Phoebe, five months pregnant now, her pretty, young girl’s body turned bulky, slow and ugly, her plump child’s face a jarring note over that woman’s body. It hurt Selena just to look at her, but she made herself, she would be the last one to avoid looking at Phoebe. She drove on, peering out the windshield, which the heater was barely keeping free of ice, to the grey, freezing day outside, feeling it creep inside her, filling her with gloom.
It didn’t seem possible that there would ever be an end to Phoebe’s pregnancy. She couldn’t even imagine such a time, and she knew that Phoebe couldn’t either. Something in Phoebe’s gaze spoke to Selena of a determination, a holding-on that did not dare to look beyond this time.
Phoebe had refused to marry Brian when that seemed a possibility, she had refused to have an abortion, she would not even listen to Kent when he suggested giving the baby up to be adopted. Selena thought, wondering even as she thought it, perhaps she has accepted her motherhood. She manoeuvered the heavy, unresponsive truck over the rough terrain, the distant hills growing closer, the three riders spread out, moving at a trot in front of her, dreaming on their horses, passing through the freezing day.
No, she replied to herself, it isn’t that Phoebe has accepted her motherhood. Phoebe doesn’t know anything about motherhood, doesn’t really understand that what is growing inside her is a child, a human being. That will only come when she actually sees the baby.
No, what Phoebe was contemplating was something else. It was her womanhood, into which she had been dragged too soon, before she was ready. That was why her eyes had grown so dark, her gaze had become so penetrating. She was trying to understand what it meant to be a woman. Because, Selena suddenly thought, what did I teach her about being a woman? Dances and fowl suppers and showers and anniversary celebrations, making pickles, sewing a dress, combing out her long, bright hair.
She thought of Phoebe’s first menstruation. She had told Phoebe, it’s nothing, you’ll never even notice it, just be careful you don’t get blood on your clothes so nobody will know. And remember, you’re a woman now, this means you can have babies. Phoebe had looked up at her, her eyes filled with questions, and when Selena had not known what else to say, she had simply looked away and they had not talked about it again.
How she wished she had said more. Her chest ached with all the unsaid words, with all the silences of womanhood, all the things she hadn’t even the words for, nor had her mother, or, she supposed, her mother before that. You’re a woman now, whatever that meant. Each of them left alone to brood over what it meant—having sex, the babies coming, the end of the bleeding, old age, and which of them knew, even then, what it meant to be a woman?
The truck lurched, the steering wheel pulling out of her grip to the right, the load swaying. For a second she was bewildered, then realized that she had driven over a rock buried in the snow, with the left front tire, and she struggled to turn the wheel to keep from going over it with the back tire too, where it would almost certainly loosen her load. When she was clear of it and on a level spot, she stopped the truck and clambered out, awkward in her parka and ski pants, and waded around the vehicle to see if any of the load of bales she was carrying, which were stacked higher than the truck cab and tied on with a couple of ropes, were loosening or falling off. Some of it they would feed to the cattle before they chased them home, and some she would need as a lure. It was important not to lose any of it. When she saw that it was all still secure, she got back in and drove on.
It was ten o’clock now, but instead of warming, the day was growing colder. Realizing this, she stepped on the gas, risking losing the load, and caught up with the riders. Rolling down the window, she called out to
Kent, “Does anybody want to get in and warm up? I can ride for a bit.” Kent drew his horse to a stop and looked steadily, first at Mark, and then at Jason, who had stopped too. In this cold, his eyes and the lines of his face had deepened. He said brusquely, “Jason, are you cold?” Jason promptly shook his head no, but they could see that his nose was dangerously white-tipped.
“You drive for a while,” Kent said to him. Reluctantly Jason dismounted, handed his reins to Kent and put his hand on the driver’s door to get into the truck. Selena reached for her scarf. “No,” Kent said, “don’t bother. I’ll just lead him.” Before she could reply, he had ridden away, leading Jason’s horse. She slid over and let Jason get into the driver’s seat. She wondered why Kent didn’t want her to ride, and then realized that he was worried about the weather, and anxious to arrive at the lease so they could start back right away. He was too impatient to wait for her to put on her scarf and mount the horse.
“Are you cold?” she asked Jason, knowing whether he was or not, he would deny it. They all did, even if they were half-frozen.
“Nope,” Jason said, sniffing, and throwing his mitts onto the seat between them. He had trouble shifting into low and she helped him, knowing that he didn’t want her to, but doing it anyway. Both boys had to be better than she was at things she had been doing since before they were born. Sometimes it annoyed her, but mostly she accepted it. They had to do that to grow up, to be able to think of themselves as men. Phoebe she could teach. Phoebe expected her to be better at all the household tasks, Phoebe expected to learn from her. Boys seemed to be born with a sense of superiority. She wondered where it came from. Well, men are valuable out here, she thought; they can do all sorts of necessary things that women can’t do, because they aren’t strong enough. It’s no wonder boys feel more important than the girls do, and that they grow up thinking they’re better than women. She drove on, rocking across the prairie, lumbering up hills and down again.
Before noon they had arrived at the lease. As soon as the cattle, which had been scattered out all over the section searching for food, heard the truck motor, then came on the run, bellowing, their bags swinging, their backs crusted with snow. Selena hated to look at them, suffering as they were from the cold. At least we’ve brought them food, she thought, and they’ll be home tonight, where there’s shelter.
Kent and Mark dismounted and tied the three horses to the fence, scattering a little hay on the snow from a bale Kent broke, then came over to the truck.
“We’ll throw ‘em a little feed,” Kent said through the open window, “then we’ll eat while they’re cleaning it up.”
Jason rolled the window back up and began to watch in the rearview mirror. Watching in her mirror, Selena saw Kent climbing up on the load on her side and knew Mark would be climbing up on the other side. Jason put the truck into gear and began to inch it forward, watching carefully so as not to hit any rocks or holes that would rock the load and knock Kent or Mark off onto the ground She had so much more experience, she wished she were driving, but she said nothing. Jason has to learn and there was only one way to do that. But, she couldn’t help thinking, I like doing this, I’m good at it, and I never get a chance anymore. Somehow, that didn’t seem right. She thought of all the outdoor work she had done for years. As her sons grew, they had taken over more and more of it as their birthright, so that she rarely got to do any of it anymore, and was increasingly—while hiding, not even acknowledging her resentment—being forced to stay inside. It isn’t really right, she thought again, remembering the early days of her marriage, when she had worked alongside Kent each day, to shut women up in the house that way. Not when she loved being outside. But it was the same in most of the families, and she knew lots of the women preferred staying indoors, were glad when their sons grew up and could take over the outside jobs. And she wasn’t one to hold her sons back.
Jason drove slowly down a curving stretch of fairly flat land while the two on the back tossed off chunks of bales onto the snow. The cattle came running, bawling, and ate it almost as fast as it landed.
When they were finished, all of them managed to squeeze into the cab to drink the first thermos of coffee and eat the sandwiches and cake she had packed. Kent took a flask of rye from under the seat and poured a sma
ll amount into each of their cups.
“Keeps you warm,” he remarked, without looking at any of them, but Selena could feel Jason’s pleasure since it was the first time he had been given any.
They ate without talking, squeezed in together, glad of the warmth, the truck windows fogging up from their breath so they couldn’t see outside. They were packed in so tightly they could hardly lift their arms to eat.
“I thought they looked a little ganted up,” Selena said.
“It’s damn cold,” Kent said. “I don’t like the looks of that sky.” He chewed his sandwich thoughtfully, peering out through the patch he had wiped clear on the windshield.
“Temperature’s dropping,” Mark said. “My toes are telling me that.” He laughed in a boisterous way, a little embarrassed at this admission, but knowing that he was older and had proven himself and so could allow himself this, like a man could.
“I’ll ride the minute anybody gets cold,” Selena said. She added, “As long as the truck runs, nobody needs to freeze.” Kent said nothing more, wiping the windshield again to check the cattle and the sky, then leaning back.
“No wind,” he said. Nobody responded, chewing soberly, hearing this pronouncement both with gratitude and anxiety, knowing it could start to blow any minute. And that would mean a blizzard with all the new snow lying around. Selena prayed the weather wouldn’t get worse.
Jason said, “I don’t care if it storms,” and Selena, irritated, wished he would get over his adolescent bravado, which she knew only masked fear.
When the cattle had cleaned up the half-load Kent and Mark had thrown to them and were bawling for more and beginning to tear at what was left on the truck, they hurriedly finished their coffee, and Jason, Mark and Kent got out, doing up zippers, flipping up parka hoods, pulling on mitts, and remounted.
“Now, remember,” Selena called out the window, “if you get cold, trade with me.” None of them replied, their horses turning, their hooves crunching in the snow.
It was her job now to lead the way back to the ranch. The idea was that the hungry cattle would follow her because they could see the hay on the back of the truck and would keep trying to catch up with her to steal some of it. She had to keep just ahead of the cattle so that they couldn’t quite touch it, but if they got discouraged and slowed down, she had to stop the truck, break open a bale, and throw a little onto the snow to attract them back to her. In practice, although this worked to some extent, they always had a few old cows in the herd who inevitably took the lead, who knew the way back to the ranch and would have been there before the first storm struck, or shortly after, if there hadn’t been fences and closed gates to stop them. They didn’t need anybody to lead them. The riders rode behind to prod any slow or sick ones, and on the flanks to keep them together. Later, the cattle would string out and herding them was easier.
With the sky closing in and visibility so poor, she wasn’t sure she would be able to find the way through each field. She would follow their tracks where she could see them, but the landmarks she normally used, like the elevators at Mallard ten miles away, had faded into the general gloom and couldn’t be seen. If she couldn’t tell which way to go anymore, Kent would ride up and give her local landmarks—two hills that made a peculiar silhouette, or a rock that lay along the outline of a distant hill—and if visibility got really bad, he would ride ahead of her and show her the way.
She didn’t know why he should always be able to find the way while she couldn’t. Maybe he had a better sense of direction, but maybe, too, it was that he felt the responsibility for not getting lost as his, while she had abdicated her responsibility to him, and that was why she could get lost.
She started the truck and drove away, watching through the rearview mirror, stopping, then starting again, till the cows were following her. She drove that way for half a mile or so till she had climbed the first hill and the lead cows were still plodding along toward the hill. At the top, she turned the truck around so that she was facing the herd and could see the riders fanned out at the back. That way she could tell if everything was all right, or if anybody needed her. She climbed out, stiff from sitting so long, and walked around the truck, checking the load and looking off into the blue and purple distance in each direction, as if she expected to see something useful out there. She waited, slapping her hands together for warmth, the motor idling roughly, till the lead cows had almost reached her. When neither Kent nor the boys tried to signal her, she got back in and drove on, picking her way carefully down the slope.
The wind was picking up. Occasionally the gusts were strong enough to pick up the fresh, soft snow on the surface and to blow it along as high as the knees of the horses. Once or twice in the next hour it blew up so high that she had to brake till the gust of snow passed, so that she could see where she was going. Most of the tracks she was trying to follow had already filled, and she had to guess at her direction for long stretches till she found an open place where a few of them had been swept clear by the wind, and she could reorient herself. At every hilltop she stopped, either turned the truck around, or got out and stood watching the herd and the riders spread out behind her. She wanted desperately not to get lost, to find her way on her own, and the fact that Kent hadn’t ridden up to her to redirect her was proof she was still going in the right direction.
The cattle had finally begun to string out, settling in for the long, cold walk home, the old cows in the lead. From now on the herding would be easy. The hard part was enduring the cold.
At the top of one of the hills she saw Mark suddenly break away from his father, spurring his horse to a lope, coming toward her. She waited and in a minute he was beside her. Without speaking, he dismounted and handed her his reins. There were white spots along each cheekbone. She refrained from saying anything, knowing he knew they were there. Maybe now, she thought, he’ll take a wool scarf when we trade back.
“You can ride for a bit, Mom,” he said, as if he were doing her a favour. She almost laughed. Still, cold or not, it was good to get out of the stuffy confinement of the truck. She wrapped her scarf around her parka hood, tying it in the front, then mounted clumsily because Mark’s horse was too tall for her and in her winter boots and heavy clothes she felt too weighted-down to spring up onto it. She waited as Mark drove away and the herd passed by her, their heads down, lumbering forward as if she weren’t there.
It had gotten colder out, she felt it as soon as she was in the saddle and up higher. The herd moved slowly, heads down, one foot in front of the other, mile after mile. Their backs were humped up from the cold, their normally pink noses bluish, and their hooves cut and bleeding from sinking into the crusted snow. But she worried more now about her family. Cows could survive weather none of them could. When the herd had passed, she turned her horse and moved in to ride at the end of the mile-long line of cattle.
It was the shortest day of the year and already it was growing dark. She searched the heavy sky for the sun and found it, a paler smear behind the clouds, low in the southern sky. A strong gust of wind caught her and she turned her head and huddled down into her collar, blinking to hold back the water that a sudden blast of cold wind always brought to her eyes, and that would freeze on her face. When it had passed, she lifted her head again, then shoved her left hand, mitt and all, into her jacket pocket, holding the reins with her right hand. Only her face and hands were cold, her back was still warm inside her down-filled parka and she hadn’t been out long enough for her feet to get cold, although, she thought with a measure of resignation, that would happen soon enough.
Kent rode up beside her and she freed her chin from her scarf to turn her head and smile at him.
“How far are we from home?” she called. He was shrugged down inside his parka, his hood and collar up, the earflaps of his cap down. She thought how he had been out for hours, since the first light, with only the noon break in the truck. She marvelled at his ability to endure the cold, and doubted if she would be able to stan
d it the way he could. Was he really stronger? she wondered, or was it only that he was more determined, had more at stake than she did. The ends of his silk neckscarf fluttered against his cheek and he brushed them down with his leather mitt. He turned to her and she was startled by the brightness in his eyes. It was his ‘winter’ look. It meant that things were hard, that he held out no hope for respite, that everything depended on his strength. Sometimes it made her angry.
“I figure maybe seven miles,” he said. “It’s hard going for them in this deep snow and they’re weak from those goddamn storms.” His horse swerved, sidestepping something that neither of them saw. “If we don’t start making better time,” he called, “we’ll have to leave them in that coulee bottom on Albert’s and go home ourselves. It must be damn near thirty below now.”
Thirty below! She had been protected in the truck, had been thinking about other things, and hadn’t realized how bad it had become. She had noticed that even with the heater on high she had barely been able to keep the windshield clear, and that the snow had hardened even more, so that the tires wouldn’t grip going uphill and squeaked on the dry snow.
“Kent,” Selena begged him, knowing it was futile, “trade off with Mark, won’t you? He’s warm enough to go back out for a while.” He turned his head from her so that he was looking straight ahead down the long line of snow-covered, dark red cattle plodding through the crusted, glistening snow which had turned a deep mauve in the dying light, and to the old truck, lumbering along far ahead, a dark spot in the grey light.
“I’m okay,” he said, then urged his horse into a slow lope and rode away to her left, toward Jason on the far side of the herd and ahead of them.
Men! she thought, wishing there was a woman there for her to say it to. They can’t ever give themselves a break, but even those familiar words brought her little comfort. She changed hands again, this time pushing her right hand into her pocket and holding the reins with her left. She began to rhythmically flex her toes inside her boots, trying to get the circulation moving enough to stop the tingling that had begun in them.
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