B004XR50K6 EBOK

by Kathleen Shoop

  Jeanie nodded as the chill rushed through the room, over her skin, and she noticed her hairline was drenched. James finally got the door shut and snapped off the howling wind as though it never existed.

  “I love you James. Keep safe, my son.” Jeanie said to the door, to herself more than anything.

  Chapter 15

  1905

  Des Moines, Iowa

  “Katherine.” Aleksey shook his wife’s shoulder. “It’s nearly six o’clock. Come down. I’ve made dinner.”

  Katherine’s dry eyes burned as she rubbed them, her nose stuffed with old tears gave her voice a nasal quality. “Oh, my. I’m so sorry. Almost dinner? Tell me you’re teasing.”

  “Don’t worry.” Aleksey started making new piles of the scattered letters. “I’ve made sandwiches and the boys made potato salad.”

  Katherine covered her mouth laughing out loud at the thought. “No, please, tell me you’re not serious.”

  “I am very serious. And, everyone is requesting the pleasure of your company.” Aleksey dusted off his hands, slapping them together. He pulled Katherine to her feet and wiped the back of her dress, pulling her body into his. Katherine curled into his embrace, her head nestled against his warm chest, his presence forever calming, loving and permanent.

  “Why don’t you ask what I’m doing?” Katherine said.

  “I know what you’re doing.”

  “What?”

  “Giving your past a funeral.”

  Katherine sucked in her breath. “That’s ghoulish.”

  “Sometimes the truth is.”

  Katherine took Aleksey’s hand and studied it, the lines she memorized long ago.

  “My mother was delirious, asking for Yale, saying she’d lost her, put her somewhere or something. But, until the other night she never let Yale out of her sight, ever. I don’t know what she’s talking about.”

  “It’s probably nothing.” Aleksey started toward the steps, pulling Katherine’s hand.

  Katherine looked back at the letters. One, in a dark envelope, the only one not pale yellow or creamy white, caught her eye. “Let me get that one.” Katherine picked it up and turned it over in her hand. It was addressed to Ruthie Moore.

  “The sisters Moore. Remember them? They were so…the letter’s from Texas. Why would we have a letter written to her from someone in Texas? Just days before…”

  Katherine didn’t have a chance to complete her thought or words as their son, Asher, flew up the attic stairs bearing news of a bloody sibling who was most definitely in need of stitches.

  Katherine tossed the letter back on the floor relieved she wouldn’t have to read it until she was fully ready to absorb all it had to say.

  Chapter 16

  1887

  Dakota Territory

  Christmas came and went with sparse decoration, gift and commotion. But Jeanie and her family hadn’t felt as though those things were missing. To have had the dugout burst with crimson wrapped boxes, pine dripping from every surface, and the constant flow of exquisitely dressed gifts would have felt obscene on the prairie after the demise of their crops.

  Six months before, Jeanie would have thought it were a disgrace not to somehow work all those brilliant holiday elements into their prairie Christmas, or recreate them symbolically. But, instead, the Arthurs celebrated under three feet of snow. Inside their dugout wearing their ugliest clothing, they reenacted the scene with the three wise men at Bethlehem and in between the time the one bearing myrrh (Jeanie) and one bearing Frankincense (Tommy) came on scene, baby Jesus (Yale, of course) had to have her dirty pants tended to three times. This actually gave Jeanie great feelings of joy as for the first few weeks of Yale’s life, she didn’t make much water and barely expelled any solid waste at all.

  The little things thrilled Jeanie at that point—the rock candy she’d made after Templeton surprised them with sugar from Yankton, stringing popcorn with the children while singing carols. In those moments, she felt contentment and optimism that all that had gone wrong had merely been a dream, like the one she always had of Frank where she couldn’t see his face.

  Christmas had renewed Jeanie’s determination to meet the spring thaw with her entire family intact, but to do so happily, warmly, with hope shading every contented moment—the kind that would allow their later years to be filled with fond memories of their first year on the prairie. She wouldn’t let the base elements of such an existence be what she remembered, not without the conquest of such nothingness being attached to the memories.

  Once the wise men fulfilled their obligations and baby Jesus began to squawk for the food she didn’t seem to really want and the sleep she always seemed to push away, it was time to do the afternoon chores. After dinner they would settle in to enjoy their gifts.

  As he always did, James would open the door and determine the degree of bite in the frigid air, determining whether Katherine and Tommy were too young or just old enough to help with a given series of chores at a given time of day and the corresponding coldness. Frank was remarkably cheered during this time as though his lack of choices in activity—he couldn’t light out over the prairie to do who knew what when the snow tumbled from the sky as though God were standing above, shaking it down himself. Frank was a lot of things, but ready to risk his life wasn’t one of them.

  And in his capture, he seemed happier than he’d been in months. Seeing Frank jailed nearly gave Jeanie the opportunity to feel pity instead of resentment for him. It became clear in her mind that his dreams, the way his mind worked, was actually a burden. That, having a narrow vision of the world, like Nikolai Zurchenko, might be an easier brain to have to house.

  A narrow man’s thoughts would never travel to exotic, alluring locales, betraying the body that had no means to travel even a mile for whatever the reason. And in that dugout, watching Frank yank on each piece of outerwear, she deemed him a frustrated genius who needed but the opportunity to add the real-life lathe and plaster to his air castles. And Jeanie would be there to help him do so. She knew she could achieve her goals—to create gowns so ethereal the wearer had to stop herself from taking a bite of it to be sure it wasn’t made of sugar and flour—and to create an existence on the prairie that spoke of larger ideas and a life filled with joy, not duties and manners that did nothing but frustrate and separate.

  James read the thermometer that Templeton gave him as an early Christmas gift. Negative four degrees.

  “Well, with the way the wind is blowing, I suspect it feels like twenty below out there, so I think it’s best Katherine and Tommy tend to duties inside the house, Mama,” James said. “Father and I will empty the chamber and slop pots, feed the livestock, and bring in the last of the buffalo chips and finished hanks.”

  By the time James and Frank blew back into the dugout, their faces were frozen. It took a moment for Jeanie to grasp just how cold it had been outside. James burst through the door first, with an armload of hay for Katherine and Tommy to tie hanks to burn. Frank came behind him, arms piled high with chips that would need to dry a bit before burning.

  Jeanie checked the water on the stove for coffee and when she didn’t hear laughter or conversation she turned and saw just how stiff the two Arthurs were. She and the twins helped peel off clothes, then decided to pull them back on to hold in any heat there was inside them. Frank and James’s faces were gleaming white as they’d never seen. They couldn’t even open their mouths to form words. Jeanie grabbed some snow from outside the door and she and Katherine rubbed it on their faces to ensure minimal damage.

  The rubbing with snow erased the whiteness, but the image of red streaks where their faces weren’t frozen created a ghoulish picture more fitting Halloween than Christmas.

  “Get the kerosene,” Jeanie said.

  Tommy brought the lamp to her.

  She pushed away her emotions spiking from the sight of dark red streaks alongside deathlike pallor, the skin as hard as wood. Jeanie laid kerosene-drenched rags over their faces
as she’d seen done countless times when a person was exposed to the cold for too long.

  The smell of the oil caught in their noses and throats and choked them. Tommy opened the door from time to time to let a whip of fresh air into the dugout. Once they were sure the kerosene had done its work, Frank and James inched toward the fire as to sit in front of it before they’d thawed enough, brought on scorching pain as though fire were burning from underneath the skin rather than happily bouncing in the belly of the stove across the room.

  Finally James and Frank, returned to less severe condition, were shivering in front of the fire—a sign they would be fine. Jeanie collapsed into her chair, her arms flopped over the sides, body wanting to shut off and sleep. But, the gurgles then wails of Yale told her there was a different plan in store and instead of her body resting, her mind did as she breastfed the baby. Right there in the dugout was everything she could ever need or want and that was, for her, the meaning of Christmas.

  When Jeanie woke to feed Yale on the morning of January 12, she knew something was different. She used the chamber pot and latched Yale onto her breast but was drawn to the front door. She knew better than to open it before James had gone to get the morning buffalo chips, to let the warmth escape, but she opened it anyway, and in from the outside sailed the most surprising warmth, like a blanket it fell over her.

  Frank came up behind her and patted Yale’s head over Jeanie’s shoulder. The sky was still black, peppered with starlight.

  “That’s amazing,” Frank said. “I think we’re in the midst of a winter thaw. I feel like my head is opening up and my body is coming alive.”

  “Just like that,” Jeanie said. She looked at Frank, waiting for a surge of anger to hit her, but all she felt was indifference. As long as she didn’t think of Templeton or remember the way she used to feel about Frank, she thought she could handle forty more years of indifference. At least it was even-keeled. She watched Frank poke around the bowl that held the leftover sugar Templeton had brought and she nearly leapt toward him when she thought he had hidden opium in there. She’d been watching him, never seeing him eat opium, or drink laudanum. But, he hadn’t gone through withdrawal, shown any signs that he was either on the drug or off of it. Maybe she had overreacted, maybe he hadn’t been lying, perhaps the prairie and all its drama had gotten the best of her. She shook her head at herself, she’d never been so incapable.

  “Like a miracle,” Frank said.

  “Hmm?” Jeanie said.

  “The weather.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t be inclined to call five minutes of new air a warming trend, but I have to agree, it does feel good. Trouble is, we’re going to have to deal with the roof of the dugout thawing. I’m afraid we might be drowning in slush by late evening. Do you think you could clear the snow off the roof after the chores?”

  Frank didn’t respond, but his body still pressed up against Jeanie’s. She turned to see his face.

  “Frank? Could you do that? You have to or we’ll be staying at Templeton’s for the rest of the winter while everything we own is molding and disintegrating. Maybe we should move our books over there no matter the weather. But then what would we do in the evenings? No, we’ll make the best of it.”

  Frank still gazed over the top of Jeanie’s head, his eyes shifting every once in a while as though he were reading the sky, as though it offered him wisdom and a plan. “I’m thinking today would be a good one to finish that bedstead over at Templeton’s. The one Smith from Yankton paid me for before the fire. He’s been plenty patient and I have to bet he’d want to see it at first sight of spring.”

  “So, that means what?”

  “Well, it means what I said,” Frank said. He kissed Jeanie’s forehead and disappeared into the darkness where the black sky was tinged with hints of navy blue, the sign of what would definitely be a beautiful day.

  “I’ll do it, Mama,” James said.

  Jeanie jumped. “James, I didn’t know you were awake.”

  “How could I sleep when the earth shattering plans of Frank Arthur are being dispersed into the atmosphere.”

  “James, why would you talk about your Father that way, with that tone? He is who he is and I trust his mind, his plans, that he will rise to create the world for us he says he will. He’s simply creative and—”

  “Mama, stop. Stop. I understand we have to plow the land we’ve decided to settle, but we don’t have to look at its infertility and claim it rich and productive, do we?”

  “Sometimes barren land is just resting and its next turn will yield what we expected all along. But leaving the land, in any way, cursing it will yield nothing in the end except for bitter memories of what didn’t work out. We make things work out, James. We are intractable, prolific people who find a way to ferret success out of failure and for us there’s no other choice.”

  James shook his head and yanked on his boots, clearly having something to say, but holding it inside either out of respect for his mother or out of kindness. “Don’t send Tommy and Katherine to Ruthie’s for lessons.”

  “Well if the weather is this mild, they should go,” Jeanie said. “They have the final round of that spelling bee to contend with and if I have to hear the second half of the dictionary one more time…”

  “Mama, please. I know it doesn’t make sense, but I’ve learned a lot with Mr. Templeton about the indications. Katherine and Tommy can help me with the morning chores and then I’ll head to Templeton’s to discuss the weather indications. I’ll send Father back to help with the roof and we should go to the well. We should take advantage of this weather because unlike my father, I don’t see this as a warming trend, but rather a teaser, a lure of sorts that if taken too lightly will end in disaster.”

  “What are you talking about, James?”

  “Nothing, everything will be fine, I just don’t think we should view this as the end of winter. And I think for today Katherine and Tommy should stay close. If I’m wrong then tomorrow they can go to Ruthie’s and you can say you told me so. But, it couldn’t be, statistically speaking, that winter’s over. And this pleasing, dead air, hot, and thick compared to yesterday, it portends something other than tranquility.”

  Jeanie switched Yale to her other breast and waved James over to her. “Okay. I love you James, but I don’t want you old beyond your years. You can trust your father to handle things. He won’t hurt us or let us see harm. As hard as it is to understand his dreams and hopes and dispiritedness, he is…well, I know you’re growing up, James, that you see things, but remember, things aren’t always so simple. He simply isn’t capable of certain things and I’ve come to expect that and therefore can stomach it.”

  “I sure hope I find a woman to love me past all my shortcomings, someday, Mama.”

  “Well, let’s not sell you to the highest bidder yet,” Jeanie cupped James’ cheek and he looked at her. With his hat covering his forehead to his eyebrows, he looked every bit like the infant that Yale did. Jeanie moved her thumb over the scar that had formed from frostbite on his cheek. Just a half an inch long or so, but still there, a reminder of the harsh conditions under which they lived.

  “Do you know what weather is, Mama?”

  “The temperature, moisture?”

  “It’s simply the atmosphere trying to balance itself out, but it swings one direction—harsh and stunning in its form and then it tries to right itself and swings too far the other way. It’s never-ending. And sometimes I feel like this is the way we live with Father. We’re forever, you are forever trying to bring to center his disparate thoughts and ideas—”

  “Shshshsh, my James.” Jeanie slid her hand around the back of James’ head and pulled him into her, his head on her shoulder above Yale’s. “You worry too much.”

  “I just have a bad feeling. I had it since last night, like the air was shifting, and I woke up this morning and it had. I just think today isn’t what it seems.”

  “We’ll take care and we’ll be fine,” Jeanie sai
d. “I’ll start the roof when Yale goes to sleep. I’d like the benefit of that fresh warm air, myself.”

  “Okay. I won’t stay at Templeton’s more than a few minutes.”

  “You deserve a half an hour doing something you enjoy. And don’t worry about your father so much.”

  “Don’t let Katherine and Tommy wander too far today.”

  “Okay, okay, gramps, you head on out or you won’t enjoy two seconds of this gentle weather.”

  James cocked his head to the side and squinted at Jeanie. He looked away and then nodded before heading into what was now blazing sunlight. He propped open the door without Jeanie having to ask him to and he walked away, toward the well, in a straight line from the doorway. Jeanie could see him shrink to a black dot, wondering what he was thinking of, wishing he hadn’t taken on grown-up worries at such a young age.

  Around nine a.m. Jeanie tucked Yale into her cradle, swiped her nose and pulled on her coat and hat. She stepped outside and began to sweat within three strides around the side of the dugout. She went back to the dugout, dropped her coat down her arms and laid it across the chair where she spent so much of her daily life since November.

  Suddenly curious at the temperature, she stopped outside the door to peer at the thermometer. Twenty-three degrees. A full forty warmer than it had been the day before. In her mind she knew twenty-three wasn’t warm, but her body disagreed as it took to the southern warm wind like a sunny summer day. She hadn’t realized the degree of lift she would get from being outside, enjoying a lull in the cold. It didn’t matter that most likely the next day would be much colder, that the Arthurs would be holed up like prairie dogs again, their senses having to readjust to limited visual stimuli and stiff odors.

  Tommy and Katherine were busy clearing the snow from above the dugout. They took turns, one using a makeshift shovel and the other using their feet to push it away. Jeanie wrapped them both in her arms, nuzzling their faces with kisses.