Thunder Snow

by Abagail Eldan

  I clambered in the back of the wagon and wrapped one of the quilts we kept back there around me. The days of April were warm, but the early morning still held a chill. Zeke also wrapped up in a quilt, and the sway of the wagon soon lulled him to sleep. My eyelids grew heavy, and I yawned.

  The rocking of the wagon did its job. My eyes closed, and I slept.

  Chapter 25—Awakening

  I didn’t awaken until Momma shook me by the shoulder. Still groggy, I sat and tried to get my bearings. While Momma lifted Zeke from the wagon, I yawned and stretched.

  The morning sun rose over the general store. Wooden sidewalks stretched from the First National Bank of Dozier to the feed store and to a brand-new store that sold tractors.

  On one side of the street stood a gas station, a post office, and a church. In the middle of the dirt road stood a watering trough with hitches for mules and horses, and near it was a cement water fountain. A little piece down the road a place had been set aside for parking cars. An old Model T and a Ford truck were parked there now.

  I smoothed my hair and straightened the belt on my dress before climbing out of the wagon. Momma took out the tools she had brought to town to be repaired.

  I watched the few people who sauntered along the sidewalk. A man in a white suit pushed open the door to the bank. Two women wearing cotton dresses and bonnets entered the store. Leaning against the store’s walls, three men and two boys ate cheese and crackers.

  “What in the world is this?” Momma asked.

  I turned in her direction. The fertilizer sack lay on the ground in front of her.

  “Wait, Momma!”

  But it was too late. She had already untied the twine. The rooster scrambled out of the bag, string dangling from one leg. Momma lunged for him, but with a squawk, the rooster flapped his wings and flew a few feet away. He scuttled down the center of the road.

  The men and boys on the sidewalk laughed. Momma’s mouth opened and closed before words came out.

  “Sarah Jane, what was a rooster doing in that sack?”

  “I thought I would bring him to Dozier to sell him.”

  Momma came around the side of the wagon. Her lips were pressed firmly together as she glared at me.

  “I’ve got a lot of business to tend to today. You and Ezekiel are going to have to catch that rooster.”

  “Momma, I want to go with you.” Zeke’s voice rose in a wail. “It’s Jay’s fault.” He crossed his arms, poking out his bottom lip.

  “Help your sister, and then you can go to the store.” Momma spoke firmly.

  “Why can’t we just let the rooster go?” I asked.

  “Sarah Jane! We’re not leaving a rooster running around town. We might be able to sell him.” Momma adjusted her bonnet. “And you would’ve already caught him if you hadn’t stood there arguing.”

  Without another word, I took off in the direction of the rooster, Zeke trailing behind. The rooster had settled down in the middle of the road, probably wondering where he was at. I motioned for Zeke to go around on the right. I circled to the left. The rooster stretched his neck and darted glances at both of us. I placed one foot in front of the other as softly as possible and crept closer. Zeke stopped.

  “Look, Jay. That boy has a stick of peppermint.” He pointed to a boy about his age, holding his mother’s hand as they crossed the road.

  “Shhh . . . We’ve almost got him. Hold still,” I hissed.

  Zeke swiveled back toward the rooster. At that moment, the rooster flew toward Zeke, smacking into him.

  Zeke bent forward and covered his head as the rooster clawed him. I sprinted the short distance, shouting and waving my arms. The rooster flew a few feet away. Zeke collapsed against me crying. I tugged out the handkerchief I kept tucked in my belt and wiped at his tears.

  One red scratch about three inches long seeped a little blood. I blotted the blood, staining my handkerchief. Zeke winced and cried out.

  “You’re okay,” I crooned.

  Zeke quit crying and stared at me. “I ain’t helping no more.”

  “You’ve got to help me. I can’t catch him by myself.” I held him by the shoulders. “Please?”

  He kicked at the dirt. “I don’t want to.”

  “I don’t either, but sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to. Come on. I saw him going that way.” I pointed to a street alongside the church.

  Houses lined each side of the street. Large oaks, beginning to bud, towered in almost every yard. Picket fences, some badly in need of repair, enclosed the grassless yards. Zeke and I walked down the road, searching for a sign of the rooster. We found him perched on one of the fences.

  I hesitated, not wanting to trespass into someone’s yard. “Hello?” I called, sure they could hear me through their open windows. No one came to the door. “It doesn’t look like anyone is at home.” I grasped Zeke’s shoulders. “This is what we’re going to do. You walk in front of him and keep his attention. I’ll sneak up behind him. Can you do that?”

  Zeke nodded. “How close do I have to get?”

  I gave him a reassuring pat on his arm. “Not close. Just close enough so he’s watching you instead of me.” I helped Zeke over the fence and waited until he stood about twenty feet in front of the rooster.

  Sure enough, my nemesis perked up his head and ruffled his feathers.

  “Not too close,” I called softly. I began to make my way behind the rooster.

  He cocked his head, his beady eye watching me.

  “Wave your arms a little,” I encouraged Zeke.

  Zeke obeyed, and the rooster’s attention drew back to him. I cautiously picked my way forward until I was close enough to touch him if I stretched out my arm. I drew in a deep breath and lunged forward.

  I caught one of the rooster’s legs and held on tightly. As I lifted him from the fence, his wings beat in a frenzy. I held up my free arm to ward off blows to my face. As I did, the leg slowly slipped from my grasp.

  “Catch him!” I screamed at Zeke.

  We both dove toward the rooster. But, it was too late.

  The rooster, squawking, flew twenty feet away. Zeke and I lay for a minute where we landed, watching the rooster scurry away.

  “I give up,” I said.

  I rose wearily and helped Zeke to his feet. I brushed away some of the dirt from his overalls and from my dress.

  We walked back to the center of town, and I dipped my handkerchief in the water trough. I wiped off Zeke’s face and dabbed at mine. When we were as clean as we were liable to get, I took Zeke by the hand and headed for the store.

  The large window was cloudy with dirt, but I peered through it until I spotted Momma. She sorted through material laid out on a large table. No one was around her.

  “Come on, Zeke.”

  We scurried through the door and wound our ways around the displays until we reached Momma. She raised her head, and her mouth dropped open.

  Dropping the material she was holding, she shooed us toward the door. I didn’t argue, but Zeke pulled his hand from mine and planted his feet.

  “Ezekiel James Hunter,” Momma said, in a voice usually reserved for me. “You’re not coming in here as filthy as you are.” She grabbed him around the wrist, and Zeke cried and pulled back.

  I could have told Zeke resistance was futile. She clamped her lips together and renewed her grip on his arm. She led him out with me following. We stopped right outside the door.

  “Sarah Jane, what did you do with the rooster?” Momma still had a firm grasp on Zeke, but he wiggled and squirmed, trying to work himself loose.

  I looked down at my feet. “We couldn’t catch him. Sorry, Momma.”

  She sighed. “Take Zeke back to the wagon and stay there.” She held Zeke’s arm out to me, and I took it.

  His cries increased as Momma reentered the store. He swung a kick in my direction.

  “Zeke, come on.” I started across the road, and his cries turned into screams.

  Embarras
sed, I kept my head down, dragging him along. When we got to the wagon, I hoisted him up, and he immediately began to clamber back down.

  “Zeke, stop it! Momma said we had to stay in the wagon.” I gave him a little push back and scrambled up before he could climb back out.

  He again made a beeline for the side of the wagon. I grabbed him around the waist and sat down, yanking him into my lap. He fought against me until I was able to pin his arms down. His screams became sobs and then hiccups.

  “I want candy,” he said, his voice quivering.

  I knew he wanted more than candy. He wanted Poppa, and I did too.

  I drew his head against my chest and held him tight. Misery washed over me as Zeke relaxed in my arms.

  The sun bore down on us. Good thing it wasn’t summer yet, or it would have been unbearable.

  As it was, sweat trickled down my back. Zeke fell asleep, and I continued holding him. My stomach growled, and I realized I had not eaten breakfast.

  It was now lunchtime. I wondered if Momma would bring us any lunch.

  As I sat there, my arms becoming numb, the rooster strutted out into the road. I averted my eyes. That dumb rooster.

  My hunger increased. I laid Zeke down on the quilt, and he rolled to his side with a quivering sigh. I dug around until I found the biscuits and sausage.

  I was thirsty after I ate, so I climbed down and drank from the water fountain. I wet my handkerchief again and wiped my face before returning to the wagon.

  I wished I had brought David Copperfield to read. I hadn’t planned on sitting in a wagon for hours.

  I watched the people but didn’t see anyone I knew. More wagons arrived and three more cars. I wondered if we would ever have a car. With Poppa gone, it seemed unlikely.

  A Phaeton would be great. Were all the hood ornaments the same or could you pick and choose? I closed my eyes and imagined riding in that car.

  When the image of Dan came in my mind, my eyes flew open. I wished I could lie down and rest, but Momma would have a conniption. Young ladies did not lie down in public.

  Zeke was lucky to be a boy. I idly watched the people walking along the sidewalk and recognized some boys from school.

  One of them was Michael. I slumped down in the wagon, hoping he hadn’t noticed me.

  Finally, Momma came out of the store with two men loaded down with supplies. The men loaded the supplies in the back of the wagon.

  Momma climbed in the wagon without speaking and drove to the side of the store to load the fertilizer and seeds.

  Zeke woke and sat up, rubbing his eyes. “I’m hungry.”

  Momma opened one of her packages and took out several crackers, dividing them between us. We each received a slab of cheese, and it tasted like sheer heaven.

  After the men finished loading the wagon with the seed and fertilizer, Momma drove the creaking wagon toward the edge of town. We passed Michael among a group of men and boys. I slouched farther down in the wagon.

  One of the men called to us. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  We looked to where he pointed. The rooster had climbed to the top of the general store. He flapped his wings and crowed, his feathers iridescent in the sun. The men slapped their legs and laughed. I frowned.

  Didn’t they know Poppa had just died?

  “A present for all of you,” Momma called back. “Something to remind you to get your lazy selves up every morning.” The men laughed with Momma, and the wagon groaned under the heavy load as we drove out of town.

  My cheeks burned as if they were on fire, and I buried my head in my hands. How could Momma laugh after Poppa had died? Didn’t those men know what had happened to us? Didn’t anyone care? Was everyone going to forget him?

  I gritted my teeth.

  Chapter 26—See-saw

  I raised my head and stared back at the town. Momma twisted in her seat and turned her head toward Zeke and me.

  “If that rooster laid an egg on the top of that roof, do y’all know which way it would roll?”

  Zeke tilted his head and frowned. He shrugged his shoulders. I simply ignored Momma.

  “Why it wouldn’t roll at all. Roosters don’t lay eggs.” Momma chuckled, and Zeke smiled.

  Momma never told jokes. I shook my head in bewilderment.

  A covered bridge was just outside of town. I asked Momma to stop before we entered into the dark shadows. I had been cooped up long enough. I wanted to walk behind the wagon.

  Momma agreed, and I climbed down. The mules never liked to walk through the covered bridge, and Momma had to slap the reins several times before they moved forward.

  I held on to the back of the wagon. Water rushed below, and the entrance gaped before us as only a dark shadow.

  We moved slowly through, Mr. Price and Aunt Sally carefully picking their way. Yellow spiders with green designs spun webs between the trusses. Some of the spiders were as large as the palm of my hand.

  I shivered as I averted my eyes. Dark shadows fell over us with only a ray or two of sunlight finding its way through cracks.

  The mules rushed toward the light at the other end of the tunnel, and I had to trot to keep up with them.

  As the mules emerged from the bridge, they suddenly bolted. Splinters from the wagon dug into my hand, ripping the flesh as the wagon jerked away from beneath my hold.

  My knees slammed into the planks of the bridge. I thrust my hands forward to catch myself, and pain shot up my arms as they hit solid ground.

  I landed face down, half in shadow and half in sunlight. I pushed myself over and sat up. Momma pulled the mules to a stop.

  Zeke climbed from the wagon and ran to me.

  “Jay, are you okay?” he called.

  “I’m not sure.” I took a deep breath to steady myself.

  He tried to help me to my feet. After struggling to stand, I took a few faltering steps.

  “What happened to the mules?”

  “One of those garden spiders fell on Aunt Sally’s back,” Zeke said.

  Momma sighed when we reached the wagon. “Why you wanted to get out and walk, I’ll never know. Always wanting to do something crazy.”

  Zeke scrambled into the wagon, and I gingerly followed him.

  Momma opened another package. “Anyone want one?” She held up two peppermint sticks.

  Zeke took both and handed me mine.

  “Thanks, Momma,” I said.

  She didn’t answer. The soft peppermint stick could be eaten in a few seconds, but I wanted to savor the flavor. I held the end in my mouth and let it melt, the sweetness spreading into my throat.

  My knees throbbed, and my hands ached. With one hand, I rubbed my knees gently.

  Nothing broken, just bruised.

  Zeke snuggled beside me, and we picked out shapes in the clouds for the rest of the way home.

  When we arrived home, Zeke and I finished off the biscuits and sausages for supper and fell into bed, exhausted.

  THE NEXT MORNING WAS Sunday. Momma had packages for both Zeke and me.

  I sawed through the twine with an old knife.

  It was new shoes. I helped Zeke lace his up, and then we walked to church.

  Dan leaned against the front of the church building as if waiting for someone. Zeke stopped to speak to a friend a few feet from Dan.

  Dan tucked his fists under his arms and flapped his elbows like wings.

  Michael came around the building and grinned at Dan. I marched over to them, pointing my finger at Michael.

  “Why did you tell him?” I shouted. I locked eyes with him.

  Michael looked from Dan to me. “You’re upset over the rooster?” His brow furrowed.

  I turned to Dan and poked at his chest. “Don’t make fun of me.”

  “Darling, we’re just having a little fun.” He grinned.

  “I’m not your ‘darling.’ Not now, or ever.” I narrowed my eyes.

  His face darkened. Before he could speak, I spun on my heel, grabbed Zeke’s hand, and st
omped up the steps.

  How dare Michael tell Dan. And then for Dan to make fun of me! Right after Poppa had died.

  I slid onto the pew next to Zeke.

  Michael, his eyes the liquid brown of a deer’s with eyelashes longer than mine, talking about me to Dan! I kicked the pew in front of me with my new shoes.

  I didn’t hear a word of preaching.

  THE REST OF THE WEEK, every time Dan looked at me, I saw the anger in his eyes. He flapped his arms at every opportunity, and I steadily ignored him until he finally stopped.

  Michael approached me once, but I stomped off in another direction.

  Momma, as I knew she would be, was still upset over the rooster and kept me busy the entire week. I had to watch Zeke and cook supper while she worked late, getting ready for the spring planting.

  I didn’t know how we were going to manage. Momma came in exhausted every day after plowing and then planting the early crops.

  As I tucked Zeke in bed one night, he laid a hand on my arm. “Jay?”

  “Yes?”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you, too. Go to sleep now.” I started toward my bed, my legs wobbly.

  “Jay?” he said again.

  “It’s time to get to sleep,” I mumbled. I felt exhausted and longed to lie down.

  “But you feel hot.”

  “What?” I touched my forehead.

  “You’re hot,” he repeated.

  “I . . .” And then I gagged. I yanked the chamber pot out from under the bed and was violently sick.

  Zeke hopped out of bed and ran from the room. “Momma!”

  Another wave of nausea washed over me.

  I vomited until my stomach was empty. Momma sent Zeke with a wet rag.

  I wiped my face, too sick to care Momma hadn’t come herself.

  “Zeke, go sleep with Momma,” I said hoarsely.

  He scurried from the room, looking relieved.

  I gagged again and retched, until I had nothing left to throw up. Exhausted, I fell back on the pillow.