Home Is Where the Heart Is

by Linda Byler

  Hannah stoically endured the few whacks of the board, which hurt, but not much. She never cried. Her father cried, which she thought was awfully strange. Why would you spank someone if it was that heartbreaking? What was so bad about chasing the cows into the pond? They liked the cool water. They just looked funny when they ran! Hannah never really felt bad about chasing cows. She never understood all this sorry and repent and all that. He could have tried to see it her way.

  As she lay shivering beneath her makeshift tent, many incidences from her childhood roamed through her mind, like a herd of memories that found no comfortable way to disappear, so they just wandered around, bits and pieces, snatches of mischief, episodes of anger and disobedience.

  Repeatedly, she had been chastised, talked to about sin and repentance and the eyes of God. About Jesus, who died on the cross. Countless times, she’d heard different ministers speak of these things, in many different sermons, and had always been completely and thoroughly bored.

  Nothing ever stuck to her heart or mind it seemed. She could listen to the most fervent sermon, and remember only the bristles on the speaker’s cheeks, or his too-long, greasy hair, or the way he unfolded his severely ironed handkerchief. Three hours of sitting on a hard, wooden bench was much too long, so she found ways to amuse herself, usually whispering, playing with straight pins, or watching flies or, if she was fortunate, looking out a nearby window.

  Her father had patiently explained the new birth, but that never made much sense, either. She understood the basics of the Christian life—to do good, stay away from evil, and accept Jesus Christ as your personal Savior. Actually, she wasn’t sure if she had ever done exactly that, in a deep, meaningful, spiritual way. She wasn’t normal, maybe. Formal worship, like prayers and Bible reading, simply didn’t interest her.

  But so many times, beneath the enormous sky on the emptiness of the prairie, she felt as if she was a small dot, a worm, the pinhead of every human being, so small, so unimportant. And yet, God being as big as the sky and as tremendous as the wind, He knew her, every ounce of her. He knew her thoughts and her actions and how rebellious she was and how ignorant to other people.

  But He had given her that nature, hadn’t He? Well then, He would be able to change her heart when it was time.

  Lying in the increasing discomfort of dripping snow, where the heat from the horse’s body caused a melting stream to constantly trickle along her back, sent wave after wave of cold through her spine. She inched away, only to allow a fresh wave of cold to enter beneath the elevated blanket.

  Oh, misery! She writhed with pain, allowing herself only inches to relieve stiff joints and aching fingers and toes.

  How long? How long would the storm blow? She tried to will away nighttime, the encompassing blackness with no stars and no moon. Once night came, it might not leave before the horse, the saddle, and the blanket with her beneath were completely obscured in snow. Drifts on the plains were often two, three feet high, which would shroud their dead bodies until the spring thaw.

  Who would find her? Jerry? The Jenkinses? A whole pile of rescue workers from the town?

  She wasn’t ready to die. She wanted to stay right here in North Dakota and keep the homestead. She loved her life on the prairie, the cows, the wildflowers, the animals and birds, the ranch house and barn, the mules and Jerry’s horses.

  Him? Jerry? Did she want to stay here in the world for Jerry? If only she could understand God and love and all the good things other people understood then perhaps she’d have a chance at loving her husband. But what exactly was love? Who could explain it to you? Help you find it?

  And now she was getting sleepy. So terribly tired. The thought of closing her eyes and succumbing to a blissful cloud of sleep was the single most enticing emotion she had ever felt.

  She’d heard somewhere, though, about the danger of falling asleep when a person is freezing cold. But she had to sleep. Had to. She couldn’t stay awake. It was not possible.

  Her eyelids fell. She drifted off into a place where the wet smell of the snow on the horse’s body, the shivering goose bumps and pain, the knives of ice and frozen snow, disappeared to be replaced by an unimaginable place of softness and comfort, warmth and light.

  Jerry paced. His hands knotted behind his back, he walked from room to room, his neck thrust forward, his dark hair falling in his eyes, a black stubble of whiskers growing across his ashen cheeks. That it should come to this.

  He loved her. That was the pain of his existence, his single reason for staying with her in this ranch house, so far away from family, from his friend, Jake, from any human being who could make this vigil bearable.

  When he heard the dogs barking, he ran to the door and flung it open, ushering them in to the warmth. Icicles hung from their thick fur and clumps of snow stuck in their paws. He hurried to get towels to wrap them in and brought them fresh bowls of water, thanking God that they had found their way.

  Grateful for the dogs’ company, he kneeled on the floor between them and prayed to the One he knew intimately. He begged his Lord and Savior to spare Hannah’s life, but always had to add, “If it is Thy will.” God’s blessed will, which was to be honored above all else, even the treasure of his love for Hannah.

  There were times of peace, when he felt his soul yielding to God, pliable, soft, accepting of his fate. Then came a desperate need to see her face, hear her voice, to apologize for letting her drop behind on their mad dash through the storm that grabbed him in a grip like a vise, until he thought he would surely lose his mind.

  The storm battered the house, the wind and snow like flung pellets of stone against the windows. When darkness came, he began to shiver. His limbs turned to water, his breath came in short, hard gasps of agony.

  Oh, Hannah. Hannah. Your suffering is more than I can bear. He would have gladly laid in the snow himself if it meant he could save her.

  Please stop. Stop. Stop the snow and the wind.

  His thoughts were becoming maudlin. If only he had gone back, if only he hadn’t assumed she was behind him all the time.

  He flung himself down on the davenport and cried hard, painful sobs of anguish and despair.

  Had he been too selfish in his single-minded pursuit of her? He had to have Hannah at all cost. He’d given up the security of his Amish community, the horseshoeing business, a bright and enterprising future, to live her with her—and for what? Oh dear God, for what?

  His breathing slowed and became even as he fell to his knees, his face buried in his hands, groaning softly, begging God without words.

  He sat up, drained and exhausted, cold and shivering. He lit a kerosene lamp with shaking fingers, had to blow at the match flame three times before it would die.

  The fire in the cook stove had gone out, not an ember remained. Dully, he threw in a handful of kindling, held another match to it, opened the draft to watch it burn.

  He added larger pieces of wood from the wood box behind the stove, noticed the few pieces remaining, but could not bring himself to go to the back stoop to collect more wood. He’d have to know, then, how deep the accumulation of snow had become.

  He felt guilty as he spread his hands to the warmth, knowing that Hannah would have nothing to warm her freezing body.

  And still the storm raged on.

  Jerry resumed his pacing. He went to the windows, touched the glass with his fingers, as if he had power to stop the onslaught of deadly snow and ice. He put more wood on the fire.

  I love you, Hannah, with all of my heart and soul. If it’s not God’s will that we live together in love, then I pray you will know perfect peace in Heaven.

  He felt calm now, accepting his destiny, abandoning his own will to God’s. What was his selfish, paltry, little love compared to God, who had sent His only Son so that we may live?

  He stood still. Was the storm lessening? Was there only a slight change in the wind? Or was it all his own hope that made it seem so?

  He sat down, weakly. He lis
tened, holding his breath, hardly daring to exhale, for fear it was like a mirage, a cruel hallucination.

  Decidedly now, there was a weakening of the storm. He whipped his body around to look at the clock. Almost eleven o’clock at night.

  He couldn’t wait until morning. He simply could not. He’d take a lantern and the dogs. His only hope was a lack of wind. All he needed were starlit skies, a moon, and a bit of calm.

  He was on his feet, running to his bedroom for warm clothing, an extra pair of socks, tears running unchecked down his face.

  CHAPTER 7

  IT WAS COMMON KNOWLEDGE ON THE PLAINS THAT A BLIZZARD brought to a halt all outside activity. It was dangerous, foolhardy, to attempt a rescue or to search for lost cattle or horses if a storm of this velocity swept through the area.

  If only they had never ventured out. Jerry stepped off the porch, alarmed to discover the depth of the snow. It was a good two feet in some places; other places were windswept, and fell to less than a foot.

  The barn loomed dark through the snow that was now falling more slowly and thinly, as the storm gave its last gasp, giving Jerry a burst of elation. If he could only get to her before the inevitable wind unleashed its power on the unprotected prairie.

  With fumbling, frantic movements, he saddled King, mounted, and held the lantern out from the eager, bouncing horse. With a whispered prayer, he gave King his head, bowing his own head to the spitting snow, the tail end of the storm.

  How far would she have come? He tried to concentrate and stay on the road, though the road and the prairie were all one solid blanket of white now. If only there were trees, embankments, fences, neighbors, the way the countryside appeared in Lancaster County. He’d need a keen sense of direction, and the skill to search beyond the small circle of yellow lamplight.

  The cold had not worsened, thank God. King was tiring already, so he slowed him to a walk. The snow was up to his chest in some of the lower areas. Jerry could only lean forward, his eyes straining above the glow of the lantern, piercing the darkness with a desperate gaze. The thought of this being foolish, being out at night alone directly after a storm, crossed his mind and left him with a rising sense of despair.

  Should he have waited until daybreak? King charged on, plowing through the deep places, increasing his speed where the power of the wind had swept the ground almost bare. If only Hannah could be on a rise of ground and visible. He guessed the palomino would have wandered home, found his way, if he had remained upright. He knew the power of these storms, the mind-sucking confusion that robbed even seasoned Westerners of all sense of direction and level-headedness.

  All the gopher holes, the prairie dog and badger homes that dotted the grasslands like set traps, meant that the palomino could have gone down. He likely did. All Jerry could hope for was Hannah’s safety, that she had remained by her horse and stayed conscious. The saddle and blanket were her only hope of even a bit of shelter.

  He pulled on the reins and stopped King. He had to get his bearings. Lowering the lantern, his intense gaze swept the level land as far as he could see. He calculated he’d come more than a mile, which meant he had about three more to go until the turn to the Texan’s ranch. If the barbed wire and sagging posts were visible, he’d know he was on the right track.

  But who knew how far off the road the palomino might have drifted? The sense of futility settled in and left him slumped in the saddle, his arms draped across the saddle horn, the lantern too close to his horse.

  Should he return to the ranch, keeping his own safety in mind? He knew well the astounding fury of the wind after a winter storm, sending walls of thick snow scudding across the prairie without mercy on man or beast. A shiver went up his spine. He prayed, asking the Lord to guide him.

  He sat motionless, the vast darkness around him, the great white void of the treeless plain suddenly becoming a menacing pit that had swallowed Hannah, never to surrender her frozen corpse.

  He shook his head to clear it. After praying, why did such thoughts wedge their way in to his mind? He needed a stronger, better faith.

  A sense of his own weak humanity encompassed him. Miserable creature that I am, he thought, chasing my own will and desire. Chasing Hannah and living out here in this tough, unforgiving land, his only reason being to obtain her love, something that seemed to be as elusive as a thin wisp of fog, a mirage in the desert.

  He groaned within himself, could not accept her demise. How can I sit here crying Lord, Lord, when perhaps all this is a lesson, a hard-earned lesson in self-denial? He knew there were countless young women dotting the hills and valleys of Pennsylvania, young women of worth. Respectful, well-brought-up girls who never asked for more than a reasonable husband, a roof over their heads, food, and children to raise, filling their husband’s quiver with offspring who adorned his table. Young women who were taught submission and the blessing of a meek and quiet spirit, who understood God’s will for a woman, and strived obediently to be a helpmeet, a friend, lover, nurturer, using all of the gifts God bestowed on women.

  But they weren’t Hannah. This knowledge unfolded in his chest and bloomed to fill his heart with its essence. He bowed before it.

  As if on cue, the moon slid silently from behind silver-white clouds, throwing the snow-covered landscape into waves of blue-white and shadows of dark gray. Every rise and hollow was visible, the impotent yellow light of the lantern a pitiful mockery. He threw it into a snow drift, where it hissed and died. He’d find it in the spring.

  A wild elation rose up, a sense of clear direction now. He goaded King, his head swiveled from side to side, his eyes burning from the cold and his intense, piercing gaze. He knew if he found the fence, he’d have gone too far. She had been riding behind him at least halfway from the Texan’s ranch.

  This merciful calm. Surely God was on his side. But how long until the wind began to howl, burying them both in its strength?

  The moon’s white light on the snow proved to be even better than the limited yellow glow of the coal oil lantern. One by one, stars appeared, lending their merry dots of illumination, shoring up Jerry’s flagging confidence, allowing him a few minutes of courage. He rode on, scanning the snow for any mound that could be Hannah buried in the snow.

  And there it was.

  A bump, a protrusion that was much bigger than a clump of grass, too small to be a rise, a swell or an unexpected hillock on the otherwise level, snow-encrusted land.

  He turned King in the proper direction and slowed him to a walk. His heart leaped as the mound of snow gave way, the light color of a horse’s head and neck appearing, followed by a resounding whinny, the low, urgent sound of a horse in pain.

  Ah, so that was it. Her horse had fallen. He threw himself off King and waded to the palomino’s head, reassuring him, then dug frantically, scraping snow off the upended saddle, the frozen blanket, heaving it off the inert form curled beside the horse.

  “Hannah?” he called, unable to comprehend her stillness. He fell on his knees and touched her cold, white face. “Hannah.”

  Louder now, he grasped her shoulder and shook with all his strength. A low moan escaped her lips but her eyes stayed closed. Thank God, she was alive!

  He called her name again and again but was unable to revive her. He straightened and took stock of their dilemma.

  A downed horse. His unconscious wife. Likely hypothermia had set in. Gtting her to the house was his first concern. He’d have to get her up on King, somehow, before he would be able to get himself into the saddle.

  If only she’d wake up. “Hannah! Hannah!”

  Another low moan, but no reason for him to think she would regain consciousness. Well, there was only one way, and that was to heave her up onto the horse’s back.

  With herculean strength, he picked her up and tried repeatedly to drape her across the saddle, afraid of hurting her already frozen body, knowing he could not leave her here while he went to summon help.

  Finally, he was able to position her ac
ross the front of the saddle before placing a foot in the stirrup and leaping up himself.

  He had to call to King repeatedly and grab the reins to stop him from leaping into action. He carefully cradled Hannah in his arms like a child before allowing King to walk away from the pitiful form of the palomino. The injured horse’s eyes were wild, his neck outstretched as he tried repeatedly to gather his legs beneath him and stand, only to topple over in the deep, light snow, sending up a cloud of white powder as he sank onto his side.

  Jerry well knew the palomino would never walk again, but Hannah had to be his first priority. He’d have to be put down, but he’d left his gun at home. He couldn’t bring himself to think about it now.

  The cold stabbed through his coat. The breeze raked a cold, ominous hand across his face, sent a shiver of alarm through him. He figured he had four miles to go, maybe more. He adjusted Hannah’s weight, cradling her shoulders firmly before leaning forward and calling to King to go.

  He released the reins and felt the surge of power beneath him, but knew it would be short-lived the minute King’s legs hit a deep drift. Snow was flung into his face, the wind picking up by the minute. All right, God. The rest is up to You. I’m done. I’ve done all I can do. If it is Thy will that we survive this, then guide my horse. Give me strength to hold on.

  The reins flopped loosely in Jerry’s hands. It was up to King. The horse was powerful, a magnificent specimen of his breed, but to arrive safely to the ranch in the face of these obstacles would take every ounce of his strength. It would be the ultimate marathon of his life.

  The moon faded and disappeared as a prevailing blackness surrounded them. One by one, the stars were erased from the cold, menacing sky. The breeze became stronger, playing with King’s mane, slapping against Jerry’s face like a punishment, grabbing his courage and flinging it away.