by Nancy M Bell
Elsie massaged her fingers that were beginning to thicken with the bumps of arthritis. Her mother’s hands had been stricken with the disease, by the time she died, her hands had been curled and painful. “Time waits for no man,” she said aloud misquoting Chaucer. There seemed no reason to mention tide along with time on the land locked prairie. Her thoughts turned again to those resting beneath the rustling grasses of the cemetery. She must take the youngsters there and tell them the stories of their family members lying beneath the headstones, old and new. It was so important for the young ones to remember the ancestors, remember them as real people, not just names in the family pages of the Bible, or letters inscribed on grave markers. A person needed to know where they came from in order to feel secure in where they were going.
The thought brought to mind a story her mother used to tell about the stripes on a chipmunk’s back. While the exact wording escaped her at the moment, the main message had been, the stripes were the paths from the eyes which saw now and tomorrow continuing to its tail which was always behind it and a part of yesterday. Those stories which were passed down from generation to generation were like the chipmunk’s tail, stitching the past to the present and giving the youngsters a rudder with which to steer through the troubled waters of the post-World War II era.
She got to her feet, shaking off the thoughts of the past. It was good to remember, but there was still work to be done. The diggers in the garden had reached the ends of the rows, somewhat untidy rows and random piles of overturned earth marked their progress. Elsie went down the wide porch steps and crossed the yard. The potatoes, onions, beets and carrots were piled in separate bushel baskets.
“Most of those need to go to the root cellar, but I could use some of the potatoes and beets in the house. Oh, and a few onions,” Elsie addressed her grandkids, smiling inwardly at their grubby knees and dirt stained hands. “Once you’ve put those away get yourselves cleaned up, be sure to scrub those hands and don’t be tracking mud and dirt into my clean house.”
Anna, Agnes’ eldest daughter, selected the vegetables Elsie asked for and trotted off around to the back door of the house. She’d leave them inside the door and not track up the pristine floor of the kitchen. The others headed off toward the root cellar laden down under the burden of the heavy bushel baskets. The younger ones were two to a bushel, each one heaving on the wire handle on their side of the basket.
“I wonder where Doris and Willy have gotten to? I can’t even hear that silly dog barking.” Elsie shoved her hands in the pockets of her apron and scanned the yard and surrounding fields. “Ike!” she called, seeing her husband emerge from the tool shed with a bug wrench in his hand.
He stopped and turned toward her. “What is it? It’s not supper time yet.” He glanced at the sky to check the position of the sun.
“Have you seen Doris and Willy lately?” She hurried toward him, one hand holding a wayward strand of hair in place that the wind insisted on pulling loose from the pins.
“Not recently. Last I saw they were headed down in the direction of the creek. Why don’t you send Mary and Neil to look for them?” Ike nodded at the two grandchildren returning from the root cellar. Mary was busy wiping her earth stained hands on her apron, Neil strolled beside her, hands buried in his pockets. The two were Jake and Nettie’s offspring.
Elsie hurried toward the pair intending to send them off on her errand. It wasn’t like those two young ones to wander off so far on their own. She shook her head, not so little anymore, they were getting more independent every day.
“Oh my!” Elsie whirled and pressed her hand to her thundering heart.
Shrill cries pierced the late afternoon air. The frenzied barking of the dog added to her panic. “Ike! Something’s wrong.” She gathered her skirt in one hand and ran, wrenching the gate to the yard open, leaving it standing ajar behind her. Neil and Ike followed and soon passed her. Elsie gritted her teeth and ignored the uneven ground of the field that threatened to turn her ankle or shred her town shoes. Halfway across the broad expanse of wheat stubble Elsie stopped to catch her breath, holding a hand over the stitch in her side. A sense of urgency drove her forward.
Ike and Neil disappeared into the brush by the creek.
“Oma, what is it. What’s going on?” Mary caught up with her and took Elsie’s arm.
“I don’t know. Something down by the creek. Listen to that dog howl.”
“Let’s hurry and see if we can help. Doris and Willy sound like they’re being murdered.” Mary let go of Elsie and strode ahead.
The screams suddenly stopped as well as the barking. Ike’s voice carried across the distance between them, but Elsie couldn’t make out the words. “Heavens above, what could possibly be wrong?”
Doris’s small form burst out of the bushes running pell-mell toward Mary and Elsie. She reached Mary first, who scooped the child up into her arms, patting her on the back and trying to calm her tears.
“What is it? What happened? Are you hurt?” Mary set her down and ran her hands over the small sobbing child who buried her face in the older girl’s skirts.
Elsie dropped to her knees, ignoring the sharp stubble that tore her stockings. “Doris, hush now and tell us what has upset you.”
“Mome, I want my mome,” Doris wailed.
“You take her, I’m going to go on and see where the others are.” Mary pried the small hands from her skirt and transferred them to her grossmama.
Elsie squinted after her as she ran across the field her feet raising puffs of dust and chaff with each step. Turning her attention to the sobbing child, she gathered her close, stealing glances toward the creek over the child’s head. “Hush, now, dear. Hush now. Tell Oma what happened.”
The thin shoulders ceased shaking quite so hard and Doris turned a tear stained face upward. “Blackie…Blackie…” a sob shook her. “It’s killing Blackie.” Tears flooded her eyes.
“Blackie? The dog? Hund?” Elsie glanced toward the bushes by the creek. “What about the dog. Who’s killing him?”
“Not who, Oma. The big kitty. We followed it ’cause it was so pretty. I wanted to…to…pet it…” The words came out between sobs and hiccups.
“A kitty?” Fear skittered down Elsie’s spine. While not common, there were lynx in the area. Surely one wouldn’t have come so close to the house. Unless it was a young one and hungry. The lambs were a few months old now, but still an easy kill for a big cat. “What colour was the kitty, Doris?”
The child sniffed and took a deep shuddering breath. Elsie handed her a clean handkerchief from her skirt pocket and waited while she blew her nose and wiped her cheeks. “Kind of brown, but sort of yellow, with a cute little tail. And Oma, it had these black pointy tufts on its ears. We only wanted to pat the kitty.” Tears welled up in her blue eyes again.
“There, there, now Doris. You didn’t touch the kitty did you?” Elsie got to her feet, hefted the five year old up onto her hip and started toward the creek. Doris shook her head, arms tightly twined around Elsie’s neck. “Willy didn’t touch it either, did he?” She held her breath and prayed while she waited for the answer. What was keeping Ike and Neil, and Mary? They be coming back by now. She quickened her pace. “Did Willy pat the kitty?” she repeated.
“No. he tried, but the kitty got mad. It…it…it growled at us.” The little voice wavered.
Elsie halted to ease the pain in her back from carting the child on her hip and set her down for a moment.
“Oma! I need your apron,” Mary cried, emerging from the bushes at the run.
When she got nearer Elsie caught her breath at the sight of fresh blood on her skirt. Shaking fingers untied the apron strings and she thrust it at the girl when she reached her. “Here, hurry. Who’s bleeding? Is it Willy?” Elsie could hardly get the words past the tightness in her throat.
Mary shook her head and paused to catch her breath. “No. Not Willy. It’s Blackie. The cat got him, but he protected the little ones. Neil and Opa
chased the stupid thing off. Willy had the sense to climb a tree and the dog held the cat off at the bottom. I’ve got to go back. Neil’s getting Willy down from the tree and Opa’s seeing to the dog. We’re going to have to carry him back to the house in your apron. I’ll send Willy back to you, and maybe you can get the little ones to house and send one of the boys or Onkel Walter with the cart for the dog. Let Taunte Agnes know what happened.” Mary set off a run across the stubble.
Elsie picked Doris up again and wiped her face. “See now, it’s all okay. Willy is coming and Opa is looking after Blackie. Everything will be okay. You musn’t run off by yourself like that again. You understand?”
“Yes, Oma. I’m sorry, Oma,” she mumbled. “Willy!” she shrieked at the sight of the boy making his way toward them.
He broke into a run when he got closer. “Oma! The kitty was mean. It tried to eat me!” he declared skidding to halt beside her. “Blackie was real brave. He saved me. That old cat was no match for Blackie!”
“Here take my hand, Willy. We need to get back to the house and send the cart back to your Grosspape so they can bring the dog up to the house.” She clasped the grubby little hand in hers and hitched Doris higher on her hip. By the time she arrived at the house, her back ached, her stockings were ruined, and her shoes were filthy.
Agnes appeared on the porch, alerted by the shouts of the other children. She bustled down the steps and took Doris in her arms. “What happened, Mome?” Agnes pulled Willy close to her side.
“In a minute, Agnes. Paul, can you and a few of the boys get the cart hitched and take it across the south field toward the creek. Neil and Grosspape need help getting the dog back to the house.”
The boys raced off to do her bidding and Elsie mounted the wide steps and sank thankfully into one of the big chairs.
“What happened? What’s wrong with the dog?” Agnes sat down in the chair opposite, Doris in her lap, and Willy leaning against her knees.
“Those two decided to go exploring down by the creek and thankfully they took the dog with them.”
“There was a big kitty,” Willy interrupted. “With big ears and a short tail.”
Agnes exchanged a look over the children’s heads with her mother, eyes widened.
“The kitty was mean,” Doris declared. “It growled at me.”
“Bad kitty,” Agnes smoothed her daughter’s corn silk hair.
“It scared me, so I runned away,” Doris said, nodding her head decisively.
Movement in the south field caught Elsie’s attention. She stood up and looked meaningfully at Agnes. “Let’s go get cleaned up, shall we? Oma needs to wash her hands and change her clothes, and I’m sure both of you will feel better with clean faces and clothes.”
Agnes glanced in the direction Elsie indicated with a tilt of her head. “That sounds like a very good idea. Come on, little ones. Let’s go wash.” She got her feet and herded her two youngest into the house. Elsie followed, but not before she shot a worried glance at the cart making its slow way back to the house. The children will be heartbroken if the dog doesn’t make it. They love that silly thing. Anna especially.After a quick wash she went upstairs to change her clothes and get a new pair of stockings. She peeled off the shredded ones and regarded them for an instant. There was no hope of mending them so she balled them up and reluctantly tossed them into the waste basket.
The high voices of the children echoed up the hallway from the kitchen, punctuated by the deeper tones of the older grandchildren. She caught the sound of Agnes’ voice as well. Things seemed to be well in hand, so Elsie slipped out the front door and crossed the yard to the barn where the small cart was drawn up.
“How is he?” she asked when she was near enough.
Neil looked up and shook his head. Ike was bent over the animal holding a blood stained towel against one of the many wounds. Blackie thumped his tail at the sound of her voice, his breath coming in pants.
“He needs a vet, but I’m not sure he’ll last until he gets here,” Ike said.
“You called the vet for a dog?” her voice rose incredulously. Vets were an expense they tried to avoid. For Ike to summon the man for the dog was totally out of character for her husband.
“The dog saved those kids lives,” Neil said, one hand stroking the tattered black ears.
“Was it really a lynx? I can’t remember the last time one was seen around here.” Elsie stepped nearer and looked down into the bed of the cart. Blood seeped into the rough boards and soaked the material of her apron that the dog lay on.
“Neil saw it,” Ike said without removing his attention from the dog.
“It sure looked like a lynx to me. I don’t know what else it could have been,” Neil said. “Looked like a young one, pretty skinny, I could see its ribs before I managed to chase it off.”
“Elsie, can you ask Walter to move the sheep closer up to the barns? He’s over at the toolshed working on the binder. He should be told what happened to his children, too.” Ike looked up from the dog. “And keep an eye out for the vet, send him over as soon as he gets here.”
“Of course. What should I tell the children about the dog?” She regarded the animal dubiously. Blackie didn’t look good to her at all.
“If they don’t ask, don’t mention it,” Neil advised.
“If they ask, tell them it’s in God’s hands,” Ike offered.
Pulling her sweater tighter around her shoulders, Elsie crossed the dirt yard. The clang of Walter’s tools guided her to the interior of the tool shed unerringly. She stopped just inside the dim interior and waited for her eyes to adjust to the lack of light.
“Walter! Walter!” It was no use, the man apparently couldn’t anything over the clang of his hammer as he straightened a piece of equipment. Carefully picking her way across the shed, she stopped where her son in law could see her when he looked up. She waited until he paused in his work.
“Walter!”
“Oh, I didn’t see you come in. Is anything wrong? It’s not supper time yet, is it?” Walter put his hammer down on the binder platform.
“Doris and Willy had a run in with what Neil claims was a lynx down by the river.” She held up a hand to halt him when Walter made to move toward the door. “The children are fine, the dog took the brunt of it. Ike wants you to move the sheep up closer to the barns, we should probably put them in sheep fold at night for a while. Neil said the cat looked skinny and hungry. It must have been to go after people, even little one.”
“Where are the children?” Walter wiped his hands on a greasy rag, a worried frown marring his handsome features.
“At the house with Agnes. She’s giving them a snack and taking their minds off the poor dog,” Elsie replied.
“How bad is Blackie? Sounds like he was a hero.” Walter went to the shed door to stare across the yard to the group gathered around the cart.
Elsie trailed after him. “He’s cut up pretty bad. I don’t know what the children will do if he dies.” She crossed her arms and gripped her elbows in her hands.
“They’ll manage. It’s only a dog, after all,” Walter said brusquely.
Tires crunched on the bit of gravel by the gate. “That must be the vet.” Elsie hurried out to direct the man to the cart by the barn.
Walter slapped his hat on his thigh and crammed it on his head. “Ike called the vet? Never thought I’d see the day. I’ll go see to the sheep.” He stamped off toward the pasture where the ewes and lambs were grazing, white cotton balls against the brown grasses.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Neufeld. There’s an emergency with your dog?” The vet put his truck in park and stepped out, reaching back in for his medical bag.
“Yes. He got in a fight with what appeared to be a lynx. He’s over by the barn in the cart.” Elsie pointed the man toward the front of the barn.
“A lynx? Are you sure? There aren’t many around these parts that I’ve heard of.” He shifted the bag to his other hand and slammed the truck door shut.
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“Neil saw it before it got scared it off, and he said it looked like one, didn’t know what else it could have been.”
“No matter. I’ll go see about patching up your dog.” The vet strode off across the yard, leaving Elsie by the truck.
She really didn’t want to go any closer. From what little she saw of the injuries, common sense told her it wouldn’t be a good outcome. Turning on her heel, Elsie crossed the short distance to the house. Martin, Susan’s husband sat on the porch steps whittling something, small curls of bright wood falling under his knife. Elsie stopped with one foot on the bottom step.
“Martin, would you go help Walter bring the sheep up closer to the barn?”
He set down the bit of wood and closed the jack knife, slipping it into his trouser pocket as he rose. “Sure. What’s all the crying about in there?” He tipped his head toward the screen door through which the sound of sobbing could be heard plainly. Without waiting for her answer, he continued, “Something up with the sheep? Is Walter bringing them up for the vet?”
“The children had a run in with what we think was a lynx. The black dog got hurt keeping it from harming the children.”
“A lynx?” Martin’s eyebrows rose in disbelief.
“Neil says it was.”
“How bad is the dog? The youngsters love that animal.”
“I don’t know, the vet is looking at him right now.”
“I’d best go help Walter with those sheep.” Martin strode off in the direction of the south pasture.
Elsie watched him go for a moment. Her gaze skipped over the huddle of men by the cart. She climbed the remaining two risers and stepped through the screen door holding it so it didn’t bang shut behind her. The crying seemed to have subsided for the moment, at least it wasn’t audible in the living room. She found Agnes and Susan in the kitchen with their brood of children at the table. The remains of jam sandwiches were smeared across tiny faces. The older children looked considerably more tidy. Agnes caught her eye and gave her mother a questioning look. Elsie shook her head and lifted one shoulder.