Prairie School

by Lois Lenski

“Oh, you crazy boys!” Ruby had to laugh in spite of her tears.

  Delores and Fernetta came out shuffling, with coats over their heads. The Indians circled faster and faster around the desks. Then Darrell tipped a desk over and fell headlong on the floor. That ended the dance.

  “Let’s play New Or-leans,” said Fernetta.

  Delores drew a line in chalk along the middle of the floor and they chose sides, Ruby and Miss Martin joining in. Acting out such varied actions as pitching hay and making cake, the children laughed and screamed until they were breathless.

  “I’m afraid it’s bedtime,” said Miss Martin. “I’ll see how much bedding I can scare up.”

  “Us boys will sleep on the floor, Miss Martin,” said Jacob. “Right by the register, in the warmest spot.”

  “We don’t need any blankets,” said Darrell. “We’ll sleep in our clothes.”

  “Here’s the stage curtain, and two old coats of mine,” said Miss Martin. “And how about your sheepskin coats?” Jacob brought them from the hall.

  “I hope you’ll be warm enough,” said Miss Martin. “It’s still storming out, and the furnace fire gets low by morning.”

  “I hope you’ll be warm enough, Miss Martin,” said Darrell. “Don’t let those fat girls in there steal all your covers. Hear them giggling?”

  “Let’s all settle down now,” said Miss Martin, “and go to sleep.”

  She closed the schoolroom door and went into the bedroom. The girls insisted on nightgowns, so Miss Martin hunted out some of her own. Ruby took her new blue pajamas out of her suitcase, put them on and strutted around..

  “Good night, children.” Miss Martin went into the kitchen to get ready for bed. She could hear the girls giggling. Now and then Delores coughed. Suddenly Darrell’s gruff voice boomed out from the schoolroom: “Shut up, you girls, us boys want to go to sleep.”

  “Yes, Darrie dear!” answered Delores.

  The giggles became still louder, and were followed by loud whispers.

  “Miss Martin, do you snore?” piped up Ruby.

  “If I do,” answered Miss Martin, “you call to me and I’ll stop. Good night, children.”

  “Delores said it wasn’t you snoring,” Ruby continued. “It was the moaning of the wind.” Giggles again.

  Sleep came and brought quiet at last. The only sound was the snow-laden wind roaring around the little schoolhouse on the prairie. It was a lonesome sound and only one person heard it.

  Delores lay awake worrying. Would the storm be over in the morning so they could go home? How long would the coal last? Was Mama lying awake too, worrying because they had not come? Would the night never end? Her throat felt sore and she had to cough. Suddenly she heard footsteps. She remembered the night of the prairie fire. Seeing the flare of a flashlight, she asked quickly, “Who is it?”

  “I’m going down cellar to look at the furnace,” said Miss Martin. “Go back to sleep. It’s only three o’clock.”

  “Who’s up? What’s the matter?” Fernetta was awake too. She giggled.

  “Miss Martin went down cellar,” said Delores. “It’s only three o’clock.”

  “Are you cold?” asked Miss Martin, returning. “Did I hear you cough?”

  “Just my feet,” said Delores. “The covers keep coming off every time Ruby rolls over.” Giggles again.

  “I’ll heat a sad-iron for you,” said Miss Martin.

  Both girls were sound asleep by the time the iron got hot on the coal stove and, wrapped in a cloth, was tucked at their feet. They woke in the morning to smell the delicious aroma of coffee.

  “Is it time to get up?” called Delores.

  “No,” said Miss Martin. “Not till the furnace gets hot.” She went down cellar to put coal on.

  “If you get up,” called Darrell, “I’ll clump you over the head with the broomstick.”

  The threat made Delores come out at once in her bare feet. Darrell was as good as his word. Down came the broomstick on the girl’s head.

  “Ouch, ouch!” she screamed, jumping back in bed.

  “What’s going on here?” Miss Martin was back, smiling. “Everybody getting up?”

  “I hope you like this nice snowstorm of yours, Delores!” called Darrell.

  “It’s a present for you,” answered the girl. “You can have it. What are you peeling, anyhow? Onions?”

  “Yah, sure!” laughed Darrell. “Onions for your breakfast fruit.”

  The girls took plenty of time to get dressed. When they came out, breakfast was ready—sliced oranges, creamed salmon on toast, coffee, bread, butter and jelly. Jacob appeared, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

  “I dreamed I was buried under the snow and I couldn’t kick it off,” he said. “How’s the weather?”

  “Worse and more of it,” said Darrell in a disgusted tone.

  “All night long the bed shook,” said Ruby.

  “Especially when you turned over,” added Fernetta.

  When the salmon was passed, Ruby turned up her nose. “I don’t eat fish for breakfast,” she said. “I eat wuerst.”

  “No sausage served at this hotel,” said Delores, passing her by.

  Ruby changed her mind quickly. “I’m hungry, I’ll eat it,” she said.

  As soon as he finished eating, Darrell said, “I’ll take these scraps and some bread out to Spike. I want to see about the horses too. I’ll get the shovel and make some paths.”

  Miss Martin looked out the window. It was still snowing, but the wind had died down a little. She could not see the barn at all, and all the prairie in the background was a sea of white. She watched the boy make his way through the deep snow and start shoveling paths.

  “Fernetta and I will do the dishes,” said Delores. “The water pail’s empty. Here, Jacob, go fill this up from the can in the front hall.”

  In a minute Jacob returned with an empty pail. “There’s no water,” he said. “Big can’s empty. Cooler’s empty too.”

  “I told you girls not to use so much water for dishes last night,” scolded Ruby. “You were wasting it. You heard my father say he forgot to bring the ten-gallon can full.”

  Miss Martin came in. “The floor’s so dirty, I want to scrub it,” she said. “Did you save last night’s dishwater, Delores?”

  “No, I threw it out the door.”

  “Oh, I never do that,” said Miss Martin. “I save every drop and use it over and over—for mopping the floor, cleaning overshoes, scrubbing the porch, and lots of things.”

  “There’s not a drop of water, Miss Martin,” said Delores. “We haven’t washed our faces and we can’t wash the dishes.” She turned on Ruby. “I’d think you’d be ashamed, Ruby Englehart. It’s your father’s turn to bring water, and he’s got a good sled to bring it in. If he can bring you, there’s no reason why he can’t bring us water.”

  The children all turned on her angrily. ‘‘He ought to forget you—and bring the water!” “Jeepers! No water! Those Engleharts!”

  Ruby’s face turned red. “My father’s no worse than yours, Delores Wagner!” she snapped. “How about that load of COAL?”

  Delores hung her head, ashamed. She could not say a word.

  “I guess Darrell used the last of the water for our coffee,” said Miss Martin.

  “Whatever are we gonna do, Miss Martin?” demanded Delores. “We haven’t even washed our faces.”

  “Oh, that’s easy,” laughed Miss Martin. “We’ll melt snow for water. I have to do it all the time. That’s one thing the snow’s good for.”

  “Snow-water; of course,” said Fernetta. “Let’s all go out and bring in snow.”

  “Take the lasso rope, Jacob,” said Miss Martin, “and see that everyone hangs onto it.”

  The children rushed to put on their wraps and ran outdoors. It was a great game to hold the rope. The boys shoveled snow away from the barn and the outdoor toilets. Darrell melted a pail of snow to water the horses. The girls filled Teacher’s pail and dish-pan with snow and set them o
n the stove. A kettle was filled to be used for scrubbing the floor.

  “When do I get a drink?” asked Ruby.

  “Not till the snow’s melted, and the water’s boiled, strained and cooled,” said Fernetta, “unless you want to burn your throat.”

  Miss Martin went out on the teacherage porch. She saw the children huddled in front of the barn door. Fear clutched at her heart. Had something happened? The responsibility of keeping the children overnight or for days at a time often threw her into a panic. “What is it?” she called.

  “The dog—Spike!” came the answer.

  She ran out to see. Spike’s head was stuck in a hole at the bottom of the door. He had dug dirt away and scratched and chewed wood off, trying to get out. The boys opened the door carefully. Freed at last, Spike ran and jumped over the snow, barking loudly.

  “I’m going over to the elevator to get some oats for the horses,” Darrell told Miss Martin. He started out, wading part of the way in waist-high snow, bending against the wind. Spike followed, floundering and leaping. When the boy came back, Delores saw the empty sack on his shoulder and knew he had found no grain. He said the doors were all locked.

  “Where’s Spike?” she asked.

  “He ran off down by the stockyards!” said Darrell. “I called, but he wouldn’t come back. What are we going to feed the horses?”

  Delores looked thoughtful. “In the early days, Grandpa said they used to stack tumbleweeds and feed them to the cattle.”

  “Huh!” scoffed Darrell. “Tumbleweeds under the snow, I suppose.”

  “There’s some dry grass mixed with the coal in the cellar,” said Fernetta. Fernetta ran down and brought up a few wisps, and Delores asked Miss Martin if she had any rolled oats. “A little,” said Miss Martin. “The box is only half full.”

  “The horses will eat it,” said Delores.

  “Take it then.” Miss Martin smiled.

  The girls took their offerings out, but the boys would not let them in the barn.

  “Oatmeal!” scoffed Darrell. “Taking the last of Teacher’s oatmeal. Ain’t you ashamed, Delores!”

  The school bell rang. Darrell gathered up the lasso rope, and they all ran in. Schoolwork began, but only one thought was uppermost: Can we get home today?

  CHAPTER IX

  A Knock at the Door

  “IF WE GO HOME, we might get lost,” said Delores.

  The dreaded sentence, the basic terror was out at last. All the stories of people lost or frozen to death in snowstorms on the Great Plains, handed down over the years, rose up like ghosts in the children’s memories, to frighten them.

  “We might get lost” Delores said again.

  No one laughed. No one teased her now about getting lost on the way home from school. It was not funny any more. All morning on Tuesday, as the snow and wind increased, the children tried to forget about going home and to resign themselves to staying longer.

  “Mama tells us every year not to try to go anywhere in a storm,” said Delores.

  “My Mama always says to go in the nearest house and wait,” said Ruby.

  “They can’t get through to come for us,” said Jacob.

  “They’ll come for us when they can,” added Fernetta.

  “They won’t come at all,” said Darrell angrily. “They know we’ve got horses. They’re waiting at home for us to come. They’re worrying their heads off. I think we ought to go.”

  “Darrell,” said Miss Martin firmly. “I cannot let you start for home until the storm is over. I am responsible for all of you while you are here. It looks as if we’re in for another day of it, if not more. Let’s settle down and make the best of it.”

  “By golly! This seat’s cold,” complained Ruby. She slipped into Konrad Snider’s seat, nearer the register. “This seat’s cold, too. I bet the furnace has gone out.”

  “We’re scraping up the coal dust to burn now,” said Miss Martin. “Go put your snowpants on, Ruby. If any of you are cold, get up and run around the schoolroom until you are warm again. Or, we’ll stop and play a game. I still have a couple of buckets of coal for the kitchen heater. When it gets too cold in here, we’ll move to the kitchen. Let’s settle down to our work now and try to forget the storm.”

  The children opened their books, and the room became quiet. When Delores went to the kitchen to light the kerosene stove for lunch, she looked out the north window. The storm was raging again. She could not see the elevator or the deserted house. She could not even see the school barn. The only mark in the whiteness was the faint line of telegraph poles following the railroad.

  Ten-year-old Delores had seen many storms. But today she thought she had never seen such a frozen-looking world. It must be like this at the North Pole, she said to herself. But nobody lives there, not even Eskimos. The thought of the shortage of coal was a load on her heart. If only the coal dust will last till the storm is over…till somebody comes…She opened the teacherage door to get the food in the wooden box nailed to the outside wall, and closed it quickly.

  “Everything in your icebox is frozen solid, Miss Martin,” she called. “The cream and the smearcase and everything. We forgot to bring them in.”

  Miss Martin went on correcting papers at her desk. “Find some cans of soup to warm up,” she said. “We need something hot.”

  “The cocoa box is empty, Miss Martin.”

  “There’s some tea left, I think.”

  Suddenly Delores heard a sound and looked out. “The Galloping Goose!” she cried. “There’s the train!”

  The children dropped their work and came running. They crowded into kitchen and bedroom and looked out across the whitened prairie. They saw a vague form moving slowly beneath the line of telegraph poles.

  “It’s the snowplow,” said Darrell. “Engine, caboose and snowplow.”

  “A steam engine,” said Jacob. “That pretty little Diesel couldn’t buck drifts like this.”

  “There hasn’t been a train for days now,” said Miss Martin. “I’m surprised they are keeping the branch line open.”

  “They’re just trying to,” said Darrell. “That snowplow will soon back up and return to town, I bet.”

  After lunch, when Delores and Fernetta were washing the dishes, they heard a curious scratching. They looked at each other, startled. They could hear it plainly above the roar of the wind, close at hand.

  “A mouse!” cried Fernetta.

  “No,” said Delores. “It sounds like a dog scratching on the door. I bet it’s Spike. He’s come back and wants in.” She opened the teacherage door a crack, and Spike put his nose in.

  “Poor thing,” said Fernetta. “He’s half frozen. Let him come in by the stove.”

  But Spike did not want to come in or lie down. He whined and started running back down the steps. “Golly! Shut the door quick!” cried Ruby.

  “Something’s wrong,” said Darrell. “I’m going to follow him and see what he wants.”

  “It’s not safe for you to go out, Darrell,” said Miss Martin. “Bring Spike inside. He’s cold and hungry.” Darrell pulled the dog in.

  Fernetta opened a can of prepared macaroni, and the dog gulped it greedily. He lay down in front of the Heatola, but seemed restless. Now and then he got up, went to the teacherage door and whined.

  “Something’s wrong,” said Darrell again. “Spike’s acting strange.”

  The boy tried to study, but was disturbed. The children went on with their lessons, but the storm kept on getting worse. The wind seemed to be blowing against every window.

  Suddenly a knock came at the door. It was a sharp, insistent, purposeful knock. It startled the children—they jumped. They looked at each other and at Miss Martin. Spike jumped up and barked loudly. Who could it be, way off in this isolated place, with no one around for miles?

  “Lie down, Spike!” scolded Darrell. “Be a good dog.”

  “Go to the door, Darrell,” said Miss Martin.

  Darrell opened the teacherage door and some
one almost fell in. It was a young boy, about eight years old, covered with snow. Darrell took him by the arm and led him to a chair. He sat down, gasping for breath, and rested. The children huddled together, staring at him. He was an Indian boy, dressed in heavy winter clothes. His face looked pale and pinched. No one recognized him. He pointed out the door.

  “Somebody’s in trouble out there,” said Darrell. “I’m going out to see who it is. Spike will show me where to go.” He looked at Miss Martin defiantly. She said nothing. Hastily he put on his wraps and overshoes, and went out the door with Spike ahead of him.

  “I’m going with Darrell,” said Delores at once. “He mustn’t go alone.”

  “Oh no!” cried Miss Martin. “Not with your sore throat and cough. I can’t let you.”

  “I’ll go with him,” said Jacob. He had his wraps already on.

  “Take the lasso rope and stay together,” said Miss Martin.

  Rope in hand, Jacob followed Darrell out through the snowstorm.

  Miss Martin and the girls looked after the Indian boy. Delores brought a panful of snow and bathed his frozen hands and feet. Fernetta warmed up soup and Miss Martin fed him. Ruby straightened Miss Martin’s bed and they led him in. He lay down and fell asleep at once.

  It seemed a long time before the two boys came back. Spike bounced up on the porch, barking, and in came the two boys leading an Indian woman with a tiny baby in her arms. She, too, was half-frozen, and needed warmth and food. She smiled, but could not speak.

  “She was waiting under the loading chute of the stockyard,” said Darrell. “That’s where Spike went, when he left me this morning—I bet they were there then. The chute was a little protection from the storm. Waiting for the train, she said. That’s all we could get out of her.”

  “If she’d gone in the depot; it would have been better,” said Jacob. “She could have closed the door and kept the wind out.”

  “Why, there’s a stove in the depot,” said Delores. “The section men build a fire there and hang their wet gloves up on those bent wires to dry. She could have had a fire.”

  “Indian women don’t carry matches,” said Ruby.