spoke, his voice was high with panic. “Remember when Ma used to make us go down in the ‘fraidy hole when there’d be a bad summer storm?”

Theodore remembered only too well. John had always been terrified of the root cellar. He’d cried and begged to be released the whole time they’d waited out the storm. “I remember. But don’t think about it. Just look at the light and think about something good. Like harvest time. Why, there’s no time prettier than harvest time. Riding the reaper off across the prairie with the sky so blue you’d think you could drink it, and the wheat all gold and shiny.”

While Theodore’s soothing voice rolled over him, John’s unblinking eyes remained fixed on the reassuring crack of light. Occasionally miniature whirlpools of snow puffed in on a back-draft, touching his cheeks, his eyelashes. The wind whistled above, setting one of the wagon wheels turning. It rumbled low, reverberating through the wood over their heads.

After some time, Theodore gently loosened his hand from John’s tight grip. “Put your hands between your legs, John. They’ll keep warmer there.”

“No!” John’s fingers clutched like talons. “Teddy, please.”

John was bearing the brunt of the cold, lying closer to the opening. But his fear of confinement seemed worse than his fear of freezing, so Theodore assured him, “I’m only going to put my arm over yours, okay?” He lined John’s arm with his own and found the back of his hand like ice.

“Snow’s a good insulator. Pretty soon we’ll probably be snug as a cat in a woodbox.”

Reassuring John kept Theodore’s own panic at bay. But as soon as he fell silent, it threatened again. Think sensibly. Plan. Plan what? How to keep warm when we’re dressed in thin cotton shirts and neither one of us smokes, so we don’t even have any matches to burn the wagon if we need to? Even their long winter underwear had been discarded days ago when the weather turned mild. Short of the snow suddenly stopping, there was nothing that could help them. And if it didn’t stop...

You shouldn’t have tied the horses.

Oh, come on, Teddy. One of you panicking is enough. You’ve
only been under here twenty minutes. Takes a little longer than that to freeze to death.

But it already felt like parts of him were frostbitten.