The Blizzard Brides

by Christine Sterling

  “I guess people are being found as the snow melts.”

  “Found?”

  “As in d-e-a-d under the snow.” Millie let out a gasp. “The horses in the carriage house were d-e-a-d too. Frozen solid.”

  “You know she can spell, don’t you? What absolutely dreadful news.”

  “Did you get the children to their destinations?” Heather asked.

  Millie nodded. “I released them to a family member, or a neighbor. I’ll make a point to visit tomorrow or the day afterwards. Right now, I just want to go home and go to sleep.”

  Heather agreed.

  “Missus Reed, I wanna go home.” Cecily tugged on Millie’s sleeve.

  “Of course.”

  Cecily grabbed Heather’s hand and pulled her towards Grand Platte Road at the edge of town.

  Cecily wouldn’t let go of Heather’s hand. When Heather tried to tug her hand free, Cecily held on to it tighter. There wasn’t anything physically wrong with the child, but the trauma of being stuck in the school for several days and not being able to reach her family was bound to take a toll on such a young girl. Heather relented and allowed the child to continue to pull her.

  “I think we need a boat,” Millie said, walking up to Heather’s side. Heather glanced around. There was a small stream of water carving through the slush. It was leading down towards the river. As the snow melted, the small stream expanded, and Heather could see the streets at the lower portion of town were starting to flood. There wasn’t enough room in the North Platte River to hold all the melting snow.

  “That sun feels good.” Millie said, lifting her face towards the sky.

  “I’m glad it is warm again. I realized how much I don’t like the cold.”

  Millie put her hand on Heather’s shoulder. “Makes you wonder why, in heaven’s name, we moved to Nebraska,” she laughed.

  “Which direction do you live,” Heather said, smiling at the young child.

  “Over there,” Cecily responded, pointing towards the back edge of the park.

  “I need to stop by Mrs. Willis’s house. Just to drop off some tea. I hear she is having quite the ordeal.”

  They stopped in front of a plain wooden house with a single step going up to the door. There wasn’t even a porch, just that single wooden board. Heather knocked on the door and then stepped back.

  “Mrs. Barnes, please come in.” Mr. Willis held the door open.

  “I can only stay a minute. I just stopped by to see how Mrs. Willis is doing.”

  “She’s just staring out the window waiting for Trudy to get home.” His eyes flickered for a moment. “Have you seen her?”

  Heather shook her head. “No. She had already left the school when I arrived there.”

  “Is that where you stayed?”

  Heather nodded. “I wanted to see your wife.” She moved further into the room and spied the woman sitting in a chair. “Mrs. Willis?”

  Mrs. Willis turned her head slightly and Heather could see the woman’s eyes were glazed over. Mrs. Willis blinked twice and turned back to the window.

  “Well, let me leave you with this,” Heather said, pulling a small linen sack from her medical bag. “It should make her sleepy. Just brew it for five minutes and then strain. Have her drink a cup three times a day until she is feeling better.”

  Mr. Willis took the bag. “Thank you, Mrs. Barnes.”

  “I’ll see myself out. Have someone get me if there is an emergency, otherwise I’ll check back in a few days.”

  Mr. Willis stood at the door as Heather joined Millie and Cecily at the corner. They walked down Grand Platte Road towards the section of town where five roads met. Heather’s house was just a ten-minute walk from there. Cecily’s mother lived at that corner, across from the Park.

  As they got closer, Millie tapped Heather’s arm. “What do you make of those?” she asked, pointing to black lumps rising from the snow.

  Heather opened her eyes wide as she realized just what the large black shapes were in the middle of the field. “Those are cattle. Looks like they tried to huddle together for warmth.”

  Millie raised her fingers to her lips. “I can’t believe they froze like that.”

  “There’s my house,” Cecily said, releasing Heather’s hand and running towards a house on the corner. She jumped the steps and tried to open the door. When it wouldn’t budge, Cecily kicked the door with her foot. “Ma!” she cried.

  Millie joined her on the porch and rapped on the door with her knuckles. “Mrs. Pool. It’s Mrs. Reed. Are you in there?” When they didn’t get a response, Millie stepped off the porch. “No one’s home.”

  “Where’s my ma?” Cecily asked.

  “I’m not sure, honey. Why don’t you come home with me until we can find her?”

  “Millie, you need to rest. Cecily, would you like to stay with me for a few days?”

  “I want my ma.”

  “I know, love.” Millie tried to comfort the child. “But it will just be until we can find her.”

  Heather held out her hand. “Let’s go.” Cecily took Heather’s hand and reluctantly followed her down the square.

  They rounded the corner and came to the backside of the park. Heather was watching her footsteps when she heard Millie gasp. Heather turned her eyes to look at the grassy knoll of the park. Scattered among the melting piles of snow were several bodies. Heather quickly turned Cecily’s eyes away as she realized that one of the bodies was that of Mrs. Pool and next to her lay Trudy Willis staring at the blue sky above.

  Chapter Eight

  Heather tried to put the images from earlier that day out of her mind. There must have been at least a dozen people in the park. Most were the parents of Millie’s students.

  They must have been on their way to pick up their children from school and ended up turned around in the white-out. So much loss.

  “Would you like more tea, Beatrice?” Heather offered, holding out a teapot that came all the way from England. Her porcelain tea pot and cups were one of the indulgences Heather had brought from home. She always thought tea tasted better in a porcelain cup. A tin cup for coffee was perfectly fine, but not for tea.

  Several women from town were sitting in Heather’s sitting room deciding what to do next. Millie hadn’t gone home yet and was sitting closest to the door. When they were walking, several women joined their small party, and all descended on Heather’s house for tea and conversation.

  “I shouldn’t,” Beatrice said, holding her hand up. “My brother will be by shortly to escort me home.”

  No sooner had Heather refilled her own cup and placed the pot back on the tray when Pastor Collins knocked on the door. Millie went to the door, opening it for the clergyman.

  “What a terrible tragedy has befallen us this week,” he said, strolling into the sitting room.

  “Absolutely terrible,” Millie agreed. The rest of the women murmured their agreement.

  “I am so glad to see you women together. It makes my job easier instead of having to talk to you each individually.”

  “What are you thinking, Pastor Collins?” Millie asked. Heather wanted to roll her eyes. Millie had just given Pastor Collins the perfect opening for a sermon in Heather’s sitting room.

  “This is but a warning.”

  “A warning?” Heather asked.

  “I believe that this was a message from God.” Heather saw the pastor stand straighter. “It is but a warning that we need to put aside our sinful nature and repent. He took away those that did not call upon His name. They deserved what was their due. Hopefully, it serves as a warning for others.”

  Heather nearly choked on her tea.

  “Barnaby,” Beatrice said, mortified at her brother’s accusations.

  “Fret not, Bea. You didn’t have any suitors to worry about.” He leaned over and patted his sister’s shoulder.

  “These people were my friends.”

  “God judged the town.”

  Heather put her cup of tea on
the table with a little more force than necessary. She was surprised the china didn’t shatter. “I don’t think that it is...”

  “Mrs. Barnes do not interrupt me. I have been through town. I’m seeing Mr. Blanchard gather the bodies. There are too many bodies to count.

  “Perhaps you should be offering prayers over those bodies.”

  Pastor Collins pulled on his frock. “Perhaps I should.”

  “What about our husbands?” one woman asked. “We should send a rescue party after them.”

  “We probably need to get more of us together,” Millie said.

  Heather cleared her throat. “Sheriff Applebee was going to start a list of those who had lost loved ones in this disaster. Perhaps we could all meet at the church tomorrow afternoon and piece together what we know. Maybe we could implore him to put together a party to go find our husbands.”

  “I don’t need a party,” Millie insisted. “I’ll go out there on my own.”

  “Sit down, Millicent,” Heather admonished. “Let’s put a notice up in the front of the mercantile and ask everyone to gather at the church.” Heather turned her eyes to Pastor Collins and gave him a little smile. “That is, if it is alright with you?”

  “Of course, my dear,” Pastor Collins said. “You are most fortuitous because the church is a place where all lost and hurting souls should congregate. Beatrice, we should leave. I need to make my rounds in town.”

  Beatrice handed her cup to Heather. “Thank you for the visit,” she said softly, following her brother out the door.

  “I need to check up on my own animals.” Heather dreaded the long walk to the chicken coop. The pasture was dotted with the cattle she had left out to graze. The horses and goats inside the barn only had frostbite and were very loud, demanding to be fed. The feed bucket had been knocked over, which told Heather the animals did have something to eat.

  She thought about the cows again. If she had only brought them into the barn. But she was in such a hurry to make her rounds.

  If only…

  The women said their goodbyes and left, leaving Heather and Millie alone for a few moments.

  “What about the livestock?” Millie asked.

  “What about them?”

  “The field is dotted with cattle.”

  Heather rubbed her brow. She had the start of a headache. “Millicent, the animals are dead.”

  “You can’t leave them there.”

  “I don’t know what you want me to do with them. My only help went on the hunting trip. They are still partially frozen. I can’t think about it right now. Do you want to drop the notice off at the mercantile or should I?”

  Millie shook her head. “I really need to get home. When are you going to call the meeting?”

  “I’ll put the notice up in the morning at the church and mercantile. Ten o’clock.”

  Millie nodded. “I’ll be sure to be there.”

  She picked up her shawl and headed out the door. It was still warm as Heather watched Millie walk in the direction of her house.

  Heather pushed back her hair with her arm. Her hands were full of wood, and she didn’t have a spare pin to hold it in place.

  “Got room for any more?” a voice called from behind her.

  Heather dropped the cottonwood onto the fire and closed the door before turning around. Mr. Walker hopped down from his wagon seat and moved around to the side of his wagon. He was an older gentleman. His wife had passed before Heather ever arrived in Last Chance. His shoulders were hunched forward slightly, and he walked with a slight limp.

  “Has it already been butchered?” Heather asked.

  Once the initial meeting was held at the church, it was decided that the town needed to save as much of the meat as they could instead of letting the carcasses rot in the field. The smell was already drawing predators. Heather had seen cougar tracks in the muddy ground. She wished Jackson were here to help her. The men gathered to work their way around the farms, butchering the cattle, hogs, and horses that perished outside. The women butchered goats and chickens.

  Heather assisted the women in setting up makeshift smokehouses at the farms. Some were as simple as using the lean-to against the barn and covering it with blankets to make sure the smoke didn’t escape. Others were fancier, using a stove and a smokestack to funnel smoke into a closed space.

  Heather expanded the smokehouse at the butcher shop by using a canvas tent and draping it over the fenceposts in the back of the shop. She could smoke thirty quarters at once. The meat that wasn’t smoked, was stored in barrels filled with salt. Those barrels mostly consisted of pork and some cuts of beef. The moisture would be drawn from the meat into the salt and it would form a casing around the meat. The meat could keep almost indefinitely through salt packing.

  “We quartered it for you.”

  “I’m running out of room, but let’s get these up.”

  Heather created a hole in a tendon with a sharp knife and ran a metal hook in the hole. Mr. Walker helped her carry the heavy quarter and finagle it under the canvas. Racks had been created from wet trees and Heather hooked the meat on one of the smaller trees. The hook fit perfectly, and the meat didn’t touch the ground. She prayed that the rack would hold.

  They repeated the process with the last quarter when Heather heard shouting from the depot. The voices were getting louder.

  “What did he say?” Mr. Walker asked.

  “I think they said someone was coming.” Heather paused for a moment. “The hunting party. I bet it is the hunting party.” She quickly shooed Mr. Walker away and dropped the canvas to completely cover the meat. “Let’s go,” she said, moving around the wagon and darting down the alley to the street.

  A small crowd had gathered by the river. Heather couldn’t see anything.

  “What’s going on?” Heather asked, stepping on her tiptoes as she tried to look over the crowd.

  “The ferry is moving over,” someone responded.

  “Can you see how many people are on it?” a different voice called.

  “It’s still too far out,” a man responded.

  The ferry moved closer. “Is that a man?”

  Heather scurried to the livery and ran through the stalls, emerging on the other side. She climbed through the livery window, which put her right along with the docking station. Now she could see.

  Whomever it was on the ferry was covered in fur. She couldn’t make out any features.

  It was a man. Heather heard the masculine voice yell “Help!” as the man continued to pull on the rope leading the ferry across. There were two men along the shore pulling on the rope, but more men and even a few women ran over to help speed the ferry’s movements.

  Time moved slowly as Heather watched the ferry finally line up with the dock. Several men rushed forward to bring the pile of fur onto the shore. With a groan, the man lifted his arms and flung off the heavy furs that were covering him.

  Heather gasped. The man was covered in blood from head to toe. His hair was matted against his head and his clothes gave off such a stench that Heather wanted to retch. The man looked around at the crowd. Heather saw fear on most of the faces. Who was this man?

  “It’s me,” he cried. Heather instantly recognized the voice.

  “It’s Otis,” a voice yelled from the back.

  Sherriff Applebee pushed through the crowd surrounding the man. “Where are the others?” he demanded.

  Otis fell to his knees and started sobbing. “T’ain’t no others.”

  “What do you mean?” Otis didn’t respond. Sheriff Applebee picked the man up by his collar. “What. Do. You. Mean.”

  Otis blubbered a bit longer. “We had just finished hunting. I was in the wagon when the snow started. I grabbed the furs and hid under the wagon. I piled myself with furs, hoping I’d keep warm. When I finally was able to dig myself out, I couldn’t see anyone. The snow was so deep.”

  “Where is everyone else?”

  “Dead. They are all dead. No one survived
.”

  The sheriff dropped Otis to the ground. Otis continued to talk, but Heather couldn’t hear anything over the sound of her screams.

  Chapter Nine

  The sound of screaming woke Heather from a sound sleep. She leaned up on her elbows listening to the sound coming from the dark. It sounded like the wind. She looked over at Cecily sleeping under the quilt. Her small blonde head peeked from beneath the covers and she held Miss Poppet close to her chest.

  Heather gave a little smile. Cecily had been staying with her for close to two weeks now.

  The first night, Cecily was scared to be alone. Heather tucked the child into the spare room but woke to find the little girl sound asleep in her bed. After three mornings of waking up to Cecily in her bed, Heather gave up and just let the girl sleep on Jackson’s side of the bed.

  Lifting the covers, Heather slid her feet to the cold floor. She turned the wick up on the oil lamp, letting the glow from the lamp fill the room. Finding her house shoes, she slid her feet into them and stood. Giving a glance over her shoulder to make sure Cecily was still asleep, she moved to the main room and pulled the bedroom door closed behind her.

  She couldn’t sleep. Placing the lamp on the table she rubbed her arms trying to get warm.

  Might as well stay awake, she thought.

  She stoked the fire. The coffee pot was empty, so she moved to the front door. The pump was at the bottom step. Heather opened the door and the wind whipped through the room, stealing her breath. Her nightshirt wrapped around her legs, exposing her ankles to the frigid wind.

  Heather quickly danced back into the house and closed the door. It appeared coffee was not going to keep her company tonight. She went to the milk bucket and filled her tin cup with milk instead. Since all her cows froze in the field, she had resorted to milking her goats. The milk wasn’t as rich as cow’s milk, but after a few sips, Heather acclimated to the taste.

  Taking her cup back to the table she sat down and put her hands together.