Charity

by Paulette Callen

  Jordis took Gustie’s left hand and held it palm up in her own two larger hands. She brought it to her lips and kissed the center of the palm, then held it to her cheek, then to her forehead. When she let it go, she rose and brushed the twigs and grass off her skirt. Gustie rose also, surrounded by a rosy glow and followed her down to the lake.

  Reliving this lovely moment, Gustie felt a small twinge of guilt, seated next to her troubled friend. Was there no end to the burdens this tiny woman had to bear?

  It was a useless gesture, but Gustie made it anyway. “My house is always open to you.”

  Lena nodded and answered in a quivering voice, “I will not be driven out of my own home.”

  Lena wiped her eyes with the handkerchief she had been clutching inside her muff, and for several miles continued to dab at her eyes and try to cover her sniffles. They passed some hills in which rocks were embedded in a scattered formation. Gustie tried to make conversation. “Look...how interesting those rocks are.”

  “Look like dead sheep. They should haul them out of there and plant something. Rocks aren’t any good to anybody.”

  Gustie chuckled.

  “I’ll bet you we get snow,” Lena said, pointing to the sky.

  The miles rolled on. The hills began to grow as they got closer to Wheat Lake and Crow Kills. A sharp wind rose. Gustie handed Lena the reins and buttoned up her coat. She put her cap on and tied a scarf over it to cover her ears.

  “He was a handsome man when I first met him,” Lena remarked.

  “He still is.” Gustie took back the reins.

  “When he’s cleaned up,” Lena qualified. “Will’s mother, you know, didn’t want us to marry. She didn’t care when Oscar and Walter got married. She thought she’d just have two more people to boss around in Nyla and Mary, and she thought right. Anything she says is okay by them. But not me.

  “Now, Nyla and Oscar are still in that house with her and Frederick—who’ll never move out. They should all be at their own places by now, but no. I can just see it. Every time Nyla and Oscar make a move to go home she’ll be whining, ‘Ooooh, don’t leave me yet.’” Lena imitated Ma Kaiser’s high wheezy tone and put on a face to match. “She’ll get the whines and the vapors and they’ll stay another month. She did that on me and Will, by heck, on our wedding day! We were married in the morning because Pa and Oscar and Walter—they were all still working together at that time—they had to go to Argus to get pipe or something. They were going to have to stay overnight there and come back the next day. Oh, did she carry on! And after the little reception we had, and they left, she cried and cried.” Lena screwed up her face again and whined in such a wicked imitation of her mother-in-law that Gustie started giggling. Lena was a superb mimic: “‘Oh, don’t leave me alone in this big house.’ I don’t just remember where Frederick was at the time. ‘All my boys are leaving me. All my boys,’ and she whined and carried on. She wanted Will and me to stay there until Pa and them got back the next day. Well, I’ll be jinxed if I was going to spend my wedding night sleeping with my mother-in-law! No sir, and I said so, too! Will was inclined to stay. Now he’s always been good to his mother. There is no wrong in that, but this was too much, I thought. We had rented that little apartment over the bank, and I had spent two months painting it and fixing it up, and it was all ready for us. Our clothes and everything we’d moved in the day before. So I said to him, ‘Will,’ I said, ‘I’m a married woman now, and I’m going to spend the night in my own home. You can do as you please. You know where I am.’ And I up and walked out of that house and walked home to our apartment. I fixed a little supper and ate it by myself and went to bed early. Then about eleven o’clock I hear him coming up the stairs lickety split!” Lena was smiling. She paused briefly. “We were busy that night, I’ll tell you!”

  Gustie stared at Lena. They both threw their heads back and laughed loudly. Biddie slowed down and looked over her shoulder. “Mind your own business!” Lena reprimanded the horse, and their laughter rang out again against the dull sky. Curious cows looked up, then went back to pulling on the cold grass.

  “My! The first time Will brought me home to the Kaiser’s for dinner, I didn’t know what kind of nest of something I’d stepped into. It was Pa and Ma at the table, one at each end. Will was at his mother’s right, then me, then Oscar and Mary, I think. Across from me was Nyla, who never looked up. Not once. What a sour puss! ’Course, married to Oscar, I can’t blame her. Frederick was across from Will, at his mother’s left, then next to Pa at the end was Walter. What a bunch! Only Walter and Will talking, and me, when I would think of something to say...and there was Ma spooning potatoes onto Will’s plate and ladling gravy over them. Oh, that gravy! Mostly flour and potato water and salt and pepper. Ishta! For heaven’s sakes, I thought. Is she going to cut his meat for him too? But Will didn’t pay much attention. He is always good to his Ma. He doesn’t seem to notice her doting on him something sickening. I almost didn’t go with him again, after that, but...”

  “But you did...in spite of his family,” Gustie reminded her.

  “Yes, in spite of them, it was. Pa was good to me though. Quiet like. Course, I didn’t know why at the time. Why he was quiet, I mean.”

  “Why was he?”

  “He was drunk all the time. Drunk as a hoot owl! Ma told me that. Just after the funeral. He was not a drunk like Will is. Pa was always well dressed and thought well of himself in his younger days. A ladies’ man. Carried over into his middle years as I told you. Oh, well. He was a man. They’re not like us.”

  “No,” Gustie agreed, smiling slightly.

  “No, not by a long shot!” Lena slapped her thigh, and they both began to laugh again.

  When they came to the road that led to Crow Kills, Gustie had to rein Biddie hard in the opposite direction toward Wheat Lake. It was about four o’clock in the afternoon. The sky had thickened steadily and snow carried by a bitter north wind was already beginning to smart against their faces. Perfect timing thought Gustie in relief. One could never be sure what was going to be a light snowfall, and what would turn out to be a killer blizzard. Gustie had heard enough stories about the blizzard of 1860, and every other year, for that matter, to not want to be caught out in a heavy snow. On the prairie, away from shelter, snow and freezing weather meant death.

  She decided to drop Lena off at Ragna’s without staying for conversation and head directly out to Crow Kills before things got any worse.

  The desolate row of wood buildings that was Wheat Lake’s Main Street looked poor and spare compared to Charity’s.

  Gustie happened to glance to the right down the side street. What she saw there made her pull Biddie to a halt. All up and down the street were gathered many Dakotah, sitting, standing, wrapped in their blankets, trying to keep warm. Some were seated in their wagons, some hunched over on ponies that drooped and shuddered in the wind.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Lena.

  Gustie nodded in the direction of the people hunkered against the cold. Lena sniffed, “Oh, it’s just the Indians waiting for their handouts.” She added under her breath, “Nobody ever gave me a handout.” Uncharacteristically, Lena bit her tongue and said no more.

  So, it was the day the people on the Red Sand got their annuities, thought Gustie. But why were they just standing there? She spotted Dorcas sitting in the back of a wagon that was crowded with older women huddled close to each other. Her feet were dangling over the edge and her knees were covered with a blanket. A younger woman held on to another blanket that sheltered them both.

  Gustie turned Biddie down the street in their direction. She didn’t answer Lena’s “What are we doing?” but handed her the reins and jumped out of the wagon almost before it came to a halt. She stepped gingerly through the people sitting on the ground, old men and women, young women with babies and children, sullen young men. All looked nearly frozen.

  S
he stopped in front of Dorcas. Dorcas had seen her coming, but made no move or any sign of greeting. Her head was covered by a wool scarf tied under her chin. Gustie said, “Dorcas? What are you all doing here?” The younger woman with whom Dorcas shared a blanket looked familiar.

  “Waiting for annuities.” Dorcas did not focus on her. She could have been answering anyone, or voicing a thought in her head.

  “Why are you out here? Why don’t you go inside? What’s happening?”

  Gustie looked around at the people again. From their weary cold faces they clearly had been waiting for some time. The agency doors were shut. There seemed to be no activity inside the building.

  “What’s wrong? Why aren’t you getting your rations?”

  Dorcas shrugged. “Frye is sleeping. We wait till he wakes up.”

  “You mean he is in there drunk!” Gustie knew Jack Frye’s reputation. “He’s passed out and you have to wait out here till he comes to?”

  Dorcas nodded once at each statement.

  Even in the cold wind, Gustie felt hot with anger.

  “Why don’t you just go in and take what’s yours? Why are you all out here freezing?” No one responded. She did not know if anyone besides Dorcas even understood her words. She asked Dorcas, “How long have you been here?”

  “Since this morning. Maybe six o’clock. Maybe.”

  Again, directly to Dorcas, Gustie demanded to know, “Why don’t you go in?”

  “We do not take stuff. Has to be written in the book or they say we steal it and we do not get nothing next time.”

  Gustie took a deep heavy breath and let it out with a noisy sigh of frustration. “Where’s Little Bull? Where’s Jordis?”

  “Jordis never comes here. Little Bull is busy. He comes later. Maybe. Winnie is here for their stuff.” Now Gustie knew why the younger woman next to Dorcas looked familiar. She had seen the shadow of her face in Leonard.

  Gustie stomped over to the agency door, ready to pound it down with her fists if she had to. It was not locked. She pushed it open and went in. Lena was right behind her. “Gustie, what in Sam Hill are you doing?” Then she wrinkled her nose. “Phew! It stinks in here!”

  Gustie went forward to a door just opposite the one they came in. She assumed it opened into the agent’s living quarters. It did. Jack Frye lay on a dirty cot, in filthy long johns, snoring loudly. The room smelled of whiskey, sweat, and urine. Lena peeked under Gustie’s arm as she held open the door. “Good night. Not another one!” she said. Gustie shut the door then turned and faced the room.

  “I’m going to give these people what’s theirs. You can take Biddie and go to your sister’s. I’ll come along later.”

  “Well, I sure won’t leave you alone here.”

  “I’ll be fine. If you’re going to stay, would you please move Biddie around to the side of the building out of the wind and put her blanket over her? I’m going to look for that book.”

  Gustie found the book immediately. It was not hard to find—a big, leatherbound affair with the names of the people along one column and a number by each name, then more columns. A check in each column under dates indicated each time they had shown up to collect their annuities. Gustie saw another door to the right and believed that led to the storehouse. She opened it and, again, was proven correct. Filling the room from floor to ceiling were bags of flour, coffee, salt, sugar, boxes of bacon, canned goods and other foodstuffs, bundles of blankets, clothing, even boots and shoes.

  Lena was back adding kindling to the stove and stoking up a blazing fire. She heaved in a large chunk of wood and shut the stove door with a clank. Gustie went outside and addressed everyone. “Will you come in now—as many as can fit in here—and get yourselves warm? Then, a few at a time, give me your tickets and I’ll check you off in the book.”

  Nobody moved.

  A few men had gathered at the end of the street. They had apparently just come out of the saloon around the corner, attracted perhaps by Gustie’s raised voice. They looked warm from the heat of the saloon, the wool in their shirts and coats, and the whiskey in their blood. Gustie noticed them but had no time or thought for their amused faces or their remarks. She knew that most people thought her an oddity, if not a little crazy. But Lena saw them and her blood boiled. She stepped down off the agency porch and headed straight for them. A few feet away from them she stopped. “What are you gawking at?”

  They were good natured in their reply. “Oh, nothing, Missus. We’re just passing by.”

  “Well, just keep passing. You should have better things to do than stand here looking your looks at Augusta Roemer. She’s a better Christian than all of you put together. You all, this whole blame town, just squatted here all day while these people here have been out in the cold. Did one of you offer to open a door for any of them to come in and get warm? Not so much as a hot cup of coffee. Not even for the children, for goodness sakes. You could have taken in the children. ‘Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not,’” Lena quoted in righteous wrath. “He might also have said, looking at the bunch of you, ‘and ignore them not!’ It is enough to make the Savior weep. You all make me sick and tired. Go home!”

  The men dispersed, some with the smile shamed off their faces, others with Lena’s name added to their list of crazy women. Lena returned to the agency building to check on her fire.

  The Dakotah had listened to Gustie but had not stirred. Finally, Dorcas said a few words to the women in the wagon with her. They nodded and word went softly through the crowd of people.

  They began to bring their children and then the old ones into the agency building for warmth.

  Dorcas was the first to come to the counter where Gustie stood ready to mark the book. She presented her ticket and Gustie matched the number to the number in the book and read what she was supposed to get, so many pounds of this and that. It was all listed on the back of her ticket.

  “Go back there, Dorcas, and Lena will show you what you get.”

  A large man with a hooked nose and pock marked face stepped forward. Gustie recognized him. “Red Standing Horse. Hello. How are you?”

  He nodded. “I will help,” he said. A few other men joined him and the procession began of people to the counter, where Gustie marked the book, back to Lena who pointed out what they were to get, and then laden with bundles and bags and boxes, outside to their wagons and travois. Dorcas was also the first, but not the last, to point out that she was taking more than she usually got. “That’s what it says here you’re supposed to get, so take it.” Gustie realized with a growing rage that the agent had been cheating them all along. Most of them couldn’t read and did not know what they were supposed to get. He could short them in small ways, and they would not notice. The excess, no doubt, he sold and pocketed the money. Gustie found herself getting angry with Jordis and Little Bull. They could read. Where were they?

  An hour passed smoothly with several families packed up and already on their way back to their homes. There were stirrings from the back room. Lena heard them and came out of the store-room. She scanned the wall next to the door. A key hung there. She took it, slipped it into the lock and turned it. A loud click signaled that Mr. Frye was securely locked away. She put the key in her pocket with satisfaction and went back to the store-room. After some minutes they heard Jack Frye fiddling with the door. At length, he realized in his half-drunken, wholly hung-over state that he was locked in. He began to yell and bang on the door. “Hey! Open this door! Who’s out there? Let me out of here!” His yelling turned to howling and his language became more obscene as his frustration grew.

  After fifteen minutes of listening to him, Lena muttered, “He’s making me tired. I’ll put a stop to this.” On her way to the back door she grabbed a cast iron skillet that hung from a hook above the stove. She opened the door. Jack Frye was standing there in his long johns. Lena hit him over the h
ead with the frying pan. He crumpled. Outrage-turned-to-surprise melted fast to unconsciousness before he even hit the floor. “There. He’ll be quiet for awhile. Can’t stand that hollering.”

  Lena hung up the skillet and went back to work. Gustie was open-mouthed. “You might have killed him!”

  “Well, what if I did?” Lena snapped. “He’s a thief and a drunk and they can throw me in the poky for it. I don’t care. Things can’t get any worse.”

  Red Standing Horse looked down on Lena. Her nose came to just above his belt buckle. “We do not see nothin’.”

  Three hours later, most of the people were gone except for the families of the men who had helped all the others load up. Gustie looked at the bottom of the first page in the book. There was noted a certain number of head of cattle.

  She asked Red Standing Horse, “Are you supposed to get cattle, too?”

  “Yup.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Back down the hill over there.” He pointed with his head to somewhere vaguely south of Wheat Lake. “There’s some corrals down there. They put ’em there when they come off the train.”

  “Can you men go get them? I’ll mark it off here. I’ll sign it. My responsibility. Just go get them and divide them among yourselves?”

  “Yup.”

  “Good. Take the rest then, whatever is in there, for yourselves and we’re finished.”

  When they were gone, Gustie looked at Lena with approval. Lena had done more than her share, her distaste for hypocrites at last overcoming her prejudice against the Dakotah, and her love for children overcoming all as she asked to hold the babies while mothers loaded their things.

  Except for Lena’s sermon on the corner and the ruckus with Frye the whole operation had been carried out more or less in silence. Lena had been eager to get the job over with, Gustie had been choking on her rage, and the people seemed anxious to collect their annuities and get going before the agent woke up again—if he woke up at all.