by Nancy M Bell
“We need to bring more wood in at any rate.” He took the mitts and extra socks Elsie handed him. “Don’t worry. It won’t take long to knock together the framework, after that it’s only a small matter to get the plywood nailed on.”
After the men departed, Agnes sank into the chair Walter just vacated. She rested her chin in her hand, elbow on the table and fiddled with a spoon. “I don’t know how much longer we can do this, Mome. We’ve still got food, and milk from the cows. But I’ve never seen a storm last as long as this one, or be as fierce.”
“I agree. It’s only been a few days and it feels like months since the snow started. I hope the neighbors got their stock in the barns before it hit. Anyone who didn’t will lose everything. The sheep will be buried, and unless they can find something to shelter them, cows and horses will freeze solid where they stand. Most everyone should have the swine inside for the winter, so at least the pigs won’t freeze.
Running feet echoed upstairs followed by Anna’s voice asking them to quiet down. Elsie glanced at Agnes and offered a tired grin. “At least the little ones don’t appear to be worried.”
“Thank goodness for small mercies,” Agnes agreed. “Enough feeling sorry for myself.” She got to her feet, “I have a roof over my head, food and warmth. It could be a lot worse.”
“You’re right, we have a lot to thank the good Lord for.” Elsie patted her hand. “Now, I bet those young ones of yours are getting hungry.” She glanced at the clock on the wall, it was hard to keep track of the time in the seemingly eternal darkness created by the storm. “Time to start supper. The men will be hungry when they come in.” Elsie glanced at the window by habit and shook her head. Thick frost coated the panes on the inside, and on the outside a drift covered the bottom half of the window.
Forty-five minutes later, Agnes gave the borscht a last stir and replaced the cover. “If they don’t come in soon, I’m going out to get them,” she declared. “You don’t think something happened, do you? They could be out there freezing to death…” The slam of the mud room door interrupted her. “Oh, thank God.” She pressed a hand to her heart and hurried to open the inner mud room door.
Ike and Walter more fell than walked through the opening. Both men’s faces were encrusted with snow and ice, as were their bodies. Elsie thought they resembled walking snow men. Frozen fingers fumbled unsuccessfully with buttons until Elsie and Agnes took over. Soon Ike and Walter were wrapped in warm blankets and sitting as close to the cook stove as they dared, drinking coffee laced with lots of sugar and cream. Although Elsie was itching to know if the scheme was successful, she was more worried about the two men. Ike in particular wasn’t even shivering, though his hands shook. Not shivering was a bad sign when a person was as cold as Ike was. She cast around in her mind for any of Oma’s’s remedies that might help get his circulation flowing again.
“It worked,” Walter finally managed to croak. “The tunnel to the barn and the woodshed are secure.”
“Good then, Agnes and I can do the night milking and feed, you two need to get some rest and warm up right after we get some hot food into you,” Elsie declared.
Ike’s protest was pre-empted by a fit of hoarse coughing. He set the mug on the table to prevent it spilling. When the spell passed he leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, and in spite of the chill of his skin a thin sheen of sweat covered his forehead.
“I won’t hear another word out of you, Ike Neufeld. It’s up to bed with you. No arguments. Agnes, help me get your father upstairs, he’s weak as a kitten,” Elsie ordered.
To her surprise Ike offered no complaint. Pushing his body upright with his hands on the arms of the chair, he stood up and swayed alarmingly. Walter came around the table and took the older man’s arm over his shoulder.
“You go get the bed ready, Mother Neufeld. I’ll get Ike upstairs, he’s too heavy for you two to handle.”
Elsie filled two fleece covered waterproof bags with hot water from the big pot of melted snow kept simmering on the cook stove. Agnes ran to get more wool blankets from the storage chest while Walter and Ike made their slow way toward the bedroom.
“Mome, I’m worried about Pape,” Agnes whispered after they passed the men in the hall. “That cough didn’t sound good at all.”
“I know. Silly old fool insisting on spending all that time out in the storm. I’ll dose him good with cough syrup and a mustard plaster.” Elsie bustled into the bedroom and flipped the quilts back. She slid the hot water bottles into the bed at the foot. The curtains bellied out slightly as the wind’s frosty breath found its way around the frame.
“Here we are, Ike. I’ll leave you to your wife’s tender mercies.” Walter helped Ike lower himself onto the edge of the bed and left the room.
“Do you need help getting him into bed, Mome?” Agnes set the folded blankets on top of the quilt at the foot of the bed.
“I can manage. You run along and get the supper ready for the rest of the family.” Elsie knelt and pulled off Ike’s two pairs of socks, now wet from melted snow that had found its way inside his winter boots. The feet her actions revealed his feet were white and wrinkled with cold. The little toe on his left foot caused her concern as it was pure white and very cold to the touch. With one hand on her husband’s shoulder to steady him, she retrieved another pair of socks from the dresser and eased them over his feet. It was a bit of a struggle to wrestle Ike’s clothes off and get his flannel nightshirt on. Grunting a bit with the effort, she eased him back onto the pillows and swung his legs up onto the mattress. Tucking his feet under the covers, she arranged the pigs so they would warm him, but not too quickly.
Ike’s eyes fluttered closed, his chest barely rose with his breath. Elsie pulled the quilts up to his chin and then added the two Hudson Bay blankets as well. Ike’s breath rattled a bit in his throat, so she added another pillow behind him to make it easier to breathe.
Satisfied she’d done everything she could for the moment, she went down to the kitchen where the children were just finishing their supper. Anna’s food was barely touched and the child was pushing her potatoes around with her fork. The twins were eating quietly. Walter looked ready to drop where he sat, she caught Agnes giving him concerned looks, but wisely refraining from saying anything.
“Once the table is cleared, Agnes, you and I will go out and do the evening chores, if that suits you,” Elsie said.
“You shouldn’t be going out in this,” Walter protested. His voice had a scratchy note to it.
“Is your throat sore?” Agnes picked up on the deviation in his tone.
“A bit. Just from yelling into the wind. Cuts right to the bone.” He took a sip of coffee, and then coughed, holding a hand to his chest.
“Mome and I can manage just fine, Walter. If you can stay in the warm and just keep an eye on the children we’ll do just fine, like I said.”
“I can help,” Anna piped up. “I want to check on the chickens. The stove must be out by now and they’ll need to be fed.”
“Absolutely not!” Agnes said. “Those hens will have to take care of themselves, Anna. It’s far too dangerous out there, and there’s no path shovelled to the hen house. None of us thought the blizzard would last this long.”
“But they’ll die, Mome! I can’t let them die,” Anna protested. “They’re my responsibility, you even said that when we got the new chicks last spring.”
“No, that’s the end of it. No more discussion.” Agnes slapped a dish cloth on the table and began to wipe up the crumbs.
“But Mome—”
“I said no more.” Agnes’ voice was steel.
Anna turned pleading eyes on her grossmama. Elsie was hard put not to intervene, but held firm.
Walter started to reprimand his daughter, but a spasm of coughing overcame him.
“You heard your mother. Respect your mother and obey her,” he finally managed to croak.
The girl gave a curt nod, tears shimmering in her eyes. Rising from the table s
he took the last of the dishes to the sink before herding the twins from the room. “I’ll read them their bedtime story and get the twins ready for bed.”
“Let’s get you into the living room into a more comfortable chair.” Agnes directed Walter. “You go on in and I’ll bring fresh coffee and a slice of cake I made with the last of the eggs today. All you need to do is listen for any commotion from upstairs. Anna is good with them, but sometimes they try and overrule her.”
Walter got wearily to his feet and shuffled toward the living room door, blanket wrapped around his shoulders. “I’d argue with you, but I just can’t find the energy. Be careful out there, this is a killing blizzard. I’ve never seen the like.”
“We’ll be extra careful, promise,” Agnes assured him.
The newly protected tunnels made the trip to the barn and woodshed much easier and safer. The whistle of the storm and the fine sprinkle of drifting snow that found its way through the gaps between the plywood sent shivers down Elsie’s spine. Is it ever going to let up? How long can this possibly last? How long can we last? She focussed on the bright red scarf wrapped around Agnes’s head and shoulders, pushing defeatist thoughts to the back of her mind and prayed fervently as she shuffled along the narrow track. The flickering light of the lantern in her daughter’s hand threw weird shifting shapes on the frozen walls. Rather than the orange-yellow glow warming and comforting Elsie, it evoked images of fire and brimstone. Is God punishing us for something? Is this a sign Sarah and Arnold shouldn’t emigrate to Mexico? Or Sadie to Paraguay? She prayed harder and wrapped her faith around her in a blanket of protection.
“Finally!”
The barn door grated open, Elsie followed Agnes into the dark warmth. The interior was redolent with the heady odour of summer hay, urine and a mixture of animal smells. The strong scent of the swine over rode the less pungent attar of cow, and horse with underlying notes of the wet wool scent of sheep. It was blessedly warm after the cold trek from the house.
In short order the cows were milked and fresh hay thrown into the mangers. Agnes filled the feeder in the pig pen with chop and then threw more into a long feed trough they didn’t usually use. The sheep had buried themselves deep in the straw bed and baaed softly at the two women. Agnes overfilled their feed trough as well.
“Just in case the tunnel closes in or something stupid happens,” she remarked to her mother.
Elsie leaned the hay fork back where it belonged and checked the water pails one more time. The building was warm compared to the -29 degree weather outside, but wasn’t enough to keep water from freezing. The women collected snow from outside the man door which was in a bit of a lee from the wind and filled the buckets with that. It would keep the animals from dehydrating, even it wasn’t as good as drinking water, but it would briefly lower the animals’ body temperature if they consumed too much. Elsie sighed and surveyed the animals one more time; it would have to do. Better a slightly cold animal than a dead one.
Taking the lantern and leaving the barn in darkness, the women wrestled the door shut behind them before beginning the journey back to the house. Elsie spared a thought for the chickens, thinking with regret about the loss of them and the eggs they produced. If all they lost to this storm was a few chickens it would be a miracle. Anna would be upset, but the girl was old enough to learn such things were a part of life.
* * *
Walter was asleep in the chair by the fireplace when they returned to the house. Elsie left Agnes in the kitchen brewing tea and went upstairs to check on Ike. He lay still on the pillows, mouth gaping and face pale. Even from the doorway, she could hear the breath rattling in his chest. Concern lent speed to her feet as she crossed the room to his side. His forehead was hot under her hand though he shivered enough to rustle the bed clothes.
Pulling back the sheets, Elsie opened his pyjama top and peeled the mustard plaster back. Bundling it up and recovering her husband, she went to re-join Agnes in the kitchen. The twins were asleep when she poked her head in the door on the way down the hall. A candle flickered in Anna’s room. She was using a candle in order to ration the kerosene for the lamps.
“It’s bedtime, Anna. Quit reading and put the candle out. No point wasting wax when we don’t know how long this storm is going to last.”
“I will, Oma.” Anna closed the book. “Were you able to feed the chickens? I’m so worried about them.”
“Anna, you know we couldn’t get to them. The snow is just too deep. It’s all we can do to keep the track to the barn and woodshed open.”
“I think I could get there,” Anna insisted. “I know I could.”
“Don’t even think about it, young lady,” Elsie declared. “Now, bed.”
“Yes, Oma.”
She checked the small coal oil heater Walter had put in the room earlier to be sure it would last until morning. Satisfied, she closed the door, but left it ajar and descended the dark stairwell. Walter had wakened when she passed by the living room on the way to the kitchen. He huddled by the fire, thick woollen blanket over his shoulders.
“You should go on up to bed,” Elsie encouraged him.
“I will, I’m just too tired to move.” He offered her a weak smile. “How’s Ike?”
“Sleeping, but I’m worried about his chest.” She lifted the mustard plaster bundle in her arms. “I’m going to make a new plaster for him.”
Agnes looked up from setting the tea pot on the table when Elsie came through the door. “How’s Pape?” She eyed the plaster in her mother’s hands.
“He’s not well, I’m afraid. Sounds like an old man down a well. Hopefully another plaster will do the trick. When he wakes up I’ll try to get some tea and honey down him along with some of the cherry and willow cough medicine. Good thing we made up a big batch of it last fall.” The cough medicine consisted of camphorated oil, apple cider vinegar, cherry bark, lemon, willow bark, honey and crushed ginger. It tasted horrible but usually broke the back of the cold.
* * *
Elsie wiped sleep from her eyes and got up from the chair beside the bed in her room. Ike tossed and turned, radiating heat from the fever she couldn’t manage to break. She looked twice at the reading when she pulled the thermometer out from his arm pit. A flush of fear ran through her. Instead of going down the mercury now stood at a little over one-hundred and three.
“Ike.” She shook his shoulder. “Ike, open your eyes.”
There was no response, other than an odd twisting of his body and flutter of eyelids. Pulling the quilts back, Elsie opened his pyjama top and peeled off the used mustard plaster. Much good it had done, she thought wryly. Her fingers fumbled with controlled panic. Somehow, she had to bring the fever down.
Outside the blizzard howled incessantly, now into its seventh day. How long since Ike fell sick? Elsie mentally counted on her fingers. Three days? Maybe four? Far too long at any rate. His face was slack and slicked with sweat in spite of the frigid temperature of the room. She’d let the coal oil heater go out, hoping the drop in temperature would help cool his body. A weak cough wracked him, ribs standing out sharply against the exposed skin. The usual ruddy glow of good health was long since faded, the skin taking on a yellow grey tinge which sent chills down Elsie’s spine. She laid a hand on his chest to assure herself he was still breathing. His respirations were shallow, the ribs rising almost imperceptibly under her touch. In some ways she’d give anything for the deep rasping gurgling sounds he made two days past. He was too still, and why didn’t he hardly cough anymore? Pushing her panic away, Elsie pulled the curtains back from the window and pulled at the icy frost encrusted latch.
“If I can’t bring that fever down I’m going to lose him. Dear God, give me the strength to do what I must. If it is Your will to take him, I will bend to Your will. But I’m asking you, please don’t take him right now.” Muttering more prayers while the metal latch burned her fingers with frostbite, Elsie struggled with the window. Finally it came free and she pulled the frame op
en. The wood screeched in protest but gave to her frenzied yanking.
An arctic blast of wind and snow swept over her, depositing sifting snow across the floor. Elsie pulled the window shut a bit but left it open enough to let in the cold air.
“Agnes,” she called, leaving the room and hurrying down the stairs. “I need your help.”
“What is it, Mome? Is it Pape?” Agnes appeared at the bottom of the stairs wiping her hands on her apron.
“I need some big towels and a couple of buckets. Now.” Fear roughened her voice.
“I’ll be up in a minute, Mome. I just need to get the buckets from the kitchen.” Agnes joined her before Elsie was halfway back up the staircase. “How bad is it?” She met her mother’s gaze, the question she didn’t want the answer to clear in her expression.
“It’s bad. If we can’t bring his fever down I’m afraid, we’re going to lose him. There’s no way to get word to the doctor and no way for him to come even if we could reach him.”
“What should we do? Oh my, it’s freezing in here!” Agnes led the way into the sick room and then halted.
“It’s the only thing I can think of that might break the fever. I want to wrap snow in the towels and pack it around him.” Elsie took a bucket and wrenched the window open further, bending out to scoop drifted snow off the porch roof. The blizzard blown drifts covered the front of the house all the way up to the second story windows. “We’ll just have to watch that we don’t give your father frost bite.”
Agnes wasted no time in helping her mother fill the thick towels with snow and place them around the patient after putting a water proof canvas between him and the mattress.
“I wish I could get him to drink something, but he just spits it up, and I’m afraid I’ll choke him,” Elsie worried, wrapping her cold hands in the folds of her skirt.
“Why don’t you try and get some rest, I’ll stay with him for a while,” Agnes urged her.
