Hope on the Plains

by Linda Byler

  The choice was easy. She’d stay right here. Storms always—usually—followed a pattern. The wind was roaring in her ears. She turned to watch the storm and braced herself against it. She had never seen cloud formations quite like these. The dark-as-night wall, which was the storm, she figured, preceded by a writhing gray mass of either rain or wind, she couldn’t be sure which. Hod had warned them of cyclones, the twisting, turning whirlpools of monstrous wind and destruction.

  Hannah screamed as she felt a grip around her waist; she screamed again when she felt herself being lifted and hauled like a sack of feed across Jerry’s lap. She yelled and kicked, but his arm was like a vice and held her fast, pressing the breath out of her until she was fortunate to be able to take small, desperate intakes of air.

  She could only grasp at air, her hands flying down the side of the now galloping horse. She was completely at Jerry’s mercy. The ground was so close she could have touched the tall weeds on the side of the road, whizzing by in waves of dark grass, streaks of brown dust, and parched, cracked earth.

  Hanging by her waist like that, blood rushed to her face, and her head began to pound. The horse increased his speed into a headlong, mad gallop, his hooves flailing and pounding, the neck by her left side moving in rhythmic lunges. She felt as if her life was in danger.

  Her anger dissipated, replaced by a sick fear she had never known. He didn’t care about her. The truth was worse than the hard, cutting slice of pain that tore into the side of her face, her outstretched arms, and her bare feet. The pain was indescribable, like thousands of knife points stabbing her skin. She cried out in a choked, pleading voice, but all that emerged from her throat was a guttural sound like a choking animal.

  Determined to endure this and stay alive, she hung on, resigned to whatever happened next.

  What did happen was that hail assaulted every exposed inch of her body, and the vice-like grip around her waist tightened. She could not breathe. She tasted blood in her mouth and realized the hail was cutting through her skin.

  Booms like falling timbers. Weird flashes of blue light. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t breathe. Then, the hail ceased and gave way to a cold, drenching deluge that soaked them. It was like being under a waterfall.

  She struggled to stay conscious. The world turned into movement, a pinwheel of sound and color, of wet and cold and pain, always choked by the grasp around her middle.

  The horse’s hooves no longer pounded; they splashed, plopping through rivers of water and flying brown grass that blew loose from the weakened dry roots and hurled itself against them by the storm’s force.

  She heard a shout, struggled to stay conscious. Waves of pain and cold set her teeth to chattering, jouncing around as if they were no longer a part of her.

  Another shout. Then they crashed headlong into the smell of dirt and hay and manure and blessed stillness.

  She felt his hands around her waist, pulling her off the horse and lifting her to the ground, helping her to stand against the rough lumber of a stall, where she slid down, the barn floor solid and unyielding beneath her.

  She was as soaked as if they’d dragged her through the watering trough. She pulled at her skirt, too weak to make much difference.

  Rain pummeled the metal roof like bullets. Lightning flashed, followed by rolling crashes of thunder that spoke of the bottled-up fury contained in the summer clouds that had refused to give their rain.

  Hannah had read of sailors who were weeks at sea, kissing the earth beneath their feet after arriving safely on shore. She now knew exactly how they felt. Never had she blessed a metal roof like she did this one.

  CHAPTER 15

  Conversation was useless, as the storm hung over the old Perthing place and pounded the metal roof with a wind-lashed deluge that sounded as if buckets of water were being thrown against the metal.

  There wasn’t much light. Only a grayish dark world and the smell of leather, horse sweat, manure, and dry hay. The black horse’s nostrils quivered as they moved in rhythm to the heaving of his flanks, sweat dripping on the floor of the barn.

  Hannah’s chest rose and fell as she breathed, each intake of breath a sucking of air driven by desperation. She shivered, wrapped her arms around her waist, puddles of dirty water mixed with hay and straw pooling beneath and around her.

  She was aware of Jake Fisher and Jerry dragging off the soaked saddle then rubbing down the magnificent horse. There was no other word to describe him, this massive black animal made of powerful muscle and tendon. Hannah marveled at his incredible ability to almost outrun a fast-moving storm, keeping his hooves pounding through mud and water at a pace that never slowed, staying on his feet in the slimy muck made of dust and dry, parched earth pasted to the falling rain.

  “She all right?” Hannah heard the words, not meant for her ears.

  There was no answer, only the sound of the lashing rain and wind.

  The care of the horse went on for too long, in Hannah’s opinion. Evidently the horse’s comfort was far more important than her own well-being, as they busied themselves without so much as a glance in her direction, which, she finally decided, she wouldn’t have seen anyway because of the dark interior of the barn.

  She was cold. Her middle hurt, right across the top of her stomach, where she’d been flung over the horse like a dead calf. Exactly the way Clay slung a dead calf across his saddle.

  Hannah was unaccustomed to humiliation. Now she couldn’t bear to think of herself sprawled across Jerry’s saddle. She couldn’t think of it. Let him mention it once and he’d be sorry.

  She was wet. Wet? She was soaked! She was as wet as if she’d stayed right there with Pete. Likely the poor old horse had died, alone on the prairie in a pounding storm that hurled hailstones on his faithful, fallen body. She had meant to stay, meant to stay right there with him.

  When the rectangular shapes of the barn windows appeared to be turning from dark gray to a lighter color, the rasping, hissing sound of driven rain turned to a softer, whispering sound. Jerry walked over and stood above her. He said nothing, just stared down at her.

  Then, “Cold?” he asked.

  She didn’t raise her head. All she could think of was being slung across that saddle and the headlong dash through the hail and wind and rain.

  “Your face is bleeding.”

  She didn’t lift her face or bother answering. Just sat there like a log.

  “Can you hear me, Hannah?” Not a trace of tenderness. Nothing.

  “I can hear you,” she said, low and harsh.

  He loved her voice. It was so low, almost like a man’s, and husky. Well, she was angry now, so he’d better be careful.

  “You can come inside with Jake and me.”

  “For what?”

  “To take care of the bleeding and get you into some dry clothes.”

  “You should have left me alone. I’m as wet now as if I’d have stayed with Pete.”

  “You think?”

  When there was no answer and the silence dragged out, Jake walked over and said he was making a run for the house.

  Jerry nodded, “Go ahead.”

  When Hannah refused to look at him or answer his questions, he plunked down beside her, raised one knee and laid an arm across it. With the other hand he touched the dirty, sodden fabric of her dress. She slid away from him, leaving a wet trail through the dirt.

  “What if a cyclone would have touched down? You’d have had no protection whatsoever. None. I couldn’t leave you out there.”

  “Pete’s probably dead.”

  “He’s an old horse. He has kidney problems.”

  “You don’t know how old he is. Or if he has kidney problems.”

  Touchy. Testy. He could never say the right thing. “Come on, Hannah. Let’s go inside.”

  “No.”

  Jerry sighed. “Don’t you ever do as you’re told?”

  “Hardly ever.”

  “Why?”

  “People are dumb.”


  He bit off the words that came to his mouth and asked instead, “What were you doing out riding so far away from home?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Just riding?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, if you won’t come inside, can I take you home after the rain quits?”

  “I can walk.”

  “No, you can’t. I’ll ride King, and you can take the palomino.”

  Hannah turned suspicious eyes in his direction. Still trying to see that she got that horse, although he knew perfectly well she wasn’t going to take him. Sly, slick, and deceiving, that’s what he was.

  “I’m not taking the palomino.”

  “Why not?”

  She shrugged. Jerry got to his feet, stood looking down at her. In the half-light of the storm she was so hauntingly beautiful. Dark lashes on a firm, beautifully contoured cheek. That petulant mouth, just enough of a pout to intrigue him, wondering what had ever happened in her life to make her so obstinate, so hard-hearted.

  He had never met a girl—no, any person—quite like Hannah. Nothing suited her, nothing pleased her. Everybody annoyed or irritated her. If he had a lick of common sense, he’d stay far away from the Detweiler ranch. But a challenge like Hannah was intriguing and captured his interest the way the plains of North Dakota had.

  “Well, if you won’t come inside to dry out, and you won’t ride the palomino, then I suggest we ride King double.”

  “Don’t you have a buggy?” she asked, picking at the bits of hay clinging to her skirt.

  “It’s tore apart right now.” Partly true. He was replacing one dry wheel, oiling it.

  The rain was still whispering across the roof, the day was turning steadily lighter, as Jerry remained standing, hands on his hips, looking down at Hannah, marveling at her sodden, rain-washed beauty. Not one other girl could sit in the middle of a barn littered with dirt and hay and straw, soaking wet, her hair plastered to her head like a shining dark cap, its tendrils drying out, framing her face, and be the most attractive thing he’d ever seen.

  What he wanted to do and what he did were very different things. He walked away, opened a gate, led King and the brown gelding out to the watering trough, and then began to brush King’s sleek sides with long strokes of the grooming tool. He could learn as he went along, what worked and what didn’t with Hannah.

  Obviously, holding her close, certainly as close as he had before he really knew her, was off limits. He wasn’t the kind of person that would cringe about past mistakes, but he acknowledged that there was definitely a learning curve.

  Like an untamed horse, she had never been taught to listen, due either to an absent father or a weak mother, or perhaps through no one’s fault. Perhaps she had been born with this irritation. Who knew?

  King saddled and bridled, he brought out the palomino and began to brush him in the same easy manner, ignoring Hannah. When he was finished, he turned to her.

  “Ready?”

  “I told you, I’m not taking the palomino.”

  Jerry counted to ten, then said it was still raining anyway, they may as well go into the house, dry out a bit, and get something to eat.

  “No.”

  So, he left her there, sitting on the dirt floor of the barn and went into the house. He opened drawers and slammed them shut like the bang of a rifle. He made a sandwich with quick, jerky movements of frustration, wolfed it down with bitter swallows of hot coffee, grabbed his old felt hat, and swung out the door.

  Jake Fisher went on with his carving of a wolf and didn’t say a word. Jerry better be careful, he thought, or he’d be in over his head with that one.

  Jerry noticed the storm clouds passing on, leaving the northwest washed blue through rents in the residue of black storm clouds. He’d risk it then. He opened the barn door wide, allowing afternoon light to stream in along with the smell of parched earth reawakened by the rain.

  Hannah blinked, turned back to threading a piece of straw through her fingers.

  “Look, I’m busy. We’re working on the house. Get up on the palomino and follow me. I won’t ride the whole way. We’ve got work to do.” He raised his eyebrows, waiting.

  She got to her feet—she was so tall—and pulled at her damp skirt, smoothed her hands across the front of her dress to rid herself of any clinging straw and hay.

  He watched as she walked over to the palomino and without a word, swung up into the saddle and walked him through the barn door, ducking her head slightly to clear the overhead beam. There was nothing for Jerry to do but follow.

  The earth had changed to a washed brown. Everything shimmered with raindrops, like jewels, clinging precariously to brittle brown grass that had been softened by the deluge. It was a joy to breathe in and absorb the scents of the settled dust, the wet grass, and the rivulets that still trickled beside the road, vanishing shyly into the moistened roots.

  The horses felt the change and tugged on the reins, wanting to run. Hannah felt the tugging, the step sideways, the dancing, as if the palomino was walking on air. She felt the tightening of his muscles, the gathering of unleashed power beneath her, the golden horse waiting for her command to run.

  Ahead of her, Jerry was up on King, looking as if he was having difficulty holding him back. Excitement welled up in Hannah, but she knew she could not let it show and allow Jerry to see any willingness to accept his horse. If she did, she’d be indebted to him, the last thing on earth she wanted.

  Jerry brought King to a stop. Hannah caught up. “He wants to run. I’m going to give him his head for a few miles to settle him down. We’ll go slow and look for your horse afterward.”

  Nothing could have prepared Hannah for the surge of speed, the clean, flowing gait of a well-bred horse. The comparison to their old horses was like night and day.

  She had never known such speed existed on horseback. She became frightened, realizing that she was hurtling along on the back of a lunging animal that reveled in this breakneck speed and had no intention of slowing down. Quite simply, this horse loved to run, loved to race with the brown horse well ahead of her.

  The distance was closing in. She could see King’s flailing hooves as Jerry bent low, his hat pulled down over his forehead, the gathering of the horse’s withers, loosened when hooves dug into the earth, sending mud and water and bits of grass flying up to hit the palomino’s chest. His nose was close to the bobbing flanks. Hannah ceased to think. There was nothing in her mind, just getting past Jerry to show off her riding skills.

  She leaned forward, loosened the reins, shook them the slightest bit, and was rewarded by another, stronger gathering of hoof, tendon, and muscle.

  Now to Jerry’s side, to his horse’s neck. A shout from Jerry. On they went, thundering across the wet, muddy road with the remnants of the storm hanging like banners to cheer them on.

  Nose to nose, and Jerry reined in, laughing and throwing his hat on the ground, his dark eyes shining into hers. In the exulting of the moment, Hannah forgot her pride, all her foolish refusal to cooperate, everything. She stood up in the stirrups, pumped an arm upward and yelled across the wide, rain-washed prairie that she had won! If they had been neck and neck in the beginning, the palomino would have won effortlessly.

  “I held King back,” Jerry stated, slanting his eyes at her. Hannah laughed and shook her head, then laughed deeper and more genuinely. Jerry had heard that sound only once before.

  They both turned to look at the same moment, taking in the sight of an old bay horse, his neck outstretched, his ears lifted in welcome, alive and, by all appearances, quite recovered.

  “Pete!” Hannah flung herself off the palomino’s back, reached Pete with a few quick steps, gathered up the reins that dragged on the ground, and held on to them. She rubbed the scruffy head, sliding a hand beneath his mane where his coat was as smooth as silk.

  She forgot Jerry, who sat in his saddle taking it all in and wondering at this girl, this Hannah Detweiler, with a hard, impenetrable crust coveri
ng her like a burr on a chestnut. But what, really, was on the inside?

  The palomino followed Jerry home, and no decision was made. Hannah rode Pete home and arrived to loud acclaim from the porch, Sarah and Manny having been quite beside themselves with worry.

  Jerry went home to the place they called a house, although it wasn’t a house by anyone’s imagination. It was merely a leaking old board shack they’d cleaned out and planned to insulate against winter’s arrival. The barn had taken up more time than they’d planned, and here was summer on the way out with nothing much else done.

  He had to put the thought of Hannah behind him. She addled his wits, making a mess out of his common sense. He needed to focus on the work at hand.

  Jake fried steaks rolled in flour in the cast iron skillet. He thickened the pan juices and poured the hot gravy over biscuits that were so hard, you couldn’t eat them unless they were softened with it. He was the worst cook ever, but Jerry never said anything, knowing full well he could do no better and would probably do worse.

  “Supper,” Jake announced.

  Jerry pulled up a chair, ate the salty gravy marbled with streaks of fat and dotted with white lumps of flour. The biscuits had to be cut with a serrated bread knife; a table knife couldn’t dent them. But after the gravy soaked through, they were edible.

  Jake was younger than Jerry by a few years. They’d gone to school together and attended the same church service. They liked the same girls and drove the same kind of horses. They were more than impressed with North Dakota. The wide open spaces got into their blood, and they lived for the day when they could move out here and stay.

  Unlike Jerry, Jake came from a family that was as tight as a ball of yarn. Jerry teased his friend, saying that if he accompanied him out West, the whole family was sure to follow.

  At night, Jerry detected homesickness when Jake became quiet, a faraway look in his eyes, not answering when Jerry spoke to him. Jerry knew he was back with his family, the sisters and brothers he loves, the kindly father who spoiled him just a bit, and the mother who doted on his every whim.