Hattie Big Sky Part 12

"My mama always said piecing quilts is like making friends." She kept her eyes on the scissors as she cut up a piece of blue ticking. "Sometimes the more different fabrics-and people-are," she said, "the stronger the pattern."

I looked up at her. She smiled a sad, sweet smile at me. I felt as if she'd looked right into my heart and seen all my warts and flaws, and held her own heart out to me anyway. I swallowed hard at the lump that had gathered in my throat.

"I ever tell you about meeting Karl?" She layered blue ticking triangles in a stack. "It was after Lemuel left. Lord, what a sorry man. I told him to leave when he'd nearly drunk us broke. He grabbed the rest of our money and I tried to stop him." She patted her leg. "He got the money and I got this limp."

I sucked in my breath. "He hit you?"

Perilee didn't answer. She stroked her hand across the oilcloth on the table. "I was pregnant with Fern at the time. I thank G.o.d I didn't lose her. Leafie came to stay till I was up and around again."

I covered her hand with mine. "I am so sorry."

"Leafie knew Karl from back in Chicago. He'd recently arrived, and she told him I needed a hand. When he stepped across that doorway, it was as if he was supposed to have been here all along." She rubbed her lower back, all the while holding my gaze. "Really, Hattie. It might be easier if you didn't come here so much. For a while." She toyed with some triangles. "I'll send Chase with your milk."

Images flashed through my mind: the note on my table. Traft's face at the dance. The barn fire. The smoldering hay bundle. I drew in a ragged breath. Easier wasn't an option anymore.

"I think, as big as you are, we'd better get going on this quilt or we'll never finish it before the baby comes."

Perilee looked at me and shook her head. "Hattie, you are-" She paused, then patted her middle. "I am enormous, aren't I?"

We began to talk about babies and crops and tricks for keeping bedbugs out of our beds. We'd talked about such things before, but today it was different. It'd been something big for me to s.h.i.+p myself out here, to work on Uncle Chester's claim. But I was beginning to see there were bigger things in life than proving up on a claim. I was proving up on my life. My choices would no doubt horrify Aunt Ivy, but if they brought me friends like Perilee, it seemed like I was surely headed in the right direction.

CHAPTER 13.

APRIL 1918.

THE ARLINGTON NEWS.

Honyocker's Homily ~ Sowing Seed There are as many methods as there are farmers for determining the readiness of the earth for planting. I adopted the method preferred by my closest neighbor, Karl Mueller. The handful of dirt I squeezed did not clump together wetly or crumble drily. It held its shape. That means that planting can commence. Twenty acres of flax and twenty more of wheat. I thought this day would never come. Once again, I am thankful for Plug. I hope he knows enough about plowing to make up for what I don't. But folks have been sowing seeds for centuries-surely even one such as I can manage.

"Oof." I tossed the harness over Plug's st.u.r.dy back and adjusted it and then the neck halter. "Good boy, good boy." I patted his withers. He stood patiently while I connected the chains from the bottom edge of the harness to the beam on the plow. I wrapped one rein around each hand and grabbed the plow handles. "Hi-yup!" Plug strolled out until the reins were taut. Then he stopped and turned his head back to look at me.

"Yes, we are going to plow this field. You and I. If it kills us." I flicked the reins against his back. "And it may."

Plug decided I was serious. He moved ahead. I put my weight onto the handles to keep the plowshare embedded in the sod. It sliced through the prairie gra.s.s, upturning a two-foot ribbon of chocolate-colored earth. "We're plowing, Plug!" I flicked the reins again, and we cut another six feet or so of sod ribbon. My gloves rubbed with each b.u.mp of the handles.

Another six feet, and blisters sprouted on each hand, even with the gloves. After one complete row, the blisters were bleeding. After the fifth row, my shoulders ached so that I couldn't feel my hands.

Several neighbors rode by and saw my "progress." "The general idea is to plow in a straight line," said Rooster Jim. "Not circles." He laughed till his face was red.

Leafie pa.s.sed by after I'd fallen hard in the sod. "That's some kind of s.h.i.+ner," she said, and handed me a packet of herbs. "Mix this with some bacon grease. It should help. Can't stay. I want to check on Perilee." My eye did feel better after her treatment.

Later, Karl rode by. We stood side by side, staring at my field. I don't know what Karl was thinking, but I knew what I was thinking. I'd be ninety before I got forty acres plowed.

"Gar nicht gut." He shook his head. "You need a machine," he said, imitating turning a steering wheel. He had managed to get enough gasoline despite the shortages to run his tractor. Even with his rough English, he managed to make himself clear. He would plow for me, sixty acres, if twenty of it were his to harvest. I thought his offer over carefully...for about two seconds. We shook on the best deal I'd made in a long time.

A few days later, when Karl came to plow, I headed over to spend the day with Perilee. That was the other part of our deal; he didn't like leaving her alone. The baby was due in June, but Leafie and I wondered if she'd make it till then. "What are you carrying, girl, an elephant?" Leafie had asked her. Perilee laughed. "You remember how it was with Fern," she said. "You thought I was carrying twins." They went on to discuss Fern's arrival in great detail. Their conversation gave me pause. Of course, anything to do with babies and giving birth gave me pause. What I knew about those subjects would fit on the head of a pin. I was thankful Perilee wouldn't have to rely on me. Not with Leafie around.

It was Monday, wash day-again. While the whites boiled, I scrubbed a load of the kids' dungarees and overalls. Perilee's condition made bending over the washboard and washtub awkward and uncomfortable. When I finished wringing something, I handed it to Chase or Mattie and they carried it to their mama so she could pin it to the line.

"Now, Hattie, don't be surprised if our laundry attracts company." Perilee shook out Mattie's green gingham dress.

"Company?" I said. The last company I'd had was Rooster Jim. He'd stayed for supper and afterward beat me at chess. Again. His parting gift to me was to share his bedbugs. I used up nearly a quart of kerosene trying to kill them off.

Perilee stood up and rested her hands on the small of her back. "Last week a band of antelopes came up to inspect our skivvies flapping in the breeze!" She laughed-a sound I'd heard too few times lately-then a frown of pain flickered across her face.

"Chase, go on in and bring out that rocker for your mama." I was pleased that Perilee had accepted my gift of that chair, paid for with my newspaper story money. "For the baby" was how I'd offered it. And for the baby was how she had accepted it. Growing up, I hadn't been around children much. The relatives I'd been sent to all seemed to have raised their broods; I was an add-on. At first, after moving out here, Mattie's constant chatter and baby Fern's drooling had got on my nerves. But now I made a habit of carrying a handkerchief for Fern, and I'd come to enjoy Mattie's observations. I thought she had the makings of a good writer herself. Charlie would have laughed out loud to see me warming up to these little ones. And that Chase! He'd whittled himself a good-sized niche in my heart. So good to his mama. And loyal as a little Turk to Karl. Smart as a whip, too. He'd finished up Treasure Island and was now tackling Riders of the Purple Sage.

"Here's the chair." Chase brought it over. I set it up in the only sliver of shade around and pushed Perilee into it. There was cool b.u.t.termilk yet, thanks to Violet, and I poured some in a tin cup. I wished it could've been a nice tall drink in a real gla.s.s.

"A penny for your thoughts." Perilee settled herself in her chair.

I laughed. "I hate to admit it, but it was something Aunt Ivy used to say." I handed Perilee the b.u.t.termilk. "If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride."

"My mama used to say that, too." Perilee sipped at the b.u.t.termilk. "Course, sometimes wishes do come true." She patted her stomach and took another drink. "Oh, this tastes good." Fern wobbled toward her mother's lap. I grabbed Chase by the overall strap. "You and Mattie take your baby sister. Go pick me some wild greens. I'll throw them in the stew."

Chase stopped and looked at me. "You better at stew than you are at bread?" His brown eyes were as serious as Sunday.

"Chase Samuel Johnson!" scolded Perilee.

Chase laughed. Such a nice clean sound. Perilee joined in.

"See if I ever cook for you again," I said. But I laughed, too. My cooking had improved somewhat, but I'd never match Perilee in that department.

The children gathered up empty lard pails to collect the greens in and headed off to the coulee. Perilee finished her b.u.t.termilk. "I believe I'll close my eyes for a minute," she said. Her rocking slowed. Soon I heard soft snoring.

My arms and back complained like the d.i.c.kens as I refilled the wash boiler, kept the water hot, rubbed grimy clothes on the washboard, wrung them out, and hung them to dry. Aunt Ivy used to say, "A man just works from sun to sun. A woman's work is never done." Let me testify to that!

I hung the last of Fern's diapers and stretched. Perilee slept noisily in her chair. I decided to go after the children. As I walked, I mentally composed the next section of my latest Arlington News installment.

It would be dishonest of me to try to impress with my tracking skills, to hint that living out in this wild country had brought out the native in me, able to discern from this twisted leaf or that disturbed rock which way my prey had gone. The buffalo gra.s.s around Perilee's house was tall but thick as moss; I had no trouble picking up the tracks of three barefoot children. Plus, I had the advantage of knowing the exact location of the greenest patch of wild parsley.

In short order, I'd come upon the three urchins, more intent on skipping stones across the creek than filling their buckets.

I bent to pick up a dark smooth stone.

"That's no good for skipping," said Chase.

"It's a wis.h.i.+ng rock," I said. "Better than a skipping stone."

"I want one, too," said Mattie. I showed her how to look for a dark rock with a circle of white around it. "When you're ready to make a wish, you close your eyes, then throw it over your shoulder," I explained.

She filled her pockets with stones. "I'm saving these for later," she said. "When I need a really good wish."

"I like that idea." I collected a dozen myself. One to wish for good planting. One for a good harvest. Two for Charlie's safe return. Another for Perilee's new baby. And a handful for proving up.

I looked up from my collecting. Fern had toddled off. "Fern must be part fairy, with the way she's so crazy about picking flowers," I commented to Chase. Her st.u.r.dy little legs carried her through the gra.s.s from one patch of wildflowers to another. In one pudgy hand she carried a slightly smashed prairie rose, in the other a bent wild iris.

"Let's gather a bouquet for Mama!" Mattie handed me her bucket and went to work. She and Chase scooped up a veritable rainbow of flowers. When they were done, Fern reluctantly contributed her two treasures to the nosegay.

"Won't your mama be pleased." I brushed the petals with my fingers. Would I ever be on the receiving end of such a bouquet from my own little ones? I'd never thought before that I might actually long for such a thing. I ruffled Chase's hair. "We'd better start on back if I'm going to tackle stew yet today."

Fern stuck a sap-sticky hand in mine. I picked up one bucket; Chase carried the two others. "I have to carry Mulie," explained Mattie.

We strolled along at an easy pace, careful of little legs. I breathed deeply of the sweetly scented air. It reminded me of the fragrance I'd caught when I first stepped off the train in Wolf Point. Someone practical like Perilee might tell me it was only the buffalo gra.s.s, warmed to sweetness by the spring sun. But it was more than that: it was the smell of home. Of a place to belong.

I'd marked off nearly five months on my calendar. Wouldn't Charlie be amazed at what I'd done in those five months? With my own two hands-and help from Karl-I'd set what felt like miles of fence. Soon my first crop would be planted. Come fall, I'd have flax and wheat to harvest. In November, the three years would be up on Uncle Chester's claim. On my claim. And I would have everything checked off, everything accomplished. I would step into 1919 a new person-not Hattie Here-and-There, reliant on relatives to give her a roof and board, but Hattie Inez Brooks. Hattie Big Sky, I added with a touch of romance. Hattie Home-of-Her-Own.

"Hattie." Mattie tugged on my skirt. "Is that thunder?"

I shook off my daydream. "I don't hear-" A deep rumble shook me from my toes up. "What is that?"

The ground rolled beneath us as a shudder of noise rolled over us.

"Horses!" Chase's face went white. "Wild horses!"

He'd no sooner said the words than I knew he was right. I pictured the wild, frothing herd headed right for us. "A stallion can bite through the neck of a grown horse," Rooster Jim had once warned me. I trembled to think what it could do to the children.

"Piggyback," I said to Fern, swinging her onto my shoulders. I s.n.a.t.c.hed Mattie's hand. "We've got to run for it!"

Flowers, greens, and buckets forgotten, we ran across the prairie, joined at the hands and wobbling like an unwieldy snake. The earth roared and writhed as it must have during Creation.

I turned and saw them, a tidal wave of horseflesh, nearing the other side of the creek. They'd soon be upon us.

The stallion guided his herd this way and that, closing the s.p.a.ce between us. The mares followed his every lead. I handed Fern over to Chase. "Head for home," I ordered.

"Hattie-" Chase started.

"Go!" I screamed. Off they flew. I thought of the stones in my pocket; they'd worked against wolves and boys, but they'd be worthless against wild horses. I had no idea what to do. But I would not let those horses cross the creek. Would not allow them to harm those children. My skirt flapped in the breeze as I turned. I remembered Perilee's comments about the clothes on the line attracting the antelope. Maybe they'd have the opposite effect on skittish horses.

I ripped off my skirt and petticoat and began flapping them like a demented bird in bloomers. The stallion froze at the creek's edge. His herd stopped, too, as one, whinnying and stamping as he paced back and forth.

"Hee-yaw!" I waved and yelled and danced around. The stallion twitched and snorted and took one high step into the creek. "Hee-yaw!" I screamed. I flailed my arms and wailed like a dime-novel dervish.

The stallion lowered his head, flesh quivering on his ma.s.sive, gleaming neck. He stepped back. And back again.

My woolen wings fluttered and flapped at the ends of my arms. "Back! Back!" I stepped forward. The stallion hopped back again and stopped. He froze, wild eyes fixed on me. What kind of creature did he imagine me to be? I prayed a fearsome one. I inched forward one more step and gave a ferocious flap. He yanked his head back and wheeled around. He paced and pranced, there on the other side of the creek. Then, with a shake of his powerful head, he launched into a gallop and led his four-legged band in the opposite direction.

I collapsed, exhausted, to the ground. Something sharp bruised my tailbone. I s.h.i.+fted and fished around on the ground for the offending item. It was one of my wis.h.i.+ng stones, no doubt flung from my pocket in my wild display. Was it the stone, my antics, or the Lord once again moving in mysterious ways that had turned the horses? Who could say? My ragged breaths turned to sobs as the full force of the close call hit me. If anything had happened to Perilee's children...I wiped my face with my petticoat. There was no time to wallow in what could have been. I shook myself off, clutching my limp and torn garments, and headed for Perilee's to bring in the dry laundry and start supper. When I got home that night and undressed, the wis.h.i.+ng stone fell out of my pocket. I set it on the kitchen table-a reminder of wishes come true-lit the kerosene lamp and finished writing my Honyocker's Homily.

As I close this installment, let me say this: for all the times my aunt admonished me that a lady never goes out without at least one petticoat under her skirt, I am most thankful. My trusty underthings saved the day for me and for those three children. It seems that this season of sowing is not simply about planting flax and wheat. Along with the grain, it appears I have also sown strong seeds of friends.h.i.+p.

The next Sunday, I started off to church. I walked a bit out of my way, to pa.s.s close to Perilee's to see the progress on the new barn. Pastor Schatz from the Lutheran church had recently organized a barn raising. I'd even pounded a few nails myself that day. While it was wonderfully satisfying to see a st.u.r.dy structure arise from the ashes, literally, what had lifted my spirits most was seeing all the Vida folks come out. The County Council of Defense members were noticeably absent, but otherwise nearly everyone came by to lend a hand or a word of advice. Mrs. Nefzger had the grippe but sent three of her raisin pies. Perilee dabbed at teary eyes all day, and Karl kept shaking his head. "That'll hold till after harvest," said Rooster Jim, admiring the day's work. "Then we'll get the roof on."

I shook my own head, thinking about that day. Coming back to the present, I was startled to turn the bend and see Perilee, in her best dress, holding her girls by the hand and Chase right behind.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"To church." Her look ordered no questions. "You stay right next to me, you promise?"

"Like a burr," I promised.

Perilee tucked her arm through mine snug, as we walked through a rainbow of wildflowers. We took turns carrying Fern. Mattie and Chase followed behind like calves, distracted by this b.u.t.terfly or that bug or newly bloomed lily.

Across the flat prairie, the church sailed into view, a small s.h.i.+p of salvation on the buffalo gra.s.s sea. Perilee's grip on my arm tightened as each step drew us closer. By the time we arrived at the front door, I thought my arm would fall clean off.

Mattie and Chase were pulled away by the Saboe kids, off to Sunday school. Holding Fern, I led Perilee to a pew near the back. It rocked as we settled in, smoothing wool skirts into place with callused hands.

"Let us pray." Reverend Tweed led the opening prayer.

I glanced at Perilee. Her eyes were squeezed so tight her eyelashes disappeared. A wrinkle weaved its way across her forehead. I reached over and squeezed her hand, one-two-three. Perilee's eyes opened, and I winked at her. She smiled, and the wrinkle dissolved.

"Open your hymnals to page ninety-seven." Reverend Tweed stood again. "We will sing 'Love Divine, All Loves Excelling.'"

Mrs. Martin crashed out a semblance of the tune on the careworn upright piano. The choir lurched and stumbled somewhere near the proper melody. The congregation tried to follow. It was painful, even for me.

Then, softly, surely, an angel's voice broke through the tumult, offering a place for that raggedy mix of voices to land. It pulled the hymn out of muddled confusion and lifted true praises to the Lord.

I stopped to listen. It was Perilee.

A few other folks had also stopped singing and were craning their necks to find the source of the only real music in that little church. I nearly burst with pride.