by Harold Bakst
“Thanks, Fred. That means a lot to me.”
There was a long silence. “Then go, Walt. God be with you.”
Jennifer still shuddered when she recalled those words, “God be with you.” A wave of fury came over her as she sat before Walter’s grave. She had always counted on her father to protect her, to speak out for her—but just when she needed him most…
The sun was now slipping into the grass on the western horizon. The sky, however, was flat and grey and didn’t blush with the usual color. Jennifer rose to her feet and brushed her skirt. It was best to go before it got too dark to see. She looked toward the wagon and ox. Beyond was the inviting East. She closed her eyes a moment and followed the wagon wheel ruts back over the eastern horizon…
Dipping here, rising there, crinkling, flattening out, treeless but for those rare clefts of sheltered streambeds lined with willows, the prairie she had crossed in her bone-jarring wagon journey rolled back before her shut lids like a magic lantern show. Once more she saw that miserable highway, posted with the grave markers of would-be settlers and strewn with the discarded relics of civilization: a table here, a chair there, even a harmonium at one spot. She remembered painfully how some of her own furniture—her embroidered ottoman, her dresser, porch chairs—had to be jettisoned during a heavy rain so that the oxen, led by Walter, who often went on foot to further lighten the beasts’ burden, could haul the wagon through the mud.
Once more she came to the spot where Walter, again on foot, led the oxen and wagon off the path to let by a creaky and dilapidated prairie schooner returning eastward. The driver, unshaven and drawn, didn’t stop to talk, but nodded blankly as he passed. When the wagons had cleared each other, Jennifer, sitting alone on the seat, looked back into the rear of the receding schooner and saw a cluster of silent, hollow-eyed children staring back at her. Where was their mother?
Jennifer shook off that terrible memory and quickened her return journey. Farther east, the prairie was more lush, and the grasses grew so tall that they had nearly swallowed up Jennifer’s prairie schooner, but for its arching cloth covering. Standing on the ground and looking up at the swaying grass tops, she had felt as if she were a tiny insect in a giant’s backyard, and she almost expected to see on the horizon a monstrously large, white, picket fence rising up into the heavens. How painfully slow had been the wagon’s progress through those grasses! The days came and went, the wagon’s wheels turned and turned, but always the same grass-scape and big sky made it seem as if the Vandermeers hadn’t progressed at all; that no matter how far they went, they remained in the same spot.
Now, however, in her mind’s eye, Jennifer could fly as fast as she wished: back past the rolling Missouri hills, swaths of furrowed fields, farm houses and windmills, across the barge-filled Mississippi to the Illinois side, whereupon she dashed through better rooted prairie communities of schoolhouses and church spires, until the trail brought her back to a border of tall sunflowers, whose bright, orange faces signaled the end of the grasslands. Behind them was the tangled screen of gnarly crabapple and sumac, and behind them at last the great eastern forest, which cloaked the vast sky with a leafy canopy all the way to the Wabash River and the awaiting Indiana shore, where macadamized roads and ever more villages prompted Jennifer on to her Ohio…
But before Jennifer could find her own bosky lane, her reverie was broken. The ox had lowed fretfully. Jennifer opened her eyes. The air was darker. The ox stamped its hooves, tossed its head, and snorted as it tried to back up, fighting the wagon wheel break. Jennifer spun and looked about. She gasped.
Trotting in the gloom among the infringing grasses and tilted headstones were the grey, shadowy forms of wolves.
Chapter Five
Wolf Country
Her eyes wide and darting from one shadowy form to another, Jennifer backed slowly toward the wagon. She dared not make any sudden move. Walter had once told her and the children, “If wolves ever come upon you in the open, don’t run. It’ll only trigger them to attack.”
For now, the wolves seemed calm. Indeed, they hardly acknowledged Jennifer or the ox. They sniffed around the headstones, a few pawed at the fresh dirt over Walter’s grave, and one wolf, its tail held high, urinated on an inscribed plank. Other wolves disappeared and reappeared in the tall grasses, which were beginning to wave in a growing wind, unveiling previously hidden grave markers at the edges of the cemetery.
Standing beside the wagon now, Jennifer counted the wolves—two, three, four, five—But each time she thought she counted the whole pack, other wolves appeared—eight, nine, ten—
The ox lowed fitfully and shoved the wagon backward, the unyielding wagon wheel skidding a foot along the ground. Jennifer grabbed the wagon and pulled herself up onto the seat. From her higher vantage point, she could see, to her horror, still more wolf heads threading through the blowing grasses around the cemetery. One wolf rolled around on its back, then rose to its feet and sniffed the flattened spot. Two others chased and growled at each other. Yet another, its ears perked, its eyes locked onto the ground, seemed to be stalking something small, like a rodent.
The sun had now nearly set, and everything was fading into a dark greyness. Jennifer reached down into the jockey box at her feet. As a homesteader, Walter always tried to be prepared, and she prayed he had his old Army .45 down there. Though she had never fired a gun, she was prepared to do so now. Perhaps even the mere sound of a shot would scare the pack away.
She rummaged through the box. Its contents were still visible. There was a hammer, some beef jerkey, a tin of tobacco, bullets even, but no gun. There was, however, a coal oil lantern and matches. Jennifer removed the lantern and lit it. The glow spread slowly out, recasting pale light upon the ground. Headstones reemerged from the gloom. Some of the near wolves, their attention caught by the lantern, lowered their heads, as if trying to see under the light. Their eyes glowed eerily. Jennifer hung the lantern on a bent nail embedded in the jockey box. But as she lifted the reins and raised her eyes, terror gripped her. She couldn’t believe what she saw. Swarming in the grasses outside the cemetery were still more glowing pairs of eyes, almost like fireflies in the summer evening. It seemed to Jennifer she was surrounded by at least fifty or sixty wolves.
The ox raised its head and lowed into the starless sky. Jennifer gently flicked the reins. The ox tried to move forward, only to struggle against the wagon wheel break. Flustered, Jennifer released it. She flicked the reins again. “Go,” she hissed. The ox tried to bolt, but Jennifer held him to a walk. One wolf that had been lying down in front jumped to its feet and trotted out of the way.
The wagon rolled down the little hill on a nearly invisible, narrow trail. The lantern swung, throwing swelling and shrinking shadows upon the grass, teeming with wolves. No matter how far the wagon went, no matter which way she looked, Jennifer saw still more wolves. Nearby, they were grey and shadowy. Farther off, they were only those glowing eyes.
The pack seemed endless. But Jennifer realized it really wasn’t. Rather, it was following the wagon. This wasn’t obvious at first because the wolves just seemed to be there at every stretch of the way. But then Jennifer lifted her lantern to extend the range of its light, and she saw that she was the hub of a moving pack, some of whose members trotted alongside the wagon, others of whom ran ahead to wait for the wagon to catch up. Jennifer wondered why the wolves didn’t attack. Surely a fat ox and a not-so-fat woman were tempting enough prey. All she could figure, and hope for, was that they had already eaten.
She returned the lantern to the bent nail. Her eyes watered. She pictured her children as orphans stranded so far from home. A tear dribbled down her cheek. She was sorely tempted to set the ox running, but she knew he would never out-distance wolves.
One troublemaker began to worry her. He was a skinny thing, and he kept nipping at the ox’s rear left hoof. The ox didn’t seem to notice, or—if oxen were so capable—he was choosing to ignore the pest. But it was only a matter of time
, thought Jennifer, before the wolf took a real bite. Then the ox would lunge, and the hunt would be on.
Jennifer continued steadfastly through the grass until she came to the clear rutted trail that lead to the Baker homestead. Along this trail she rode at the same slow rate, ever accompanied by her horrific escorts. It seemed like an eternity, but Jennifer at last saw in the black distance a solitary light, a beacon: the Baker soddy.
Again, Jennifer was tempted to flick the reins and make a dash for it, screaming as she went. Then Seth Baker might come out with his rifle and shoot at the wolves. But even as she considered this, she knew it would as likely be suicidal for her.
Then she noticed something—the grasses were empty. The wolves were gone.
Jennifer turned in every direction. She raised the lantern over her head. She saw nothing within its glow now but the billowing sea-like waves of grass, beneath which, so it seemed, the wolf pack had plunged to some greater depth.
Later, as Jennifer arrived at the Baker soddy, her heart racing, she noted two wagons and two mules tied up outside. Through the parted red window curtains she saw some of the neighbors who had been to the burial. Only now did she start feeling safe. Even so, before stepping down, she looked about to see if the wolves were stalking her. She saw mostly the night, except where the soddy’s light was illuminating the ground, the horses, and the elm’s rough trunk.
But Jennifer was still reluctant to get off the wagon. She listened. She heard the murmuring voices inside the soddy and the wind blowing across the unseen expanse. And still she couldn’t help but feel that the wolves were hunkering down in the grass just waiting for her to come within reach. She was angry that no one had heard her wagon pull up, and she was tempted to call out. But then she’d feel like the hysterical fool. So, summoning her courage, she lowered herself from the wagon, tied the ox to the hitching post alongside another wagon, and hurried in, carrying the lantern with her.
“Jennifer, we were about to send out a search party for you,” scolded Lucy, hurrying over to the door.
Jennifer, her body trembling, craned her neck and surveyed the dimly lit room, which was hardly bigger than her own dugout and just as cramped, especially with all the guests. The low ceiling, made of brush, was kept up by long pole beams. A section in the middle was covered by cheese cloth, perhaps to decorate the ceiling, or perhaps to keep dirt from sprinkling onto the table. The windows were hung with red calico curtains, the walls were plastered, and there was a fireplace, which was constructed like the rest of the house, from blocks of sod. “Peter and Emma,” said Jennifer, “where are they?”
Lucy had barely pointed to them in a comer, talking with her own three children, when Jennifer dashed to them, her eyes overflowing with tears. She crouched, putting the lantern on the hard floor, and she embraced and rocked them while the Baker children and the adults watched. One of the neighbors stepped up behind her.
“My wife, Hattie, sends her sympathies,” he said in a deep, hoarse voice. “She’s laid up and couldn’t come.”
Jennifer rose to her feet and wiped her cheek with her fingers. Standing before her was the square-built, older man with short, white hair she had first seen in Franz Hoffmann’s store.
“There were wolves,” she began. “So many wolves…”
The square-built man raised his white eyebrows. “Did they bother you?”
“I’ve never imagined there could be so many at once…” “
They are unnerving,” agreed Lucy, stepping forward. “But you’re all right now.” She led Jennifer to the rough-hewn table in the center of the room. “You just sit and eat something. We’ve got fresh prairie chicken and plenty of combread.”
Nancy’s lanky husband, Will, quickly rose from his seat at the table and offered it to Jennifer. “Excuse me,” he said, his prominent Adam’s apple rising and falling along his slender throat.
Jennifer sat, but was distracted. “Have the children?…”
“They ate a while ago,” said Lucy, hurrying to the fireplace. “Tend to yourself now.”
“Awfully sorry about your husband,” said Will, backing awkwardly out of Lucy’s way.
“They were all around me,” continued Jennifer. “I thought surely they were going to attack. I felt so—vulnerable.”
“Yeah, there are no trees to climb, and you can’t outrun them,” said the square-built man, trying to find a place to sit. “By the way, my name’s Aaron. Aaron Whittaker.”
“Still, I prefer wolves to a certain person,” said Seth Baker, straddling a chair.
“Uh-huh, getting back to that,” said Aaron Whittaker, “like I was saying, I talked to a few people, and they agree with me…”
Jennifer wondered what they were all suddenly referring to. It seemed as if her presence had interrupted some discussion even though, ostensibly, everyone was there to see her. “
I tell you, he’s up to no good. Did you know he’s been sending homesteaders away?”
“Oh, stop and think a moment, will you? He’s a government land agent!”
“Yeah, and he seems to own most of the land in town! I tell you, he’s got something cooking!”
“With the railroad?” “
And the cattle interests, yes…”
Jennifer only barely listened. She felt uneasy, realizing that Nancy Camp had been standing off aways and staring at her solemnly with her big, doe-like eyes. Lucy, meanwhile, set a plate down before her. “I’ll fetch you some coffee,” she said. Jennifer tried to eat, but she had no appetite.
Finally, Nancy Camp approached the table. She sat down cater-cornered to Jennifer. “How are you feeling?” she asked, touching Jennifer’s hand.
“Those wolves…”
“I know. Sometimes their howls keep me awake at night.”
“It seems to me he oughtn’t be a land agent then,” growled Aaron Whittaker.
“I say we all go into town the first thing in the morning to talk with him,” said Lucy to everyone as she brought Jennifer her coffee.
“I agree,” said Will. “Let’s confront him on this!”
“Perhaps he thinks we’re blind to him,” said Lucy, “or maybe that farm folk are stupid.”
Nancy shook her head in admiration. “Will you listen to her? My, I wish I were as strong. She’s been gabbing with the men all evening about that Bill Wilkes.” Nancy stopped to listen again.
“No one made him king,” Lucy was saying. “This is farming land, not range.”
“I tell you,” remarked Nancy quietly, leaning close to Jennifer, “I, for one couldn’t address a group of men like that.”
“Well, there are a lot of things I cannot do,” said Jennifer, gazing down at her coffee. “Which is why I’ll be returning to Ohio.”
Nancy looked at her neighbor as if unprepared for such an announcement. “Oh, dear, you don’t mean it.”
“Why, yes, of course…”
“Just because you saw some wolves…”
“There weren’t just ‘some’…”
“I was hoping we might become better acquainted. It can be so very lonely on this prairie without another woman to talk to.”
Jennifer was taken aback by this sudden show of interest on the part of her neighbor. “You have Lucy.”
“Yes, and I love her,” said Nancy. “But sometimes she can be difficult. She’s just so strong. She doesn’t always understand how I feel. You do. You’re like me.”
Jennifer was sorry she had said anything to Nancy about leaving. The last thing she needed was to have someone try to talk her out of it. “It was not my idea to leave Ohio. And now that Walter is…gone…”
“What does it matter whose idea it was? You’re here now.”
“I miss my father.”
“We all miss someone…”
Jennifer’s eyes glazed over. “God, I don’t know how I’ll tell him about Walter.”
“Why, we can become like sisters,” continued Nancy. “Wouldn’t that be nice? We can share secrets. I c
an’t do that with Lucy. Please, Jenny, say you won’t go.”
“I had better write him first,” said Jennifer. “Hm! He’ll see now that I was right. I trust he won’t ever side against me again.”
“Jenny, are you listening to me?” Nancy pushed forward from her chair and gripped Jennifer’s wrist. “You know, Lucy likes you. I can tell.”
“Nancy, I …”
“She’d miss you.”
Jennifer turned her head away. “I have no husband. It’s impossible…”
“No, it’s not. Lucy was already suggesting that you might teach school. Would you like that?”
“Teach school?”
“Yes. Why, you’d be a very important lady around here.”
Jennifer shook her head. “The very idea…”
“Oh, please don’t say no. At least think about it.”
Jennifer was about to explain her position some more, but she didn’t have the energy for it, especially since Nancy seemed almost panicky. It was much easier to tell her neighbor what she wanted to hear. “All right. I’ll think about it.”
Nancy brightened. “You’ll see,” she said, leaning back in her chair and feeling she had won at least a temporary victory. “You’ll get along just fine. Lucy and I will see to it.”
Jennifer gazed at the combread on her plate. Why, she wondered, does everyone try to tell me what to do? Is it so obvious to them all how weak I am?
Nancy and Jennifer didn’t exchange another word on the subject, each fearing what the other might say. They listened to the ongoing conversation.
“The railroad ought to be a good thing,” Will Camp was saying. “But not if it’s going to drive us out.”
“No one is driving us out,” said Seth.
“Yeah? And what if they bring cattle up here?” asked Will.
Jennifer tried to pay attention, but now she kept getting distracted by two men in suspenders, who hadn’t been speaking at all. They were just leaning against a wall. But while one was at least listening attentively to the discussion, the other was staring at her. Only when Jennifer dared look directly at him did he avert his eyes. Jennifer remembered the two men from that afternoon. They were the brothers who buried Walter. The one who kept staring at her was the younger one. He looked at Jennifer again with dark, piercing eyes, and this time it was she who averted her eyes. He pushed off the wall and, hat in hand, stepped up to her.
