“Will not.”
It seemed that Chester would have won the bet, had one been made, because Jonathon’s enthusiasm never waned. As the hours passed, he was every bit as excited as he’d been when they’d begun.
“Slow and steady,” Elliot warned, for the umpteenth time since they’d brought out the saws. He was gripping one side of the handle while Jonathon had the other. “You want to pace yourself so you don’t tire out too fast. There’s a lot more ice waiting when we finish this line.”
“Yeah, Pop. It sure is hard work, isn’t it?”
“Yes it is. Warm enough?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Still like harvesting ice?”
“I do! This is so much fun. I don’t know why Richard doesn’t like it.” Elliot could see that he truly didn’t understand why. What wasn’t to like? Outdoors in the fresh air, surrounded by friends. Even if they weren’t actually his friends, they were friends of his father’s, and he seemed to enjoy listening to their laughter and stories.
“I don’t actually enjoy it much myself,” Elliot admitted. “But I will be thankful that we all put the time in this summer.” Jonathon looked at his father, eyes wide and filled with disbelief, like he couldn’t believe the words he’d just heard.
“Why don’t you like it, Pop? This is the best day since- Since- I don’t know when, but it is.” Elliot had to chuckle at that. His son thought every day was the best day.
“You are really something, you know that?”
“What?”
“You’re absolutely right, Jonathon. This is the best day since – I don’t remember when.” And suddenly it was. All he had to do was experience ice harvesting through the eyes of an optimistic ten year old, his ten year old, and what had begun as a chore to be endured was an adventure to be enjoyed.
~~~
Jonathon walked out of the soddy with the rest of the guys, after having a delicious dinner of stew and biscuits, oatmeal cookies and coffee. Well, mostly milk, but Pop had allowed him have a little coffee poured in to warm it up a bit. He couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose. What was so great about that stuff anyway? Even with lots of milk it still tasted kind of bitter. But that was what grownups drank, so maybe it would taste better when he got older.
He rolled his shoulders a little as he stepped back on the lake, heading for the area he’d been helping with before they took their break. Everyone had warned him that this would be hard work, and they were right. His arms and back were aching, but it was a good feeling to be out here doing a man’s job.
“Jonathon, no!” he heard someone shout, just as he stepped onto a nearly free block of ice. It broke loose with no warning, tilting wildly and catapulting him headfirst into the freezing lake.
Time seemed to stand still as he flailed about in the icy water, trying to find the surface. He hoped it would be soon because all of the air had been forced from his lungs on impact, and he was desperate to take a breath. But he knew if he tried now, he would drown, and so he kicked harder – and prayed he was heading up, instead of toward the bottom of the lake.
When he finally did surface, he sucked in a deep, panicked breath, only to find it hurt. The water hurt, too. He hadn’t known that cold could be painful, but it was. Everywhere it touched him, and it was touching him everywhere, made it feel like he was on fire.
He wondered about that, how odd it was to feel like you were burning when you were actually freezing, as chaos broke out around him. Shouts to find branches or a rope. Someone demanding that he get to the edge of the ice. Even someone bellowing at Richard to stay back. But he saw that Richard ignored the command, diving chest first across the ice, then inching to the edge, holding out an arm toward his brother.
“C’mon, Jonathon, grab my hand!” Only Jonathon was still too far to reach it. “Kick your feet. Swim!”
He tried, with all his might, except the heavy, soaked clothes and coat made it almost impossible to move. But the thought of dying here scared him and he fought harder, slowly getting closer to his brother’s outstretched hand. Finally, his fingertips touched Richard’s, and then he was pulled quickly to where his brother lay on the ice.
“I’ve got him, Pop!”
“Thank God! Just hold onto him. Don’t try to pull him out. We’ll pull you. Don’t let go of him.”
“I won’t. I promise.” He looked right into Jonathon’s eyes and whispered, “You hold on. Do you hear me?”
Jonathon really did try to answer, but he was shaking so hard he couldn’t get the word out. Instead he nodded his head. Or tried to. It seemed like his head was shaking just as hard as the rest of him.
It felt like it took forever but he supposed it really was only a few minutes before he felt his body sliding up over the edge, and onto the surface of the ice. Richard held his hands tightly as they were dragged safely away, and then all the men hurried to help them up.
“Your mother is going to kill me,” his father said, holding him close. It sounded a little like he was laughing and crying at the same time. “We need to get you inside and get you warm.”
Still shaking too hard to speak, Jonathon could only try to nod his head again.
Chapter 4
Daniel sat, or rather balanced, on the edge of a stool at the counter waiting on postal patrons. Almost a month since his accident, and he was deeply grateful to be back at work.
Initially his boss, Ted Nelson, had had him try sorting the mail but it had been too difficult with all the reaching and moving around. Then Ted suggested he fill the post office boxes. Except that presented the same problem, so they’d given him this position until the splint came off and he was free of the burden of crutches.
Thus far he’d been kept quite busy, for which he was grateful. Days when there weren’t many customers seemed to pass at a snail’s pace. Either way, though, he was glad to be earning money again. He couldn’t wait to spend some of it when he took Nina to supper, an outing that was happening most days now. A foolish smile curved his lips when he realized he was mooning over her yet again.
“Happy to be back?” Mrs. Harold Baker asked from the lobby. Like everyone else today, her cheeks were red from the cold.
“Yes, Ma’am, I am very happy to be back. How are you this morning?”
“Just fine, Daniel. Yourself?” She casually removed her gloves and pulled several envelopes from her handbag, laying them on the counter along with a few coins.
“Much better, thank you.”
“You did give us all a fright when that awful automobile ran over you, young man.”
“I think I gave myself a fright, Mrs. Baker,” he said with a chuckle. Her eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled at him.
“In the future I trust you’ll be more careful. I never did trust those contraptions.”
“I already am being more careful,” he assured her, affixing stamps to six envelopes then placing them in the outgoing mail bin.
“For my boys,” she explained. Her boys consisted of her youngest son, two oldest grandsons and three nephews, all serving in the war.
“I’m sure they look forward to your letters, and hearing about all the news that’s going on at home.”
“That’s what they tell me when they write back.” Sadness filled her eyes. “It was hard when I first started sending them. I was afraid they would be bored because the Lord knows that not much exciting happens around here. But that’s what they want to read, I guess.”
“They miss you as much as you miss them,” he said, hoping she drew comfort from the thought. Even though patriotism ran high, it didn’t stop the loneliness, or the missing of loved ones. Mrs. Baker cleared her throat and blinked hard.
“Will your leg keep you from the war?” she wanted to know.
“I’m afraid so. I’d planned on enlisting this spring and setting out for boot camp right after the graduations. But the doctor sent a report to the army, and I guess they won’t be able to use me now.”
At first he’d been hear
tbroken because, like most young men, he had wanted to fight in service for his country. He’d also been discouraged to learn that he would probably always need the aid of a cane because the damage to his leg would leave him with a permanent limp. If it weren’t for Nina, he would be wallowing in the depths of despair.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Daniel. But at least you’re safe at home. It would be a shame if the Pullman name ended with you, so it’s probably for the best.” She waved her fingers at him as she headed for the door. “See you in a few days. And you be careful of that leg, young man. If you need anything, you be sure to let me know.”
“Thank you, Ma’am. I’ll keep that in mind.”
He pondered what Mrs. Baker had said for a while after she left. He‘d never given much thought to having a family of his own. If he’d gone to war and been killed, the Pullman name would have ended with him. No chance to have sons. His own father had died before any more children were born, so he was the only one left to carry on the name. He smiled, thinking of Nina. Perhaps that problem could be solved, sooner rather than later.
“Good morning, Daniel.” He was jolted out of his daydreams, and immediately looked up to give his attention to the next customer.
“Reverend Thornton. How are you, sir?”
“Couldn’t be better,” Colby Thornton told him with a smile, and then teased, “Grateful that I’m not the one having to use crutches.” Daniel laughed as he stamped a single letter and gave the minister his change.
“I’ll certainly be glad when I don’t have to use them anymore.”
“I imagine you will be.” Colby glanced behind him and saw that no one was waiting. “What’s this I hear about you courting one of my parishioners?” he asked bluntly. In the midst of swallowing, Daniel almost choked, causing one of the other postmen to pound him on the back.
“You okay?” Edward Hinkle asked. After being assured that he was fine, Ed continued on about his business, and Daniel looked back at the reverend feeling a bit foolish.
“I- Yes, I’ve been seeing Miss Hakes,” he said nervously.
“She’s a fine young woman.”
“Yes, sir, she is.”
“Will we be seeing you in church then?”
“Yes, sir. This Sunday, in fact.” Truth be told, Daniel hadn’t been in any church since his mother had taken ill, but he supposed it was time to start back.
“If it would help,” Colby suggested, a twinkle in his eyes, “I could come and pick you up.”
“I appreciate the offer,” Daniel told him sincerely. “But I’ll be able to walk. I’m getting around fairly well on these things now.”
“So I’ve heard. I understand you’re walking Nina home from the hospital every night.”
“Yes I am.” Daniel swallowed again, albeit more carefully this time. “I don’t like the idea of her being out alone after dark.”
“Good man. Wish I’d thought about it before, but I’m glad someone is looking out for her. See you Sunday then?”
“Yes, sir.”
Nina might not have a father watching to make sure he behaved like a gentleman, but Colby Thornton had just made it very clear that someone was paying attention. Not that the reverend had anything to worry about. Daniel would never, ever consider treating her as less than the lady she was.
And she was, after all, the woman he was fast falling in love with.
~~~
Marcus sighed deeply as he lay his paper aside and pushed away from the table. One of these days he would have to break down and have the newfangled indoor facilities installed. Probably in the small room off the kitchen but, a man of the old school, running and rushing water in his house just seemed wrong. And foolhardy. The idea of a burst pipe, and the mess it could make, was enough to make him cringe. That left him no alternative but to pay regular visits to the outhouse located in his backyard.
Creeping quietly into the parlor, making sure to avoid the spot that squeaked loudly when he wasn’t paying attention and walked across it, he peered cautiously through the draperies.
Nothing.
Just as cautiously, he peeked out both of the kitchen windows. So far, so good. The yard next door seemed to be empty and, as slowly as he could, he eased the back door open. The process took several long minutes because no matter how often he oiled the hinges, opening it too fast would make some part of the door creak or squeal, and that always meant trouble. Every couple of inches he looked in both directions, breathing a sigh of relief when the coast remained clear.
Keeping to the far right side of the steps because, of course, the center of each wooden plank creaked with age, he crept down to the grass, keeping a vigilant watch around him.
He was almost halfway to the outhouse, having made not so much as a peep, when he heard the angry snort off to his right. Almost immediately the sound of pounding hooves started in his direction. Marcus took off running as fast as his legs would carry him, the skirt of his dressing gown flapping wildly about him.
As he slammed the door behind him, pulling against it with all his might, he resigned himself to a good portion of the morning spent in the foul smelling four-by-four. Blasted neighbors should have the decency to keep that bad tempered horse locked up so people who minded their own business could relieve themselves in peace.
He wished he could figure out why that horse hated him, and hate him she did. Marcus knew for a fact that she didn’t bother the family on the north side of the Franklin house. The Carson’s had an outhouse, too, which meant that there were even more people out and about to bother the animal.
Except he was the only person the mare seemed to have a problem with. But she didn’t always come after him. Sometimes she just stared, kicking one hoof in the dirt and snorting. If she’d been a human being, Marcus would have sworn she was taunting him.
After a few minutes he put his ear to the door and listened carefully. Silence. Taking a fortifying breath, he pushed it open slowly, closing his eyes in disgust when the door hit the horse and she snorted again.
~~~
The Owens family had their own pew. Not that it had their name on it or anything as lofty as that. It was just that week after week they walked to the same one. And every week it was unoccupied until the seven of them filed in and took their places. Each one of the children were always on their best behavior, except maybe Elizabeth, who hadn’t been on her best behavior at all since she’d gotten involved in the suffrage movement.
The ‘Owens pew’ was third back from the front on the right side of the sanctuary. Close enough that a stern glance from Reverend Thornton could straighten out even the most distracted or misbehaving child, yet far enough back that they would be safe should he spit, or something equally disgusting during the sermon. Not that Reverend Thornton had ever spit or anything. Leastwise not that Jonathon had ever noticed, so he supposed it really didn’t matter where they sat for two long, mostly boring hours every Sunday morning.
It wasn’t that the reverend was boring. Not exactly. It was always fun to talk or fish with him. But sitting on the bank of the Battle Creek River and talking about everything from the war to the upcoming Fourth of July celebration this summer was sure better than listening to endless minutes of preaching. Sometimes Jonathon had a hard time not nodding off. Or letting his mind wander to the exciting things he could be doing if he weren’t stuck spending a perfectly good morning sitting in the Owens pew at church.
Take today, for example. Here he was in his freshly starched knickers and jacket sitting in the stuffy, dark church on one of the warmest, sunniest days they’d seen since October. Even with snow still on the ground, it was nice enough that he would be able to take his jacket off to play. But here he sat.
The organist, Miss Ethel Harrison, an old spinster whose hair always sat about a foot high on the top of her head – and looked sort of blue – had finished playing the hymns and was walking back to her pew (the one where half a dozen other spinsters sat) as Reverend Thornton stepped up to the pulpit
and glanced around the room with a welcoming smile.
“Good morning,” he said cheerfully. “And a fine morning it is, too. It’s always a special treat when we have days like this in March, isn’t it?” A hearty chorus of ’amens’ sounded in agreement.
“I have just a few announcements before we begin.” He looked down at his notes. “Fred Archer is in the sanatorium, having had his appendix removed on Friday. Please keep him in your prayers. Also, Matthew and Martha Seymour welcomed a baby girl yesterday. Her name is Grace. Miss Ethel will be taking the names of volunteers to deliver meals to the family for the next two weeks. And since this has been such a long, cold winter, and we’ll be freezing again before you know it, there will be a church social this coming Saturday at five. It’s a good excuse to take advantage of the warmer weather so we can visit and catch up with one another. Please bring a dish to pass, and plan on spending the evening with us.
“And now to get started.” He smiled again and said, “Though I don’t usually preach hellfire and brimstone, or gloom and doom, I’m going to do exactly that this morning.”
Jonathon rolled his eyes and let his chin drop to his chest at that declaration. It was going to be one of those kinds of sermons. The kind that made the two hours feel more like twenty. Long, dull as dull could be and almost without fail, loud. Reverend Thornton hardly ever raised his voice, but when he did, a person just wanted to hide his head under a pillow.
But wait!
His gaze shot up toward the pulpit. Had the good reverend mentioned the war? Any mention of the war was enough to grab his attention and grab it quick, so Jonathon decided maybe this sermon wouldn’t be as bad as he thought.
As the reverend preached on, turning to the last book of the Bible, he thought that maybe he would have to try to read it himself, because that part was sure different from the little bits he’d read in the past. Beasts and horses and wars. Yes, he just might have to think about reading that book someday. Not that he thought it would be as good as Sherlock Holmes, but he supposed he could be wrong about that.
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