In the Face of Danger

by Joan Lowery Nixon

  "Poor Mr. HaskiU should have had his head examined before marrying that woman!" With a clatter Enmia slammed a stack of tin plates onto the table.

  "She tries to be very grand," Megan said, "and she thinks that Mr. Haskill's house is like yours. 1 wonder what she'll do when she finds that she'll be living underground."

  Megan and Emma looked at each other with such mischief that they burst into laughter. At that moment Ben came into the house. He stared at them in amazement, which made them laugh all the harder.

  *There must be something here 1 don't understand," he said, which caused Emma to whoop.

  She leaned against the table, wiping her eyes with the hem of her ^ron. "Ada HaskiU—" she began, but couldn't stop laughing.

  Ben rubbed his chin again and turned to Megan. "I didn't see anything about the woman that would cause the two of you so much merriment. Was it her hat?"

  This set off another outburst, until finally Emma was able to say, "It's the idea of a woman like that having to live in a dugout."

  Ben didn't smile. He shook his head and said seriously, "Enrnia, we must set a good example for Megan. It's not right to laugh at someone's misfortune. We began our work here by living in a dugout, and you know the many hardships it caused you."

  Enmia wiped her eyes again and glanced at Megan, whose stomach ached fi-om laughing so hard. "Ben is right," Ennma said. "This should be a happy day for Farley, and Fm afraid it's going to be unhappy for both himself and Ada. I shouldn't have laughed."

  "I'm sorry, too," Megan said to Ben.

  "Oh, Ben," Emma said, "it wasn't what it seemed. The laughter helped us to keep from being angry."

  "Angry? Just because the woman seemed somewhat ... reserved?"

  Ennma told him all that Mrs. Haskill had said. For a moment the room was silent. Then Ben slammed a fist on the nearby table so hard that the lamp wobbled, and Megan reached to catch it before it fell. He turned and stomped out of the house, banging the door behind him.

  "Don't look so worried," Emma reassured Megan. "Ben will work off his anger. Before long he'll begin to feel sorry for her. Then he'll try to think of how to make her feel welcome and accepted, so that she'll see how wrong she was and change her ways. By the time he comes to

  dinner hell be himself again.*" She smiled. **He's a good man, Megan."

  Emma was right By the time Megan had finished feeding the pups, Ben had come back. He sat down at the table and beamed at the steaming bowls of chicken and vegetables. When he bowed his head to say grace, he added an extra prayer for the well-being of Farley and Ada Haskill, then cheerfully set to filling the plates and passing them to Emma and Megan.

  'Tarley said that with the election just a few days away, feelings are high in St. Joe. There's talk of war if Lincoln is elected."

  "Will you vote?" Megan asked him.

  "1 wish 1 could, but people in the territories don't have the vote," he answered. "Our elected representative to Congress can debate any issue, but even he doesn't have the right to vote on it"

  They began to talk about Abraham Lincoln, who had come through eastern Kansas the year before on a speaking tour. Their words became a comfortable hum as Megan's thoughts drifted away. She thought again of Mrs. Haskill and pictured the woman's disapproving face. She'd try to feel sorry for her, as Ma had said, but Mrs. Haskill's words had hurt, and it was hard to feel anything but upset and angry. Suddenly, achingly, Megan was lonely for her mother.

  It was evening, the animals cared for and stabled, and Megan and the Browders snug inside the house, when Mr. Haskill arrived on foot.

  His tap on the door made Emma start, and she nearly dropped the lamp she was lighting.

  Ben glanced at the rifles in their rack near the door and caUed, "Who's there?"

  "It's me—Farley HaskiU," the visitor answered.

  "Not Ada again!" Emma breathed, but she put a fixed smile on her face and prepared to greet her neighbors.

  Mr. Haskill entered alone, his head and neck tucked down inside the big collar of his coat as though he were trying to find a place to hide, and put the lantern he was carrying on the table.

  Ben peered outside through the open door. "Where's Ada?"

  "Home," Mr. Haskill mumbled. "She's sent me with a list of things she needs and wants me to borrow." He looked apologetically at Emma. "I tried to tell her that she can't take from the neighbors, that we'll have to ride to town for some of these things—those we can afford— but she—well, she insisted."

  Megan could imagine how insistent Mrs. Haskill could be.

  "Never mind, Farley," Emma said. She took the list from his hand. "Take off your coat and rest. Ben can pour some coffee for you—^that is, ground hickory."

  Mr. Haskill shrugged. ^That's all I'm used to."

  He looked so miserable that Megan felt sorry for him. She helped him take off his coat and hung it on the rack for him.

  Ennma read the list, nodding or shaking her head at each item. "I can give you some sugar. It's brown sugar, though, not the white Ada is used to."

  "Brown's fine."

  "And some sassafras. It's not on the list, but if she brews it in tea and drinks it good and hot it will help take away her headache. I don't have the headache powders she wants."

  Mr. Haskill nodded.

  For just a minute Emma closed her eyes and pursed

  her lips as if she were trying to make a difficult decision. She gave a little sigh and said, "I do have one down pillow that 1 can lend her. My mother made it for me."

  Mr. Haskill looked even more miserable than before. "It's not right to take it."

  "What are neighbors for?" Emma said. "Of course you'll take it to Ada, if it will make her happy." She shook her head. "But I don't own a down quilt. I can give you a pieced quilt, though, that should be good and warm."

  "I can't see that any of these things will make her happy," Mr. Haskill blurted out. "She thought we'd have a real house. I should have told her most folks out here start with a dugout. But Ada didn't know that. It's my fault. I guess it never occurred to me that it would matter so much to her. She's—well, she's been crying ever since I took her home."

  Megan felt another brief pang of guilt for anticipating Mrs. Haskill's discomfort and laughing about it.

  Emma patted Mr. Haskill's arm. "We'll help Ada to feel at home," she said. "Everything's strange to her now, but she'll come around."

  "She wants a real house," Farley said. "She wants one built of lumber, and I can't afford to buy the logs yet."

  "Tell you what, Farley," Ben said. "Why don't I help you cut sod bricks and build you a house up away from the river?"

  Mr. Haskill brightened. "Do you think Ada would settle for a sod house?"

  "It's better than a dugout," Ben said. "It would have more than one window. We could make two rooms in it, and Ada would feel like she had a real house."

  "That's a kind offer. I can't thank you enough," Mr. Haskill said, and his eyes glistened in the lamplight.

  "ril put together as many of the things on this list as Fve got on hand," Emma said, "and you stop worrying about Ada."

  As Enmia set to work, Megan sat on the footstool and studied Mr. Haskill. He took a long sip of his coffee, cradling the cup in his hands, and said, "I guess she*s lonely for home."

  "It's only natural for now," Ben said. "She'll get over it"

  "I s'pose. I wonder how long it will take. Maybe a couple of weeks or so?"

  "No," Megan told them. "Much longer than that."

  Ben and Mr. Haskill looked at her with surprise. "The loneliness is inside," Megan said, pressing her hands against her stomach, "and sometimes you forget that it's there. But other times it makes a picture in your nund of the people you love—the people you left behind—and your stomach aches with the hurt of it all."

  "Sounds like this is familiar to you," Mr. Haskill murmured, and Megan nodded.

  "Even when we're laughing and talking sometimes the loneliness comes. I never know when it will happen."


  "I think I understand," Mr. Haskill said.

  "I think I do, too," Megan said. "About Mrs. Haskill, I mean."

  The expression in Ben's eyes, as he looked at her, changed from concern to pride, and Megan smiled at him, no longer caring what Mrs. Haskill had said.

  Four days later Ben left before dawn, taking his wagon to the nearest town to get the iron strips on two of the wheels repaired. Soon after he had gone, Mr. Haskill arrived at the Browders' house, hallooing and shouting even before he reached the front door.

  "It's Ada!" he cried in terror to Emma and Megan, who had rushed outside to meet him. "She's down sick with the fever!"

  "It's too cold for the mosquitoes to be out, carrying the ague," Emma said, thinking aloud. "It's more likely that she's taken a chill. Does she have a cough?"

  Mr. Haskill frowned. "Not exactly. More of a roughening of the voice."

  "Good," Enuna said. "I don't think it's serious. I'll give you something for her to drink that wiU help her sleep and some mustard seed to make a poultice, in case the roughness develops into a chest cough." She glanced toward the iron stove. "It won't take long to pluck a chicken and cook up a strong broth. I'll see that Ada gets it as soon as it's ready."

  78

  "ru help," Megan offered.

  "Thanks to you both," Mr. Haskill said. He looked greatly relieved, although there were such deep circles under his eyes that Megan wondered if he could be getting ill himself.

  "For goodness' sakes, Farley, shell be all right," Enima said. "We all take to our beds now and then. It's the way life is."

  "It's because the house is damp," Farley said. "Ada said so."

  "Damp? With a drought that has lasted more than a year?" Emma paused, and when she spoke again her voice was low and gentle. "Ada just isn't used to our ways yet, Farley. Be patient, and stop blaming yourself for everything she doesn't like. Soon she'll be blooming just like one of the prairie roses."

  "You think so?"

  "Why doubt it? She's strong and has a great deal more purpose to her than many women I've met. There's no reason she can't put those attributes to good use. Just you be patient."

  Mr. Haskill looked considerably cheered as he left with the package Emma had prepared for him. The front door had no sooner shut behind him than Emma, snugly wrapped in one of Ben's heavy coats, was out the back door. Megan soon heard a loud squawking in the henhouse, and shortly Emma returned, an onion from the root cellar in one hand, a limp, gutted chicken in the other. Most of the large feathers had been plucked, but Megan set to work to pull the others, saving them carefully to add to Emma's hoard. As soon as the bag was full there'd be enough soft feathers to fill the small quilt Enmia was making for the baby.

  When Megan had finished her chore, Emma singed the

  skin with a hot coal, washed the carcass in boiling water, and dropped it with the peeled and sliced onion into a large pot of water. She added some salt and two dried bay leaves and nodded with satisfaction. "This soup will be even better than medicine for her."

  Megan noticed that Emma was moving more slowly than usual, stopping to rub her back with one hand. She knew what she could do to help. "I'll take the soup to Mrs. Haskill," she said.

  Enuna shook her head. "I don't want you exposed to her illness."

  "I can get to the Haskills' house better and faster than you can, and I rarely come down iU. I was very good at nursing the others in my fanuly."

  Emma snuled. "Fm sure you were."

  "I'd like to do something for Mrs. Haskill," Megan added.

  "Because you feel guilty?" When Megan nodded in surprise, Emma said, "I do, too." She took the lid from the pot over the fire, stirred the contents, and replaced the lid with a satisfied smile. "Guilt is not the best reason for doing things, I must adnut, but sometimes it does get the job done." She put her hands on Megan's shoulders. "We had reason to be angry at what she said, but the poor woman spoke out of ignorance."

  Megan nodded. She hoped that Emma wouldn't begin to talk about forgiving. Ma had done that the day Megan came home in tears because two big girls had knocked her into the street and stolen the grocery money she was carrying. She hadn't been able to forgive those girls as her own stomach churned with hunger, and she didn't want to forgive Mrs. Haskill too quickly, not when her hard words about the Irish still burned in Megan's mind. Fortunately Emma gave Megan a quick kiss on the forehead and set about other household tasks.

  Megan struggled into the heavy coat Emma had cut down for her and braved the chilly north winds in order to take care of chores in the bam.

  When Emma called, Megan ran to get the pot of soup, well bundled to stay warm. She hurried down the road and across the plank bridge over the barely trickhng river to the Haskill house.

  Except for the underground root cellar, she had never been inside a dugout before. The one window let in very little light and, although the room was larger than she had imagined, the air was thick and stale. In a far comer of the room was a double bed, and in the bed lay Mrs. Haskill, her eyes and nose red—more from weeping than from chilblains, Megan decided.

  Mr. Haskill fumbled with the soup pot as he took it from Megan, almost dropping it. "You have your farm chores to do, Mr. Haskill," she said. "FU take good care of your wife."

  He looked so relieved that it was hard for Megan not to smile as he rushed from the room. She spooned some of the steaming, fragrant soup into a bowl and carried it to Mrs. Haskill.

  "I don't feel like eating," Mrs. Haskill said and turned her face to the hard-packed dirt wall. Her dark hair clung in damp strings to her face, and there were deep shadows under her eyes.

  In spite of her dislike, Megan felt a pang of pity for the woman. "You'll feel better for having something this good in your stomach," she said. She put down the bowl and pulled a ladder-back chair next to the bed. Before Mrs. Haskill realized what was hi^^pening, Megan had hoisted her to a sitting position and plumped up Emma's down pillow behind her, adding an extra one, tightly stuffed with chicken feathers, to support her shoulders.

  Megan had often helped to make Da conrfortable in this same way during his illness. She thought of his gentle smile and the love in his eyes as she had carefully brought each spoonful of soup to his lips.

  Megan would have done anything for Da because she loved him, but there was no way in the world that she could love Mrs. Haskill. Still, the woman needed caring for, and Megan was determined to do a good job of it.

  "Now," Megan said firmly as she seated herself and picked up the bowl and spoon, "you'll have some of this fine soup that Enuna Browder made for you."

  She filled the spoon and held it out Obediently Mrs. HaskiU opened her mouth and swallowed the soup. By the third spoonful, a little color began to come into her cheeks. When the spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl, Megan asked, "Do you want more?"

  Mrs. Haskill rubbed her nose with a damp cotton handkerchief and sniffed. "Perhaps a little more, although it's lacking a bit in flavor. I don't suppose Mrs. Browder thought of seasoning the broth with celery tops."

  "At this time of the year there is no celery to be had," Megan answered. She filled the bowl again and spoonfed Mrs. Haskill, who just lay there and allowed herself to be fed.

  "When you plant your vegetable garden in the spring," Megan said, "maybe you could plant some celery seed in it. We're going to plant cucumbers, and Emma promised to show me how to make pickles."

  Mrs. Haskill shuddered. She pushed the empty bowl away and dabbed at her lips with the handkerchief.

  Megan tried to think of something to cheer her up. "Did Mr. Haskill tell you that he and Mr. Browder are going to build you a new house?" she asked.

  Mrs. Haskill's eyes flashed, and she snapped, "A house built of earth!"

  "What kind of house did you live in when you were in Boston?"

  '*A lovely brick house!"

  "Well then," Megan said, "you lived in an earth house. That's what bricks are made of. I know, because my father helped to build b
rick houses."

  "It*s not the same," Mrs. Haskill said and sighed. "I don't expect anyone to understand." She shivered. 'This dreadful house is so dark and cold."

  Megan nodded. "Especially over here in the comer. Hop up, and we'll move the bed closer to the stove."

  Mrs. Haskill tugged the quilt up to her neck. "Why, I'll do no such thing!" she complained. "Why should I let a little slip of a girl order me about?"

  "Very well. Then I'll just pull my chair closer to the stove," Megan said. She did so and let out a long, contented sigh. If Mike had been there, he would have groaned and told her she was overdoing it, but Megan could think of no reasonable way to deal with Mrs. Haskill. The easiest solution would be to let her remain cold, but Megan had taken on Mrs. Haskill as a responsibility, and she was determined to help the poor woman, whether she wanted help or not "Ah, yes," Megan said loudly. "It's much more comfortable over here."

  Mrs. HaskiU watched Megan for only a few moments before she said, "I suppose that together we could manage to move the bed." She slipped from under the quilt, her long flannel gown flapping around her legs, and tugged at the head of the bed. With Megan pulling at the foot, they slid the bed across the hard-packed floor until it was near the stove.

  Megan moved the soup to the back of the small stove to stay warm. Then she took some dried cow chips from the basket, dropped them onto the coals, and replaced the heavy iron lid.

  S3

  Mrs. Haskill shuddered, closing her eyes, and Megan saw a tear run down her cheek. "Would you like some of the medicine to help you sleep?" she asked.

  "No," Mrs. Haskill snapped. "I'm not sleepy."

  "Would you like me to tell you a story?" Emma was still delighted each time Megan told her one of the Irish legends that had been Da's favorites.

  "I am not in the mood for childish stories."

  "How about one of Mr. Aesop's fables? They each have a lesson to think about, although that's the best I can say for them."