A Bridge Named Susan

by Sharon Chase Hoseley

  “Oh, my. Twelve to fourteen men. How are we going to feed them? I only have a half bag of dried beans left from what Mrs. Zhalber gave us last month.” As I was a woman, my mind naturally went to food and feeding men.

  “Delmar said, ‘Don’t fuss about food. The men’ll bring their own.’ We’re lucky to have good friends willin’ to help. There’s one catch.” Oh, oh, I thought. “We have ’ta pay each man a dollar for the day.”

  I was speechless. Panic set in. Of course we’d need to pay them. How could we expect them to do backbreaking labor without any pay? “But Tom, we’ve only been able to save nineteen dollars from our fence posts. That only leaves us with …” I couldn’t finish. How could we survive the winter with five dollars and no food, even if the house was finished?

  “There’s something else,” Tom took my small, rough hand, “We have to have the logs cut, peeled, and notched so they can lift ’em into place.” Oh my, oh my! I kept thinking. Fourteen days to get sixteen logs ready. “We’ll do it like this,” he continued. “We’ll down the trees, cut the bottom half into thirty-five-foot logs, peel ’em where they fall, then have Blacky pull ’em to the cabin area. We’ll leave the top half there and not worry ’bout ’em till later. We can do it. The bottom part doesn’t have a whole lot of limbs to cut off. We won’t be makin’ poles ’till the logs are finished. We can do it, Susie.”

  His enthusiasm was catching. “Yes, of course we can!”

  The days blurred—back and forth, back and forth, peel, peel, peel, notch, notch, notch, move into place. Each night we counted notches we carved on the log outside our tent, keeping track of days. Exhaustion took over mind and body. There wasn’t a single spot that didn’t hurt as I fell into bed every night.

  Together we counted the logs. “What! Sixteen!” We counted again. “What day is it?” I counted the bench notches, “Day twelve. Whoopi!”

  We slept in the next morning. When we woke, we found a pheasant lying on our outside log bench. It had been shot with an arrow.

  Chapter 31

  The Wall Raising

  The trees were downed, cut, peeled, notched, and moved into place by the fourteenth day. Tom took our two cream cans and every other available pot to fill with water at the spring. I boiled the pheasant gift and cooked the beans with it for dinner.

  We were up before dawn. Neither of us slept well, anticipating the day. At daylight, the first car chugged up the road. Out piled four big, coveralled men dragging ropes and rigging. A Model T putted up with two men in front and four seated in the back on tool boxes they brought, just in case. Bringing up the rear was a coupe with two in front and a third stuffed in the rumble seat. Thirteen plus Tom. The army of workers swarmed over to the cabin site like bees to a lone flower.

  George took on the role of crew boss. He walked around the two-log high walls, looked at us, and smiled. “Not bad for greenhorns, Tom. We’ll get these on up in no time.” I felt my husband stand a little taller and knew without looking that he was smiling. George assigned jobs. There was little for me to do but watch.

  No need for Blacky to help either. He whinnied as the men rigged up pulleys, ropes, and levers. Fascinated, I tried to understand, but finally gave up and went to stir the beans. Blacky’s whinnies sounded more frantic as the men’s voices shouted directions. What in the world was going on? I stepped from the tent just in time to see our horse hit the pole fence at a dead run, break through, and disappear into the forest.

  “Blacky!” yelled Tom, whistling for him to come.

  “I’ll find him! He’s spooked by all the noise. You just keep working.” I tore into the woods following the crashing of trampled underbrush. The sound led me downhill and the racket of men working became dim and faded. Then, there was only silence. Good, I thought. He’s stopped. “Blacky,” I spoke quietly. “Blacky, it’s me. It’s going to be all right. I’m right here. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” I treaded lightly on down the hill then stopped. What if he went another direction? Turning round and around, I strained my ears for clues. I sat on a log and listened. Nothing. I picked a few late-season huckleberries and popped them in my thirsty mouth. A breaking branch crackled behind me. Quickly turning, I was startled by a black bear also enjoying berries. Freeze, Susan, I told myself. I’d always been told to freeze. Mr. Bear seemed oblivious to me as he stuffed his mouth. Breathing was impossible. How long? What next? He kept eating, moving away from me to another patch of delightful treats. Time forever stood still.

  Horse hooves coming up the hill jerked me out of my trance. The bear was forgotten as I quietly picked my way toward the sound and came to a trail. A trail? This must be the hunting trail. I breathed deep. Out from the trees came my Indian friend mounted on his Appaloosa, leading our runaway. I let out a squeal. “Boy, am I glad to see you. You’ve found Blacky! Thank you, thank you. There was this bear …” I rambled on and on releasing all my bear-tension into words. When I had exhausted my vocabulary, I ended with, “Thank you, friend.” From that day on that’s what we called him—Friend.

  Friend nodded, grunted, and helped me up on Blacky. We rode silently to the clearing. Work came to a halt as we rode out of the trees and across the cut area. Tom rushed over, lifted me down, and thanked my rescuer. “Friend,” I smiled at Tom. “His name is going to be Friend.” Friend grunted again, nodded, and rode on.

  “Just make sure that’s all he is.” Tom muttered as he turned back to work.

  After tying Blacky to a tree, I checked out the progress. Goodness, had I been gone that long? Two walls were finished. I hurried in to check on the beans. The fire was low. That was good. Kept them from burning.

  Another car arrived as I stepped out of the tent. More men? No, it was three of the wives. The driver was my cousin, Katherine. I greeted her with a warm hug. “I didn’t know you could drive!”

  “It took a lot of persuading to get Delmar to teach me,” she laughed. “He still won’t ride with me.” They began unloading food onto the log bench in front of the tent.

  What a wonderful surprise! This was just like thrashing bees on the farm. I brought out my pot of beans. “I’ve only got two plates,” I confessed. “What are they going to put their food on?”

  “Never mind,” Maggie winked. “It’s all taken care of.”

  George called, “Dinner!” Work stopped and the men traipsed to the cars, retrieving their own tin plates with a fork and spoon. Smart idea, I thought. We’re having the best picnic ever.

  The finest part was visiting. I hadn’t been around friends to visit for over a year. I was hungry for women talk. I amazed them with my bear adventure. They told about their comfortable, settled lives in the city of Culdesac. It was a good afternoon.

  Four walls, eight feet high, stood strong and steady when the workers left that afternoon. Tom gave each a dollar for his hard work. The men climbed into the cars and headed back to the security of their comfortable homes. We retreated into our smelly, brown tent.

  Chapter 32

  A Family Addition

  The silent treatment moved into our tent. I expected this after his comment about Friend. Our days fell back to normal routine; Tom making poles from trees lying on the ground and my mixing sawdust with clay and water, chinking, chinking, chinking. No words passed between us. On the third day, ten poles were loaded to take to town. I had to say goodbye. I strode over as he was preparing to mount and kissed him on the cheek, “Have a good trip. Don’t forget the water.” There was no reaction. I turned back to the walls. Tears made muddy rivers down my cheeks as he rode away.

  There was no comfort in being alone. Anger that I thought I had left in childhood swelled

  Inside, and I filled the air with shouted complaints. “I never asked for this! None of my friends are living in a smelly, dirty tent and cutting down trees! Life’s not s’posed to be like this! I need a home! I need children! I need a husband who talks to me! I wish I’d
never gotten married! I can’t do this! I can’t do four and a half more years of this!” I screamed and cried myself into exhaustion, falling asleep on the lumpy grass tic in the tent, and awakening to the sound of horse’s hooves.

  The fire had gone out, the coffee was cold, there was no supper. Fear gripped my mind. I stoked the fire, hoping the coals were hot enough to ignite the kindling. I had to use a precious match to relight it. I began slicing four-day-old bread left by our workers. The hard bread was going to be a challenge to chew. A new, but familiar, sound pulled me out of the tent. Tom was currying down Blacky in the repaired pen and beside him stood a milk cow.

  “What’s this?” I ran full speed.

  Tom grinned. “Has it been that long since you saw a cow?”

  “What’s it doing here? Is it lost? The owner must be worried …”

  “Whoa, slow down, Susie. Stop talking.” Tom put his hand on my mouth. “She’s our cow.” Speechless, my eyes shifted from the cow to my husband. His sparkling hazel eyes showed his delight in my shock. “Let’s go git supper and I’ll tell you ’bout the surprise cow.”

  “Supper? Oh … I’m afraid we’ll have to … to finish up the leftovers … cold. The … fire went out.” I stumbled over my words.

  “I’ve got an idea.” Tom fetched our biggest pail and went to the pen; pail in one hand and a stump in the other, he sat and began milking Bessy. Bessy, that was her name. Not very original. Every farmer had at least one Bessy in their herd. I hurried in the tent and continued to hack away on the stale bread. We’d have bread and warm milk. What better supper could you ask for?

  Tom broke his bread into the bowl and covered it with the warm milk then began to explain about Bessy. “Delmar invited me ta’ coffee at their house. When I walked in, there sat all the families that helped us with the walls. Seems the work crew decided we’re needin’ more help than just walls. They took up a collection and got us a cow.”

  We were rich! We had a horse, a cow, four walls on our house, a tent, a stove, and friends that cared. We were rich!

  We had walls, but no roof. That wouldn’t work in winter. Logs had to be cut into boards to make a roof. The closest mill was about thirty miles away in Winchester. Three dollars a log? Impossible! It might as well have been a million. Tom worked faster making poles, going to town every two days, but time was not our friend.

  On the first Saturday of October, we woke up knowing we’d lost the race. The tent sagged and there was a cold smell in the air. It had snowed. Fortunately, Tom had bought flour, sugar, and oatmeal for us and oats and a salt lick for the animals yesterday when he took the poles in. Winter had arrived.

  Snow—just in time for our second anniversary. In two years we had moved five times, going from life in the big city with running water and a warm house to living on Indian land in a freezing tent, two miles from the nearest water. At least snow could be melted. For better or worse, I kept telling myself.

  “Got to make a better shelter for the animals,” Tom announced as he pulled on his long-johns and dug out his winter ear-flapped hat. “We need to dig out some of those pole trees and make a bigger lean-to.”

  I found my boots the folks had given me last Christmas and used some string to tie my dress around my legs to keep it from dragging in the snow. “Sure would be nice to wear pants like men.” I complained out loud. I followed him with the coping saw. “Never thought I’d ever say that. Ladies don’t wear pants.”

  By nightfall, we had the animal shelter expanded into a three-sided lean-to to keep them warm and dry. “It’s not the prettiest thing,” Tom commented. “But it’ll work.”

  Bless that little potbellied stove. It tried hard to put out heat, but it was impossible to keep the tent warm as it got colder and colder. At times there were so many layers of clothes on my body, I couldn’t reach my feet to put my boots on.

  Routine changed. Tom got up first every morning and pushed up on the tent roof to dump the night’s accumulated snow. He built up the fire then went out to feed the animals. I shivered my way from under the covers, dipped a pan in the snow outside the door, and put it on the stove to melt for oatmeal and coffee. After breakfast, we went on a grass hunt, digging under snow for grass to pull for our livestock.

  Afternoons were filled with hunting downed trees and making poles. Sawing got the blood pumping. What a great feeling to be warm. If the sun was shining, some layers of clothing were shed.

  The first ten poles taken to town after the snow were left at Delmar and Katherine’s, unsold. It hadn’t dawned on us no one would be making fences with the ground frozen. What were we thinking? No source of income. We had nine dollars to get us and the livestock through the winter.

  Survival. We just needed to survive the winter.

  Chapter 33

  Christmas Surprise

  Christmas was bleak. We couldn’t ride Blacky to the folks’ house two hours away because Bessy had to be milked twice a day. “You go.” Tom encouraged. “I’ll stay here and milk. I’ll be all right.”

  “I won’t do that,” I stubbornly protested. “You’re my husband and I’ll stay with you.” We both dug in our heels so it was a moot point to argue. Besides, we’d missed some counting days on the log and weren’t sure what day Christmas actually was. We agreed to celebrate in two more sleeps—whatever day that happened to be.

  I’d been stingy with the flour during the last month. Who knew when we’d get to town or if we’d have enough money to buy it. I made pancakes for our Christmas dinner. I skimmed off the cream from the milk and made butter and dug out the last jar of unsweetened huckleberry jam. What a fine pancake feast! We sang a couple of Christmas carols with Tom’s beautiful tenor voice and my soprano blending harmoniously. My heart felt refreshed and light. I decided we need to sing together more often.

  Tom reached under his side of our sagging bed and handed me one of his socks. “What’s this? You only want one sock washed?” I laughed. I felt something, reached inside, and pulled out a beautifully carved circle of wood and a smooth stick. “Oh, Tom, it’s beautiful.” I took off my gloves, pulled my curly, black hair back, and fastened it securely with the wooden tie. “How’s it look? My ears are so warm with my hair tight against my head. What a perfect gift!” I gave him a kiss and hug.

  “My turn. Close your eyes.” I reached behind the last wooden box shelf and pulled out my gift. I’d been working on it for a month. With Tom being in the tent more, it was hard to find time. I laid a bundle of red wool in his hands. “Open,” I commanded.

  He slowly unrolled and unrolled what I thought might be the world’s longest scarf. I had unraveled my red sweater and kept knitting until it was used up. Taking it from his hands, I gently wrapped it round and round his strong neck and tucked the ends down the front of his shirt. “Susie, what did I ever do to deserve such a wonderful wife.” He held me close. We were warm inside and out.

  “Listen.” I pushed away from him. “Can you hear that?”

  “It’s bells ringing. I really must be in love.” He laughed.

  “No, it’s sleigh bells.” I threw on my outer coat. Tom followed suit. As we raised the tent flap, we were greeted by two black horses pulling a sleigh—my family!

  “Whoa,” Papa ordered as they came up to the tent. Edna popped out first and ran to give me a bear hug. Papa helped Mama climb down then Johnny jumped out. “Sorry we couldn’t get here on Christmas,” Papa started …

  “So it’s not Christmas?” I asked as I wrapped my arms around the first man in my life.

  “Nope, that was yesterday. We had dinner at Maw’s so there wasn’t time to get here and back.”

  Mama waded along the path we’d stomped down the day before and wrapped me in her arms. Tears streaming down both our faces didn’t freeze in the bright sunshine. All was well. My mama loved me. “My manners are terrible. Come in, come in.” It was a tight fit. Bodies warmed the st
uffy tent as we talked miles a minute. Tom brought in the milking stool so we could all sit.

  “Johnny, go get the things out of the sleigh.” Papa winked. A few minutes later, our little table was piled high. “We heard you was running low so we brought some supplies.” There was flour, lard, eggs, rolled oats, chicken, bacon, steaks, and a ham. We would eat like royalty. Then, he came back with a can that made Tom’s eyes light up—coffee. We’d been out for a month. The biggest surprise of all was a pie my little sister had baked. “There’s food for the horse and cow out there too.”

  “I’ll help get it.” Tom left with Johnny. “Don’t eat anything till I get back.”

  The folks hadn’t been to our Stick Ranch. Many of the men on the prairie had moved to town, leaving Papa and Johnny to work long hours. Harvest had been late too. We kept in touch by mail. We were on a direct route from our place to theirs. The mailman picked up letters from me, dropped them off at the folks, then went on to Reubens to stay the night at Aunt Phoebe’s hotel. He would stop back by the folks the next day to pick up their letters to us. It probably helped that the mailman was a close friend of the family. Delivery was fast, convenient, and never cost a dime. Letters had become the sunshine of my day; they were my family connection.

  Now the folks were here. We found ourselves all wanting to talk at once. We chattered and laughed so loud that we didn’t hear the horses whinnying to each other until we were quietly stuffing pie in our faces. Then we laughed at the horse conversation outside.

  Mama had made Tom and me glove warmers, and Papa had bought new work gloves to put them in. What precious gifts. She also knitted foot warmers and nightcaps to wear to bed. So practical. So appreciated.

  Three hours later, they fed the horses, climbed in the sleigh, and were off. It would be dark by the time they reached home, but the horses knew the way. What hope they had left with us! Love and hope, the greatest gifts of all.