The Unplowed Sky

by Jeanne Williams

  “Good enough.” Garth nodded.

  Hallie served another piece of pie to each man, sad at parting with them though she comforted herself that she’d see all of them but Jim next summer. Still, she was vastly relieved that she and Jackie would have a home with Shaft until threshing time. And though she knew it wasn’t wise, she couldn’t keep from rejoicing that, for at least one more season, she would see Garth every day, prepare his food, and help with his work.

  The great cottonwoods on Garth’s side of the creek gloried in the sun’s last rays and beyond them, that breadth of unplowed prairie with its myriad gold and purple flowers and many-hued grasses was a different world from Raford’s stubbled fields across the road, planted and harvested down to the ditch.

  Raford’s lands were indeed broken to the plow. As far as the eye could reach, there was not a tree, nor a thicket of sandhill plums, buckthorn, or chokecherry to gladden wild creatures. Along his side of the creek, even the low-growing willows had been chopped away. There were no tangles of wild grapes, elders, or virgin’s bower to give food and shelter to birds and beasts. Raford, of course, would view foxes, raccoons, skunks, gophers, coyotes and porcupines as vermin, nor would he extend hospitality to grain-loving crows and blackbirds.

  That Garth had not plowed that breadth of rich primordial prairie with its luxuriant creek fringe of trees, shrubs, and vines that gave sanctuary to wild things somehow made Hallie admire him more than anything else he had done, though she respected the way he had stood up to Raford, risking everything he owned, and the easy good nature with which he kept his crew and machinery running through searing sunup to sundown days. These things proved Garth a man of endurance and courage. But his sparing the most valuable land on his farm because it was wild and beautiful and necessary to other creatures showed a tender side of his nature that let Hallie dare hope a woman still might reach his heart.

  The Model Ts rattled across the bridge. Hallie and Shaft had taken Henry’s and Lefty’s places in Jim’s flivver. The engine, with its caravan, stopped at the bridge. Garth went to examine it, as he did every time they came to one. He made a grimace of disgust and shouted something to Rory that Hallie couldn’t hear above the noise of the engine. Rory shrugged and made an impatient gesture.

  “Raford’s had the bridge worked on some but it still doesn’t suit Garth,” Shaft said in Hallie’s ear. “Still, there’s not much choice exceptin’ to plank it unless Garth wants to leave his whole outfit on this side of the creek, which he don’t. He’ll heed the engine to plant his wheat, and he always gets the separator under cover for the winter.”

  The men in the flivvers jumped out to stretch the planks across the metal surface as they had done so many times during the run. This was the last one. And it was on the other side of the creek, beneath Garth’s cottonwoods, that Hallie and Jackie had been resting when they first heard and saw the engine and Rory had given that whistling salute.

  He was giving it again, like a challenge to Raford; an announcement that the outfit was home after completing a run that would at least keep it in business. The engine clanked across the shrieking bridge. The separator followed, Garth on the platform. The cookshack bumped across. Meg was perched on her throne, the seat of the tank wagon.

  The wagon was halfway across when the groaning planks cracked as the bridge beneath gave way. To Hallie’s terrified eyes, it seemed to explode in a chaos of sundered metal and wood. Some fell with the wagon into the creek fifteen feet below. Other parts flew in a rain of splinters and metal fragments.

  Rusty Wells screamed. He fumbled at a jagged shard thrusting from his inner thigh. Jets of blood spurted through clothing and his hands. Garth, Rory, and some of the men were already lunging down the bank to Meg, who had not made a sound since her first horrified cry as the wagon dropped.

  Hallie and Shaft ran to Rusty who had either sat down or collapsed. Luke bent over the big man, trying in vain to stop the bleeding with slender brown hands. Hallie ripped off the bottom of her slip. Shaft clutched a shattered piece of wood, took the cloth, and tied it around Rusty’s leg. Bright arterial blood, pumped from the heart, still trickled through Luke’s hands. Shaft slid the wood beneath the tourniquet and rotated it to tighten the cloth. The pulsing became a seep, but Rusty had lost consciousness and lay in a pool of blood, more than Hallie would have guessed to be in a human body.

  “Pumped out fast through that big artery,” Shaft gritted. “We got to get him to a hospital. And Meg, is she—?”

  Garth and Rory, aided by the others, trudged up from the creek with Meg stretched motionless on the wagon’s tailgate. The shallow cut on her forehead didn’t amount to much but her breathing was fast and labored, and her pallid face was bedewed with sweat.

  “I’m afraid it’s her spine,” Garth said. His face was white as his daughter’s. His eyes were anguished. “Hate to jolt her over this road—”

  Hallie ran for the shack. “Let’s tie her in place with sheets and pillows and cushion the board as much as we can!” As she snatched bedding from the box-benches, she heard Garth command, “Buford, you go ahead with Rusty—go fast as you can! If you put him in back and prop that leg up, maybe Luke can squeeze in or lean over from the front and make sure the tourniquet doesn’t slip. Tell the hospital folks we’re coming.”

  Hallie’s throat ached and she blinked back tears as she firmed pillows on either side of Meg’s curly head. Oh, let her not be hurt much! Let her be all right! Overwhelmed by the helplessness she’d felt at her father’s deathbed, Hallie marveled at how fragile people and life could be—Rusty hearty and well one second, bleeding to death the next, Meg whistling a jaunty tune till the instant the bridge gave way.

  Meg didn’t stir as they bound her and the padding to the board with torn sheets. Jackie whimpered and clutched at Hallie, but Rich Mondell scooped him up and took him off to “take care of Smoky.”

  Shaft heaped bedding in the backseat and crawled in on one side to steady and support the board that rested across the padded back of the front seat with Garth holding it from the passenger’s side. Hallie got in back and gripped her side of the board. She knew that Rich and Baldy would look after her brother and probably soothe his fears better than she could.

  Jim drove as carefully as he could, but the board seemed to jounce unmercifully and Hallie flinched with every bump. They passed the Rafords’ imposing house, set well back from the dust of the road, the lemon yellow Pierce-Arrow gleaming from the garage.

  With a bitter glance toward his enemy’s palatial estate, Garth said, “I told Raford to fix that bridge. When I saw he hadn’t, I shouldn’t have gone across.”

  “What else could you do, boss?” Jim shot him a startled glance across Meg’s swathed form. “Wait there till they put in a new bridge?”

  “I should have left the machinery and wagons on the other side and then raised hell till the bridge was safe.”

  “Boss, if you start thinkin’ like that, you’d never get out of bed. What is life except takin’ one chance after another?”

  “I had no business taking them for everybody else. If Meg or Rusty—” Garth’s voice broke.

  Hallie ached for him, but could think of nothing to say. Far ahead swirled the fog of dust churned by Buford’s flivver. He could drive as fast as he could. Rusty had no injury except the one draining his life’s blood. Rusty, who had laboriously scratched a letter to his wife each Sunday. Rusty, who had three little kids …

  It seemed an eternity before they pulled up behind Buford’s Model T at the back of the hospital. A gray-haired nurse came out at once, examined their first aid with a practiced eye, and said, “You’ve done a good job. We’re short on attendants. You bring her in.”

  “The man who was just brought in?” Garth asked as he and Jim lifted Meg and went through the door. “Rusty Wells?”

  The nurse shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

  “He—he’s dead?” Hallie gasped.

  “Dead when he got here.”

>   Oh, Rusty! And poor Luke. How will he tell his sister? How will she tell the children? And poor Garth. Luke and Buford came down the hall, heads bowed. Suddenly Luke stopped and leaned against the wall, shoulders heaving.

  Buford put an awkward arm around the younger man’s shoulder. “Shaft, will you help here?” Garth gave his end of the board to the cook. Frightened as he was about his daughter, he hurried over to Luke. Hallie hesitated, torn between running to Luke or staying with Meg.

  Deciding it was best to let Garth be with Luke for a little while, she followed Meg’s procession into a small room. The men gently placed the board on a high, narrow bed and stood back, looking hopefully at the nurse.

  “Please go to the waiting room,” she told them as she took shears and cut swiftly through the ripped sheets and Meg’s clothes, lifting them away as much as possible without moving the girl and draping her with a sheet. Meg groaned and lifted her hand. “Come hold her hands and keep her still,” the nurse said to Hallie. “Are you a member of the family?”

  “A friend.” Meg and Garth might not agree with that and Hallie, as she clasped the girl’s chilly hands, hoped Meg wouldn’t be upset if she roused enough to know who was standing by her.

  “Well, you may stay if you like. The doctor will be here any minute.”

  The white-coated doctor and Garth arrived at the same time. Hallie stepped back as the bearded young man applied his stethoscope to Meg’s chest and abdomen and then examined her with searching fingers, checking her neck and spine and pelvis with special care.

  She moaned and Garth stepped to her head and took her hands, talking softly. Her eyelids fluttered. “Daddy?”

  “I’m here, honey. Just keep still.” She obeyed, but her eyes moved. They widened as she saw the nurse and doctor.

  “What—what happened?”

  “Do you remember?” the doctor asked with an encouraging smile.

  Meg frowned. Then her face twisted. “The bridge—I was so scared! I tried to jump and—and something hit my head.”

  The doctor and nurse exchanged relieved looks. “Now that you’re back with us, young lady,” said the doctor, “let’s see how well your brain can boss your body around. Can you wiggle your fingers? Your toes?”

  Assured that Meg was in no danger of dying, Hallie slipped out and found Shaft and Jim and Buford outside with Luke. “I’ll take you home,” Jim was saying. “Shall I go talk to the undertaker and see about having the coffin sent on the train? We’ll get there before it does, but is there someone you want to telephone now?”

  Luke shook his head. “I must be there when I tell my sister. Anyway, the nearest telephones are in town.” He straightened his shoulders. “The undertaker will need money. I will talk to him.”

  Buford said, “We’ll go with you, son. Undertakers generally try to talk a family into spending all they’ve got on a coffin, which is sure not what Rusty would want.”

  Shaft cut in, “Garth told me he’ll pay for the coffin and everything. And we’re all chipping in some of our wages for you to give Rusty’s wife, Luke.”

  “You worked hard for that money,” Luke said. “Buford, I know you are still paying for your Ford; and Jim, you have that engine and separator to buy.”

  “We’ll be working this winter,” Jim said. “We’ve got no one but ourselves to worry about. Rusty won’t ever work for his family again.”

  “I’ll work for my sister,” Luke said.

  “All the same, we want to help.” Jim glanced around at the others who nodded agreement. “I’ll give the collection to your sis if you won’t, Luke.”

  Hallie took his hands gently in hers. “Think about her and the children, Luke, not your pride. We all want to help. Please let us.”

  His eyes glistened. After a moment, he said, “My sister will be grateful. So will I. Always.”

  The undertaker was just across the street. They all helped choose a coffin that was simple but dignified. Buford stayed to settle the bill. Garth came out of the hospital as the little group walked toward it.

  “She can’t move her legs,” he said at their questioning glances. “She’ll be in the hospital for at least a few more days.” His haunted eyes rested on Luke. “Have you—”

  Jim explained the arrangements. “We can drive all night. Don’t reckon we could sleep anyhow. Guess we’ll drive back for Luke’s and Rusty’s things and then keep going.”

  “I suppose that’s best.” Garth passed a hand across his face as if trying to clear his mind. “Luke, I told you I feel to blame. I’m going to send Rusty’s family money till the kids are old enough to hold paying jobs.”

  “My sister—our family—won’t want that.”

  “But—”

  “If it was Rusty’s time, it would have happened wherever he was, whatever he was doing. Threshing is dangerous. Rusty knew that. You must not let this eat at your heart, Mr. MacLeod.”

  Garth started to protest, but Luke raised his voice. “We don’t need much cash money. We raise most of our food. Rusty saved enough this summer to buy a team of mules. I am going to buy another cow. Then we can sell cream and butter. And next summer I would like to work for you again.”

  Garth looked as if the breath had been knocked out of him. At the moment, he probably didn’t feel like ever taking his outfit down a road again. After a moment, he put out his hand and shook Luke’s. “You’ll have a job with me as long as I have a rig. But let me pay for some more cows. I can see it’s better for your sister to have income off her own little dairy than take money from me.”

  The younger man gazed at him, then slowly inclined his head. “If that is your wish. Is it all right for me to tell Meg good-bye?”

  “I’ll go in with you,” Garth said. He paused, his face bleak. “I haven’t told her about Rusty. Would you mind if I do that after she’s better?”

  “I’ll just tell her to get well,” said Luke. The two went in together. Hallie buried her face against Shaft’s shoulder and wept. She couldn’t believe that solid, kind, fun-loving Rusty was dead. And Meg! What if the girl was crippled? How would Garth endure that? Hallie’s heart ached for him, ached that there was so little she could do, and ached even worse because she was sure he wouldn’t accept even that little.

  XII

  Rory had taken the machinery, cookshack, coal wagon, and battered, splintered tank wagon on to the MacLeod farm. When the Model Ts returned in the twilight, Rory, with Baldy and Rich waited in and around an old Ford truck while Jackie drowsed against the patient Laird with Smoky in his lap. The back of the truck was heaped with the men’s bedrolls and suitcases, but the tailgate was covered with objects covered by a clean sheet.

  In a tightly controlled voice, Garth told Rory what had happened. “I’m going back to stay with Meg as soon as Jim and Luke get off,” he finished.

  Rory looked dazed. Turning away, he swept the sheet off an array of cold food. “There was plenty of stuff in the cookshack for supper. Thought we could eat right here before the boys take off.”

  “Good thinking.” Garth’s drawn face relaxed slightly as he looked gratefully at his brother.

  “I’m not hungry,” Luke said, but Jim handed him a thick sandwich.

  “You’ve got to hold yourself together, kid.”

  Hallie forced herself to chew a little bread and cheese. She kept thinking of Rusty, who had relished his meals more than anyone on the crew, and who would never enjoy his food again. And Meg. She must be frightened alone there in the hospital, unable to move her legs. Let her be all right, Hallie prayed again with all her strength. She gladly would have stayed with Meg but was sure the girl would much rather have Garth and, failing him, Rory or Shaft. Anyone but Hallie.

  There was a tug at Hallie’s skirt. She looked down into Jackie’s scared eyes. “Meg’ll get all well, won’t she?”

  “We hope so, honey. She’s awake now, and that’s good. The nurse and doctor are nice. They’ll take good care of her.”

  “Can I go see her?” />
  Hallie didn’t look at Shaft. He might feel now that he should stay at Garth’s to be of help. “You’ll get to see her when she’s well enough, dear.”

  Buford was moving around unobtrusively to collect money for Rusty’s wife. Hallie reclaimed her purse from the flivver. On the way from town, she had calculated how much she and Jackie would need to live for several months if it took that long to find a job. She left that in the battered envelope and gave Jackie three ten-dollar bills to put in the cloth cap Buford wore since tossing his straw one in the separator.

  There was a fat bundle of bills when Buford slipped a rubber band around them, and Hallie was sure few of them were ones. With Garth’s donation for cows and Luke’s and Rusty’s wages, the family would have enough cash to get well on their feet. It couldn’t assuage grief but it could prevent a lot of worry.

  All the men shook hands with Luke and said they hoped to work with him next year. Hallie embraced him and kissed his cheek. Luke dropped to one knee to meet Jackie’s fierce hug. He smoothed away the boy’s tears and ruffled the hair that was black as his own, but curly.

  “Remember, Jack. Find a place when the leaves fall where you can watch the prairie chickens boom and dance. Hunt for the same tracks in the snow that I showed you in the mud by the creek. Keep your eyes and ears open, and next summer you can teach me things.”

  Jackie clung to the slender young man who was really little more than a boy himself, though he was now the man of his sister’s house as well as his mother’s. “You will come back, Luke? Next summer?” No wonder he wanted assurance. His father had died, his mother gone away, and he had just seen a man fatally hurt and Meg injured.

  “I’ll come, Jack. When the wheat is harvested and the oats and barley are ready, I’ll come.”

  The child could still not quite let him go. “Don’t get old, Luke!”