He that spareth his rod hateth his son;
but he that loveth him chasteneth him betimes.
Jan smiled again. His neighbor was becoming something of a fascination.
~~**~~
Chapter 38
The heat of midsummer hung heavy on the prairie. Jan lifted his hat and wiped his face with the kerchief he carried in his back pocket. He relished the breeze that cooled his damp head. He would be grateful to run his head under the pump and rinse the sweat and grime from it when it was time for the midday meal.
He studied the field before him, satisfied. Their corn stood high, topped with golden tassels, full of plump ears. The winter wheat crop had been a good one, too; soon the second sowing would reach maturity.
I thank you, Lord, for this bounty! he rejoiced. So many years we did not know how we would get through, but you have always made a way. Thank you, he again prayed.
He scanned the horizon. Thunderstorms began building this time of day, so he regularly turned an eye to the skies. To the west he noted a cloud and paused to study it.
Typically, thunderheads built vertically, growing from white to dark gray and black, until they towered, full of moisture, high in the sky. The cloud he was watching was moving . . . quickly, too quickly. It looked as though rain were sheeting from the cloud to the ground—
His body reacted before his mind grasped what he was seeing. Heart hammering, Jan began running toward the house and barn.
Nei Lord! Not again! his mind began to scream. He saw Arnie and hollered at him to ring the bell. “Keep it ringing!” Jan shouted.
As fast as he could move, Jan began hitching the bays to the wagon. The cloud is moving from north to south. Perhaps two miles west?
“McKennies’,” Jan breathed. After that, Norvald and Inge’s, and the Gardiners’!
Søren, Karl, and Kjell came running because the continued clanging of the bell signaled an emergency. “What is it, Pappa?” Søren shouted.
“Look to the west,” Jan answered, his words grim. “Karl! Arnie! Kjell! Get our plows and all of our hoes, shovels, and picks. Bring gloves and every empty burlap bag! Bring kerosene!”
The boys scattered to do his bidding. Amalie and Sigrün stood on the porch, watching, wringing their hands, worried.
Søren turned to Jan, his face ashen. “Locusts?”
“Ja, get the mule and tie it to the wagon,” Jan answered, grinding his teeth. “Please God, it is not as big a swarm as the last time—maybe several acres?” The boys returned, piling tools into the wagon.
“Get in,” Jan instructed. “We must follow the swarm. If it lands, we will fight it.”
They were not the only farmers in the neighborhood to recognize the swarm for what it was. As Jan turned at the road that led to the McKennies’, he saw other wagons racing toward them.
Then the cloud was passing over their heads, going ahead of them, the chittering of thousands of wings chilling Jan’s heart. As they watched, the swarm descended on McKennie corn.
Fiona saw the wagons coming and waved them on. Jan stood and urged the bays faster until he saw Brian, Norvald, and a few of their neighbors gathered at the edge of the field. He threw the reins to Arnie and jumped from the wagon.
His friends nodded to him but their eyes were on the field. The swarm crawled over much of Brian’s cornfield and the collective tearing and chewing of locust mandibles was loud, familiar, and terrifying.
Jan studied the field. “Brian, the swarm has just landed, ja? We know they will be busy for a few hours. Let us plow a firebreak around them and set the field on fire. If we use kerosene and the field burns hot enough, will the swarm not choke in the smoke?”
They looked up as another wagon careened toward them. Others were close behind. Jan was surprised to see his neighbor’s buggy pull into the yard. The gathering was growing in number.
Jan yanked his attention back to their problem. “We cannot wait,” Jan warned. Søren quickly translated his advice.
“What Jan says will be workin’,” Brian agreed. “Boot ’tis meanin’ we’ve got t’ break our backs in t’ next hour or two, three at t’ moost, or our chance will be goon. And if are we missing this chance, your fields may be next!”
Søren spoke up. “My father says if Brian McKennie is willing to sacrifice his corn, we should be grateful to take advantage of such an offer.” There was a buzz of talk and Brian spoke again.
“Well, laddies, let’s to it! Th’ Lord be blessin’ ye all. Even ye women what feel ye can help, we’ll be needin’ ye.”
The group of men dispersed into action, hitching their plows and following Brian’s shouted instructions even as he hitched his own. Søren and Karl hitched the bays to Thoresen plows; Jan hitched his mule to Brian’s disc. Jan called Arnie, Kjell, and the McKennie boys to grab hoe, shovel, and pick, and pointed where they were to start.
The boys went after the corn, chopping and ripping it from the ground to clear a path before the plow. Jan’s shouted to the mule and it pulled, the tool biting into the soil. He forged ahead and Søren plowed to his side a few feet behind.
Together their swath was about two feet wide—not anywhere near wide enough. The boys ahead of them hacked at the cornstalks and tossed them into the field to burn and they plowed on.
An hour later, Jan and Søren met Brian and Norvald head-on as they plowed toward them. Jan and Søren drove around Brian and Norvald and continued on to widen the swath.
Perhaps fifty neighbors and their wives and children were now working furiously to complete a firebreak. Someone was distributing gunnysacks to beat the fire if it jumped the plowed break. Another neighbor and his son were constructing torches and dipping them in a bucket of kerosene.
Still the firebreak was unfinished; Jan drove his mule mercilessly. Behind them, others spread the turned dirt, tossing prairie grass and fallen cornstalks aside, hacking deeper into the field to widen the swath.
In the commotion someone shouted a warning—the cloud was lifting! Whether the break was ready or not, if the swarm lifted off, they had agreed to torch the field rather than let the swarm escape untouched. Those holding torches waited for the signal shot, but the mass of insects hovered and then descended not far from where it had first landed.
Up ahead, Jan could see another man plowing toward him. He swung his plow to the right, and they drove by each other, connecting the widened swath. It was enough! Shouting orders, the men unhitched the animals and had them led away to safety.
Brian and Jan’s boys were handing lit torches to each person able to hold one; every man, woman, and child stood along the firebreak, waiting for the signal. Jan saw men pouring kerosene around the edges of the field.
Jan received a torch and saw one of Brian’s sons light Fiona’s and Fru Brünlee’s torches. The acrid smoke burned Jan’s already parched throat as they awaited signal! Through the haze he saw Rose Brownlee, her mouth set in a determined line.
The gunshot! Jan plunged his torch into the cornfield—there, there, and there. The kerosene-soaked edges of the field smoldered and then burned.
Thick, dense smoke billowed upwards, growing, spreading. A slight wind freshened, driving the fire on Jan’s side of the field toward the infestation. On the other side of the field, he knew his friends and neighbors would be laboring to keep the fire from jumping the break.
The sound of thousands upon thousands of insect wings grew—the swarm was lifting! Jan grimly watched as the insects climbed away from the smoke, escaping.
Oh, God, how we need you now!
The breeze dropped, then backed; the wind shifted direction and blew! On the other side of the field, the fire roared up—engulfing the swarm! Frenzied buzzing grew louder as did the roar of flames.
Then it was raining locusts! Jan shouted; the men and women on either side of him surged forward. Swinging burlap bags, they beat the stunned insects as they fell from the air. Deeper into the field they pushed, over the hot ashes and smoldering stubble, beating
the locusts.
They had won.
Jan, Søren, and the boys gathered their tools and trudged toward Brian’s house. The boys made for the pump and rinsed streams of black grime from their heads and faces.
A few women were hauling buckets of water to the workers. Jan’s throat ached; when he was offered a cup, he could scarcely swallow. He looked around, seeing the human toll of their efforts.
Faces and clothing were blackened. One of the Gardiner boys was coughing and retching from the smoke. He heard Fiona weeping over Brian’s blistered hands. He saw his neighbor helping Fiona wrap Brian’s hands.
Folks were leaving now, by ones and twos making their way in exhaustion to their wagons for the drive home. Jan positioned himself on the road where it left Brian’s yard. Søren stood with him. As their friends and neighbors passed, he asked for a moment of their time and Søren translated his request.
Søren nodded when he saw Rose Brownlee, and they both grinned at the same time. Hearing Søren’s chuckle, Jan turned. His usually impeccable neighbor was covered in soot, her hair a tangled mess.
Jan grinned. “So! Mrs. Brünlee like play dirt?”
“It does not appear that I am alone, does it?” she joked back. She sighed. “What a shame! We did get the locusts, didn’t we? But Brian’s corn is all gone.”
“Ja. And help Brian now.”
“How? How can we help? Can I help?”
Jan smiled again. “You help . . .” He asked Søren for a word. “You help already, Mrs. Brünlee. We . . .” He consulted Søren again.
“We share corn, all farmers . . .” He waved his hand to include those living in the area. “All safe now. We share for Brian.”
Fru Brünlee smiled and nodded her approval; Jan nodded in return, their understanding perfect.
Those in the community who had survived the great locust infestation seven years ago knew what God and their quick efforts had saved them from. Instead of disaster and near starvation, they rejoiced in an abundant harvest.
Jan released a sigh of weary relief when the train bearing their corn, wheat, and hogs left the station in Norvald’s capable hands. He and his family had labored long and hard to bring in the crops and store up more than enough food for the winter. This year he would have money to put in the bank.
Amalie had taken their neighbor under her wing throughout the summer, teaching her how to store or can her garden’s produce. When the Thoresens killed their hogs, Fru Brünlee had learned to make soap, cheeses, candles, and sausages at Amalie’s side.
Jan shook his head. Every time he decided Fru Brünlee would certainly back down, give up, or turn up her nose at hard, messy work, she surprised him.
Maybe she would survive on the prairie after all, but only winter would determine that.
Jan heard Arnie and Kjell telling Amalie that the school would have a new teacher when the fall term began, a Mr. Letoire. Jan stood in the doorway, considering an idea.
“Ach! Jan, please close the door, ja? You’re letting the flies in,” Amalie scolded.
Jan grabbed a cup of coffee and headed for the living room, thinking hard. The schoolmaster usually boarded around the community during the school year, each family taking him for a few weeks. Now Jan was pondering the vow he’d made years ago.
I will not learn the English, he’d vowed in the heat of his pain and anger. I have Søren; I do not need to learn.
Today that vow was sounding foolish and pig-headed. Yes, another example of my impulsive nature, he chided himself. Karl surely would have had words to say to me on that count, eh?
He turned back to the kitchen. “Amalie, may I ask a favor of you?”
Amalie looked in surprise to see that Jan was serious. “Bror, I will do anything for you, do you not know that? What is it?”
“I was thinking that perhaps the new schoolmaster would board with us.”
“Ach! Is that all? Sure, don’t we usually have the teacher a few weeks each year?” Søren would give up the bedroom on the main floor and sleep with Little Karl when the teacher stayed with them.
“Nei, what I mean is . . . I wish him to stay with us the whole term.”
Amalie studied him closely. “All right. But why, Jan?”
Jan cleared his throat. “Perhaps it is time that you and I learn the English, ja? If he is here, perhaps we can apply ourselves to it. But I know his staying all term will be more work for you.”
Amalie blinked and said nothing. She stirred the pot on the stove for a moment. Then she shrugged. “As you wish, Jan.”
“Tusen takk, Søster,” Jan breathed. “Mange tusen takk.”
~~**~~
Chapter 39
When the harvest ended, Jan had a new concern: One Harold Kalbørg. Jan pursed his lips as he thought on the problem.
At Sally Gardiner’s wedding, Amalie had shown up at his side and nudged him. He’d looked down and seen apprehension in his søster’s eyes. Then he’d followed her stare—and seen Sigrün on the dance floor with that young Kalbørg whelp.
Jan had kept a close eye on Kalbørg that day. No young man would be taking advantage of their Sigrün! But that evening Harold had approached Jan, his manner respectful and straightforward.
“Sir, I would like your permission to call on Sigrün.”
Jan had said nothing at first. He had simply stared (with menace, he hoped) at Kalbørg, but the young man would not be deterred. He had waited for Jan’s answer. Patiently.
“What do you have to recommend yourself?” The words had grated between Jan’s clenched teeth.
“Yes, sir,” Harold had answered, clearly prepared for the question. “I own my farm, half of my father’s homestead. Someday—but not soon, I pray—I will inherit his half also. I have $200 in the bank, a house, a barn, two cows, a mule, a wagon, two horses, and a buggy.” He cleared his throat. “I am a hard worker and a Christian man, sir.”
At least he is Swedish. At least we can talk. Jan hemmed for another moment. “I will consider your request and give you an answer Sunday.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
That Sunday a somber Amalie had invited Harold Kalbørg home to dinner. It could not have been a pleasant experience for young Kalbørg, Jan admitted to himself later.
Jan had been aloof and vigilant during the meal. Sigrün had eaten little and blushed often. Her three brothers had stared at Harold and made faces.
And Uli had peered innocently into Harold’s eyes and asked, “Are you going to marry my sister?”
Jan had been relieved when Søren had taken Harold off to the barn. Likely Harold had been, too.
Thanksgiving and Christmas passed in a blur. Amalie invited Fru Brünlee for Thanksgiving dinner, but as Amalie reported, their neighbor had also received invitations from the McKennies, Baileys, and Medfords!
Jan’s less-than-tactful suggestion that Amalie had waited too late to invite Fru Brünlee was met with frigid silence.
In the end, their neighbor had hosted Thanksgiving dinner for the pastor and his wife. And invited half the county for dessert, Jan noted in wry surprise. The Thoresens crammed themselves into Mrs. Brownlee’s tiny house along with the pastor and his wife, the Baileys, and Brian and Fiona’s brood.
After the adults had found places to perch and the children were sprawled on the floor, Fru Brünlee and Mrs. Medford served a variety of desserts and coffee. Jan couldn’t help notice how pleased and content his neighbor appeared that evening. He didn’t mean to be studying her, but she noticed his prying stare.
Jan raised his coffee cup to her in a silent salute, contrite that he had again been rude. Unexpectedly, his neighbor smiled and raised her cup in friendly return.
Something warm washed through Jan. What was that? He blinked and took a hurried sip of coffee, scalding his mouth.
When Vera Medford sat down at Mrs. Brownlee’s tiny piano, Jan forgot everything except the music. Never have I heard such a thing! he marveled. Even the children were still, suspended in the bea
uty of the moment.
Too soon she finished the piece but began another, eventually transitioning to gospel songs that had everyone tapping their feet, clapping their hands, and singing along with gusto.
Then they sang slower, more reverent songs. Jan’s heart was already overflowing when the pastor’s wife began to play
Amazing Grace! How sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.
Jan knew the words by rote; he repeated the lines silently: I was lost, Lord, but you found me. I was so blind!
“Blessed be your name,” Jan breathed.
Temperatures dropped and they received their first hard freeze not long after Thanksgiving. Jan, Søren, and the boys left the house early to start the chores that morning. As the cold penetrated to his skin, Jan wrapped his arms around his chest and beat them to warm himself.
I wonder how our neighbor is faring in this freezing weather. He found himself worrying throughout the day, wondering again how she would survive the coming blizzards.
That evening he looked for a window in their house that would provide a view of the little house across the fields and creek. The kitchen offered an unobstructed view, but Amalie stared curiously at him as he peered through the glass.
Jan mumbled something unintelligible and wandered into the living room to warm his hands at the stove. He glanced at the two living room windows. A moment later he had pulled the curtain back and put his face to the glass. By cupping his hands around his eyes, he could see into the darkness.
There! He could make out a tiny light in Fru Brünlee’s window, flaring through the frosty air. Smoke floated from the stovepipe. Everything seemed in order, and he nodded, satisfied.
It snowed that night, turning their fields into a wonderland. Jan found himself often pulled to the living room window, just to check on their neighbor, he told himself. Ja, just to be neighborly.
Wild Heart on the Prairie (A Prairie Heritage, Book 2) Page 28
