“Had her get off at Fourth Siding. Almost lost her to Abner, though. Susannah, this is Donald McFadgen, former Northern Pacific crew boss, virtuoso of vegetables, and first settler in—what’s the name of your town this week?”
“Worthington.” He dried his hands on the towel tucked in his waistband, then shook Susannah’s. “Morrison and McKinnon will be sorry they missed you.”
As Mr. McFadgen bent over her hand, a movement at the corner of the section house caught Susannah’s gaze. A large man backed into the shadow, leaving his paunch in the sunlight. Abner Reece. Susannah inched closer to Jesse.
“So, where are your partners in crime?”
“They’re off chasing rumor of a buffalo other side of the river. Much as I like haggis from buffalo, with the luck of the Irish, we’ll dine on potato soup tonight. Speaking of luck, Jesse Mason—” Mac tipped his head toward Susannah. “Though you’ll say she’s an answer to prayer.”
“You don’t know the half of it, Mac. Susannah learned animal doctoring from her pa. She got twins out of my cow.”
Mac gave her a head-to-toe looking-over. “Let’s see, your homestead is eight miles southeast of here. I’d best make a visit, be sure you’re treating her right.”
“You do that. Much as I’d like to stay and jaw with you—”
“Aye, lad. Married men have better things to do.” He gave her a grin that made her blush, then strolled back to his hotel.
Jesse handed his letters to Mrs. Rose.
“Writing your brother again? Here’s his. Best fix that address. He seems to have moved. And here’s one from New York. Looks like your sister’s penmanship. Give this to the Volds. All the way from Norway. Don’t those foreigners write funny?”
Rechecking the arithmetic, Jesse signed off the ledger book. “Ready? This is it ’til spring.”
Susannah eyed the section house. “Let’s go.”
As the wagons crossed the river, Susannah and Marta exchanged glances, then collapsed in a fit of giggles.
“Marta says please, no more English lessons,” Ivar interpreted. “She doesn’t want to understand the Roses.”
“Ask if she will teach me Norwegian. I don’t want to understand them either.”
The wagons parted, and Susannah waved good-bye as the Volds turned toward their homestead. “Mr. and Mrs. Rose are so lonely.”
“They’ve got each other—no reason to be lonely.” Jesse squeezed her knee. “I’ve got big plans for this winter, plans for coaxing you into talking, maybe even rouse you into an argument if I’m lucky.”
“Wives are supposed to respect their husbands, not argue with them.”
“That what my brother says?” Eyebrows raised, he handed her an envelope.
“Mail!” She tore it open, finding only one sheet of paper in Reverend Mason’s writing. Nothing from Ellen. She’d been counting on hearing from her. Susannah turned away, letting the wind dry her eyes.
Jesse pulled her close and nuzzled her ear. “What’s my little brother have to say?”
“‘Dear Jesse and Susannah,’” she read. “‘Hope this finds you all in good health, and that Susannah arrived in the Dakota Territory without incident.
“‘We have been through a time of trials here. The Detroit congregation was reluctant to make the necessary addition to the parsonage. In September, the Bishop assigned us to a station more in keeping with the ever-increasing size of our family. The move was an ordeal for Ellen, leading, I believe, to a difficult confinement. However, we are now settled in Ann Arbor. We welcomed Benjamin James to our family on September 12.’”
“Another nephew I haven’t met.”
Susannah wished she could have been there to help. But Ellen’s resourceful mother and an adept sister or two probably journeyed out from New York. They would have the household running like clockwork. Susannah would have been in the way.
She resumed reading. “‘Unfortunately, in our turmoil, I have neglected to execute the Underhill estate. Be assured, dear sister-in-law, I will attend to this matter expeditiously. No further correspondence from the bank has been received.
“‘All are well here. Hope to hear the same from you. Your devoted brother, Matthew.’”
“He writes like a pompous fool. Does he talk like that?”
“Maybe he’s expanding his vocabulary for the new congregation. Ann Arbor is a college town.”
Jesse shrugged. “Not like here, then.”
“There’s no Mr. and Mrs. Rose.”
“At least Mrs. Rose cooks as well as she slings the scuttlebutt.”
From the basket, Jesse produced two brown paper packages containing warm meat and potato pies. Susannah bit into the flaky pastry. Ah, seasoned perfectly with onion and pepper. During her first ride in this wagon, the biscuits had sat in her stomach like a lump. But today her appetite had returned. She glanced over her shoulder at the load of ingredients, including laying hens. She looked forward to baking as a pleasure, instead of another item on her list of chores. When they got home—
Home? Was she calling the soddy home? Not quite home, perhaps, but no longer a prison. More like an exile.
Her mind formed a picture of her house in Michigan. She still missed her parents and wished the banker hadn’t forced her abrupt departure, but the deep sadness had eased. That heavy lump in her chest had been replaced by an odd flickering in the vicinity of her heart. Could it be love?
“I guess I embarrassed you when I introduced you to Mac.” He brushed a flake of crust off her skirt.
“I’m sorry I’m not as pretty as Marta.”
He peered under the brim of her hat. “Maybe not when you first arrived. But now you’ve got a little color in your cheeks, meat on your bones.” He nodded. “Dakota agrees with you. You agree with me.” He stretched his arm across the backrest, snugging her closer.
“Do you think Mr. McFadgen will call on us?”
“He never has before, but then it was just me.”
“Have you had callers?”
“I’m sure we’ll have more, once you train the parlor maid to receive them properly.” Jesse winked. “Let’s see. Visitors. Year ago spring, a pair of surveyors came through to tell me I was squatting on the northeast corner of section 8, township 35. We dined on antelope.”
He reached for his hat as the wind gusted. “End of May, or early June, Fort Ransom closed. When the boys marched north to Jamestown, they stopped by for a buffalo roast. We stayed up all night. Had a sorry sort of dance without any ladies, but they were in high spirits anyhow. They were looking forward to being on the rail line: regular mail, companions of the female persuasion, better food.”
“What’s buffalo taste like?”
“Good. Like beef, only more flavor.”
“And antelope?”
“You had to ask.” Jesse began the motions Susannah now recognized as guitar playing. “The surveyors brought a fiddle and a harmonica. We got so busy swapping songs, we let the beast burn. So I’d have to say it tasted like charcoal. I hoped to shoot another once I bought my Winchester, but they’re too quick.”
Susannah watched cumulus clouds build into thunderstorms miles to the southwest and considered his visitors. Jesse had family and friends back in the States, a home he was born in and could return to. He was the one who craved company, the congenial host to assorted threshers, soldiers, and surveyors. The exile wasn’t hers, it was Jesse’s.
The folds of her cape parted as his hand searched for hers. Finding it, he worked his fingers between her glove and cuff, stroking the skin on the inside of her wrist, making her insides shiver. She drew her gaze from the hard white of the clouds back to the man next to her, sparking an eager smile from him.
Susannah had hoped he wouldn’t be overly demanding, insisting on fancy meals, requiring a spotless house. Instead, he complimented her for the simple fare she cooked, approved of the linens she’d brought, and didn’t ask for much in the way of housekeeping.
No, his demands were of a mo
re frightening nature. He wanted to know her.
The rooftop barrel and stovepipe appeared on the horizon. Jake raced out of the draw. Susannah had just enough time to say “uh-oh” before the dog jumped in the back of the wagon and landed in the midst of six squawking hens. The surprised elkhound bolted over the seat into Susannah’s lap. The air filled with feathers and fur.
Jesse brushed down off her shoulder. “You won’t have to pluck them for cooking.”
“But I’ll have to make sweaters for any we want to keep.”
Jesse hooted. “Mac’s right. I am lucky. Blessed. Thanks for staying.”
Chapter 14
Man’s not meant to live alone.
You’re right, as usual.
A north wind chilled their next woodcutting trip. Susannah tightened her shawl as the wagon crested the hill. “What’s that?” She pointed to a smudge beneath a storm cloud.
“Dear Jesus!” Jesse snapped the reins and forced Pa Ox into a trot. “Fire! Lightning’s got the grass burning.”
Susannah dug her fingers into the seat and braced against the footboard. Behind her, logs clattered as the wagon lurched and bounced. Smoke billowed white against the indigo thundercloud. Antelope streaked toward the river. A white-tailed jackrabbit zigzagged under the wagon, and flocks of goldfinches, ducks, and plovers thrashed the air. Storm and smoke raced to cover the afternoon sun.
By the time the wagon reached the soddy, smoke had won.
Jesse dashed into the shed for an empty flour sack and a pail. “Susannah!” he shouted over the bass notes of the thunder. He grabbed her elbow and pivoted her to look him straight in the eye. “Stay here! If the fire comes close, head for the creek.” He scowled at the trickle of water winding beneath the brown leaves of the thicket. “No. It’s near dry. Stay inside. If you see flames, get in the root cellar. And pray.” His mouth worked as if he had more to say, but he couldn’t organize his racing thoughts into sentences. Lightning streaked overhead, followed by thunder, and Jesse sprinted toward the spring.
“Jake, stay with Susannah,” he called back over his shoulder.
Susannah held the door open for him. “Come on, Jake.”
Lightning rent the cloud overhead. Thunder shook the shelves and rattled the tinware. Jake barked. Susannah scanned the ceiling, expecting to see flames curling around the rafters. The dog pushed his wet nose into her hand.
“We were told to stay.” She studied the root cellar. If she emptied out the food, she and the dog could curl into the dirt cave Jesse had dug into the hill.
Susannah peered through the window. As far as she could see, the prairie was covered with dry grass. The Volds would be hit first; Ivar would be busy trying to save his own place. The next closest neighbors, the half dozen citizens of Worthington, lived too far away to help.
A pair of foxes darted through the yard, ignoring the hens squawking behind the fragile willow fence. She thought about Ma Ox and the calves. If they hadn’t run off, smoke would scorch their lungs, hot cinders would burn them. They’d be frantic.
“All right.” Susannah’s words brought Jake’s ears upright again. “We’re the only help he’s got, you and me. I’m terrified. You’ll be brave enough for both of us, won’t you?” The dog faced the door. “Find Ma Ox. Go!” Susannah opened the door, gathered her skirts, and raced after the dog.
The scene at the top of the hill stopped her. Flames lined the base of towering smoke clouds, miles closer than before. The smell of burning grass tinged the air. A family of ground squirrels darted and squeaked around her feet. No Jesse.
Were they all going to die?
Jake barked, commanding her to follow. Through the crackling and rumbling, a low moan rose to a screech. Ma Ox stamped in agitated circles around her calves. Susannah yanked the pin. The animals made a beeline for the shed.
Storm clouds brought an early dusk. Susannah filled buckets and wet the roof, drenching herself in the process. With each flash of lightning, she looked up, hoping.
Shouldn’t Jesse be back by now?
Ash-laden air swirled through the draw. A live ember landed in the haystack, and stems began to redden and curl. Susannah swung the bucket in an arc, only to have the wind blow the water back in her face. Hot pain knifed through her shoulder blades, but she tried to ignore it as she raced up the slope to position herself behind the haystack. The second bucket hit its mark, directly in the center of the flame. The hay sizzled. But before she could celebrate her victory, opaque smoke enveloped her.
Thunder rumbled again. Flickering light encircled Susannah. It seemed as if the whole world blazed.
“Jesse?” she shouted into the wind. No response except the howling of the storm.
The wind buffeted her, first hot, peppered with sparks, then cold with rain. Fire crackled nearby, popping and snapping. Susannah grabbed the shovel and bent low, searching for breathable air.
What if he’s hurt?
She shouldn’t have given away the gall salve—it would soothe burns. She hadn’t made butter yet, but she did have lard, a passable base for a burn ointment. If he’s alive . . .
Her feet found the strip of dirt Jesse had plowed to add on to the shed. At the far edge, the fire smoldered, burning itself out.
“Jesse?” Smoke seared her throat. She followed the furrow, stopping every few paces to scoop dirt onto stray flames.
And if he’s dead? What then?
She couldn’t entertain that possibility.
God? It’s about Jesse. I know You’re not impressed with me, but please help me find him.
A voice came out of nothingness. “Halt! Who goes there?”
“Jesse!”
“State name, rank, and unit, or I’ll bore you full of daylight.” A soot-covered face solidified in the vapor. Jesse.
She moved within arm’s reach and cleared her throat. Her voice came out in a croak. “Susannah. No rank or unit.”
“Woman on the battlefield?” Squinting, Jesse tilted his head. His smoke-darkened face creased into a smile. “Susannah?”
He remembered. She staggered under his weight as he sagged onto her shoulders.
Jesse glanced from the last vestiges of the fire, sizzling in the rain, to Susannah. He touched his fingertips to her cheek. “Yes.”
Jake appeared, bumping his master’s legs.
Jesse laid his palm on the dog’s head. “Yes.”
A smattering of freezing rain pelted them. She tucked her hand under Jesse’s elbow. Was he all right? What happened to his bucket and flour sack? “I need help putting Pa Ox in the shed.”
He nodded. “Rain.” He took the shovel so she could raise her skirts out of the mud. Frigid gusts spewed icy water over them. Reaching the soddy, she headed for Pa Ox, still harnessed to the wagon.
“Go inside!” Jesse yelled.
And with a blast of snow, their little valley disappeared.
Susannah stirred the fire, heated milk for cocoa, and changed clothes, but her mind was on Jesse. Tuesday night, talking about the War had set off his nightmare. But today he’d talked about apples: picking with his siblings, pressing cider with his father, scorching his tongue on his mother’s fresh-baked pie. Nothing about the War. Had the smoke and danger caused him to hallucinate?
Susannah draped her wet, smoky clothes over the line strung across the corner. The Late Unpleasantness, some called it. Ha. She’d seen that hollow look in her father’s eyes. The same expression haunted the man with one leg who swung past the house on his crutches. She’d learned to steer clear of the group loitering outside the produce market, their tattered uniforms staving off efforts to oust them. Even Independence Day picnics and parades carried an underlying current of sadness, not just for those who would not return, but from those who had—the so-called victors.
The door blew open. Jesse stumbled in, dumping an armload of wood beside the stove. Icicles dangled from his hair.
Susannah closed the door and passed him a towel. “Maybe you should grow your beard back.�
�
“Guess I’ll have to.” He sipped the cocoa she offered.
“Did you get any burns?”
“No, but I gave my guardian angel a good scare.”
With shaking hands, she lifted the fragile chimney to light the kerosene lamp. “Is winter always this—”
She hesitated. What could she say? Bad? No, that sounded too judgmental.
“Sometimes it hits all of a sudden, like today. Other winters hold off until October, November. Dakota gets less snow than back east, but more wind. Don’t get caught out in it.” He grabbed her wrist as she dropped the spill into the stove. “You’re hurt.”
“It’s nothing.”
He opened her hands, and his eyes widened at the welts striping her fingers and palms. “What’s this? Rope burn?”
“From the picket line.”
“And this?”
“The bucket handle.” Susannah curled her fingers. “I’m sorry. You told me to stay inside.” And pray. Had God answered her prayer, inadequate though it was?
“You saved our home.” Jesse brushed his lips over the base of her thumb. “Keep on thinking. I’m counting on you.”
Jesse lifted the lantern and searched the shed one more time. Where had that large pail run off to? He’d found the lid on the floor. Then he remembered: he’d filled it with water, taken it to the fields, beaten the flames out with a wet flour sack. He secured the door and returned to the house.
Susannah looked up from scouring the coffeepot. Never seen a woman so dedicated to cleaning something that would just be dirty tomorrow.
“I lost the large pail, the one with the locking lid.”
She nodded.
“But I lost more than a tin pail, didn’t I? I lost time, went back to the War.” He sat on the trunk to take off his brogans.
She nodded again.
“Susannah, I asked you to tell me. You promised.”
“I haven’t had the opportunity.”
“Well, we’ve got the opportunity now. What did I do?”
“The weather—” She inspected the stove, shelves, and table, but couldn’t find anything else to fuss with.
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