Prairie School

by Lois Lenski

  “I’ll feed you!” cried Darrell. He took a large spoonful of beans and tried to poke them down his sister’s throat.

  “Darrie, don’t! You’re crazier than a pet coon,” said Delores. “Let me alone!” She went into the bedroom, coughing badly.

  Miss Martin followed her, and soon came out again. “Delores’ throat looks bad,” she said, “and I don’t like that cough of hers. We’ll be quiet and let her sleep awhile.”

  “Man alive!” laughed Darrell. “There’s nothing the matter with her. She’s just playin’ possum. That girl’s tough—a little snowstorm like this wouldn’t get her down.”

  But under his words of bravado, Miss Martin knew the boy was worried.

  “Is nobody coming?” The children kept asking the same question over and over all afternoon. The snow had stopped now and the wind had gone down, but the thermometer registered 5° below zero.

  “What’s the matter with their jeeps and tractors?” asked Darrell.

  “Why don’t they get out and shovel?” said Jacob.

  But all questions remained unanswered. The world outside the schoolhouse was white and silent. Now that the storm had died down, it was so white and silent, it seemed as if life itself had left it.

  “The winter birds and the field mice must be buried deep in the snow,” said Darrell. “I haven’t seen a bird anywhere.”

  “Not a bird has come to feed at the Christmas tree since the storm began,” said Miss Martin.

  When the afternoon work was done, the children begged to go outside. They shoveled paths to the barn and opened the doors. They found the horses nervous and fractious, anxious to be out again. The boys got on their backs and rode them out, but the drifts were so high, they could not go far and were soon glad to come back to the barn.

  “Jeepers! It’s pretty out,” said Ruby, standing at the window, pointing to the drifts. “The snow looks just like Mama’s seven-minute cake frosting.”

  “You’re crazy,” said Fernetta. “The drifts look like cliffs in the Bad Lands. Some are like wings with pretty feather designs, some are like boats sticking up, and some are like winding tunnels.”

  The boys came running in, excited. “There’s a big flock of pheasants out by the barn. Got anything to feed them?”

  “A new box of Rolled Oats that Paul Kruger brought,” said Miss Martin. “Will that do?”

  . The boys took it and ran. Tamed by hunger, the beautiful birds came close to get food. Their bronze and brightly colored feathers stood out brilliantly against the snow. They pecked hungrily at the oats.

  The third day passed and another night came. About noon on Thursday, the fourth day, the children heard the welcome sound of a roaring motor. They stood still and looked at each other. The roaring seemed to echo and re-echo over the silent snowbound prairie. It was music to their ears.

  “A jeep!” “A tractor!” they shouted. “Someone is coming!”

  Filled with excitement, they ran outside and waited to see who it was. Delores woke up from a feverish nap and came to look out the window, with Miss Martin beside her. The roaring came closer and closer. After a long time, a tractor came crawling over the brow of the hill, where the snow had blown thinnest.

  “It’s Pop!” cried Jacob and Fernetta. “It’s Pop come to take us home!” The happy words were like a little song: It’s Pop come to take us home.

  Darrell and Ruby begged to be taken along, but Al Sticklemeyer shook his head. “You live in the wrong direction, Darrell,” he said.

  “I can take Ruby—she can sleep at our house till her folks can get over. Her Dad’s likely to be over tomorrow to get me to help him open our road.”

  “Ruby, do you want to go to the Sticklemeyers?” asked Miss Martin. “Or do you want to stay here?”

  “I’m sick of school,” said Ruby. “I’ll go anywhere to get away.”

  “You’ll have to sleep in a bed with my three little sisters,” warned Fernetta.

  “I don’t care,” said Ruby. “Maybe I’ll get something decent to eat.”

  “Sauerkraut!” warned Delores, laughing.

  “We’ll leave the cart here,” said Al Sticklemeyer. “Jacob, you hang onto Buckskin’s bridle and let him walk behind. We got to go slow to get around the drifts.”

  As the tractor crept slowly over the hill, the figures of three children standing beside the driver made a dark silhouette against the sky. Ruby lifted her over-night bag and waved it. “Out of the frying-pan into the fire!” cried Darrell in a mocking voice. “That’ll be good for Ruby—the Sticklemeyers stepping all over her in that little three-room house.”

  “Oh, I forgot!” exclaimed Miss Martin. “They’ve got the mumps!”

  “Don’t worry,” said Delores. “She’s had ’em.”

  “Too bad!” laughed Darrell.

  The schoolhouse seemed quiet now, with only Darrell and Delores there, but Darrell knew that Miss Martin was relieved. He could see by this time, too, that Delores was sick, so he said nothing about going home. But in his heart, he was overcome with anxiety because of the necessity for the prolonged stay. He felt hopeless, too, when he saw more snow coming down. Would the storm never end? Dolores went back to bed, saying she did not want to eat, and Darrell helped to set out the supper. He lighted the lamp when it was nearly dark. As he and Miss Martin were eating, they heard once again the heavy roar of a motor.

  “Well, I’ll be jiggered!” Darrell jumped up and ran out.

  “It’s a snowplow!” the boy yelled, jumping up and down. “It’s Pop and Ozzie with the tractor and road-clearing outfit. Jeepers! It’s Pop come at last. Hey, Delores, we can go home! Oh, Pop, where the heck you been this long time? We thought you would never get here.”

  But Johannes Wagner’s ears were deafened by the motor and he did not hear. He made a road around the schoolhouse and to the school barn, pushing a mountain ridge of snow off onto the edge of the prairie.

  Miss Martin quickly put a pot of coffee on the stove and had it ready when Johannes came stumbling in. Ozzie stayed outside, turning the plow around. Johannes wore a smile from ear to ear, in spite of the sub-zero night. He was bundled in many layers of clothes and covered with snow. Icicles clinging to his eyebrows and whiskers had to be melted off before he could speak, eat or drink his coffee.

  “Nice little storm we been havin’,” he said with a grin.

  “Oh Pop!” cried Delores. She felt better at once, and had jumped out of bed. “We thought you would never come. Seems like we been stayin’ here forever.” She went to the front hall, got her wraps and began to put them on.

  Mr. Wagner turned to Miss Martin: “You got the coal? Paul Kruger got through all right?”

  “Yes,” said Miss Martin. “We were down to the last bucketful…and there were six of us, besides an Indian family of three…”

  “I could kick myself for lettin’ it go so long,” said Johannes. “After all you done for our kids…I kept puttin’ it off too long—never thought we’d get this big storm on top of the others. Minna’s been cryin’ her eyes out thinkin’ of you here all alone with no one but these kids.”

  “They’ve been a wonderful help to me,” said Miss Martin.

  “Oh Pop,” cried Delores, “let’s go home quick. My throat’s sore and—”

  “I got to be rolling along,” said Johannes. “Got to get a load of hay for the cattle tonight.”

  “Are the cattle all right?” asked Darrell anxiously. “Where are they? You got to get hay tonight?”

  “It’s already loaded,” said Johannes, “but I got to start the truck to haul it to them. If the truck won’t start, I’ll have to build a fire under it. Or else—drive the cattle home.”

  “Oh Pop, I want to go with you,” begged Delores.

  “Got to catch Queen too,” Johannes went on. “We been havin’ all kinds o’ trouble. Ozzie rode Queen over to Arlo Beckler’s yesterday, but the drifts were so deep, he had to get off and walk. He turned Queen loose to come home, but she didn’t c
ome. She’s somewhere out on the prairie with my best saddle on her back. Phil tried to find her but couldn’t.”

  “Oh Pop.”

  Johannes looked hard at Delores. “Listen, girl, it’s still snowing,” he said. “I ain’t been home for two days and two nights, ain’t had a wink o’ sleep all that time. Been tryin’ to get some roads open. People are hungry, they can’t get food. We got to open the roads. Your Mama’s worryin’ her head off. She thinks I’m buried deep in snow. No tellin’ when I’ll get home, with more snow comin’ down…”

  “We thought it was funny you didn’t come for us,” said Darrell, “but I can see the reason why, now.”

  “I got to be rolling along,” said Johannes. He gulped down another cup of hot coffee, and poured a cup to take out to Ozzie.

  “I can drive the cattle to the hayrack,” said Darrell. He had his wraps and overshoes on, and was ready to start. “What about the horses here, Pop? They ain’t had a bite to eat for four days.”

  “Turn ’em loose!” said Johannes. “They’ll come home and we’ll feed ’em. You stay here, Delores. I can’t take two on the tractor.”

  “Oh Pop!” cried Delores. “I want to go home.”

  “Delores doesn’t feel well…” began Miss Martin.

  “It may be hours before I reach home,” said Johannes. “You better stay here, girl, and keep warm.” He grinned. “At least now you’ve got coal and have heat. Got stuff to eat?”

  “Yes—plenty,” said Miss Martin.

  “Oh Pop…” Delores felt like crying, but didn’t. “You gonna turn Sugar loose? How’ll I get home without a horse to ride?”

  “We’ll come and get you soon as we can,” said Johannes. He and Darrell went out the door and down the teacherage steps. Later, Darrell ran back with Ozzie’s empty coffee cup. He called good-by, but Delores did not answer.

  She sank down on a kitchen chair, tired, sick and disappointed. After resting a minute, she took off her wraps, went to the front hall and hung them up neatly. She took her overshoes off and came back to the kitchen. She ate a little soup, then sat by the table, while Miss Martin read her letters and newspapers by lamplight. Miss Martin spoke of good news from her aunt in Aberdeen, then talked about the latest storm news.

  “All the roads are blocked,” she said, “and so many people have been stalled in cars. It says here, when you go anywhere in a car, to always carry ashes, a shovel and a tow rope with you; to wear heavy clothing and carry blankets along. ‘Don’t keep the engine going when you get stalled. Be sure to keep one window open slightly.’”

  “Your car’s covered so deep with snow,” said Delores. “I don’t guess we’ll be goin’ anywhere. We’ll just stay here.”

  “I’m glad I bought that lasso rope,” said Miss Martin, remembering how useful it had been.

  “Those little Sticklemeyers were going every which way,” laughed Delores, “till I went out and corralled them in. And we never woulda got that front door shut in that east wind, without it.”

  “The newspaper tells how to signal for airplanes, too,” said Miss Martin.

  “I heard that on the radio at home,” said Delores, “before the battery went dead. Make the letter L if you need fuel or oil. F for food and water. I forget what the others were.”

  “It says here: ‘A straight line ten feet long, for serious injury, or to call a doctor. Two L’s side by side mean all’s well. If in doubt, make SOS.’ That’s the international distress signal.”

  “Mama said it sounded like nonsense to her,” said Delores. “The wind would blow snow over the marks. The airplane pilot couldn’t see a thing.”

  “It says ‘ashes can be used, if there is no wind,’” Miss Martin went on. “‘Otherwise use strips of fabric, pieces of wood, stones or any available material. Or, if the wind is not blowing, signals can be made by dragging, shoveling or tramping the snow.’” She paused and smiled. “We didn’t have to signal our plane to come, did we?”

  “Paul Kruger seemed to know we needed him,” said Delores.

  “He was like that as a boy,” said Miss Martin. “Always thoughtful, anticipating my needs. No wonder he turned into a ‘mercy flyer.’”

  “I didn’t get to ask Pop how Mama is…and Christy,” said Delores. “It seems a month since I saw them.”

  “They are safe at home, so don’t worry,” said Miss Martin. “The main thing now is to doctor you up and get rid of that cold of yours. Then, when they come for you, you’ll be ready to go home.”

  “When Papa gets home,” laughed Delores, “Mama’s sure to send him right back to get me.”

  “Of course,” said Miss Martin.

  “I’m glad I didn’t go out tonight,” said Delores. “I feel too sick. Bed’s the place for me.”

  CHAPTER XI

  Rough Going

  IT WAS A GOOD THING Delores did not try to go home. All Thursday night she was very ill. She felt sick to the stomach and had sharp pains in her side. She vomited often. Neither she nor Miss Martin slept. Miss Martin never undressed at all. She sat on a chair beside the bed where the girl lay. When morning came, the sky was clear and the pink and golden sunrise across the white snowdrifts was dazzling. A strong gale was blowing.

  Miss Martin went down cellar to take care of the furnace. While she was getting breakfast, there came a grinding sound, then a loud crash.

  “Oh!” Delores jumped. “What was that?”

  “My ice-boxes,” said Miss Martin. “The boxes nailed on the wall outside. They’re rolling across the prairie now.”

  “The wind will pick the schoolhouse up next,” said Delores, “and roll it around like a giant tumbleweed.”

  After a while, another bang came, this time from the front hall.

  “Bricks falling off the chimney,” said Miss Martin. “The mortar’s loose. Too bad they don’t keep up the repairs on this building. It was a good building when it was new, in 1920. It’s only thirty years old.”

  “Pop says they won’t use it much longer,” said Delores. “They’ll try to haul us to town by bus, I suppose.”

  “In snowstorms like this?” Miss Martin laughed.

  Delores had no appetite, but Miss Martin ate a bowl of cereal. Then she shoveled the snow from the front porch and hall. “It’s plenty cold, a little above zero,” she said when she came back in. “There hasn’t been so much snow inside the front door any winter since I began teaching here. I’m going to sweep the snow out of my car, and off the top, then see if the engine will start.”

  “Do you think it will?” asked Delores.

  “Yes,” smiled Miss Martin. “It has surprised me lots of times. Darrell had it going on Tuesday. I’d better try it again—don’t know when I may need it.” She looked hard at Delores. “You’re feeling a little better, aren’t you?”

  “My side hurts bad when I cough,” said Delores, trying to be hopeful. She did not want to worry Miss Martin. “Is appendicitis on the right or the left side?”

  But Miss Martin was already out the door. “You stay in bed and keep warm,” she called back.

  Suddenly a loud crash was heard, followed by the clatter of broken glass. “Oh!” cried Miss Martin from the porch. “The car windows!”

  She looked down and saw that one of the large east storm windows had come off. It was teetering on the car’s fender. Somehow it had missed hitting the windows. “I’ll have to see if I can lift it off and lay it on the snowbank.”

  “Everything that’s loose around this old school has been blown off by this time,” said Delores grimly.

  The car was as completely covered with snow as if the boys had never cleared it off. Miss Martin shoveled and swept until she was tired. She started the engine and while it was running, put the chains on. While she worked, panting from exertion, she tried to decide what she should do.

  She knew that Delores was seriously ill and in need of a doctor. Should she try to get her home to her parents? Would they realize how sick she was—that it was appendicitis, and n
ot just a cold? If it was appendicitis, no time should be wasted in getting her to a doctor, but should this be a teacher’s responsibility?

  What to do? No telephone and the snow so deep. Even with clear weather, the thermometer could not seem to rise above zero. Whatever was to be done would have to be done in this freezing cold. The actual storm was over. If that cold wind would die down, it wouldn’t be too bad out. Could she drive the car anywhere?

  Then she thought, “If I can’t drive, I can still walk.”

  Should she walk somewhere for help? Some drifts would hold a person up, others would let you sink with a jolt. That kind of walking was slow and exhausting. It would mean leaving the sick girl alone for long hours.

  Why did no one come? Was she cut off from all living creatures? Was she entirely alone in this isolated place? She knew she was not, that her strength came from a Higher Power. If only Paul had come a few days later with his plane…But the coal had been a godsend these last three days. Should she signal him and wait, in the vain hope that he might be flying in this direction again? No—he would not be back. He was needed elsewhere.

  Then Miss Martin remembered the Galloping Goose. The engine with snowplow and caboose had gone north the day that Paul came, and had never returned south. She had often caught the Goose to go to town. If it went up one day, it would come down the next day at a quarter to twelve. Sometimes it was as late as three, and once when the weather was bad, it was as late as six. But it always came down sooner or later. She thought of the old saying: What goes up must, come down! and smiled to herself. It was a comforting thought.

  “There’s the depot—we can wait there.” Like a ray of light in a dark place, the solution presented itself. “I’ll take coal for the stove, and we will wait there until it comes. There’s a telephone too…If I can get it to work, I can ask for help.” Any kind of action was better than waiting. She’d try it anyhow. Renewed strength came to give her courage.

  “I’m going to take you to town to the doctor,” she told Delores, when she went in.

  Delores smiled. She was too sick now to realize what that simple sentence meant. Gripped by pain, her only thought was a hope for relief.