The Blizzard Bride

by Susanne Dietze

  Oh well. He’d seen her ankles and knees a thousand times at the swimming hole when they were children. She dropped the knife into her pocket. “I suppose modesty had to make way for urgency.”

  “All I cared about was untethering you all so we could warm you up. You were so cold and I thought, well, never mind.” He stepped closer, reaching over her shoulder for a small jug of molasses.

  “Was I that bad?”

  “For a minute, I thought so.” He didn’t move back, but stood there holding molasses and the open tin of cornmeal, looking down at her with sorrowful eyes. Was that what Mrs. Queen had meant by his puppy-dog eyes? “Anyway, I hope you’ve never had to use that little knife.”

  She shook her head, and when the intensity of his gaze became too much, she peered down and gauged the amount of cornmeal in the tin. Enough for breakfast. “It’s there if necessary, though.”

  “It was necessary last night. Oh, hey, Burt, didn’t hear you come up the stairs.” Dash set the cornmeal and molasses on the tiny worktable by the stove. “Mind if I open this window to get some snow? It’ll make a mess.”

  Burt shrugged—hard to tell whether he minded or not. It must be difficult for a shy man to have so many strangers in his home.

  Abby couldn’t watch when Dash shoved the window open and let the shrill wind into the kitchen. Ignoring the noise and the blast of cold at her back, she poured what water remained in the kettle into the stove pot and set it on to boil. The stove’s heat seeped through her clothes in a delightful wave, and she focused on it, rather than what was happening behind her.

  “Do you have lard and flour, Burt?”

  “Um, no. Why? You put it in the mush?”

  The man clearly didn’t cook. How did he get past thirty eating nothing but tins of beans? “I thought if I fried the mush, we could eat with our fingers, since there aren’t enough bowls or utensils.” She gestured eating a patty of mush with her hands.

  “Oh, sure, yeah.” He scratched his beard. “Well, I’ve got half a ham in the cellar. We can cut some fat off of that.”

  “You have ham?” Her stomach rumbled. “I don’t wish to eat you out of house and home, but what else do you have in the cellar, if I may be so bold to ask?”

  “Three potatoes.”

  What little food he had. Good thing Abby had years of practice with rationing food. “I’ll trouble you for a fatty slice of that ham, then. We’ll leave the rest of it for later, if we need it. Otherwise it will make you a fine supper.”

  “Here.” With a thunk, Dash set the snow-filled bucket at her elbow.

  She gasped. His face was bright pink, his nose redder than beetroot, his sleeve coated in white. “Dashiell Lassiter, stand here until you’re warm.”

  “I won’t argue with you.”

  She turned back. “Do you have coffee, Burt?”

  He took down another tin. “Already ground.”

  Ah, the expensive stuff. “I shall let you make the coffee, then, while I see to the mush.” She scooped hard, crystalline snow from the bucket and dropped the spoonful into the pot.

  Burt put the coffeepot on the back burner. “I’ll go get that ham.”

  Dash shifted closer to the stove. “I’ll go back to the children as soon as I thaw out. Don’t want to scare them by going back there looking like a snowman.”

  “Snowmen are round and sweet, Dash. You look nothing like that.”

  “I may not be round.” He patted his flat stomach. “But I hoped I was sweet.”

  She pretended to consider. “Maybe after you eat some molasses.”

  He laughed. “I don’t like molasses.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “No, sorry.”

  She blinked. “But all of those cookies I used to make for you were molasses. Year after year. You should’ve told me.”

  “I may have been Dim-witted Dash, but I was never so daft that I’d tell you I didn’t like your cooking.”

  Despite calling himself that horrible name, he was grinning, so she smacked him with a dish towel.

  “Of all the despicable things.” Her lips curved up as the water boiled. She gathered a handful of cornmeal and dropped it into the steaming pot. Burt had one large spoon, and she used it to beat the contents. “What I wouldn’t give for a pudding stick.”

  “For the mush?”

  “And to shake at you, for never telling me you hated my cookies.”

  “Just admit I’m a sweet fellow to have eaten your bad cookies.”

  “They weren’t bad.”

  “They were molasses, so, they were bad.”

  “You are not sweet, Dash.”

  “Yes I am.”

  She tossed the dish towel at him and he burst out laughing.

  Burt returned with a burlap-wrapped hunk the size of a honeydew. “What’s going on in here?”

  Dash swiped a lone tear from his eye. “I don’t like molasses.”

  “That makes no sense to me, but that’s all right. I thought you were laughing on account of the wind stopping.”

  Abby gaped. He was right. It was quiet.

  “Praise God.” Dash let out a whoop.

  “Now you’ve woken the children,” she teased.

  Burt chuckled. “They probably weren’t asleep anyway, and no doubt they heard you laughing the same as I did.”

  “They’ll get a good laugh out of my fried mush too.” Abby added another handful of meal. “But they’ll be happiest about the news we can all go home now.”

  Dash glanced out the window at the darkness. “We need full daylight to see what we’re up against, but if it’s not deep, maybe we can borrow your rig, Burt. You have a sled? Dray?”

  Burt shrugged. “No. Sorry.”

  Dash met Abby’s gaze. “With the children, we’re going to need to wait for help, then.”

  “You’re right.” Abby was disappointed. Nevertheless, the children would be looking to them for clues as to how to respond to their extended confinement. “Dash, can you slice some fat off the ham and put it into that pan there? And Burt, will you please tell the children we’ll eat in ten minutes?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Dash found a knife and worked at the ham. After he cut off a piece, he held the pan out for her inspection. “This enough?”

  “More would be better.”

  “These knives are terrible. They need a good sharpening. I should’ve used yours.”

  “You hush, Dash Lassiter. That’s private.”

  Grinning, Dash continued to saw away at the ham. It was indeed taking him a long while, but she needed extra time for the mush to cool enough to handle, anyway.

  Once the grease melted somewhat, Abby molded the mush into patties and fried them. It was not the best-looking fried mush she had ever made, but the fat infused a tasty flavor to it, and everyone ate his or her share, huddled around the coal stove in Burt’s parlor.

  Micah wiped his lips. “Can we go home now?”

  “Soon.” Abby explained it was safer to stay put until help came.

  No one looked happy at that, and soon after they’d finished their mush, the children grew restless. Without books, toys, or games, there were few options to keep them occupied. The girls were weary of cat’s cradle, and a game of Duck Duck Goose ended with Josiah tripping over Florence’s arm and knocking Burt’s chair sideways. When Abby put a stop to that, the boys fashioned a ball by tying someone’s gloves by the fingers until it formed a lumpy shape. The ball smacked Oneida on the side of the head, so Abby caught it. “Shall we play something quieter? Like Buzz?”

  “Aw.” Coy never liked the counting game when they played it in class, where the first person started with one, the second counted two, and so on until they reached seven. Sevens were replaced with the word buzz, as were multiples of seven. If you made a mistake, you were out, and it went until only one person was left. “I’d rather go home.”

  “Me too, but look,” Dash said. “The sun’s coming up.”

  The children pus
hed against one another to claim vantage at the parlor window. Abby stood back but could see enough. Pink tinged the gray horizon, shifting to lilac then the faintest of blues as they watched. Not a single cloud marred the sky. Soon the sun would be high enough to fully illumine the landscape, but there was sufficient light to make out large drifts piled against the barn and cottonwoods.

  Dash turned to Burt. “Let’s go to your barn.”

  Abby’s stomach lurched. “Is it safe?”

  “I think so. Looks like there are some drifts out there, but it’s not too deep in places. Ready to climb out the window with me, Burt?”

  “Why do you want to go to the barn?” Burt’s brows lowered.

  “Jasper and any other animals you’ve got. Their water’s undoubtedly frozen solid, and they’ll have eaten most if not all their hay. I’ll lend you a hand.”

  “I’ll go. My horse, my responsibility.” He sounded perturbed.

  Dash’s eyes rounded. “I’m happy to do it myself—”

  “No. You stay here. You’re, er, guests.”

  At his brusque departure, Dash rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean any harm, but the animals need tending. I would have done it so he didn’t have to. Fact is, I’d have liked to look in on Jasper since I saw to a wound of his.”

  “Burt’s overwhelmed by things, I guess.” Like his home overrun with veritable strangers. To a bachelor accustomed to a quiet house, this must be exhausting. She turned to the children. “Come, let’s play Buzz. Sit in a circle.”

  They’d had enough of sitting still, though. Bud and Kyle, in particular, fidgeted, and Micah and Jack were on the periphery of their peers’ antics. When the game ended, the young boys rolled over one another like puppies. Abby was loath to discipline them for being energetic children, but she had to intervene before they broke furniture or hurt someone. “Boys, we are guests. No horseplay.”

  When Burt returned, his brows were still knit in a knot above his nose. Was he upset at the children’s behavior?

  “Animals all right?” Dash looked up.

  “Fine.”

  Abby tried to meet Burt’s gaze, but he still avoided looking at her. “I’m terribly sorry for the disturbance we’ve caused you.”

  “Don’t be. They’re bored.” Burt waved his hand. “You younger boys, come here. Let’s start a game of Goose.”

  “You have a board game?” Abby felt as if she’d been tossed a rope to cling to after falling down a well.

  “No, but I have pencils and paper and a pair of scissors. We can make the board ourselves. I’m pretty good at recollecting things and drawing them once I see them.”

  “What an amazing gift.” Abby envied it.

  “I want to help,” Willodean offered.

  He turned in Abby’s direction, his gaze on her hem. “Not a lot of room over here.” In other words, he had all he could handle with Micah, Kyle, Bud, and Jack.

  Dash rubbed his hands together. “Maybe the rest of us can find objects to be the game’s stakes and counters. Buttons or straw or something.”

  “But I want to draw,” Willodean protested.

  Abby laid a hand on Willodean’s shoulder. “How about paper dolls, since Mr. Crabtree has paper?”

  “I want to do that too,” Nellie said. All the girls echoed the sentiment.

  As Abby assisted the girls in tracing and cutting, she kept an eye on Dash, who’d not been able to find more than matchsticks for the counters, so he’d assigned the boys to make stakes out of the girls’ scrap paper.

  Dash moved to the front window then turned and beckoned to her. Stepping over the children, she joined him, curious as to what the full morning light revealed of the world after the blizzard. Dash stepped aside and pulled back the rough drape so she could see.

  Beneath a blue sky, the snow spread as far as she could see like white flannel encrusted with diamonds, shining in the morning sun. Drifts piled against the cottonwoods and fence, but otherwise, the snow wasn’t as deep as she’d expected. Nothing moved, and nothing held color but the sky. Beautiful. But at what price?

  Were the people she cared for safe? Almos and Berthanne. Hildie, Bynum, and Patty. Her students’ families. Were they looking out at a similar view from their warm houses? Or were they in trouble?

  Tears prickled her sore eyes.

  Dash shifted toward her. “You all right?”

  She couldn’t speak without crying, so she offered a tremulous smile and turned back to the children. Burt had tacked four sheets of paper together to form the board. It was clearly recognizable as the game of Goose, with its numbered squares from one to sixty-three leading players on a spiral journey through hazards like the prison and inn toward the end. Parts were drawn with childish hands, but the path was expertly done, drawn by Burt’s steady hand.

  There were too many children to all play at once, so Abby counted them off into four groups. The first group stood in a small circle. Josiah pointed his finger into the middle. “I’ll count us off. ‘He had money and I had none, and that was the way the quarrel begun as O-U-T. Out!’”

  “Aw,” Coy said. “I’m out.”

  “At least you’re playing before the rest of us,” Zaida chided him from her spot on the floor, chin resting on her fist.

  Hopefully they wouldn’t need to invent many more activities for the children before help arrived. They had shelter, though. She would have to cling to her blessings. Who knew what waited for them outside? When they learned the full effect of the storm, it might be difficult to find joys amid the losses.

  At lunchtime, Dash carved into Burt’s ham with the blunt kitchen knife. The children ate and sipped water, but he could hear a few stomachs rumbling for more. Their hunger and boredom surely contributed to the increase in bickering in the parlor. A handful of girls quarreled about who would play the Goose game again, and the boys resumed tossing their homemade balls. One smacked Dash in the neck.

  If it was just him, or him and Abby, they could leave on foot. But it was too cold to attempt walking the children to their various homes, especially when he had no idea what the roads were like. Things would be faster and safer with a rig to carry them all, which Burt did not have.

  With an ear-splitting screech, Willodean flopped to the floor like a fish.

  He knelt before her, hands on her shoulders. “What is it?” Pain? Hunger? A temper tantrum? “Do you hurt, sweetheart?”

  She couldn’t talk for crying. Abby brushed past Dash and took her in hand, murmuring soothing sounds that hit Dash somewhere beneath his rib cage. He’d always known Abby would make a good mother. Why hadn’t she married someone else and started a family by now?

  Abby looked up. “I think she’s spent. The wind, the cold, confinement.”

  And fear. Even now, its chilling breath hung in the room, an invisible sense that life at this moment was not normal. Hard enough for an adult to face terror like this, but for a little one like Willodean? She was just a little thing. Almost a baby.

  Dash tugged his extra-large hankie from his waistcoat pocket. Ridiculous, how big it was, but it served him well during times of winter illness. “Here, Willodean. It’s a mite big, but it used to belong to a friend of mine. Giant of a fellow, seven feet tall and broad as a bear.” He comically dabbed the hankie over Willodean’s face.

  She sputtered, but at least she’d stopped crying. “Was he really a giant?”

  “Well, this here hankie was the size of his hand.” He held up his hand beside the larger handkerchief in comparison.

  “You’re fibbing.”

  “Am I?”

  Abby mouthed, “Thank you.” It was obvious she was scrambling to come up with something new to occupy the students. Her brows lifted. “Let’s sing.”

  “Sing what?” Micah, who like Kyle, Bud, and Jack had attached himself to Burt since making the game board, resumed his place by the stove.

  “Anything.”

  Never a good singer, Dash snuck backward until Willodean tugged him into t
he semicircle. She pointed from him to the ground. “Sit with me.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He hoped he knew the words to the songs.

  Abby grinned. “Let’s start with patriotic tunes.”

  The students stopped fidgeting to sway or bob their heads, and sometimes clap. When they’d exhausted “Battle Hymn of the Republic” and the other songs they knew, they moved on to hymns and then Christmas carols. Christmas wasn’t that long ago, and everyone knew verse after verse.

  “What next?” Abby asked. “‘Silent Night’?”

  Bang bang.

  Abby gasped and a few children shrieked. Dash hopped to his feet.

  “What was that? The roof again?” Zaida’s voice was shrill with fear.

  “Not the roof.” Dash shoved the mattress aside. “Sounded like the door. Stay here where it’s warmer.”

  Burt followed and tugged on the front door, but it didn’t give. He cursed—hopefully none of the young ones heard it.

  “Is someone there?” Dash leaned close to the door and yelled.

  “Bynum Elmore here.” His smacks echoed through the door.

  A loud cheer erupted behind Dash. Abby and the children hadn’t stayed in the warmer parlor but filled the foyer. Their happy smiles, especially Willodean’s, warmed Dash better than the coal stove had done. He turned back to the door. “Door’s frozen shut. Go to the kitchen window and I’ll meet you.”

  Within minutes, he and Burt reopened the kitchen window and admitted Bynum Elmore and three other fathers. Willodean leapt into Bynum’s arms. Bob Ford kissed his children, Elkanah Topsy gripped his boys in an embrace, and Gilbert Knapp swiped away a discreet tear when Zaida and Chester grabbed him about the waist.

  “Where’s our pa?” Vernon moved close to Florence.

  Bynum lifted his head from Willodean’s neck. “Waiting for you at home, I expect. I found Ford on the way to the school, and we encountered Knapp and Topsy coming from town. Thanks for leaving the note on the board for us, Miss Abby.”

  “Hildie and Patty? Are they—”

  “Fine. Worried sick about you and Willodean.”

  “Thank God.” Abby’s relief was palpable. “Did you encounter anyone else on your way here?”