Hope on the Plains

by Linda Byler

  She slumped against the barnyard fence, gasping for breath, one half-breath after another, turning into a painful tearing in her chest. She slowed her breathing, tried to get out from under the terrifying weight on her chest and around her middle.

  The first one to reach her side was Clay, his face ashen.

  “Hannah!” His voice was terrible.

  She remained calm, kept herself level-headed, fought for breath and nodded, watching Clay’s face.

  “You all right?”

  She nodded again.

  Surrounded now by the rest of the crew, Manny’s face hardly recognizable as he worked hard to keep his emotions in check, Hannah was soon able to assure them that she was all right.

  Clay felt her shoulder and asked her to turn her head both ways, then checked her arms and knees, asking her to bend and straighten them.

  “I will be okay,” Hannah said, soft and low.

  The cattle were sorted and branded that day, but not without a sensible and serious discussion about the upcoming cattle drive.

  When the air turned brittle with cold, they stood around the coals left over from the branding, Clay holding court.

  “This thing of drivin’ these cattle ain’t gonna work. You saw what happened today. None of you is experienced. You gotta give it up.”

  He didn’t spare any feelings or try to decorate the facts with flowery praise. He just kept talking, building his case, counting the reasons that stacked up to a considerable height.

  The most important thing was water. “There ain’t none,” he stated, bluntly.

  Hannah broke in, “It will rain, soon.”

  “What if it don’t?”

  “We’ll go anyhow.”

  “How you gonna keep these cows alive? How?”

  “It will rain, I said.”

  “You ain’t God. You don’t know whether it will rain!” Clay shouted, clearly upset with her stubborn refusal to accept his advice.

  Jerry suggested they wait out the next three days, and if it rained a significant amount, they’d go. If not, they’d truck them.

  “We’re not trucking these cattle.”

  Sure enough, the following evening, a dark gray mountain of clouds blew in from the northwest. Hannah could smell the rain long before it arrived. The smell of wet dust, a raw, earthy smell that set her senses quivering. She stood on the porch, exulting, clapped Manny’s shoulder and did a little dance of “What did I tell you?”

  He grinned, always good-natured, always glad to give Hannah the top rung of the ladder, the best spot on the totem pole.

  There was only one thing wrong with the cold rain that rode in on the wings of a genuine deluge, driving cold needles of wet, sluicing raindrops into every crack and crevice where it could possibly go.

  Sarah shook her head and said no, they had better not attempt it. The dusty path that led to the house turned into a slippery bowl of pudding—like brown sugar cornstarch pudding. The creek filled, the yellowing willow leaves swayed, let loose, and were hurled across the prairie, leaving some bare, dark branches, whipping and glistening in the wind and rain.

  The roof of the house was shining wet, like polished metal, the wooden sides of the house turned dark yellow, like maize, rivulets of water splashing down from the roof and across the windows.

  Hannah thought the rain would surely quit after the downpour, but it only let up for an hour or so, with walls of soft, gray fog like sheep’s wool hovering between the sky and the horizon, before it began again, a fresh shower of rain driven by a whining wind.

  The Klassermans rode through the wet night, the headlights of their truck piercing the dark like glaring white eyes. They splashed up onto the porch, their pink faces like wet ceramic, chortling, laughing, pulling off their rubber boots with red-faced effort.

  “Ach, de rain, de rain. When she finally arrive, she arrive full force,” Owen said loudly, his pink gums showing above a row of even, white teeth.

  Sylvia whooshed and blew through her nose, shaking her head like a dog, drops of water flying every which way.

  Sarah laughed and ushered them in, happy as she always was to receive visitors. Long gone was the memory of Sylvia’s meticulous behavior. She had schenked und fagevva.

  “Come in, come in, out of the rain. How unfortunate for you to be out in this weather at night,” she said, holding out a hand for their wet outerwear.

  Owen rolled his eyes with importance. “Oh, but very necessary. I decided it is far too foolhardy to attempt to drive my cattle to market. We will truck them. I will drive it mineself. My wife will not hear of me allowing your children to drive them on foot.”

  Sylvia rose to the occasion, patting her massive bosom with one hand, flapping it like a large, startled bird. “Oh, nein, nein. I say to mine Owen, ach du lieber. Vot iss diss? Such dumbheit. Ve cannot ride dis horse, chase dis cattle, so vy allow some young ones to do it? No. No. We use the truck. The truck iss only sensible choice.”

  Hannah sat at the kitchen table, her ears heating to a deep, dull red, her eyes sparking with frustration. How many things had gone against this long-awaited cattle drive? Drought, too much rain, uncooperative neighbors, Jerry and his willy-nilly partner, Jake, who were afraid of cows. Honestly. Now what?

  “Hannah?” A large, glistening pink face was thrust into her own personal territory, the kitchen table and a perimeter of ten feet around it. “Hannah, mine darlink girl. Haf you been well?”

  Hannah wanted to say no, I had measles and was almost killed by a cow yesterday, but what she said was, “Yes.”

  “Yes? You are well? Oh, goot, goot.” Again, the fluttering of that large pink hand. Sylvia was breathing hard as she lowered her flowery bulk into a groaning kitchen chair and proceeded to give Hannah an hour by hour account of her lost barn cat.

  Why didn’t you just shoot her? Hannah thought sourly. She couldn’t stand cats. Mewly things, rubbing themselves up against your leg when both hands were occupied pegging wash to the line, until you became fuzzy all over, finally reaching out with a backward heave of your foot that sent the sniveling thing out of reach.

  “So you vill also truck your cows, I presume?” Sylvia asked now, reaching gratefully for the soothing cup of peppermint tea Sarah brought to her.

  “I don’t know.” Well, she didn’t. See what the morning brought.

  What it did bring was more rain. Slanting, steady sheets of rain that didn’t give any indication of letting up. The creek rose, full and muddy, churning with dead grass and dead roots, the banks swallowed by the ever increasing water.

  She heard nothing from Jerry Riehl, but the Jenkinses waded through the brown slop to let them know they’d haul their two trailer loads of cattle, then come back for hers tomorrow around noon. If they wanted, they could all ride along. Clay was hauling the cattle, and Hod was taking the car.

  Sarah didn’t ask Hannah’s opinion, just nodded her assent happily and said she’d look forward to the auction. Manny nodded, smiled and said yes, that would be great. Eli and Mary bounced up and down, clapping their hands.

  As soon as Hod left, Hannah informed her family that no one had asked her opinion. Sarah searched Hannah’s face and said kindly, “But, surely, Hannah, you wouldn’t attempt anything as dangerous …”

  Hannah broke in. “We could have done it. In the rain. No one gave me a chance.” And then she pouted. She walked around the house with her nose in the air and wouldn’t speak to anyone, stalking from room to room, window to window, scowling bitterly at the bad timing of all this rain, this endless pouring that soaked into the earth, puddling around the house, and destroyed her long-awaited plans.

  It wasn’t so much about the profit. It was the novelty of the whole thing. Range riders. Cattle drivers. Western horsemen. Dust and rain and cold and hail. Eating beef jerky around a roaring campfire, the cows bedded down close by, strong coffee as the sun tipped the edge of the earth.

  Perhaps they’d just have to move farther west, to Wyoming or Colorado, whe
re there were even less people and cars and ranches. If you could truck your cattle to market, it was far too close, too civilized, too full of other people sticking their noses in your business.

  That Clay and his high opinion of himself! At least Jerry had the right idea. Even if he didn’t know anything about cattle drives, he kept his mouth shut.

  She refused to load the eight head of cattle. The Jenkins boys and Manny did it by themselves, in the pouring rain. Hannah stood behind the curtain in the kitchen and watched, the mass of glistening wet cows being separated, moiling around as if they knew this was the first step to a serious departure from all they’d ever known.

  When they clattered into the house for dry clothes and a cup of steaming coffee, Hannah went to her room and stayed there until Manny knocked and said that Hod was here with the car. If she wanted to see her cattle sold, she’d best get her clothes changed.

  She rode in the back seat, her head turned to the window on her left, the dismal landscape jarring to her senses, the way there was no letup in the clouds, even now.

  Her mother sat in the front seat with Abby on her lap, talking in quiet tones, difficult to hear above the sound of the steady chugging of the engine. The windshield wipers’ hypnotic rhythm made Hannah feel slightly crazy, not wanting to watch the movement, but quite unable to tear her eyes away.

  Eli and Mary fidgeted until Hannah delivered an ill-tempered pinch on Eli’s trouser leg, resulting in a shocked silence, followed by peace and quiet.

  Hannah’s mood worsened to see a tear in the dark rain clouds, as if a hole had been cut with a giant knife, allowing a glimpse of blue, then a shaft of yellow sunlight pierced the parted clouds, and the rain was over.

  The town of Dorchester was large, a rain-washed sprawling cluster of businesses and houses, trees, paved roads, slippery mud, people, and cars. The fairgrounds were a cluster of long, low buildings, trees, and acres of dead grass awash in more mud.

  Trucks and cattle trailers were everywhere, engines grinding, steel cables squealing as gates were lowered, black cattle, longhorn steers, baldy-faced bulls, all bellowing or mooing or dodging men with cattle prods.

  Children ran wild. Their clothes plastered with mud, their hair damp with the last of the raindrops. Automobile horns blew warnings as another trailer wedged itself like a giant digging iron between two trailers, men standing by the open gate in the back and giving the driver calculated stares.

  There were a few horses tied by an ancient hitching post under the dripping foliage of a tree, but mostly there were old, bent Ford trucks, and all manner of trailers, some expensive looking, built of steel and painted white or blue, with the insignia of the owner’s ranch inscribed on the side. Other trailers were merely wooden racks fastened to a metal flatbed with screws, baler twine, and good fortune.

  Hod let them out at the entrance to the auction barn, a building made mostly of gray corrugated tin and rust, a few splintered doors with paint peeling like molting chickens. The smell of food was powerful, and Hannah swallowed.

  The interior of the building was higher than it appeared from the outside, with an oblong center, the floor strewn with sawdust. On two sides, seats were built one behind the other, stacked toward the ceiling, so that folks were in layers and everyone could see over the heads of the people in front.

  About half the seats were filled with what appeared to be farmers or ranchers, perhaps all ranchers. Various colors of Stetson hats bent in all sorts of shapes and silhouettes adorned most men’s heads. Their women were like weathered flowers, brittle and creased, their faces pounded into crevices of flesh by the harsh winters and blazing heat of the summers, riding the herds with their men.

  Keenly aware of their Amish dress, Hannah walked with her back straight, shoulders squared, a fierce scowl on her face, her brown eyes looking straight ahead, unwavering. Sarah carried Abby and held on to Eli and Mary, hurrying after Hannah’s long strides until they were seated, somewhere above the third row.

  Glad to find a spot to rest, her arms aching, Sarah smiled at the children, breathed deeply, then dared a peek at her oldest daughter, who sat like a stone, unmoving.

  “Hannah?” she breathed.

  Hannah glowered at her mother, held a finger to her lips. “Hush. Everyone is looking at us. I hate my clothes. So Amish.”

  Sarah looked around. She did not see anyone looking at them. All eyes were glued to the ring below them, where a heavy-set man in a red shirt was picking up a sheaf of papers, riffling through them, bending to speak to another even bigger fellow endowed with a face as red as his shirt, crowned with a white Stetson set back on his head like framework for the brilliance of his visage.

  Hannah watched the two men, decided she’d never seen anyone as ugly as they were. What in the world caused their faces to be so red? They looked boiled, like a piece of liver.

  She jumped with a squawking sound that came from the ceiling. Eli began to cry, and Mary grabbed Hannah’s hand with both of hers. “Testing. Testing. One, two, three.”

  Hannah decided the men’s faces were red from bellowing, if that was the way their voices were expected to carry. But Sarah pointed to a black box hanging from the ceiling, said it was something electrical to carry the man’s voice. Mose had described them for her in New Holland at the sales stables.

  The sale began with a roan-colored steer with horns like curved swords entering the ring, a huge growth protruding from his lower abdomen, his massive head shaking the horns from side to side, the large hooves stirring the sawdust.

  Two men held evil-looking black whips, cracking them repeatedly over the bewildered animal’s head. Confused, the roan steer dashed first in one direction, than another, the grotesque growth swinging as he moved.

  “Here’s one for the killer!” shouted the auctioneer. “Nothin’ but ground beef for this one. Yup! Who’ll give me ten? Twenty? Five dollars, now five dollars, five, five, five. Yup!”

  The bidding didn’t last long enough to even make sense. Hannah had no idea if the price was per pound or if that was the amount for the whole steer. If they got that amount for eight heifers, they’d be paying their grandfather’s loan back for a long time.

  Hod came up the aisle, smiled at Sarah, and sat beside her, taking Abby on his lap. He handed a candy bar to Eli and one to Mary. A Mallo Cup. Chocolate covered marshmallow. Hannah’s mouth watered but she didn’t let on, bent to help them unwrap the candy, told them to remember to thank Hod, who was too busy watching the cattle being sold to notice their thank you’s.

  He better be worried, Hannah thought. That sickly wife of his was coughing her lungs into pieces. He was going to have some hospital bill to pay if he didn’t get the poor woman some help soon.

  Or perhaps it was Abby herself, refusing to be treated. She turned in her seat, the smell of chocolate so powerful she asked Eli for a bite, and looked straight into the eyes of Jerry Riehl!

  CHAPTER 18

  “How’d you get here?” It was the only thing she knew to say, her mind going blank the way it did.

  “I rode King.”

  “In the rain?”

  “Yeah. I brought the palomino for you.”

  Hannah blinked, had no comprehension.

  “You mean … ?”

  “I felt bad for you. I knew you had your heart set on that drive, so I thought I’d risk it, hope the weather cleared, and we’d get the cattle sold and ride back together. You know, camp out, take our time.”

  “You mean … ?”

  “Yeah, if you want to.”

  Hannah licked chocolate from her fingertip, swallowed, and blinked.

  “Only us two?”

  “Us.”

  Well, now what? What was she supposed to say? She didn’t trust him. Not at all. He’d get her out on that wild prairie and start getting all sweet on her again. Huh. Uh … but he’d brought that horse the whole way. What was wrong with him, thinking she’d go back with him? Alone. The two of them. She couldn’t.

  “Sorr
y. I don’t want to.”

  Jerry looked comfortable with her answer, shrugged, said all right or okay, something like that, and began his descent.

  Hannah opened her mouth and then closed it again. Well, he had more nerve than common-sense thinking, no, assuming, she’d go. His appearance and offer of riding home ruined the whole sale. She knew how badly she wanted to go. Knew, too, that her pride would never allow it. Or should it?

  If that black box from the ceiling kept up that squawking all day, she would personally shoot the stupid thing down. She craned her neck, peered at it with half-closed eyes, then down at the crimson-faced auctioneer. She wanted to stand up and tell him to shut up, wave her arms and get his attention good and solid, but she’d end up buying some cows, and Lord knows, these cows were nothing to look at, long-haired, skinny-necked creatures with wild red eyes.

  The afternoon dragged on, with bunches of cows in various sizes and colors being sold for different prices, some high, some low.

  Hannah had not seen any cattle that looked as nice as hers, but she figured they’d keep the good ones till last. She didn’t know.

  She watched as they prodded four black Angus heifers into the ring. The auctioneer’s tone took on an excitement, yelling about the Klasserman ranch. Immediately, the bidding began at a brisk pace, the price escalating beyond anything she’d heard all day.

  Sure enough. The bidding rounded out at almost a dollar a pound. Unbelievable! Hannah’s heart raced, her tongue felt like sandpaper in her dry mouth as she drew in her breath in short puffs. If they got that price, they’d be able to pay back more than half of the loan from her grandfather.

  Another group of the Klassermans’ cattle was sold at an even higher price. Immediately afterward, all eight of her own cattle were herded in, looking every bit as good as the Klassermans’, calm, doe-eyed, beautiful young cattle with nicely rounded bodies, sleek hair, and short muscular legs, spaced well.