“We may not be able to get enough firewood,” Father admitted. “The dead trees in the Turtle Mountains are free, but we are supposed to pay for any trees we cut down.” Though Father didn’t say it, Polly knew the rest. You couldn’t pay for anything if you didn’t have any money.
“So anyway,” said Father, looking at Ben and Polly, “we want you to gather all the buffalo chips that you can while the weather is dry. Chips work fine for cooking and heating.”
Next morning, even before the frosty nip had left the clear September air, they set out with baskets to gather chips. At first it seemed like an adventure to wander across the prairie. Then Polly grew tired of it. Her basket was only half full, yet her legs were weary.
“There’s a flickertail burrow, Ben! Let’s sit here and watch. Maybe a flickertail will pop out.”
“Aw, we better keep going,” Ben replied.
Polly sat down anyway. “I’m tired. I’m going to rest.”
“Well, I’ll go on hunting chips. My basket will be full before yours.”
“I don’t care.” Keeping her eyes on the burrow, she lay back on the ground.
A few minutes later, Ben was back. “Let’s go now, Polly! You’ve rested enough.”
“No, I haven’t,” she snapped. “My legs are still tired.”
Ben stood there frowning. At last he said, “We’d better head for home, or else the Indians will find us.”
Polly just laughed and stayed in her comfortable spot. “Why do you say that? The Indians are friendly.”
Ben shook his head. “You don’t know everything I do, Polly. There’s reason to be afraid of Indians.”
“Really?” Polly sat up and looked at him.
Ben scowled and said, “Actually, it’s a secret. I’m not supposed to tell you.”
“That’s not fair! You’ve started telling me so now you have to finish.”
“If I do, you won’t like what you hear.”
“Tell it!” Polly didn’t like secrets—at least not when she didn’t know them.
“Do you remember the time Father and I went for firewood and we told you about Jess Holmes, the fellow who took a ride in our wagon? Well, there’s something we didn’t tell you about. His Indian tales. He said the Sioux Indians killed a lot of white people in Minnesota back in the sixties. After that the Indians fled to North Dakota, and the soldiers came here to fight them. The last battle was only about four years ago.”
Polly felt sick inside. She whispered, “Indians and white men killing each other?”
“I said you wouldn’t like it if I told you.” Ben felt a little sick himself, looking at his sister’s pale, scared face. He decided not to tell her the rest of Jess Holmes’s tale—that those Sioux braves might come down from Canada anytime and kill more people.
“Let’s go home,” Polly said with a quavering voice.
“We’ll go ’round that way,” Ben said, pointing. “We haven’t hunted chips along there yet.”
“O-okay.” Polly agreed, though what she really wanted to do was go home as fast as her legs could carry her. She found a few more chips, but her basket was not full when she got home. She was too busy glancing over her shoulder to make sure there were no Indians following them.
“Listen,” Ben said sternly when they reached the haystack. “You begged me to tell you the secret, and I told you even though Father told me not to. So don’t tell them you know, okay?”
Polly stared at him. She badly needed to talk with Mother about the Indians, but she could see that Ben was speaking in earnest. “All right.”
“And by the way, Polly, Father doesn’t really think there’s any danger from the Indians. He thinks Jess was exaggerating.”
“Oh.” Polly breathed a sigh of relief. It certainly helped to know that. Still, Polly could not forget what Ben had said. Whenever she went to get water at the well in the next few days, she hurried back to the house. Playing outdoors was not fun anymore.
Ben noticed that and felt miserable. If only I’d never said anything about the secret! he thought.
Not long afterward Father said, “We should go fishing again. It’s been a while since we’ve had a meal of fish.”
“Yes, let’s!” Ben looked at Polly. “You’ll go too, won’t you?”
Polly hesitated and then shook her head. “Guess I’ll stay home.”
Ben felt sick again. He knew Polly liked fishing and knew why she didn’t want to go this time. She had greatly enjoyed their first trip to the lake. Later, as he and Father sat together on the shore of the lake, Ben made a decision. Shamefacedly he told Father, “I told Polly about Jess Holmes’s Indian stories.”
Father was quiet, and Ben could see the disappointment on his face. Father said sadly, “I had asked you not to.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I—well, when Polly caught on that I had a secret, she begged me to tell.”
Father looked at him. “I know it’s a temptation to try to make excuses, but we must learn not to do that. We must learn to take the blame, fair and square, when we have done wrong. You should not have hinted to her in the first place that you had a secret.”
“I’m sorry,” Ben said again. “I see that now.”
“Mother and I will talk it over before we decide what punishment you should have, and I will have a talk with Polly as soon as I can to set her mind to rest.”
Somehow the fishing was not as exciting as it had been the other time. After catching ten fish, Ben and Father decided they had had enough. Ben called Flip, who was sniffing around in the underbrush, and then he shouldered his share of fish and started off.
“Ben,” said Father, walking beside him. “I’m glad you confessed your disobedience. Remember, the Bible says, ‘Be sure your sin will find you out.’ ”
18
Rain at Last
One afternoon at the end of September, a strange team of horses came driving up to the Yoders’ home. A man climbed down from the wagon and walked to the door.
“Hello,” he said to Mother while twisting his hat in his hands. “I’m Adam Tracey. My wife, Verena, and our two boys are on the wagon. We’ve staked a claim on a homestead west of here. What we need right now is a place to stay for the night.”
“Do stay,” Mother said quickly. “Father and Ben could sleep in the barn. We—”
“Let me sleep in the barn,” Adam interrupted. “Just as long as my wife gets a warm bed to lie down in and maybe a bit of warm supper…She hasn’t been too well.”
“Of course. You may tie your horses near the haystack. My husband will be in for supper soon.”
The two little Tracey boys tumbled from the wagon and stood staring at Polly and Jakie. Polly and Jakie stared back.
Verena did look rather pale and ill. Mother told her to lie down while she and Polly got supper. As soon as Father and Ben came in, everybody squeezed around the makeshift table to eat Mother’s good soup and brown bread.
Adam Tracey was a talkative man. He told how he and his family had left Illinois because they could not make a living there. His two brothers already had homesteads in North Dakota, and by tomorrow night he hoped to reach their homes. The Traceys’ own homestead was right beside those of his brothers.
After supper Verena seemed to feel better. She helped with the dishes and talked about their long trip across the prairie in the wagon. “And wouldn’t you know,” she said with a tinkling laugh, “our cat had kittens right there in the wagon.”
“Kittens!” said Polly, forgetting to be shy. “Are they here?”
“Yes. Two are black and white and two are gray. Maybe you’d like to have a look at them before it gets dark out there.”
Out ran Polly. Jakie and the two little boys trotted after her. “There,” said the oldest Tracey, pointing to a green box. “In there.”
“Oh, the dear things,” cried Polly. She cradled one gray kitten against her chest. What a loud purr came from such a tiny creature!
“Would you like to keep two of them?” c
alled Verena from the door.
“Oh, yes! But we have no cow. Kittens need milk.”
“Well, you may keep the mother cat too,” Verena said.
Still clutching the kitten, Polly ran into the house. “Did you hear that, Mother? We could have the cat and two kittens. Think of all the mice they’d catch!”
Mother looked at Polly. “We’ll see what Father says.”
In the end, the cats stayed. The mother cat’s name was Rilla, and she settled her two remaining kittens in the Yoders’ tiny barn. She was a good mother cat and took good care of her kittens. Polly spent all of her spare time in the barn, and because of the cats, she wished school would never start.
One morning after breakfast, she said to Mother, “What if the other children at school aren’t nice to us?”
“I don’t think you need to worry,” Mother said, assuring her. “Don’t forget that not all the children will be strangers. Our neighboring homesteaders’—the Millers, Hershbergers, and Masts—children will be there too.”
“Yes, I know,” Polly said, though not very happily. After they washed the dishes, Polly went outside. A chilly October wind blew across the brown fields. Overhead the sky was filling with blue-black clouds, and before Polly reached the barn, a big drop of rain splattered on her forehead.
Polly nestled down in the sweet-smelling hay. Purr. The kittens found her and climbed around on her apron. Soon the rain on the sod roof grew to a steady drumming. “This is the kind of rain we longed for all summer,” Polly said to the kittens.
A drop of water hit her hand, another landed on her cheek, and a third wet her forehead. The barn roof was leaking. Faster and faster came the drops until it seemed to be raining inside the barn.
“I’m going to the house,” declared Polly, dumping the kittens from her lap. Rain hit her like a wall as she left the barn. Across the yard she sprinted. Opening the door she gasped, “Mother, it’s raining in the—”
But it was raining in the house too, just like it had when Father and Ben poured water on the roof before the fire. Mother was scurrying about putting pots and bowls under the worst leaks.
At that moment Father came in. He blinked when he saw the dripping ceiling. “It seems we didn’t make the roof good enough,” he said in a strained voice.
“Well, we tried,” Mother said, dragging the tub across the floor.
Father helped her with the tub and then sat down on the only box that had no pot or bowl standing on it. “I’ll have to talk with Bill McLellan again. He should know what to do about a leaking roof.”
“The thing is,” Ben said unhappily, “it probably doesn’t rain like this very often in North Dakota.” There was bitterness in his voice. “If only it had rained like this in the summer.”
Father rebuked him gently. “Moisture is never wasted on the soil, Ben.”
One little bowl was almost full of rain so Polly took it to the door to empty it. “Why, somebody’s here!” she said. “A lady is tying her horse out by the barn, and two girls are climbing down from the buggy.”
“I should help them,” Father said while pulling on his soggy coat.
But the three strangers were already at the door. The woman was tall and had gray hair. Mother greeted them with an apology. “I hope you can excuse our muddy floor. The roof—”
“I know all about leaking roofs,” the stranger said, interrupting Mother. “I’m Elena Whiteside, and these are my daughters, Lora and Patience. The rain feels so good after all the dry weather, that we don’t mind getting wet, do we, girls?”
The two freckle-faced youngsters shook their heads. They smiled at Polly, who smiled back.
Mother offered a packing box for Mrs. Whiteside to sit on. Once settled, Mrs. Whiteside began speaking about the Mylo school. She told how many boys and girls had been enrolled last term, explained what textbooks were needed, and then fixed her kindly eyes on Polly and Ben. “You two plan to attend, I assume?”
Mother answered for them, “Yes, they do.”
“You’ll like the school,” Mrs. Whiteside assured them. “The classroom is downstairs, and our living quarters are upstairs. I’m the teacher, you see.”
Polly’s jaw dropped. She thought, This nice, motherly woman is our teacher? Maybe school won’t be too bad after all.
Elena smiled. “By this time Lora and Patience have grown used to being taught by their mother.” Then a shadow passed across her face. “My husband died two years ago. We were farming, just like you, and living in a sod house.”
“Maybe you could tell us how to improve the roof,” Father said.
“Build a wooden one with shingles,” Mrs. Whiteside answered. “I guess you know that you can buy timber in the Turtle Mountains.”
Father did not answer. Polly knew why not. There was no money for buying lumber.
19
Cold
Polly told no one about her secret hope. No one, that is, except God. “Please God,” she prayed on the evening before school started, “let Kettie and Mattie be at our school. I want so much to see them again.”
On the first morning, Father took Polly and Ben to school with the team and wagon. He wanted to be sure they knew the way. The school was a neat, two-story building, appearing small and alone on the vast prairie.
Other children were arriving from different directions. Pulling Jasper and Rob to a halt, Father smiled at Polly and Ben. “I hope you have a good first day.”
Polly nodded. Something in her throat kept her from speaking. She wanted to linger on the seat beside Father, but instead she climbed down slowly while clutching her tin lunch bucket.
Father took Polly and Ben to school with the horses and wagon.
Ben spotted the Hershberger boys right away and hurried over to them while Polly forced her feet to carry her to the school gate. Someone said good morning, and there was Lizzie Miller with her familiar, wide smile. That made Polly feel better.
How strange it seemed to enter a wooden building again. For Polly it was the first time since leaving Indiana. She liked the clean smell of wooden walls and doors. Inside the classroom were smells of chalk and ink and paper.
Lora and Patience Whiteside came clattering down the stairs. With friendly smiles and hellos, they greeted all the girls.
Eagerly Polly scanned each newcomer’s face, but her heart sank after everyone was seated at their desks. Kettie and Mattie were not there. They lived too far away to attend this school.
Polly forgot about her disappointment as the day wore on. Mrs. Whiteside was a very nice teacher, even though she was not at all like Miss Mulligan. She smiled a great deal more than Miss Mulligan ever had.
“I like the Mylo school,” Polly said to Mother when she got home that night. “The other children were very friendly. But…”
When Polly didn’t say anything more, Mother asked, “Is something wrong?”
Polly stared down at the dirt floor. “Not really. I had hoped Kettie and Mattie would be there.”
“Oh,” said Mother. “And it turns out they’re going to some other school.”
“I prayed,” Polly confided. “I asked God to let them be there, but He didn’t answer my prayer.”
Mother was quick to correct her. “God always answers our prayers—just not always in the way we would like Him to. He knows best. He knows where Kettie and Mattie are and where they go to school, even if we don’t. I’m quite sure that someday we will find out where Kettie’s family lives.”
When Ben came in, Mother asked, “Did you stop and chat with Father in the field?”
“Yes. I’m glad he could borrow the oxen for plowing today. The horses needed a break.”
“And did you have a good day at school too?”
“I guess so,” he replied. “The lessons were pretty hard, but Mrs. Whiteside is helpful.”
Mother said warmly, “I’m glad you both enjoyed your first day at school.”
Ben plunked down on a packing box. “But I’ll be glad to stay out of sch
ool some days to help Father. When is he going for more firewood? He said I could go along when he does.”
“That might not be till November,” Mother told him. “As long as the ground’s not frozen, he wants to keep plowing.”
Mother was right. The next trip to the Turtle Mountains did not take place till the second week in November. Besides Ben and Father, two other wagons started off early that morning. Jerry Hershberger and John Kanagy each drove a wagon and brought one of their boys along.
The three boys were in high spirits, calling to each other as the wagons lumbered along. Though nippy with frost, the air was bright with sunshine. The horses’ hooves rang on the frozen track.
As the road led uphill, the horses grew weary. It was mid-afternoon when they finally reached the deepest part of the forest, and fallen trees were still easy to find. Clouds began to cover the sky, and a few snowflakes sifted down.
“We’d better fill our wagons before everything gets snowed under,” Jerry exclaimed.
Ben looked questioningly at Father. “Do you really think we’ll get lots of snow?”
“We might,” said Father, throwing the first branch onto the wagon, “though I’ve heard they usually don’t expect a great deal of snow in this area.”
“Not much rain, not much snow,” Ben commented.
That night the snowflakes covered everything with a thick, white carpet, and starting the campfire was quite a chore. Once the flames leaped high, everyone huddled close for warmth.
“Our horses should be blanketed for the night,” John said. “I think I’ll use the blankets Abe and I had planned to sleep on. We can keep warm if we sit close, can’t we, Abe?” His son nodded in agreement.
Everyone followed John’s example. Once the horses were warmly blanketed, the men and boys crowded closer to the fire. At first the boys thought it would be fun to stay awake all night. They laughed and talked and made up word games to play. After a while, though, everyone fell silent. The only sounds were the snowflakes hissing in the flames, the crackle of burning branches, and the moaning of the wind high in the treetops.
Blossoms on the Roof Page 8
