by Erica Vetsch
All the bench supports were gone, and every scrap of easily burnable wood consumed. Elias had brought the ice breaker inside and used it to splinter the long bench boards. Though Savannah knew it was necessary for their survival, when he had to start in on the desks, a lump formed in her throat and tears stung her eyes.
Late in the afternoon, the howling outside diminished, then ceased. At first, Savannah, who sat on the floor with Ingrid on her lap and Margrethe tucked up at her side, didn’t realize what had happened. She was so used to the banshee wail of the storm that when it stopped, her ears rang and felt empty.
Elias, hands hanging limp between his upraised knees, lifted his head. His dull, tired eyes brightened, and he pushed himself up to go to the window. “I think it stopped.”
Savannah was too tired to get up. Her bones ached from sitting on the hard floor, and her head felt heavy. Some of the boys stood and joined Elias.
“Can we go home now?” Rut asked, propping her head on her hand.
“The sun is breaking through the clouds.” Peder pointed.
Savannah shook her head to clear it and noted that the room was lighter than it had been all day. The longing for sunshine was enough to impel her to rise. “Come on, Ingrid, let’s go look.”
Snow scudded along the tops of sculpted drifts, frozen waves and eddies carved by the wind. The back edge of the storm formed a hard line of clouds that raced away to the southeast, and behind them the sun emerged.
“Sun dogs,” Hakon said. “It must be very cold.”
“Sun dogs?” Savannah asked.
“See the rainbows on either side of the sun?” Elias pointed. “It’s the light shining through ice crystals in the air. It has to be very cold for those to appear.”
“We can leave though, right? Now that the storm is over?” The thought of escaping the schoolroom lightened her heart.
“We can and should. The sooner the better, if we want to make it to shelter before dark.” Elias gathered the boys. “I want you to break a path to the corral. Don’t bother with saddles for the horses. We’ll all be warmer riding without. Don’t use bridles, either. The bits will be too cold for the horses’ mouths. Halters and ropes will be fine.”
When Elias opened the outside door, a wall of snow as high as ten-year-old Nils greeted them. “Hakon, you go first, boys follow close. There will be some deep drifts out there, so be careful, help each other along.”
Savannah banked the small fire and made sure all the girls had their coats buttoned, hats and scarves secure, and their mittens on tight. Elias climbed up to the cupola, using the slats nailed to the wall in the foyer, and shoved hard against the trap door, letting in an avalanche of snow. He was gone for a few minutes, then the bell rope snaked down through the hole in the ceiling, falling stiffly to the floor.
“We’ll take the rope along. I want all the horses strung together so nobody gets lost,” Elias said, climbing back down.
“How will some of the children make it? They live so far.”
“We’ll strike out for Halvorsons’ first. Those that live more than a mile away can stay there until their parents come for them. Write a note on the blackboard so if any parents come here first, they’ll know where we went.”
She hurried to comply, glancing out the window and seeing the horses struggling through the drifts.
The ride across the prairie was as miserable a trip as any Savannah had ever had. They put the youngest students up on the horses and ponies, while Elias, Savannah, Hakon, Peder and Johann battled through the thigh-deep snow. Savannah’s skirts hampered her, and snow made its way into every wrinkle and seam of her stockings and boots. The wind, much quieter now that the storm had passed, still kicked snow into their faces, and she had to keep her chin down as she labored to keep up.
Smoke rose from the chimney at the Halvorson house, and as they neared, Savannah wanted to cry with thankfulness. The cold lacerated her lungs, and weariness and hunger made her weak, but they were almost home.
Elias had to scoop snow away from the cabin door. He pounded on it, and Agneta answered, her face alight with relief. When she saw who it was, the smile dimmed a bit, but she welcomed them inside.
“I need to leave some of the kids here. The Pederson and Rosedahl kids live close enough that I can get them home, but the rest will need to stay here. They’re pretty cold and hungry.”
“No, do not go.” Agneta clung to his snow-covered arm as the children slid from the horses and crowded inside.
“We can’t all stay here, and parents will be getting worried.”
“No, it is Per. He has not come home all night. I have been alone in the storm, praying and worrying.”
Elias stood still. “When did you last see him?”
“Before the storm hit. He was checking on some cattle near the creek. At least that is what he said he was going to do.”
Savannah stopped unwrapping children and ushering them to the corner fireplace. “What should we do?”
“Stay here with the children,” Elias responded. “Hakon, Johann, grab something quick to eat. Lars, I know you want to go, but you need to get the horses to the barn and get them fed and watered. Once that’s done, see to the rest of the barn chores. Take Nils and Peder with you to help, and then haul more fuel into the house for the fire. We’ll be back when we find your pa.” He took the boy by the shoulders, stooping to his eye level. “Under no circumstances are you to follow us, understood? You stay here and protect the girls.”
Agneta had gone to her larder and returned with bread and sliced meat, slapping sandwiches together. She handed one to Elias. “Per’s buffalo coat is on the door. Take it with you.”
Savannah remembered that it had been warm before the storm broke. Per wouldn’t have needed his heaviest coat. Was he wearing even a jacket?
Elias bolted his sandwich, as did the older boys, and slipped into the big coat. He rested his hand on Agneta’s shoulder. “We’ll find him.”
Wanting to tell him to be careful, to make him promise to return unharmed, Savannah laced her fingers under her chin, unable to say anything. He reached for the doorknob, but before he pulled on it, he looked back over his shoulder and winked.
She nodded, knowing he understood what she wanted to say but couldn’t.
* * *
The last thing Elias wanted to do was return to the frozen landscape outside, but he had no choice. If Per had somehow managed to survive the storm, every minute would count. Elias felt as if he had anvils strapped to his feet as he pushed through the drifts. Behind him, Buck floundered on the lead rope.
Elias’s breath froze on his muffler, rubbing against his lips and cheeks, making them chapped and raw. Snow drove through his clothes and caked in the long hair of the buffalo coat, weighing him down, but he was grateful for the enormous garment.
Behind him Hakon and Johann trudged in the path he and Buck broke for them. Sunshine sparkled in a million crystalline lights on the snow, and forced them to squint against the glare.
The creek lay a quarter mile northeast of the homestead, and Elias could make out the stunted trees that clung to the creek bank, their skeletal arms, coated with snow, reaching for the white-blue sky. Chances were the cattle Per had gone to check on were sheltered there along the frozen stream.
But where was he?
They topped a small rise, and several hillocks of snow stood at intervals.
Haystacks. They were on the edge of Per’s hayfield.
Elias stopped to rest, putting his hands on his knees and leaning over to catch his breath. He unwound his muffler, planning to rewind it to a dry place, and found he’d run out of those. Every inch of the knitted scarf was coated with ice and crackled when he shook it out.
Hakon stomped his feet. “Where do we look?”
“We’re going to hope an
d pray he’s in one of the haystacks. That’s the only shelter between the creek and the homestead. Make your way to the nearest one and start digging. I’ll take the next. If you find something, holler.”
They found him in the fourth haystack, curled deep inside, hugging himself. Johann’s shout brought Elias as quickly as he could manage, postholing through the snow, dragging Buck in his wake.
“He’s here! He’s alive, but barely!”
Elias shrugged out of the buffalo robe as he ran, folding it to preserve his body heat. Hakon and Johann dug furiously, sending cascades of snow and hay out of the drift.
Per was unresponsive. They bundled the burly farmer in the buffalo coat, and among the three of them, managed to get him on the horse. Elias boosted Hakon up to ride behind him and hold him on.
By the time they got back to the house, several horses and sleighs stood in the yard and a search party of fathers was streaming toward them. Hands grabbed Per, sliding him off the horse and carrying him to the house. Someone took Buck’s reins from Elias and someone else took his arm.
When they arrived inside, Elias could barely stand. His muscles burned from the exertion, and his head hurt from the cold. He sagged onto a bench.
They’d laid Per on the bed in the corner, and with all the men and children in the tiny house, there was barely room to stand. Agneta bent over her husband, and Savannah threaded her way through the crowd to Elias’s side.
“You found him.”
He nodded. Was it too late, though?
Mr. Rosedahl took charge of the room. “All you with sleighs, bundle up the children and take them home. Give Agneta room to work. Elias, we thank you for what you did for the children and for Per. You need to rest now. I am sure you will find a bed here. When I pass by your parents’ place, I will tell them you are here and fine.”
Elias shook his head. “I have to get to town. I’m the sheriff. Need to see if anyone else needs help.”
“No, Bjorn will see to all that. You need to rest.” Mr. Rosedahl pressed Elias back down onto the bench. “Anyway, the ladies here might need your help.”
The room emptied, leaving just the Halvorsons, Savannah and Elias.
Savannah put her arm around Rut. “Lars, you and Rut eat something more. Then I want you to both go to bed.”
“But our papa...” Rut’s tired eyes filled with tears.
“Your papa will sleep now. I will help your mama tend him. He would want you to rest.”
The children were too worn-out to do much more than nibble on some bread before they trudged upstairs. Elias eased out of his coat. Savannah took it and hung it on the back of the door. She went to a trunk under the stairs and pulled out an extra blanket, while Agneta filled a kettle and placed it over the fire.
Savannah wrapped the blanket around Elias’s shoulders and tugged him to the rocking chair beside the fire. “Soup will be ready soon. You sit still and get warm.”
“You should rest, too. You’ve been awake longer.” Even as he said it, he could feel himself drooping toward sleep.
“I have to help Agneta with Per. I’ll be fine.” She knelt and tugged on Elias’s boots. Soon she had his socks off. “Can you feel your feet? Do I need to bring in some snow?”
“No, they’re not frozen.” She’d learned well through her own experience.
Soon she had his bare feet soaking in a basin of lukewarm water.
He wanted to tell her what a good job she’d done during the storm. He wanted to tell her how proud he was of her. He wanted— His thoughts stopped on the one overwhelming thing he couldn’t ignore. He wanted her.
Chapter Seventeen
Before Savannah could dish up a bowl of broth, Elias was asleep in the chair. Agneta tended to Per, wrapping him in blankets and spooning first warm water and then warm broth between his lips.
“What can I do?” Savannah asked.
Agneta shook her head and a tear plopped onto her dress. “Pray.”
Pray. She’d been praying, praying hard for what seemed like hours. Her heart was as exhausted as her body.
Darkness fell, and she lit both glass lamps, setting one on the bedside table and one on the kitchen table. Elias slept through her removing his feet from the water, drying them and slipping on a thick pair of Per’s knitted socks.
Agneta sat beside the bed, stroking Per’s head, giving him sips of water, applying salve to his chapped lips. As he’d warmed, she had placed hot bricks wrapped in towels onto the bedding along his sides. “We must warm his body before we worry about his hands and feet.” She spoke to herself, stroking Per’s hair off his forehead.
Savannah dragged the stool from beside the spinning wheel and sat on it next to Elias’s chair. Her head drooped to rest on his knee.
Her conscience was so heavy she couldn’t get her mind to rest. Seeing Per nearly frozen to death had shocked her. Every one of the children she’d been entrusted with as a teacher would’ve met a similar or worse fate if Elias hadn’t come and stopped her from sending them out into the storm.
What had she been thinking, coming here? Acting as if she could handle the climate and hardships, as if everyone, especially Elias, was exaggerating the difficulties just to scare her. She had no business having children in her care. She had no business being here, no business forcing people to risk their lives because of her ignorance. Her shortcomings rose up to mock her.
You didn’t speak up when the coal store got low.
You didn’t have any emergency supplies to feed the children if they got snowed in.
You didn’t know enough not to send them out in a blizzard.
You could’ve killed those children.
You don’t belong here.
The desire to go home, to throw herself into Aunt Carolina’s arms and weep, overwhelmed her.
A dry sob escaped her throat.
In his sleep, Elias’s hand came out and stroked her hair, coming to rest on her shoulder as he sighed and slipped deeper into slumber.
You don’t belong here.
You can’t stay. No matter how much you might want to.
* * *
Per Halvorson developed pneumonia, school was canceled until new furnishings and more coal could be procured, and Savannah had nothing to do but carry around her guilt and her resolve to leave as soon as possible.
The nights were the worst. Nightmares plagued her sleep, hours where she struggled in a blizzard, trudging through the snow, lost, calling for the children she’d turned out into the storm. She would wake up gasping, tangled in the bedclothes, cheeks wet with tears. The darkness and cold seemed to press in on her, and it would be hours before she could sleep again.
A doctor came from the next town over to see Per, giving Agneta detailed instructions and medicines. He carefully examined Per’s extremities and decided that the big farmer would be able to keep all his digits. The news should’ve made them happy, but the fear over his pneumonia kept everyone tense and pensive.
A week after the storm, Savannah and Lars hitched up the sleigh and headed to town, he to do his mother’s shopping and Savannah to send a wire home.
At the telegraph office, she struggled to find the right words, torn between guilt and grief. Guilt at the way she’d endangered her students and grief at the thought of leaving them. In the end, she kept the telegram as brief as possible, set her coins on the counter and walked out. She had one more thing to do before heading back to the Halvorsons’.
The mercantile hummed with news. Someone had brought newspapers from the area towns, and the residents of Snowflake pored over them, sharing snippets of the aftermath of the storm. Lives lost, lives saved, the toll on livestock. When she stepped up to the post office counter to mail her letter, the conversations ceased.
Mr. Svenby stepped forward. “Miss Cox, it’s so
good to see you. We can’t thank you enough for your bravery. You saved the schoolchildren, you and the sheriff. Look.” He held up a newspaper. “You made it into the Tracy Gazette.”
The headline read As If They Were Her Own.
Scanning the lines, Savannah felt her cheeks heat, and she wanted to run outside into the cold. They thought she was a heroine. They thought she had saved the children from the storm, when it had been Elias all along. They were lauding her when they should be packing her into the first eastbound stage.
She laid the paper down, unsure what to say.
People crowded around her, people she’d come to think of as her friends. Congratulations and thanks poured out. The knot in her stomach tightened. “Mr. Svenby, I need to mail a letter.”
“Sending another epistle home? Your family must like how often you write. Wish I had a letter for you, but the stage hasn’t come in yet.”
“Not home, just to the other end of the county.” Savannah set the envelope on the counter.
“Ah, reporting in to the boss down in Kettinger, ja?”
“Yes.” She couldn’t look him in the eye. Tyler deserved to know about her resignation before anyone else.
“And how is Per doing? Is there anything we can do?”
Grateful for the change of subject, she shook her head. “He’s very ill. Agneta won’t let anyone help tend him, and she’s about worn-out. The doctor says he’s got a good chance if the strain on his heart wasn’t too much when he was out in the cold. Lars has taken over the barn chores, and Rut and I are pitching in where we can.” Savannah searched the store for Lars and found him near the back, where the patent medicines and herbs were shelved. “Agneta gave us a list of ingredients for an elixir. I hope you had everything on hand?”
“Sure did. And I threw in a couple of extra things for her to try, plus some candy for the kids.” Karl Svenby took the pencil from behind his ear and marked a few lines in his ledger.
“Thank you.” Savannah tightened the strings on her cloak and pulled on her gloves. “I’m sure Agneta appreciates it and will thank you when she can.”
