B004XR50K6 EBOK

by Kathleen Shoop

  Jeanie waved Katherine over to the door. She made a funnel with her hands so, though she had to shout, she could more quietly than if they weren’t so close. “This can’t last. It must be a freak storm, like summer hail, it’ll be gone in a few minutes.” Katherine nodded and sat with her back against the door too, her head on her mother’s shoulder, wrapped up in her arms, shaking so hard that Jeanie couldn’t tell if it was Katherine or her own body quivering.

  Jeanie thought there was no way something like this could last, but she also knew she’d never experienced or heard of such a thing happening in the first place. As though someone had pulled the weather off the earth and replaced it with its polar opposite. Things like this didn’t just happen. Yet, there it was, crushing, unbearable weather, trapping them inside the earth, making Jeanie further consider the existence of God. And it did seem possible in those moments that if there was one, he was a surly fellow with some sort of score to settle.

  Two hours passed. Jeanie and Katherine attempted to move from the door, but the wind, stiffer than any that had plagued the dugout so far, kept blowing open the door. They hesitantly moved the chest with the books in front of it, afraid that if Frank, James or Tommy were attempting to come in, they wouldn’t be able to hear them knocking. The wind was so loud, unimaginably deafening that every so often Jeanie would attempt to talk in a normal voice just to remind her that the wind was blowing as hard as she thought it was.

  “This isn’t ending. The horses must be spooked. We can’t lose the animals. And buffalo chips or hanks, we need something to burn until the boys get back,” Jeanie said.

  Katherine nodded, her eyes glassy as though she felt what Jeanie did—that something about this storm was different, that its stark inception—crashing out of nowhere was the least of what would set it apart from others.

  Yale began to wail, stopping Jeanie from putting on Frank’s coat and hat. “I’ll feed her, Katherine, then I’ll tend to the animals and…well, I don’t know.” Jeanie rubbed her forehead and smoothed back the bangs that had popped from her bun and tickled her forehead.

  She ripped down her blouse and tried to relax, but knew her stiffness would keep the demanding Yale from settling in for a good meal. She was petulant as usual and until that moment, Jeanie had viewed that as just part of who Yale was. Now she viewed it as a big problem.

  Finally, the babe latched on to her breast and ate about half her normal take. After it was clear Yale was finished eating, Jeanie handed her to Katherine and ordered her to nuzzle the baby until she was back to sleep, hopefully, somehow unaware that she hadn’t eaten her normal fill.

  Jeanie buttoned up her blouse, pulled on long johns, extra socks, Frank’s coat, his hat, and even stuffed an extra set of socks into her coat just in case. For the first time on the prairie, Jeanie was grateful for her too big shoes. She drew another pair of socks over the first and jammed her feet into the ugly clodhoppers.

  Jeanie tended the fire, checked the water level in the barrel, and took a swig of coffee then water. She faced the stove, lifted her skirts and let the warmth travel up, hoping to trap extra. She took several deep breaths as though readying herself for what was waiting outside, but instead of tearing out of the house, she removed all of Frank’s outerwear and unbuttoned her blouse again.

  “Mama?” Katherine rocked Yale.

  “I’m going to dispense as much of this milk as I can. We have one more of those cups from Templeton that we didn’t use after Christmas. Then I’ll cover the milk with clean material, tie it on and set it right inside this bowl. We’ll fill the bowl with snow and every once in a while you’ll have to open the door and take a handful of snow to replenish the bowl. It’ll stay cool there for when you need it.

  “You’ll have to use this spoon or your finger to drip it into Yale’s mouth. But, don’t use your finger unless you’re absolutely sure it’s clean or she’ll get sick. Um,” Jeanie yanked on her breast as though milking a cow. “If the milk runs out, remember the most important thing is that she gets some liquid. Don’t give her lots of water, but if the milk is gone and I’m nowhere in sight, give her drips of water, just enough so that she keeps her pants wet. She has to keep making water. That’s how you’ll know she’s all right.”

  Katherine’s eyes grew wider then narrowed on her mother. “You sound like you’re not coming back.”

  Jeanie looked up from her breast. “Of course I’m coming back. But I just want to be sure the horses are tied and safe and I need to get fuel. I don’t trust this storm’s pattern. It started too strange. But if we don’t get something to burn and if I don’t attach this red cloth to the top of that shack we call a barn, if your brothers and father are out in the storm…they’ll never find this pit we call a home. They’ll walk right over it never to be seen again. And I can’t have that.”

  Katherine laid her cheek against her sister’s forehead and closed her eyes.

  “They’re safe, right? You can feel it like you did when we were caught in the fire, right?”

  Jeanie tucked her breast into her dress and buttoned up. “I don’t feel anything particular, right now. Except that the next thing I need to do, is to get something for fire and make our home noticeable from a distance. I won’t be long. Ten minutes is all it will take me.”

  Jeanie leaned over Katherine, kissed her cheek and inhaled the scent of both of them before standing and heading toward the door. Katherine grabbed Jeanie’s hand, pulling her back. She squeezed her mother’s fingers three times for I love you.

  “Come back quick. I’m not the mothering kind, you know.”

  “You are. We’re mothering people, we Arthurs.”

  “Still,” Katherine said.

  “I’ll return in five minutes.” Jeanie gave Katherine three squeezes of the hand.

  Katherine nodded and Jeanie turned from her, hiding the tears that rimmed her eyelids, telling Jeanie that despite all her willing the world to be the way she wanted, she wasn’t so sure she had the kind of power that this type of willing would require.

  Chapter 17

  Jeanie touched every item she needed. Frank’s hat, his coat, extra socks in his pockets, the red cloth to tie to the stick above the barn. Then she mentally drew a map of where she needed to go, knowing that as soon as she committed to the storm, the only way she would find her way to the barn and back would be to count every step, inventory every turn she took and follow the exact path back. Jeanie knew that the very short distance between the house and the barn would take exponentially longer to navigate than it did on a typical day.

  She took a deep breath at the door, slid the chest to the side and bent toward the wind, pushing through the doorway as though plowing through mud rather than thin air. She hung on the door knob until she was sure Katherine had slid the chest back and finally turned into the wind, focusing her mind on every step, and how the earth felt as it sloped up. She counted each step she took. Jeanie’d been caught in snow storms before, not been able to see, had to turn away from punishing winds, full of snow that pelted her like knives, but nothing she’d experienced prepared her for the current storm. She held her hand up, touched her face and drew it back a bit, just to be sure, sure that she hadn’t gone crazy, that in fact it was true that she couldn’t see two inches in front of her nose. Whatever storm had befallen them, it was not typical in any sense. And by the time Jeanie decided checking on the horses, gathering fuel, and tying a cloth to the barn was not a profitable idea, she’d wandered too far not to finish her task.

  Jeanie didn’t know how much time had passed when she realized she’d expended her mental energy just telling her body how to stay upright, she’d no idea at which point the land sloped which way or how many steps she took. She bent at the knees, chin tucked to her chest, heaving for breath, but only taking in searing granules of ice. She righted herself, trying to find a glimmer of the sun, to locate the ghoulish outline that often came with cloudy stormy weather.

  But, every time she raised her face t
o look, ice pierced her eyeballs and when she’d look away, shutting her eyes, the ice would crust across her lashes, sealing her lids until she warmed the lashes enough with her glove to open her eyes. The only sense she could apply to actions seemed to be the mantra she began to say keepyoureyesopenkeepyoureyesopenkeepyoureyesopen.

  The wind ripped in several directions at once and in an odd instance, it stilled, the particles of ice and snow hanging there long enough for Jeanie to realize she could see. She turned her head, and caught the sight of a clump of brown. The olive trees! Jeanie knew if she could rest against one of them for a moment she could reorient herself and head directly northwest to the barn from there. So quickly, Jeanie had to pray the lull had actually happened, the winds tangled up from all directions, again. Dropping her head and shoulder into the wind, she ruptured a seam in the wind and pushed ahead.

  She’d gathered her wits enough, focused on the barn ahead, forcing the thoughts associated with cold from her mind. If she didn’t acknowledge the cold air—so icy it felt three-dimensional, as though if stilled and turned on its side it could hold a cup of water—the way it froze in her nose, making her swipe at it cutting the skin, feeling blood seep warm, then beginning the reclogging again.

  Jeanie trudged, pushing her legs forward, losing time, though sure she would reach the barn any second. Her lungs felt as though they were cementing in her chest as they grew used to the searing cold and she adapted a more shallow breath pattern. She bowed into the wind, and as she did, it let up again, the swirling snow and exploding particles of ice stopping mid-air. As the atmosphere stilled, Jeanie raised her head, seeing the outline of the olive trees again.

  She plodded faster at that thought, giving up on the idea that she would find the animals, and finally letting her mind go to Katherine and Yale. The storm kicked up again and the lull had given enough space in the air for Jeanie to note that it had turned from day to night. Sunset, maybe a little after five o’clock. When that happened, Jeanie couldn’t have said; she didn’t notice in the blackout caused by the avalanche of white.

  Jeanie finally reached the trees. And it was at the first tree in the bunch that Jeanie began to hear the sounds of Frank’s violin, the dark, slow version of Marie Antoinette’s song that he fancied. Another boost to her confidence. Frank was in the home, with the kids, keeping their minds off their missing mother by playing the violin. Thank you, Lord, for dear Frank. Jeanie knew he would have managed to make things right when they needed him most.

  So, holding onto one tree then the next, and so on, she finally reached the front door where she pounded with her gloved hand, hoping they would hear her over the storm and violin.

  Jeanie leaned against the door, her forehead there, eyes shut, the ice finding its way in between her and the door, freezing her eyes closed as she banged on it with her frozen fist. Finally the door groaned open and Jeanie fell inside, feeling immediately a hard wood floor, knowing even with her eyes iced shut that she had stumbled off course and into the home of someone else.

  Jeanie rolled to her back, her thoughts tangling among themselves…where was she? The babythebabythebabymyKatherine-myKatherineJamesTommyFrank.

  She felt hands on her shoulders propping her up, someone rubbing her back, pulling at her. She realized ice had formed in her ears and it muffled the voices of the people who were handling her. She couldn’t even hear her own words as she repeatedly said she needed to get back out to go home to find her children, that if she thawed she’d never make it back home, but the hands kept rubbing her back, the voices, though muddled were clearly tension filled, as though bickering. Maybe about how to approach the process of thawing her out.

  How long had she been out? How frozen was she? Her lashes melted first and as water worked its way under her lids, she could feel again, she opened her eyes and looked around, then twisted her body to see who it was caring for her.

  And there, behind her, kneeling with expressions of horror on their faces were Frank and Ruthie.

  Frank? Ruthie? Where am I? Your house? How did I get all the way here? I was only outside for twenty minutes, thirty at the most. To check the animals and get some fuel. Jeanie covered her mouth and stared at the two of them. It sunk into her mind hard that all four of her children were separated from their parents and two of them were without adults at all.

  Frank grabbed Jeanie by the shoulders and started to pull her up.

  “Yes, yes, get me up. I have to go back to the house. Northeast will take us home to Yale and Katherine and James and Tommy. Where are they? Oh my God. I can’t have nursed that miniscule baby to health to have her die because I lost my bearings in a storm.”

  “No,” Ruthie said, “don’t have her stand yet. She probably saved herself by not stopping in the storm, but her blood is cold and if she stands up before her body temperature warms, it’ll freeze her heart. She’ll die.”

  Jeanie stopped struggling, the words of Ruthie and Frank sounded garbled to her, as though they were slurring, though making sense at the same time. Jeanie’s own words felt like solid masses inside her frozen mouth. She wondered if any of them were understandable. “That’s right. That happened to Pete Carroll last year when…you go, Frank. Go to the house and, and, I’ll expel some milk into a cup and you take it to Yale and drip it into her mouth like we did…”

  “No one’s going anywhere. It’s seven o’clock—”

  “Seven o’clock?” Jeanie said. “I couldn’t have been out for three hours. That’s not possible and if it is then Yale will starve, she’ll starve! Katherine will freeze. They don’t have enough fuel! Tommy had to take Greta back before getting buffalo chips and the hanks will only last an hour or so. You have to go, Frank. They’re your children.”

  “That storm will have me into the next township if I attempt to go out,” Frank said.

  “Then I’ll go,” Jeanie struggled to get her feet under her, but they were thick as though actual ice blocks were tied underneath them, the pain that suddenly pulsed through them felt as though it were fire surging through her veins.

  “You’ll die and then what will we do?” Frank said.

  Jeanie closed her eyes and struggled to breathe. The children! She couldn’t stop thinking of them. She knew she couldn’t walk, that she’d never make it ten feet from Ruthie’s house with her body already staggered from the temperature change, she’d die for sure either freezing or her heart giving out. She closed her eyes, willing herself to calm down, to find some strength and with it a solution.

  She tried to open her eyes yet exhaustion overcame her still, while she ran the facts of the situation through her mind. Frank and Ruthie had clearly been in the house since the storm started or long enough that each sustained normal body temperature. One of them could go. That was the way it was on the prairie, one of them would just have to risk their lives for the children.

  Jeanie tried to form the words, ready to tell Frank to do exactly what his fatherly gut should have already told him to do. She mumbled and lifted her head toward the voices of Ruthie and Frank. Why aren’t they helping me?

  Jeanie forced her eyes open. Across the room in the kitchen, she watched Ruthie, wearing a night-robe, pour tea, as Frank, in his long johns, shoveled buffalo chips into the stove. Jeanie reached out. They didn’t notice her hand extended toward them.

  They stopped their chores to gaze at one another as though lovers.

  Jeanie dropped her head back down to the floor. She was hallucinating. She’d heard of the great damage cold could do. She must have lost her mind along with the numbing of the rest of her senses. She looked back again. Ruthie, still embraced in Frank’s gaze, reached up and traced his lips with her finger.

  Jeanie’s mouth fell open.

  Frank parted his lips and took Ruthie’s finger into his mouth, smiling around it as though they’d just discovered the secret to happiness and long life.

  Jeanie closed her mouth and ground her teeth so hard she nearly cracked a tooth. She breathed heavily a
s her mind seemed to lift itself from her body, filling her with grief she’d never imagined anymore than she’d ever entertained the notion that Frank could possibly be interested in Ruthie of all people. Ruthie.

  “Ruuuuuuuthhhhhhieeeee,” Jeanie bellowed across the room. The lovers flew apart. Ruthie jumped back into the stove setting the sleeve of her robe on fire.

  The fire sizzled up her sleeve so quickly it burnt off some of her mousy hair before Frank was able to tackle Ruthie to the floor and roll the flames out.

  Jeanie sobbed, watching them from across the room, on her knees, body pulsing, understanding what her mind didn’t. How could this have happened? How could she come to be sitting in a friend’s home during a blizzard while her children were unattended and her husband was well-tended by another woman? The dowdy friend.

  Jeanie’s ears were useless, feeling as clogged as they had when they’d been ice filled, as though her confused thoughts were so real they took up space in her head, blocking out noise. She could see them talking, heads together, comforting one another, but she had no idea what their exact words were.

  Jeanie knew she was sobbing loudly, she could feel it as her shoulders rose and fell and she watched Frank look back at Jeanie from atop Ruthie after extinguishing the fire on her robe. His face scrunched up as though he were crying. He was crying, though she couldn’t hear him. Ruthie’s body heaved also, crying, but not looking toward Jeanie.

  “You are not allowed to cry, Frank Arthur! You are not allowed to feel anything but despicable shame. Our children are lost in this storm, I was lost in this storm and you’re here playing the violin, making love to another woman. Where’s Lutie? I thought. I was sure…”

  Jeanie lurched up to her feet and then forward, lumbering toward the lovers. Ruthie and Frank’s faces were aghast, as though Jeanie were a spirit that had risen from the dead, as though she’d been a danger to them instead of them being a danger to everything Jeanie valued in life.