by Nancy M Bell
“That gelding I borrowed from the Reimer’s kicked him square in the chest when he was trying to fix one of the tugs on the harness.” Ike bent down and peered at Hank’s face. “Think we should move him?”
“Let me see.” Elsie waved her husband back. “Is there something we can shade him with? Bring me some water.”
Two of men provided some shade and Elsie wet her handkerchief from the dipper one of the men provided. Carefully, she wiped Hank’s face, glad to see some colour returning even though his eyes remained closed. Suddenly, he took a deep shuddering breath and struggled to sit up.
“What? Where am I?” he managed to gasp out.
Ike put a hand on his shoulder. “Just take it easy, son. Darn horse kicked you in the chest. Sit up slow.” He bent and slid an arm around Hank’s shoulders.
Elsie sat back on her heels, wet cloth still dripping in her hand. “Why don’t you come back to the house and rest a while?”
Hank got to his feet and stood wavering a bit. “No, Mome. I’m fine. Just take a minute to get my legs back under me.”
“Really, Heinrich, I think you should come to the house.” Elsie set her chin sternly.
“Using my proper name won’t make any difference, Mome. I said I’m fine and I am. There’s work to be done before the sun goes down.”
Elsie looked at Ike with the hope he would side with her. He removed his dusty hat and wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve. Jamming the hat back on his head he lifted one shoulder in apology.
“If he says he’s all right, then the boy’s all right. Time’s a’wasting. This wheat isn’t going to cut itself.” Ike went to gather up the lines and set the binder in motion again. The others went back to work as well, leaving Elsie to make her way back to the patient Polly.
“See that you come up to the house in time for supper,” she called after the men. Elsie climbed back into the buggy and set off for home. Harvest was a busy time and a happy time, but it could also be dangerous. The crop had to come off while the weather held hot and dry, which meant long days and tired people. Hank’s accident brought back memories of Susan climbing up on the binder platform wanting to be with her brother Jake. She was a determined child, even at six years old. Ike had pulled the binder out of the shed to get it ready prior to starting the harvest. Jake was up on the platform helping, when Susan scrambled up too. Ike had been unaware she was even on the equipment. The child was standing too close to the sickle blade when Ike turned the crank to start the machine. She’d gotten a nasty slash on her leg, but both her and her brother learned a good lesson the hard way. Poor Ike, she’d thought he’d never get over hurting the child, wavering between anger at her for getting up there in the first place, and guilt for not looking before he turned the crank.
Elsie halted Polly and stepped out of the buggy. In short order she unhooked the buggy and striped the harness off the horse. Dragging the heavy leather straps into the barn she hung them where they belonged. She took a moment in the dark interior to release a sigh of tiredness. One of the dairy cows lowed out in the pasture, reminding her they needed to be fed and milked. Patting her straggling hair back into place, Elsie walked into the sunlight and headed for the house. The clatter of dishes and murmur of conversation drifted into the living room from the kitchen. Helena’s voice rose above the higher younger ones keeping things in order.
Satisfied all was moving along with the supper, Elsie ascended the stairs in order to freshen up and change into something clean. Feeling more like herself, she went down to join the activity in the kitchen.
“Mome! I’m glad you’re back.” Helena drew her mother aside and spoke in a low voice. “How is Sarah? Is she going to all right?”
“She’s doing as well as can be expected. Doctor Regehr saw to her and gave her something to help her sleep. Agnes is sitting with her.”
“That good, then. I’ll pop over later and see if Aggie needs a break. Such a shame, I’m sure she’s disappointed.”
“How is the supper coming along?” Elsie glanced out the window at the sun sinking toward the golden brown hills.
“We seem to be out of a few things. Looks like a trip to Niverville is in order, but it’s getting dark…”
“Harold has a car. Maybe we can use it. I’ll go ring the bell in the yard, one of them will come to see what we want.” Elsie headed back out to the yard. A dull ache lodged itself in her lower back. She didn’t have long to wait before one of the older grandkids came loping across the field and up to the porch.
“What’s wrong, Oma? It’s not supper time already is it? We’ve still got a quarter of the field to go.” His young face glowed in the slanting rays of the sun.
“We need to go into Niverville. Ask Harold if he’ll come and drive us, please.”
“Right away.” The teenager raced off toward the cloud of dust thrown up by the binder.
Elsie went back into the house. “Have you made a list, Helena? Can you manage here until I get back?” She picked up her purse and pinned a hat to her hair.
“This is what we need.” Helena came out of the kitchen with a list in her hand.
“Thanks, Leina. I’ll make the trip as quick as I can. Oh, here’s Harold now.” Elsie hurried out to where Walter had drawn the car up to wait for her. It was a Model T Ford. The vehicle was a little worse for wear, but Harold’s wife said he loved to fuss over restoring it to its former glory. Their neighbor held the door open for her and then closed it carefully behind her.
“I’ve brought Peter with me. He’s asleep in the back, poor lad.” Harold informed her
Elsie glanced at the ten year old curled up in the corner of the small area behind the front seat. He was small for his age, and his health was what Doctor Regehr referred to as ‘delicate.’
It was still daylight, but the sun was sinking as they rolled out of the yard and turned south. Elsie allowed herself to relax against the seat, turning her head to gaze at the fall colours of the prairie highlighted by the low slanting rays of the sun. Her eyes must have drifted closed, the next thing she was aware of was the car braking sharply.
“What’s wrong? Are we there?” Elsie blinked and pulled herself up further in the seat.
“No, it’s getting dark and the darn headlamps aren’t working. Again.” Grumbling under his breath, Harold got out and stamped around to the front of the vehicle. Elsie jumped when he thumped his fist on the glass covering the lights. A few more thumps and he stood back glaring at the car. With a glance at the setting sun, he got back in and put the car in gear.
“I think we can make it to Niverville before it gets full dark. I should be able to buy new bulbs there.”
Elsie nodded and tried not to worry about driving home in the dark without any way to see properly. Peter popped up from the back seat.
“Are we there yet? Can I have a licorice whip?” His blue eyes were sleep smudged under the shock of white-blonde hair that stuck up every which way.
“Not yet, Peter.” Elsie smiled at him. The boy subsided into the back seat as the car moved forward.
Harold pulled up in front of the grocery story as the last light glowed in the sky. Bright pin points of lights appeared in the royal blue evening sky as the stars showed their faces. Peter scrambled out of the back seat to join his father who was opening Elsie’s door for her.
“I’m off to find some bulbs for the headlamps. Peter, come with me.” Harold and his son strode purposefully off.
Elsie followed them into the general store, turning toward the food stuffs rather than the side of the store that held the hardware. She wasted no time in collecting the items on her list. While she waited for her items to be rung up, Harold appeared at her shoulder.
“They don’t have the right bulbs here. I’m going to nip over to Leppky’s at the BA station. Bill should be around, he’ll open up for me even if he’s closed up. Do you need help carrying all that out to the car?”
“You go ahead over to Leppky’s. Peter can help me carry
the groceries out to the car.” Elsie handed the correct amount of money over to Mrs. Bronstone. “Thank you.” She smiled at the storeowner’s wife.
“Nice to see you,” Mrs. Bronstone packed the items into the string bags Elsie pulled from her purse.
“You, too. I don’t get to Niverville as often as I’d like,” Elsie replied.
The screen door swung shut behind Walter’s tall figure. Elsie passed the lighter bag to her grandson and ushered him out of the store. The pair crossed the wooden boardwalk, feet echoing in the fast falling darkness. When they arrived at the car, the groceries went into the back and Peter tumbled in after them.
“What about my licorice whip? Pape promised.” His lower lip trembled.
“Now Peter. Big a big boy. Your father is worried about finding the right bulbs for the headlamps so we can see to get home.” She paused for effect, “And besides…” Elsie pulled a licorice whip out of her purse where she hid it after purchasing it along with the groceries. “I think I know a young man who deserves this.” She held the whip where he could see it.
“Oh! Thank you!” Peter leaned forward to accept the treat from Elsie. He thumped back into the seat happily making the licorice disappear.
“Well, that’s that.” Harold opened the driver side door and stuck his head in. “Leppsky’s has the bulbs but they’re five cents more than the store in Chortitza. Five cents each,” he clarified. “Highway robbery, that’s what it is.”
“But how will you see to drive home?” Elsie tipped her head to look at him.
“I’ve got an idea, but it will make slow going.” The man disappeared and the trunk creaked open causing the vehicle to sag on its springs a bit. Muttering and muted banging reached her ears as Harold rummaged in the back. The trunk closed with a metallic crash and the tall frame moved to the front of the car. Something clanked when he hung it on the radiator cap. A match flared, throwing his face into light and shadow. A small circle of light glowed at the front of the vehicle. Harold strode around and settled into the driver seat. “There, that should do it.”
“What have you done?” Elsie peered out the windscreen.
“It’s a lantern. We’ll have to drive slow, or the wind will blow it out, but it will get us home.” He slid the car into gear and eased out into the main street of town.
“We should have phoned Helena and let her know we’d be longer than we thought. She’ll have to make do and feed the men with what is there,” Elsie worried.
“It’s too late to turn back now. I want to be sure we have enough kerosene to make it home before it runs out.”
Elsie gritted her teeth and refrained from replying. It took a long time to get home, the journey made even longer for Elsie as she worried over Sarah and how Helena was faring with the men’s evening meal. The serenity of the broad night sky failed to soothe her as it usually did. She leaned her head against the side of the door, the wind from the open window cooling her face. Raspberry and rose bushes hunched at the sides of the road, throwing deep shadows over the surface that the wavering light of the lantern did little push back.
* * *
The week after the cutting of the crop was warm and dry with a good wind blowing across the stooks enabling the wheat to dry sufficiently for threshing to begin. Ike hired his brother-in-law Isaac’s threshing outfit. It was another busy time on the farm. Elsie hired the same girls to help with the kitchen chores. Isaac arrived with his crew of ten men, the thresher pulled by a tractor, rather than the work horses. A long belt was attached to the thresher from the tractor to supply power to the machine. A box wagon was brought up to catch the straw that shot out of the thresher pipe. One wagon could hold approximately sixty bushels of grain. Once the dew burned off, the teams with the hayracks were out on the field loading the rows of sheaves to bring to the thresher. Once they had packed the hay rack with as many sheaves as possible, they brought them to the granary to be unloaded and wait their turn to be fed into the thresher.
Elsie brought some coffee and sandwiches out to the crew when they took a break. Suddenly, the thresher quit making its racket. Elsie looked up from pouring coffee, startled at the sudden silence. Isaac slid down from the top of the machine where he had been greasing it. He disappeared into the tool shed. She looked at Ike for an explanation. He lifted one shoulder in a shrug.
“Isaac, do you need help with anything?” Ike picked up his coffee mug and wandered over to the tool shed.
“No. I’ve got it under control.” Isaac stomped back to the thresher and climbed back up the machine, a hacksaw in his hand with a look of grim determination on his face.
Ike stood for a moment looking up where his brother-in-law disappeared. The sound of the hacksaw grating on metal emerged from the innards of the thresher. When he was finished he climbed back down and started the thresher again. Leaving the machine thundering away, he returned the hacksaw to the toolshed.
“What happened?” Elsie queried when Isaac came to get his coffee.
“Nothing important,” the man replied tersely and moved off to nurse his coffee away from the crew.
Later that night as they settled down to sleep Elsie brought the subject up with Ike. “What did Isaac need the saw for today? I’ve never seen him look so fed up and angry.”
Her husband surprised her by laughing. “He didn’t want to talk about it, but we plagued him until he did. A keyway was stuck out from the shaft further than it should have been. Caught his hat and a chunk of his hair and ripped it out. He was too mad to say anything at the time, just went and got something to cut the darn thing off with.”
“How much hair did he lose? Was he cut?” Elsie propped herself up on an elbow to better see Ike’s face.
“Not too much. About the size of a quarter is all. He took his cap off to show us and the hole in his hat. Must have hurt like the dickens. Maybe that’s why he didn’t say anything at the time.”
The bed shook with silent laughter again. Elsie lay back down, puzzlement furrowed her brow. She would never understand how men could laugh off danger and potentially dangerous situations. Like they had to put up this brave front or something for their fellow males.
“Morning comes early, Elsie. Time to sleep.” Ike rolled over on his side and heaved a huge sigh.
“Good night, Ike.” Elsie folded her hands on top of the counterpane and closed her eyes. Sleep was slow in coming; her thoughts kept bouncing back to Sarah and Arnold. Her health was improving, but Sarah was so quiet, so detached from everything around her. She said another prayer for her youngest daughter. God would help her heal and bear the grief with fortitude.
Chapter Four
Canine Hero
Somehow September had slipped into October. Fall was in the air, the sun slanting across the wheat and barley stubble, raising a fine mist as the frost burnt off. The sharp edge to the wind was welcome after the heat of summer and it was a Godsend the number mosquitoes and flies were diminished by the change in seasons. A few hardy roses made bright pink counterpoints to the glossy rose leaves and bright rose hips.
She sighed and shifted in her chair, gaze roaming over some of the grandkids digging the last of the potatoes, onions and other root vegetables from the large garden. The feathery heads of the two straggly rows of carrots tossed in the breeze sweeping across the hills. Elsie pulled her jacket up tighter around her chin. Amusement pulled at her lips. The twins, Doris and Willy, raced across the yard accompanied by the yelping of Hund, the big black dog. Elsie shook her head, those two and that big hulk of a dog were inseparable. The twins and their older sister, Anna, called the animal Blackie rather than Hund.
Doris and Willy were Agnes and Walter’s youngest children and lived on the home farm. It was nice to have the young ones close by. Even though the rest of her extended family lived nearby, it warmed her heart to have her oldest daughter and her family living with them. It made Elsie feel an integral part of their lives, part of the run of the mill everyday occurrences. Sometimes she missed the
days when the children were all still living at home, the house full of their laughter and sometimes bickering.
The arguments over who had the prettiest hair, or the thinnest waist. The memory of the girls arguing over who would get to polish Ike’s shoes for Sunday service brought a nostalgic smile to her face. Memories of those bygone days turned her thoughts to the more practical reminder that the family graveyard needed to be tidied before the snow came. She tipped her head back and watched a late red tailed hawk circling over the short grass prairie. Most of the big birds had already left the vicinity for warmer places in the south. Like clockwork they would return in the spring, as they always did.
Elsie found comfort in the yearly turn of the seasons, accompanied by the arrival and departure of the migrating birds. Nothing would stop the spring from turning to summer, or summer to fall and fall to winter. She loved watching the changing faces of the seasons reflected in the familiar landscape around her. The lengthening of days after the spring equinox, the warmer sun scouring the snow from the fields, then the first blush of spring appearing on the hills and high places while ice still skimmed the water in the ditches. The faint pink-green of early leaves bursting into brilliant green of new minted poplar and cottonwood trees. As spring rounded into summer, the wild roses nodded in the sun, perfuming the air and drawing the heavy bodied bumble and honey bees. The fields were stitched with springtime by horse and plow in the early years, plowing the furrows and sowing the seeds that would ripen into golden waves in time. Later, the work was less with the advent of tractors, but Elsie held dear to her heart the images of Ike and the patient draft horses turning the rich prairie soil, back lit by the slanting rays of the sun in early morning and evening.
But just as the seasons rolled across the prairie, so did the years roll across the people living there. Summer ripened into fall and the heavy headed crop of wheat and barley fell before the binder and gave up their precious grains. Some Ike stored for seeding the next spring, some went to the elevator in Niverville and was sold through the recently formed Canadian Wheat Board, and some went into the granary on the farm to feed stock. Sufficient wheat went to the mill to provide flour for household use.