Hope on the Plains

by Linda Byler

  So what was so terrible about electricity? It would certainly be nice to pull a string and be illuminated with bright light on demand, instead of straining to see by the light of a smelly old kerosene lamp. Or, the way it used to be before coal oil—candles. She heard the wind moan around the eaves and wondered when the storm would arrive.

  Across the hallway, Sarah lay holding Abby until she slept, then slid out of bed and down onto her knees. She folded her hands, bent her head, and prayed. Over and over she thanked God for the generous giving and asked Him to bless each individual for their kindness.

  She wished Doris Rocher abundant happiness and many customers for Harry. She prayed that Betsy from the café would have a thriving business and Leonard Heel from the feed store a healed back. She mentioned all her acquaintances by name, and when she finished, she simply laid her head on her folded hands and softly wept with pure gratitude until the flannel sheets were wet.

  Outside, from the curdled black clouds, the first winds of December brought snowflakes the size of a quarter, flung them against the sturdy ranch house and whirled them down along the good German siding, where they began to accumulate in a hour’s time, just when Sarah lay her head on a pillow made of blessings.

  CHAPTER 5

  Hannah was down at the barn checking to see what remained to be done, the snow coming down steadily, a world of white around them, when Jerry found her.

  “Hannah.”

  She turned, wide eyed.

  “We’re leaving.”

  “Are you?”

  “Yes.”

  She stepped back, afraid he would hear the impossibly loud banging of her heart.

  “I want to wish you the best.” His voice quivered. He shook his head. “You’re a brave girl. I admire you, honestly. A part of me wants to stay here, protect you, watch over you.”

  Her eyes became hooded, the old bitterness a curtain of anger. “You sound like God.”

  “You know I’m not.”

  “Yeah, well, I can take care of myself.”

  “Can you?”

  “Of course. Manny’s here. My mother. Clay.”

  Jerry couldn’t help himself. “What does he mean to you? Clay.”

  “Nothing. You should understand that I’m never getting married. He wants me to marry him, but that … well, you know.”

  The silence stretched out. The interior of the barn was lit by a dim gray light, the new yellow lumber permeating the air with the acrid smell of pine. Through the door, a rectangle of white swirled in restless little arcs of wind tumbling the snow around.

  “What?” Hannah couldn’t take the silence, so static with unspoken words it was like the air during a prairie thunderstorm.

  “Hannah.” Jerry moved toward her, holding out both arms. “Just let me hold you. Something to remember me by.”

  “No!” Hannah stepped away, her back against the sweet-smelling lumber.

  “What would you say if I decided to move here if Ben Miller and Davey do? I don’t mean to be rude, but you could use a few good horses here in cow country. Not to mention a farrier.”

  “I don’t want you out here.” Blunt, the sharp edges like a serrated knife. From a distance they heard Davey’s high-pitched yell announcing the driver’s arrival.

  Another moment of her heart hammering against her ribs and then he stepped closer, gripped her shoulders in his large, calloused hands, gently drawing her toward himself, speaking her name as his eyes searched hers.

  “I know, Hannah. I know you don’t.” His lips closed over hers in a gentle kiss of goodbye, and then he released her.

  “I don’t know why you think you have the right to do that, Jerry Riehl. Go home to Lancaster County and find some Susie or Becky and marry her. Stay away from me!” She ran the back of her hand roughly across her mouth, her eyes bright with frustration and unshed tears.

  “Jerry! Get out of here!”

  But he held her again, with a hold like a vice. Crushing her to him, he bent his head and kissed her again. This time, he meant it. “Remember me, Hannah.” And then he was gone.

  Hannah had never been so angry, or so thoroughly shook up. She fell back against the wall, her chest heaving with agitation. In case he didn’t know it, he had just lost his last chance. That was a serious breach of good manners, or Amish Ordnung, or whatever you wanted to call it. If he moved out here, she would move to Utah, or California. She’d get a job picking tomatoes in some fertile valley. Oh, he had just now ruined his chances forever! But she moved stealthily to the side of the doorway, watched the two cars, her mother and Manny waving, dark figures standing alone on the prairie, the cars moving steadily away, through the gray white world of burnt earth and falling snow.

  Hannah breathed out, a long sigh of spent emotion. So now the men were gone. They were alone, her and Mam and Manny. She expected a rush of euphoria, an intense feeling of joy, but all she could manage was a weak smile that wouldn’t stay in place before sobs caught her unprepared. She stifled them with a balled up fist and swiped viciously at her streaming eyes with the corner of her scarf. But nothing could stop her feeling of desolation as she watched those two cars lumbering through the snow.

  She stamped her foot in frustration, blew her nose into a wadded handkerchief, and then took a fist and slammed it against the door frame, resulting in bruised knuckles that throbbed painfully through the remainder of the day.

  Sarah was in high spirits, humming a song as she cooked their dinner, rushing to the window to exclaim about the falling snow. A gift from God, this snow. Imagine the dried-out earth receiving this moisture that would give new life to the grass around them. She reveled in the wonders of the new cookstove.

  Abby discovered the water in the commode, threw wooden blocks into it, delighting in the splash, her high shrieks a signal that ended all her fun. “No, no,” Sarah scolded. Abby wailed in protest, hiding her face in Sarah’s skirts.

  There were so many new and useful things. The pantry contained many shelves, a corner that Sarah declared was the best idea any man had ever thought of.

  “You’re grosfeelich, Mam,” Eli chirped.

  Sarah laughed, a trilling, happy sound of the heady joy she felt. “Then I guess I will just have to be boastful for awhile, won’t I?” she said lightly, whirling from stove to table with the grace of a much younger woman.

  Mary watched her mother, put a hand over her mouth and giggled. This was a new Mam, one she had seldom known. Hannah gave away her bad mood by frowning, her eyebrows heavy above dull eyes. “Hope the food lasts, is all I can say.”

  Sarah chose to ignore this, knowing it would only bring out the worst in her if she chose to answer the endless, senseless argument that was Hannah’s style, caught in the net of her own dark mood.

  “Think Ben will move out?” Manny asked, sitting at the table, lifting lids and sniffing the delicious aromas.

  “I hope so. Davey Stoltzfus too. Jerry Riehl even spoke of it.”

  “Yeah, and he’s a horseman. Imagine the Jenkinses and the Klassermans when they see his horses!”

  “When,” Hannah spat out. “You don’t even know if he’s going to move out.”

  Manny eyed her levelly and thought, so that’s what’s wrong. Must have gotten tangled in some upsetting conversation with him.

  “I hope he does,” Sarah said, easily.

  “Why?” Hannah wanted to know.

  “For the same reason Manny says. The horses.”

  Hannah snorted.

  They ate the good hot vegetable stew and bread with apple butter, silently chewing their food in the bright new kitchen with the patterned linoleum like a rug in the middle of the room. The tablecloth was checkered in red and white squares, the snow casting a white, winter light over everything.

  A sturdy house, food in the pantry, the windmill churning away not far from the buildings, the cows out on the prairie finding grass, the unfinished barn housing their two old horses and aging wagon, the neighbors living close enough to h
elp in an emergency. God was above all, and they were blessed beyond measure.

  All day the snow fell steadily. It was a beautiful snow, not a storm. The wind whirled it playfully, as if God was smiling down on them, presenting them with the clean white beauty of a winter barely begun. It piled on the good shingled roof and slid off with a sound like falling water, a dull whump as it hit the snow below.

  Down at the barn, Hannah and Manny were hunched over a rough drawing of the interior of the unfinished barn. “If we have two stables on each side with a wide enough walkway, we can push a manure spreader back there and clean out slick as a whistle,” Hannah said.

  “As if we’ll ever own a manure spreader,” Manny muttered.

  “Sure we will. Maybe not next year or the year after, but sometime.” Hannah straightened her back and viewed the dim interior of the barn. She began to whistle, then hum, and then went back to whistling.

  Manny set up two sawhorses, flopped a wide piece of lumber on top and began to measure. Hannah grabbed a handsaw, ready to cut the board after it was marked correctly, still whistling, nodding her head to the internal beat only she could hear.

  Manny stood up, watched her with narrowed eyes. “You’re happy,” he said dryly, thinking it didn’t happen too often.

  “Oh, skip, skip, skip to my Lou,

  Skip, skip, skip to my Lou,

  Skip, skip, skip to my Lou,

  Skip to my Lou, my darlin’.”

  Manny frowned. “That song is senseless.”

  “Not if you’re dancing.”

  Alarmed, Manny stared at his sister. “You never did.”

  “I certainly did. That’s where I was the other week—well, months, weeks, how long ago was it? I danced with Clay. It was the best thing I ever did. I could dance all day, every day. I’m good at it. You wouldn’t believe it.” Hannah grinned, lifted her arms, and did a quick two-step, leaving poor Manny blushing, shaking his head in embarrassment.

  “Stop it, Hannah. What would Dat say?”

  Hannah shrugged and did another two-step, then another. “I’m never getting married, Manny. I hope you know there is no one who I will love enough to be his slave and be tied to a house like a common goat and have a bunch of kids. Nope. Not for me. It’s easier to flirt and be happy and see how many men want you to be their wife, and you know you’re never going to be.”

  Manny lifted another board, carried it back to the far end, and bent to position it before pulling out a handful of nails. Lifting his hammer, he began to pound in the nails.

  “Nothing to say to that, huh, Manny? That’s because you don’t know what to say. I’m right. I control my destiny. If I choose not to marry, that means I can be the rightful owner of the Bar S, make my own money, make all my own choices, do what I want with no whining man to cook for or wash his dirty socks. Nein. Nein.”

  Hannah laughed out loud, that short, raucous sound that came from deep within. Manny kept hammering away without giving her the satisfaction of a reply.

  “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

  Manny finished nailing the board, looked Hannah straight in the eye, and said, “Then you’d better not let Jerry Riehl do what he just did.”

  Hannah dropped her hammer. It landed on the toe of her boot and bounced off, unnoticed. She coughed, choked, and cleared her throat as her eyes widened and a deep flush spread across her cheeks. “What are you talking about?”

  “Next time he wants to say goodbye, you’d better make sure there is no one else in the barn.”

  “You weren’t! You were standing right out there with Mam. I saw you!”

  “I was in here. What do you think the back stall door’s for? A fast escape when …” He couldn’t bring himself to say kiss, so he stopped.

  “When what?”

  “Nothing.” Angrily, Manny pushed past her and began sawing another board, the movement of his arm jerky and his face hidden.

  “That wasn’t my fault, you know. He thinks he likes me and has the right to do that. He’s bold and despicable, and I can’t stand him!”

  “Didn’t appear like that to me.”

  That remark was a battering ram to Hannah’s wall of protective pride. She flew into a volley of angry words, telling him that he knew nothing about anything, and he couldn’t tell how she felt, no matter what he saw. “Snooping, nosy little brother. You ought to be ashamed of yourself!”

  “Oh, I’m not ashamed. You’re the one that should be. Stringing two of them along the way you are.”

  “I’m not stringing anyone along!” Hannah shouted, her dark eyes snapping with denial.

  “What did you just say? You were dancing with Clay, and Jerry just kissed you this morning.”

  “It wasn’t my fault!”

  “Wasn’t entirely his, either.”

  Hannah balled her fists, her head thrust forward as she stalked out of the barn, sizzling with wounded pride. Her feet stamped down hard in the ever-deepening snow as she walked blindly, without thinking, heading toward the tar-paper shanty that had been their home for the past weeks.

  How could her own beloved Manny turn against her like that? What did he mean by that last sentence? The one about it not appearing to him as if … As if what? As if she wasn’t willing? Well, she wasn’t.

  Like tangled yarn her thoughts knotted and folded in over themselves until she yanked on the door handle of the makeshift dwelling and heard a man’s cough.

  Her attention was brought up sharply when the cough was repeated. Peering through the gray gloom of the near windowless dwelling, she thought someone had left a pile of clothes or quilts in the corner. Then she heard another cough, raspy, like gravel tumbled in a creek bed.

  “Hey!” she called out, bold and unafraid.

  Immediately the pile of rags shifted, shoulders appeared, a head covered with an old cap, a gray blue scarf tied over the top. Two eyes like raisins in a flushed face etched like a map with blue and dark red veins crisscrossing the cheeks.

  “S’cuse me, ma’am. Beg pardon.” The breathing came in irregular puffs, labored. “Musta got sick. Come down with the flu.” More harsh, short breaths.

  “Well, tell me who you are,” Hannah demanded, short on patience and still holding onto the residue of her outrage.

  “Lemuel. Lemuel Short from over by Crock’s Landing.” A series of short, harsh barks followed.

  “Well, that doesn’t help. Never heard of a Lemuel. You sure it isn’t Benuel? Lots of Benuels where I come from.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “What am I supposed to do with you?”

  “Just let me rest a minute, ma’am.”

  “You’ll freeze.”

  “No, no, I’m out of the snow. Thank you kindly, ma’am.”

  “I can’t just let you lay there.”

  He coughed so violently that Hannah became alarmed, closed the door, and waded through the deepening snow to the house.

  She clattered up on the porch, stomped her boots to rid them of the clinging snow, opened the door, and yelled loudly for her mother, who looked up with frightened eyes as she opened the oven door. “Hannah! What is wrong?”

  “There’s a man in the shack.”

  Sarah straightened up, her eyes wide in the white, snowy atmosphere. “What man?”

  “Come and see for yourself.”

  Sarah grabbed her heavy black coat, a hand-me-down from her sister, Emma, and shrugged into it. A scarf on her head, boots on her feet, she followed Hannah across the yard to the shanty and let herself inside, more timid than Hannah had been.

  “His name is Lemuel Short,” Hannah hissed.

  “Mr. Short?” Sarah called softly.

  Immediately a head wrapped in the old blue gray scarf with small black eyes appeared.

  “Beg pardon, ma’am. Just resting awhile then I’ll be gone. Just let me rest and I’ll be on my way.”

  Sarah heard the harsh cough and instantly recognized Lemuel Short as a test from God, who had given, shaken, pressed d
own, and running over. Now it was her turn to give back by ministering to this angel in disguise. Not a trace of doubt. Clear-eyed, strong, the banner of her faith rippled in the soft wind of her voice. “Good afternoon, Mr. Short.”

  “Ma’am. Thank you.”

  “You will come to the house. We’ll get you better. I have a pot of ponhaus cooking, and we’ll make you a hot toddy. My name is Sarah and this is my daughter, Hannah.”

  Sarah reached down to help him up. He reached out a hand and tried, but fell back, then tried again. Hannah met Sarah’s eyes, a question answered by the lifting of Sarah’s chin to the left.

  Together each inserted a hand under his armpits and lifted gently until he stood on his feet. He was of average height, clothed in ordinary country outerwear, smelling of wood smoke, kerosene, and tar. His denim trousers were soaked from walking in the snow, his knees trembling.

  “Ready?”

  He nodded.

  Awkwardly, they maneuvered him through the small doorway, across the snowy yard, and up onto the porch, where he stood gasping and coughing, retching horribly while managing to mutter weak apologies.

  Manny came wading through the snow, plowing through at a half run, billows of loose snow like a wake behind him, his eyes dark questions in his face.

  “Help,” Hannah mouthed.

  They got him to the sofa where he collapsed and lay gasping amid his apologies. Sarah worked quickly. First she unlaced and removed his boots and then the gray wet socks. His toes were as white as if there was no blood circulating at all.

  Softly Sarah said, “The large agate tub with warm water.” Hannah obeyed promptly for once. Eli and Mary stood wide-eyed, Abby sitting with her fat little legs thrust straight out, her thumb in her mouth, watching every move.

  Tenderly Sarah rolled up the sodden denim of his trousers and unbuttoned his coat. Lemuel sat up and helped Sarah remove all his outer garments, his hands shaking like spring leaves, his jaw wobbling until his teeth clacked together.

  When she removed his scarf, Sarah could feel the heat. His face was flushed, his small brown eyes red-rimmed, shimmering with fever. Sarah realized the strength of his sickness. He may already have pneumonia or worse. Well, there were onions. She made a tincture paregoric. She would see what she could do, with God’s help.