Hattie Big Sky

by Kirby Larson

  Violet and I are eternally grateful that you taught me to pitch. I wish you’d seen it. There was a hungry old wolf after Violet but thanks to her orneriness and my dead aim, I still have fresh milk every morning. I also have the funniest-looking no-tail cow in eastern Montana. Perhaps I will be able to introduce the two of you someday.

  There is much to do here and only nine months now in which to do it. But I can’t hurry spring, which is when the real work begins. For now, I drool over seed catalogs and study up on how to build a fence. And how to play chess. Though it hasn’t done me much good yet with Rooster Jim. Odd duck that he is, he is very kind. Twice now he’s given me a sleigh ride into Vida, the nearest town. (Pin dot is more like it!) The three miles from here to Vida will make a pleasant walk come spring. I devour each scrap of newspaper that falls in my grasp. Perilee and Jim keep me well stocked. There is much news of the war, of course, and those wicked Huns. But Charlie, I felt so odd when Perilee told me that Karl had to register as an alien enemy. Yes, he was born in Germany, but he is Karl—no Hun who bayonets babies. If you were here, you could explain this to me as well as you used to explain how to diagram sentences.

  I wish I could send you one of Perilee’s strudels. She’d even beat Mildred Powell in a baking contest!

  Your old friend,

  Hattie Inez Brooks

  The wind, rumbling like an approaching train, diverted my attention from my letter to Charlie. I shivered in my bed. “I’m not eager to go out there, are you?” Mr. Whiskers answered by burrowing deeper under the quilt. No matter the weather, there were still chores to be done. I hopped out of bed and glanced at the Vida National Bank calendar by the stove as I put the coffee on.

  “Happy Valentine’s Day to us!” I put the coffee on to boil while I milked. “I wonder if Charlie got the valentine I sent him.” I was certain Mildred would send one loaded with mush, so I’d found the funniest penny postcard I could at Bub Nefzger’s little sod-house post office and store in Vida. I figured Charlie could use a laugh more than anything else, so far from home.

  I peeked out my one window to be greeted by a sky like a gray flannel crazy quilt. Snow fell so thickly I could barely see the barn. There was nothing for it but to carry on with my chores, pulling my overcoat even tighter about me as I slogged to the barn. I hesitated to turn Plug loose. But I’d seen how clever he was at pawing through the snow to the tender grass below. And I didn’t have enough feed to keep him and Violet going all winter. I eased my conscience by giving him an extra-large portion of oats before opening the stable door for him. I fed, watered, and milked my cranky cow.

  “Easy there.” I patted Violet’s twitching flanks. She shifted back and forth, back and forth, lowing in a most mournful manner. “What is it, girl?” I made up my mind to rummage through Uncle Chester’s books for one on animal husbandry. I hadn’t saved this varmint from a wolf to lose her to some cow disease.

  “Moo-oo,” she moaned again, her brown eyes rolling in her head. Her tail had healed nicely, her nose felt fine, and she gave milk pretty good. Perhaps she wasn’t ill after all. But something was certainly unsettling her.

  I discovered it for myself when I hefted the milk pail and stepped outside. The wind, brisk before, had worked itself up into a temper. It whirled around my head, threatening to suck the very life out of my lungs. I couldn’t catch my breath.

  “Plug!” I screamed against the wind. Or tried to. Nature forced my words right back down my throat. Another gust nearly knocked me over. Surely Plug would know enough to get out of this storm. I had to get back to the house.

  Icy snow slashed at my head and shoulders. For weeks I’d tripped over that length of rope Uncle Chester had curled up inside the door. I’d let it be, not having another place to stash it. Now I guessed its use: I must fasten one end to the house and one to the barn. If this blizzard lasted more than a day, I’d need a way to get to the barn to take care of Violet.

  I set the milk pail inside and grabbed up the rope. Uncle Chester had already fastened a great metal eye to the front of the shack. In dreamier moments, I’d thought I might use it to stake up some hollyhocks come spring. Tying off a secure knot, I let out the rope and fought my way back to the barn. The angry wind snatched away every breath I tried to take. My chest tightened in panic, but I forced myself forward. Icicles formed on my eyelashes. I could not close my eyes. They felt frozen open. And yet I could barely see. The icy wind whipped and scratched worse than Violet’s tail ever had. I placed one foot in front of the other in the snow.

  One minuscule step at a time, I battled toward the barn, praying for help: “Lord, I can’t do this alone.” But no help came. It was up to me. I drew in an icy, ragged breath. I couldn’t fail. Couldn’t lose my way. Or lose my cow. That thought propelled me forward the last few steps. Finally, finally, I reached the barn, gasping and sobbing for air. My face was raw. I tasted the salt of blood trickling down my cheeks. I worked my shawl over my face. It was a frail barricade, but it did help.

  My hands, clumsy in mittens, could not tie the knot at this end. I pried off my mittens and felt as if I’d plunged my hands into a glacier-fed stream. The ache in my joints rocked me back on my heels.

  “Come on, come on.” My fingers no longer belonged to my body. They were lifeless wooden sticks at the ends of my hands. “Over, under. Pull it snug.” I nearly had the knot secured when a shrieking gust knocked me to my knees. Again and again, I fought to stand. It seemed hours passed before I finally finished tying the knot. My legs were rags; I leaned heavily on the rope. Left hand, then right hand, then left again. I dragged myself back to the house.

  A small dark object perched at the top of the steps. Mr. Whiskers! We both nearly fell into the cabin, I panting, he mewling. The flimsy wood and tar-paper walls were no match for this wind. It bullied its way through every crack. My eyes warmed and grew runny. Another handful of chips in the stove barely took the edge off. I nailed a precious spare blanket over the door and kept feeding the fire.

  Uncle Chester’s cabin rattled and creaked and moaned and shifted as the wind battered it again and again. It surely could not hold. I pulled on another sweater. I would not leave this cabin. Would not be driven out.

  At one point, I heard—what? A noise. A strange noise riding on top of the wild wind. The noise sounded almost human. And it sounded like my name.

  I shook my head and listened again. Nothing but the screeching of the storm. But there—listen! It was a human voice. A child’s voice! I pulled back the blanket, opened the door, and peered out.

  At first, I could see nothing but the wildly swirling snow. “Hello?” I called, my voice instantly sucked up by the wind. I tried again. “Hello!” This, screeched at the top of my lungs.

  I heard the voice again. “Hattie. Miz Hattie!” What I saw next brought me to my knees more suddenly than any slap of wind. A large figure fought its way toward the house. Plug. Dear Plug. And hanging to his tail for dear life—literally for dear life—were Chase and Mattie.

  I ran out without a thought for overcoat, hanging on to the rope I’d just strung. “Here, Plug. Here, children,” I screamed, my voice raw. After an eternity, Plug staggered into range. I swept Mattie into my arms and motioned for Chase to take hold of the rope. Head down, he scuffled with snow and wind until he reached it. We made our way, hand over hand, to the cabin. Plug settled himself in the lee of the house, out of the wind.

  Mattie’s hands felt deathly cold as I brought her inside and began to take off her frozen things.

  “What happened?” I could not disguise the tremble of alarm in my voice.

  Chase rubbed his own purple hands together and stepped closer to the fire. “We were at school and saw the storm coming. Mr. Nelson told us to get on home. I thought we could make it but…” Chase’s voice cracked.

  “You’re safe now,” I assured him. Thank you, Lord, for that good horse, who led these children out of the storm. “And what a hero you are—to find Plug and let him lead you here
.”

  Chase crumpled to the floor. His shoulders shook with sobs. I turned to distract Mattie, to spare him the further pain of having witnesses to his tears.

  “Now, little miss.” I rubbed her feet briskly. “What do I have that will fit you?” By the time I got her dressed in dry things, she looked more scarecrow than six-year-old. But she was content chatting to her doll as her clothes dried by the stove.

  “We’ve got to get Chase warmed up, too.” I surveyed my remaining wardrobe. Not much was appropriate for an eight-year-old boy. I held up my flannel nightgown.

  “I’d rather freeze to death,” he said.

  “Don’t blame you.” In a far corner, I’d made a neat stack of Uncle Chester’s clothes. Much too large for me to wear, I’d thought to use the shirts for a quilt and pants for a rag rug but was now very glad I hadn’t. The pride—and survival—of an eight-year-old boy depended on a flannel shirt and pair of man’s wool pants.

  The clothes were a bit sniffy, but then, from my meager experience with Chase, it seemed that eight-year-old boys could be a bit sniffy themselves. “Perfect fit,” I proclaimed.

  With both children in dry clothes, my thoughts turned to feeding them. “Have you ever had milk coffee?” I asked.

  “Mama don’t ’low us to drink coffee,” said Mattie. “Do you think she’s worried about us?”

  “She knows how clever you are,” I said. “That you’d find a safe place to weather this storm.” That seemed to comfort her.

  “She let me drink coffee last harvest,” Chase bragged.

  I nodded. “Well, milk coffee’s what my mama used to make me when I was little.” I poured some milk out of the pail and into a small kettle and set it on the stove to warm. “Even littler than you, Mattie. So I suspect it will be okay with your mama.” I took three mugs off the shelf. “Now, what do you think about something to go with this coffee?”

  “We don’t need anything,” answered Chase.

  “Yes, please,” answered his more truthful sister. “And Mulie’s hungry, too.”

  I sliced up some bread. “This isn’t too bad with lots of jelly,” I said, setting plates before the kids. Bread making was not one of my more highly developed skills. They both ate bravely, without comment. Perilee had raised them right.

  “Say, have either of you ever played Five Hundred?”

  Mattie shook her head. “I don’t think so,” said Chase.

  I got out my one deck of cards and explained the rules. “Mattie and I will be partners,” I said. “So watch out, Chase!”

  The game went on fast and furious. I was amazed at how quickly Chase picked it up. The boy had a knack for numbers. And his memory! He tracked nearly every card played.

  “You must be the star pupil of your class,” I said in amazement.

  He shrugged. “I do all right.”

  I took the cards and shuffled them. We had played Five Hundred all afternoon. “Do you want to play a different game?”

  “Let’s play I Wish,” said Mattie. “I’ll start.” She chewed on her lip. “I wish I had a doll made of china, like Sarah Martin.” She patted Mulie’s bedraggled yarn hair. “So Mulie would have a friend.”

  “I wish for cinnamon rolls every day,” Chase said. He laughed.

  I leaned back on my lard bucket chair. “Well, I guess I wish it was spring and I could start planting wheat.”

  Chase perked up. “First you plant flax, then the wheat. Karl says maybe end of April.”

  “That’s not a wish,” scolded Mattie. “That’s work.”

  “You’ve got me there.” I could imagine what a disappointing wish that would be for a six-year-old, but I had to plant crops. It was part of proving up. Part of my dream of having a place of my own. November was mere months away; the clock was ticking. Here it was the middle of February and I hadn’t set one fence post or plowed one foot of dirt. I’d had to content myself with reading about it in that book Miss Simpson gave me.

  “You can wish for anything,” Chase said. “There are no rules. Mama said.”

  “Your mama sure is smart.” I added a precious scoop of coal to the stove.

  The children got quiet—so quiet I could hear the coal hissing.

  Mattie clapped her hands. “I wish for two dolls!”

  “That’s the spirit. Now, Chase, how about you?”

  He looked over his shoulder at my library. He stood up and walked over, tracing his fingers down the spines of several volumes. “I wish I could live somewhere where there were books all around. In a real town, with a real library. And I could read about pirates or explorers or anything.” He gazed off into space for a moment, and I knew he was seeing himself in just such a wonderful place.

  “I hope your wish comes true,” I said to him. “Yours, too, Mattie.”

  “What’s your real, true wish?” Chase asked. He came back to sit at the table, searching my face with an eight-year-old’s earnestness.

  I flipped my hands up. “Oh, I don’t know.” How to explain to these two children the longing in my heart for what they had? To be part of a family. To have a place to call home. Better leave it all unsaid. I glanced over at my books. “So, Chase, shall you pick one out for a story time? That storm doesn’t look like it’s settling down any. I think you’re here for the night.”

  “We’ve never stayed away from home before,” said Mattie. Her elfin face clouded over. She drew her legs underneath her and rocked on the wooden crate. Silent tears dribbled down her cheeks. She cuddled her rag doll close.

  “Now, now. There’ll be none of that.” I cringed to hear Aunt Ivy’s sharp tone accompanying my words. I softened my voice. “Or I’ll feed you another slice of my bread.” That won a smile from both children. I reached over, took Mattie’s hand in mine, and squeezed it, one-two-three. “That’s a secret message,” I told her. “My mama taught it to me, and now you can teach it to your mama.”

  “What’s it mean?” Mattie rubbed the tears from her cheeks.

  I blushed, embarrassed to say the words aloud. I leaned to whisper in her ear: “It means ‘I love you.’”

  Mattie regarded me for a moment with her big brown eyes. Then she reached out and squeezed my hand, one-two-three. I blinked back a tear of my own.

  Chase had made his selection. “Mr. Nelson’s going to read us Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson at school, so I pick this one.” He held out A Child’s Garden of Verses and scooted his apple crate chair closer to the stove.

  Mattie stood at my knee. I opened the book. She inched closer.

  “Mama lets me sit on her lap when she reads,” she said.

  “Oh.” I felt myself get all flustered. “Then I guess you’d better sit here.” I patted my legs. Mattie scootched up and snuggled her wiry body close. She smelled of coffee and jelly and damp wool. As I began to read, her body relaxed into mine, until it was difficult to tell where she left off and I began.

  After two poems, she was sound asleep. After two more, Chase was snoring. I slipped them both into my bed and pulled the covers up tight. Then I got myself ready and joined them. Once Mattie cried out, “Mama!” but she didn’t waken. I settled the covers over her again, then watched them both, amazed. With a sigh, I curled up on the edge of the bed and slept the soundest sleep of my entire sixteen years.

  I woke to the jingle of sleigh bells. Two warm children were flung every which way across my bed. For a moment, my head was fuzzy. Children?

  “Hallo!” A voice rose above the jingling bells. “Hallo, Miz Hattie!” There was an edge to that familiar deep voice. Not even Karl’s thick accent could cover up fear.

  I snatched up my overcoat and flung open the door. “They’re safe,” I called out. “Plug led them here.”

  Karl tethered his team and slid down off the sled. He caught himself—it was almost as if his legs weren’t strong enough to hold him. I waved him inside.

  “You’re frozen!” I hurried to warm up some coffee.

  “Karl!” Mattie leaped off my bed an
d into his arms.

  I caught the glitter of a tear in his eye. “I’ll warn you, Karl,” I chattered, “I’ve turned these two into card sharks. Corrupted them with coffee, too.”

  Karl sat down heavily, Mattie still clinging to him.

  “This cold air makes my nose run worse than Niagara Falls,” I said lightly.

  He fished out a huge red handkerchief and blew his nose. “Kalt, ja,” he said.

  I set the coffee in front of him. “I’ve got some bread and jam.”

  “Danke.” He nodded and reached an arm out for Chase.

  “You might want to dunk it in your coffee,” said Chase. “Soften it up a bit.”

  I laughed. “Insult my baking, will you?” I pretended to box Chase’s ears. “Ungrateful child.” He wiggled away and grinned from safety behind Karl.

  I don’t know that Karl understood all of our silliness, but I could tell by his face he knew Mattie and Chase had been safe with me. “Danke,” he repeated.

  “See, he does like my bread,” I said, cutting several more slices. I set some bacon to frying, too. “Let me get some warm food in you before you go on your way. Your ma’s probably worn through the window glass watching for you to come home.”

  Karl reached a cracked and bleeding hand for another piece of bread. Bits of white flesh dotted his cheeks. Frostbite. “Off with those boots,” I ordered. He obeyed. I swallowed hard when I saw his chalk-white toes. From the looks of him, he’d been out all night looking for Perilee’s children. I blinked back my own tears.

  “Hand me that tub there,” I ordered Chase. “A warm bath is the ticket for cold toes.” I kept my voice light and the children busy so they wouldn’t get a look at Karl’s feet.

  Karl grimaced as I poured warm water over his feet into the tub. I soaked a rag in warm water and had him press against the bad spots on his cheeks. Some folks said rubbing snow on frostbite was the best cure, but it seemed to me that getting the flesh unfrozen made more sense.

  As his toes and face turned purple, I questioned my wisdom. His feet swelled and sprouted blisters. I wasn’t sure how he was going to get his boots back on, even after daubing the worst of the blisters with a paste made of baking soda.