The shovel jerked from my grasp, and because I was already off balance from the motion, I nearly fell. I caught myself by propping my hand against the side of the wagon. Dad glared at me, and I met his gaze head-on. We stared each other down for thirty seconds, and the anger swelled a little more in my chest as each second passed. Dad shook his head.
Bob, who was sitting in the driver’s seat, clapped a glove to his mouth, trying to muffle a laugh. “Little Bo Peep,” he muttered.
I went for him, and the next thing I knew, a gloved hand smacked me across the cheek. I froze. I couldn’t move. My cheek stung, and I wanted like hell to hold my hand to it. My father had never hit me before. My jaw stiffened. I heard Bob sniffle behind me.
“I’m sorry, son. But goddamit…” Dad stood there looking at me, but he finally turned his back, unable to continue. “Goddamit…” he repeated.
“Your turn.” Bob lay sprawled on the floor, an old coffee can full of marbles in front of him.
I lowered The Red Badge of Courage from my face, still angry from that morning. “You think I can’t keep track of a two-man rotation? I know it’s my turn.” My jaw was sore, stiff, my pride still bruised. Dad had not mentioned the incident again.
“Boys!” Dad was planted at the window, looking toward Alzada.
I stood and laid my book down, then bundled up, donning my wool coat and cap, and my gloves. I grabbed our two largest wooden milk buckets and stepped outside. The snow had stopped for the moment, but it had snowed off and on all day, and would likely start again. Our pastures glistened with white, and the clouds mirrored the downy blanket they had created.
I took a deep breath, smelling nothing but the sweet scent of clean, cold air. But I was in no mood to appreciate it. I tromped into the yard, set the buckets down, and scooped snow into them. Once they were full, I straightened my back and turned an eye toward the road. I saw no sign of anyone, so I hauled the buckets inside, setting them with a clump next to the wood stove.
Dad paced, making a strained attempt to not look out the window. Finally, he gave up pretending and parked in front of the frosted pane.
He had reason for concern. In that previous brutal winter, several people had frozen to death in the county. In the worst of conditions, the trip from Alzada took a couple of hours. Mom had planned to stay until noon. It was now four o’clock.
Because Dad and I had not exchanged a word since that morning, I didn’t let it show, but I was just as concerned as he was. I scooped snow from the buckets into two large pots on the stove. Then I added wood to the fire, bent my head over the pot, and watched as the cast iron warmed. The snow turned a dull silver around the edges before dissolving.
“Here comes somebody!” Dad shouted, half standing. His body coiled, as if he was going to run right out the door. But he didn’t move. He studied the horizon. “There’s two horses,” he announced.
“Two?” I couldn’t maintain my indifference at the prospect of Mom returning. I moved to the window.
“Yeah.” Dad took a step, and I thought he’d really leave this time. But he stayed at the window, rubbing his neck. “Gary must have decided to ride along with them to make sure they got back all right.”
“Probably,” I agreed. Bob joined us at the window. “Does that look like Gary?”
Hard to tell,” Dad said. “They’re not close enough.” The snow started drifting across the window again.
Dad rushed over and grabbed his coat, with Bob right on his heels. “You comin’, Blake?”
“Nah, I’ll wait.” Although I was happy Mom was back, I didn’t see much point in rushing out into the cold just to say hello a half minute sooner. I pulled my gloves on and emptied the pots of boiling water into our big metal tub. Then I dumped snow into the pots, which hissed on the stove.
Outside, moments later, there was a hell of a chatter, then feet stomping, and a round of laughter. A rush of cold air hit me as the door flew open. Dad burst in.
“Look who’s here!” Dad’s cheeks were as red as a bad sunburn. He stepped to one side.
“Jack?” I stood transfixed. Jack stood proud and tall in an olive-green uniform, his cheeks flushed, his nose running. As much as I hated my brother, I didn’t realize how deep it was rooted until I saw him standing there in our doorway. I turned back to my pot of water to hide my face. Nevertheless, the sight of my older brother also sent a strange thrill through me. The mixture of these emotions left me paralyzed.
“That’s a hell of a welcome,” Jack said. “Come on, little brother.” I heard his footsteps moving toward me. “I been out there protecting you from all those enemies.” Jack’s jovial, lighthearted tone was completely new, unfamiliar, and hard to gauge. “Come on, Blake. Didn’t you miss me?”
I shrugged.
“Ah, don’t worry, Jack. Blake’s had a bad day,” Dad said. “Come on, Blake. Don’t spoil a good thing here.”
I kept my back to the whole scene, feeling betrayed by my father. Mom and Muriel came in, stomping the snow from their boots. They made a beeline for the wood stove. I moved out of their way, and Jack joined them. They all warmed their hands.
I was overwhelmed by the power of my anger. For the past year, every blister, every pulled muscle, and every bruise I’d sustained in my work on the ranch had been magnified by the knowledge that Jack’s absence was partly to blame. My tongue was lodged hard against my teeth. I felt as if I would be better off leaving the house.
Jack’s olive-green overcoat stretched to his knees. His earlobes were shiny red beneath his watch cap, and the uniform made him look taller, although we still stood eye-to-eye. His left arm was in a sling.
“What happened, son?” Dad asked.
“Ah, it’s nothing,” Jack said, lifting the arm slightly. “I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Oh, sure, sure.” Dad nodded.
I felt dizzy. We had just endured the most horrendous year and a half of our lives, a year and a half of lost livestock, frayed nerves, strained backs, and constant worry, and here stood the cause of much of it, receiving a hero’s welcome. I thought of how often I had tempered my desire to lash out at my father, and that while I had quietly devoted my life to this place, my brother had betrayed us all, and now he was the savior.
“Who’s ready for a bath?” Dad asked as he dumped the last two pots of boiling water into the tub.
“You must be reading my mind,” Jack said, laughing.
“Muriel, you go after Jack,” Mom said. “Then I believe I’ll have to take a turn. That hot water would feel awful good about now.”
Jack pulled the old cotton curtain around the tub, and his clothes dropped to the floor. I resented even this, his gall of climbing into the bath, as it had always been traditional in our family that the kids went first. Not only was he not paying for his betrayal, but he was asking for special treatment, and getting it. Dad fired question after question at Jack, as we listened to the water splashing, and as Jack answered them in his new character—this confident, joking manner—the laughter filled the room, pushing me further into the corner.
Steam rose above the curtain. Mom and Muriel shed their coats, and huddled closer to the fire as Bob tromped outside and filled the wood buckets again, then emptied them into the pots. Mom took a couple of bricks from the top of the wood stove and laid them on the floor. She took off her boots and laid her stockinged feet on the bricks, lifting a toe that stuck through a hole in her sock. “Mmmm,” she sighed.
Jack stayed in the bath forever, and the banter continued.
“So was there a good turnout?” Dad asked Mom.
“There sure was.” Mom rubbed her hands together. “Especially considering this storm.”
“I even got a chance to vote,” Jack shouted above the sloshing water.
“Who’d you vote for?” Bob asked.
“I’ll tell you one thing, I sure didn’t vote for that Socialist Rankin.”
I looked at Mom, who idolized Jeanette Rankin, the first woman ever ele
cted to Congress. But the mood could not be spoiled by anything.
“That woman voted against the war, can you believe that?” Jack shouted. “Of all the crazy things that happen in Washington, that’s got to rank right up there with the craziest. She was the only one.”
Mom shook her head again, but she had a slight smile on her face.
“Anyway, enough about politics,” Jack continued. “I’m just giving you a hard time, Mom. I know she’s your hero.”
“Yes,” Dad agreed. “Yeah. Let’s talk about something else.”
“All right…well, since you opened the door there,” Jack said. “How much land we got now? You guys buy any more land?”
The question seemed odd, and out of place, but the pause that it brought was only brief, as it seemed that everyone was willing to overlook everything on this day.
“Yeah, actually,” Dad said. “Yeah. We did get some more land.”
“The reason I’m asking,” Jack said, “is that I got an announcement.” He paused, amid a flurry of splashing water.
“Well, don’t keep us hanging here. What is it?” Dad scooted to the front of his chair, like an anxious kid.
“You’re gonna marry that gal, aren’t you?” Bob squealed.
Jack laughed loud and long. “You got it, Bob. You’re right. She’ll be here in a few weeks.”
“That’s great!” Dad exclaimed. Muriel started jumping up and down. And Mom was beaming, her face flushed.
But I didn’t really hear the part about the wife so much. I was more focused on the part about “a few weeks.” Up to that point, I assumed that Jack was just home for a visit, on leave.
“Are you staying?” I asked. “Are you planning to stay?”
“Hell, yeah,” Jack said. “I’m done. I’m home.”
I turned to Dad. “Are you going to let him stay here?”
There was a short pause as my father frowned at me, and everyone else stopped what they were doing.
“Why not? Blake, what’s gotten into you? Of course we are. You know as well as anyone that we can use the help. Besides, he’s going to have a family.”
Finally, we could hear Jack climb from the tub. “Damn, Blake, you are in a bad mood,” he said.
A silence settled into the house. For several seconds, no one spoke or moved. Only a slight crackle of fire from the wood stove echoed through the room. But Jack started laughing, quietly, from behind the curtain. He pulled his clothes on, still laughing. “Damn,” he said. “I forgot how grumpy living out here makes people. I might have to think twice about this.”
Dad laughed nervously, and the rest of the family looked at me with wide eyes, as if they had no idea what to expect from me, as if I was a different person than I’d been that morning, and every other day of the sixteen years they’d known me. For the first time in my life, I felt like a stranger in my own home. I felt as if I was the only one there who was looking at the picture that was our family and seeing the opposite of what everyone else saw.
I now know that I was just too young to realize how much it meant to my parents that Jack had come home. I was too young to realize how many people didn’t get to enjoy a similar scene during those years. I was too young to know how lucky we were.
So I stood in the middle of that room, staring at the floor, feeling all eyes on me, humiliated, with my brother’s quiet laughter only adding to the humiliation. I turned and walked back to the corner.
There was little else said. Muriel took her bath. To my relief, when Jack went to bed, he said he would sleep in the old homestead house. As the water in the tub cooled, and Mom prepared to take her turn, Bob turned from his marbles.
“Your turn,” he said.
I shoved a finger down between my neck and the new starched collar that rubbed like sandpaper against my skin. I loosened my tie.
Jack punched me in the shoulder. “You look pretty spiffy there, little brother.”
I rolled my eyes, and turned away from him. The train station was quiet. Although the cold had broken, it was not a good time to travel with the heavy snow. It was also several weeks before the holidays. So our family accounted for almost half of the people waiting for the 47 Line to arrive from the East.
We were all wearing our finest clothes, as Jack and Rita’s wedding was planned for just a few hours after she arrived. But because I had grown three inches, I was the only one with a new suit.
The three weeks since Jack’s return had been horrible. Although the subject wasn’t one I put much thought into at the time, Jack’s absence had affected his position to take over the ranch. By the singular act of coming back home, Jack had stepped back in front of the line. Not only that, but by bringing a wife into the picture, he had strengthened his hold on the position. Subconsciously, I think I realized that the reward for my loyalty to the ranch and my family would be a polite, thankless escort to my old place in line.
On the other hand, it was the first time since we’d lost George and Katie that my parents seemed relatively happy. Jack’s status as a war veteran inspired a sense of pride in them. And Jack surprised me by not taking advantage of his celebrity to avoid working. As soon as his unexplained wound healed, he took to the fields early each morning. But I was skeptical of the whole “new man” routine. I had a strong feeling that Jack wasn’t giving us the whole story.
“How much longer?” Bob asked, tugging at his jacket sleeves, which were just barely long enough.
“Any time now,” Jack said. “Just hold your horses there, partner.” He scuffed Bob’s head.
Moments later, the faint trail of smoke appeared in the distance. Jack moved to the end of the platform, leaning so far forward that he was in danger of falling. He stood on his toes. I’d never seen him so excited. My parents stood right behind him. And Bob and Muriel just behind them. Only I hung back, thinking that as unpleasant as this was, I couldn’t let my mood affect an occasion that was so important to everyone else.
The train grew, its flag of smoke unfurling behind it. And the closer it got, the more animated Jack became. He bounced up and down at the knees.
The locomotive slowed, easing toward us, and then it passed, and then a few freight cars passed, and finally the passenger cars passed. Jack ran alongside, jumping to try and see inside. There appeared to be less than ten passengers on the train. It stopped, and the conductor opened the door, and two people stepped off, and then I saw why Jack was so excited. I understood immediately.
It wasn’t that Rita was beautiful, although she was about as pretty as any woman I’d ever seen. Her face was round, with broad features, full lips, and big green eyes. A band of freckles crossed her cheeks, from one ear to the other. She wore a wide-brimmed hat, green with a tiny green rose tucked against the crown, lying along the brim like a tired baby.
Rita also had perfect teeth. But what got me was the way she looked at everyone. Her eyes had an open quality, a straightforward sincerity, that had a powerful effect. As Jack introduced Rita to each member of the family, her eyes took that person in like a warm pool. She engulfed each of us with a look that oozed with curiosity and a willingness to welcome, and to be welcomed.
I stood there feeling as if I had just run several miles. As if breathing was an ability I had been very capable of at some time in the distant past. A lost talent. And then it was my turn. Rita took my hand, saying, “Blake, I’ve been so anxious to meet you. I’ve just been so excited to meet all of you.”
And she whirled around, turning those incredible eyes to each of us, in turn, and I had still not moved, or breathed, or spoken. From that first moment, I was hopelessly in love.
4
summer 1921
Pioneer Days was an annual event that drew a huge crowd, not only from Carter County but from the surrounding areas, including South Dakota and Wyoming. In 1920, nearly a thousand people made the trip, and we expected about the same the next year, despite the huge number of homesteaders that had packed up their belongings and moved on.
&
nbsp; The Homestead Act and a vigorous campaign by the railroads had brought hordes of adventurous souls from the east to our little corner of Montana. And for a while, the land had played a cruel trick. From 1910 to 1917, all the propaganda that had been spread about this area’s fertile soil was supported by record rainfall, as well as milder winters. A man named Campbell proposed a ridiculous theory that abundant years were progressive, with the abundance increasing each year. There were plenty of people naïve, or perhaps dreamy, enough to believe it, and the evidence had even the skeptics considering that he might be onto something.
So the honyockers rumbled out in massive numbers, made a few dollars, and while they carried on about how generous the land was, those of us who knew better could do nothing but nod and hope that once Montana showed its true face, it would be gentle about it.
Instead, in 1918 and 1919, we suffered through less than ten inches of moisture. That was hard enough on the people who were just hanging in there. But it was actually the winters that caught our new Montanans off guard. They were willing to work hard, and we rarely heard complaints about having to pound away at the rock-hard gumbo just to break a furrow or two. What they weren’t prepared for was snow piled as high as their heads, or cold air that froze their tears to their faces. They didn’t expect to spend days at a time just sitting, waiting for the subzero temperatures to break. And they didn’t expect the devastating effect of being trapped in your own home—the cabin fever, the loneliness. Scores of banks—nearly half—all over Montana and the Dakotas had closed. The population of Carter County had decreased by a quarter. So we did what our people had always done during troubled times. We gathered.
Dad covered the two miles from our ranch to Albion quickly, parking the pickup amongst the herd of similar mud-splattered vehicles, and we piled out. Albion consisted of only three buildings—the school, the post office, which also had a small store and rooms in the back for the postmaster-storekeeper, and the town hall. But the buildings weren’t even visible in the midst of several massive canvas tents. We entered a sea of hats, bonnets, and oiled hair. Bob and Muriel tore past me, toward the tent where the carnival games were set up. Muriel had a bow stretching out behind her head like wings, and it had already started to come undone.
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