The Reaper's Song

by Lauraine Snelling

  “Maybe he rode over to talk with Haakan.” Manda sneaked a peek at the hooks where Zeb had hung his rifle. The wall looked naked without the gun in place.

  Katy followed Manda’s gaze. “Now what would he want with his rifle?”

  “Maybe he went hunting. We need some meat.”

  “Let’s just go about our chores. We’ll give him what for when he gets back, you can count on that.” Katy set to bustling around the kitchen, frying bacon and plopping eggs in the snapping grease.

  “Ow!” She drew back and wiped the spatter off on her apron. Tears came to her eyes and she dashed them away.

  Manda knew the tears weren’t for the burn on her hand. Right about now she could cheerfully whup Mister Zebulun MacCallister with his own leather reins. What had got into that man? She wandered into Katy and Zeb’s bedroom. The envelope propped against the pillow caught her attention immediately. She snatched it up and ran back into the kitchen.

  “Katy, read this!”

  “Now what?” Katy turned from her cooking. “Oh, Lord in heaven, what has that man gone and done now?” She pushed the frying pan to the cool side of the stove and, taking the letter, sank onto one of the benches. Fingers trembling, she opened the envelope and unfolded the single sheet of paper.

  Dear Katy, Manda, and Deborah,

  First of all, know that I love you all with a love that only God can give, and that is why I have to leave. Many times I have wanted to tell you what sent me from home to the west. I shot a neighbor. No matter that it was self-defense, we figured the only way out was for me to leave home. I did, and finally found another home with you, and this one is far harder to leave.

  But the family of the man I shot is still after me. I met up with one of them in Cincinnati, and she shot me. It is only a flesh wound, but I cannot have them coming for you, so I am heading farther west. May our God keep you safe in His loving arms. Maybe someday I can come home again, but do not wait for me. Go on with your life with my blessing. I love you far too much to keep you from whatever happiness is in store for you.

  Your loving husband and father, Zebulun MacCallister

  “So that’s why he looked so peaked,” Manda said, rubbing the inside of her cheek with the tip of her tongue. “He looked right bad.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that?” Katy grabbed her arm. “Manda!”

  “’Cause he said to get on over there and get you and so I did. Never thought he’d leave.” Manda choked on the last word. “I’m sorry, Katy.” She struggled against the tears, her body rigid with the effort.

  Katy put an arm around Manda’s waist and drew her close. “Manda dear, this isn’t your fault. You can’t take care of the whole world.”

  “But, but if’n I—” The tears came in earnest. She buried her face in Katy’s shoulder.

  “If’n nothing. Zeb made this choice, and now we have to deal with that.” Katy bit back her own tears. Right now there was no place she would rather be than held by her mor as she was holding Manda.

  Guess this means you’re all grown up, my girl. While she still struggled with speaking English, all her thoughts played out in Norwegian. “Uff da!” One minute she wanted to strangle the man and the next her heart broke for want of him. He must be sore afraid. But he’s afraid for me and the girls too. Letter said so. What kind of people are there who . . . But she knew what kind. Norwegians could seek a vendetta too. Like the Book said, the sins of the fathers are visited unto the third and fourth generation.

  Father God, help! I don’t even know how to pray. Help us. Please help us. The “please” continued as she hugged Manda again and got to her feet. “Come, saddle our horses. We have some serious riding to do.”

  “What? What are we gonna do?” Manda snagged both of their hats off the pegs by the door.

  “We’re going after him, that’s what. If he’s as sick as you thought, he won’t get far.”

  “How will you track him? You know how to do that?”

  “No, but Metiz and Baptiste do.” She slammed the door behind them.

  They rode into the yard at Ingeborg’s at a dead gallop.

  As soon as she told the story, Ingeborg sent Thorliff to saddle horses and sent Baptiste for his grandmere. “The men are all at Baards’ harvesting.”

  “That’s okay. We don’t need them. Manda, you stay here and watch out for Deborah.” She hugged the smaller girl to her. “We’ll be home soon as we can, so you stay here with Andrew, as you did today.” She ticked things off on her fingers. “You’ll need to go home, though, and care for the livestock. Ingeborg, can I take some things from your medicinals? He said he’d been shot, so I’ll need bandages and whatever else you think.”

  “Of course.” Ingeborg gathered up what she knew to be necessary, including a small kettle, and filled a canvas pouch with them. Another bag she filled with meat, cheese, and bread. “Andrew, get a jug of water from the well.” She looked up.

  Metiz trotted up the steps and into the house. “Me ready.”

  “Metiz, you have a flint along?”

  The old woman nodded. “And simples.”

  “Inge, will you tell my mor what is happening when she comes back from Penny’s?”

  “Ja, I will.” Ingeborg took a woolen blanket off the bed and wrapped everything in it. She handed it to Katy. “Go with God.”

  “He always go with us.” Metiz slung her bags over her shoulder.

  “The horses are ready,” Baptiste called from outside.

  Within seconds the three were mounted and loping down the road. When they reached the horse farm, they circled, looking for tracks.

  “Trail easy to see.” Metiz pointed to hoofprints spaced far apart, with dirt thrown up at the road. “He riding hard. North, not west like he say.”

  They crossed the ford on the Park River, near its confluence with the Red River, and continued north along the banks of the Red River. With the sun sinking beyond the horizon and setting the world and clouds on fire, Katy continued her prayers. Help us! Help us! kept time with the pounding hooves and with her heartbeat.

  Was he still alive? They hadn’t come across a body yet. If he was going to Canada, due north was the easiest track. And while she could no longer see hoofprints in the growing darkness, Metiz seemed positive they were on the right track.

  Stars sprinkled the heavens when they heard a horse whinny. Katy’s horse answered.

  “That’s Zeb’s horse. These two became fast friends.” Katy pulled her mount to a halt.

  “Zeb! Where are you?”

  Only the wind rustling the cottonwood leaves along the bank of the Red River answered.

  Katy called again. This time a horse answered. They followed the sound.

  Even in the dark, the horse looked darker, standing under the arms of a huge oak. Buster nickered, the sound friendly in the night. He bent his head and nosed the body lying at his feet.

  Katy hit the ground before her horse stopped. God, don’t let him be dead. Please. She knelt at his side and took his hand. Still warm. Touched the side of his neck and felt a pulse.

  “He’s alive.”

  Metiz knelt beside her. “Not his fault.”

  Baptiste tethered the horses and joined them. “How bad is he?”

  “Some bad.” Metiz listened to Zeb’s chest and felt his head. “Hot.” She turned to her grandson. “Dig hole for fire.” To Katy. “Make him drink.” Getting to her feet, she brought the canteen from the horse, along with her bags. Handing the water to Katy, she muttered, “I get wood. More water.”

  She returned quickly and poured water from a deerskin pouch, soaking Zeb’s shirt and pants. “Cool him.”

  Katy brushed the mosquitoes away and put an arm under Zeb’s neck. “Come on, Zebulun MacCallister, you got to drink. And don’t you go dying on me, you hear?” When he moaned in response, she put the canteen to his mouth and trickled a bit of water over his lips. When he licked it away, she did the same again. “If you’d open your mouth, you stubborn thing, yo
u could drink better. Metiz says you got to drink a whole lot.”

  He did as told without opening his eyes.

  In a few minutes Metiz and Baptiste had a small fire crackling in a shallow hole. Baptiste used a branch to clear the brush and dried grass away from the fire pit. At the same time he fed small sticks to the growing flame.

  In the flickering light, Metiz knelt beside Zeb again. She slit his shirt with the tip of her knife and peeled it back. The blood-crusted bandage stunk. Gently she cut the bandage in half and let Katy peel that back. “Bring lighted stick.”

  Baptiste pulled a burning brand from the fire and held it for them to see better.

  “Bad.”

  “What will you do?”

  “Burn with knife.”

  “Oh.” Katy swallowed hard. She leaned back to get a breath of clean air. “Will that be enough?”

  “Great Spirit knows.” Metiz set the end of the knife in the hottest part of the fire. Baptiste already had water near to boiling in the kettle. “You wash him.”

  Katy took the hard lump of soap and a rag from the pouch, dipped them in the hot water, and worked up a lather. She sponged gently at the edges of the wound until she realized Zeb was still unconscious. Then she scrubbed harder, keeping herself from gagging at the smell only by superhuman will.

  “Hold him.” Metiz beckoned to both Katy and Baptiste. The boy took one arm and, crossing it over the man’s chest, clung to them both. Katy sat on his feet.

  Metiz looked skyward, murmured something unintelligible, and applied the flat side of the knife to the wound. The flesh sizzled. Zeb shrieked and bucked against the pain.

  Baptiste lay across his belly. Katy picked herself up from the pummeled grass and took hold of his boots again. Her arm pounded where he had kicked her.

  Metiz held the knife back in the fire.

  Crickets sang their song of summer. Mosquitoes swarmed, their whine loud in Katy’s ears. “Again?” She knew the answer before she asked.

  This time both she and Baptiste were better prepared. But this time Zeb screamed in agony. Tears streamed down her face, dropping on his pants leg.

  Metiz sniffed the wound before answering.

  When the old woman shook her, Katy collapsed across Zeb’s lower body but only for a moment. “What do you need me to do?” She pushed herself to her knees.

  “Mash this.” Metiz handed her a mixture of herbs and roots. “Mix with hot water. Put paste on, then bind up.”

  Katy did as she was told, using the handle of the knife to mash the mixture in the tin cup she’d brought. She added a few drops of water and ground them again, adding more water until a paste formed.

  She shuddered when she looked at the charred wound but smeared the paste in place. Then taking the rolled strips of cloth, she bound them over the poultice and around his chest. As she tied the final knot, she heard him mumble something. Leaning close to his mouth, she heard “water.”

  Metiz handed her the canteen. She dribbled the precious clean liquid into his open mouth, just enough for him to swallow and then again.

  He sighed, “Good.”

  “Now, we don’t know what kind of condition that boy is in, so we just ask that all of you pray for him. And pray for Katy and Metiz, that they find him before he dies, if he is that bad wounded.” Agnes sat down again.

  Everyone in church bowed their heads while Reverend Solberg led them in prayer. “Lord God, we bring Zeb MacCallister before thee. We don’t know what all has gone on, but thou dost. Keep him in thy tender care. Protect him from whatever and whoever might try to harm him. We ask that thy Holy Spirit intercede on his behalf before thy throne of grace.” At his “Amen,” all those present joined in.

  At the end of the final hymn, Deborah looked up at Ingeborg. “I asked God to bring my new pa back to me. Manda says it don’t do no good to ask God, but my ma said God answers the prayers of his children, and I’m one of his children, right?”

  “Right.” Ingeborg glanced over at Manda who sat with her arms clamped across her skinny chest and her chin squared so you could feel her snarl.

  “Manda is too, huh?”

  “Ja, she is.”

  “Even though she’s mad at God?”

  “Even then.”

  Deborah sighed. “That’s good.”

  “Ah, child, yes, that is good. We are all His children.”

  “Grown-ups too?”

  “Grown-ups too.”

  Deborah settled against Ingeborg’s side, reaching over to tickle Astrid under the chin. Astrid giggled and tried to tickle Deborah back until Ingeborg hushed them both.

  After the service, Anner and Hildegunn stopped beside Ingeborg. “I want you to know we are praying for them,” Anner told her. “Sorry his secret caught up to him, but if he makes it through this . . .” Anner choked up and cleared his throat. “Well, he’s a fine young man, and I wish him and Katy the very best.” He turned a bit to look at Hildegunn. “We know the power of prayer, don’t we? Especially of those around here. I’m living proof of how God answers prayer.”

  “You and all the rest of us.” Ingeborg shook his left hand. “Thank you, Anner. Come children, Bridget, Haakan is waiting with the wagon.”

  When they were all aboard and driving down the road, Haakan turned to Ingeborg. “Think I’ll take the wagon and head north. I get the feeling that’s what I’m supposed to do.”

  “Then that is what you should do. Let’s pad it with hay and quilts in case he is too sick to ride his horse. We can pack food and things while you get it ready.”

  “Pa, can I go?” Thorliff asked.

  Haakan shook his head. “Someone needs to be home to do chores. With Hamre over to Zeb’s, and Baptiste off with Katy . . .” He left it for Thorliff to figure out for himself.

  Thorliff sighed and sat back down. “All right.”

  “Maybe you and Manda could go fishing this afternoon. A mess of perch would taste mighty good for supper.” Ingeborg turned to look over her shoulder.

  “You better catch a lot,” Bridget added. “They just might all be back in time for supper.”

  “What is that you are making?” Katy looked at the willow branches lashed between two long poles.

  “A travois.” Baptiste looked up from his lashing. “We will tie these ends to your saddle and lay Zeb here.” He indicated the web of willow. “Much easier on him than trying to ride.”

  “You think he is ready to be moved?”

  “Better now while he sleeping. It will hurt much.” Metiz poured water from the kettle on the dying fire. “Be good to get home.”

  Zeb groaned but still didn’t waken more than enough to drink when Katy dribbled liquid into his mouth. She and Metiz had taken turns all night changing the water-soaked cloths to try to cool the raging fever. Willow-bark tea didn’t help much either.

  They lifted him with the blanket and laid him in the travois. While he groaned and thrashed some, he didn’t wake even with that. Metiz mounted her horse.

  “I ride behind. Baptiste go ahead.”

  With the sticks bouncing in every rut, Katy searched out the flattest and shadiest way, guiding her horse carefully. When she heard Zeb shouting, she stopped and looked back at him.

  Metiz waved her on. “He not know what he say.”

  He’s delirious, and here I am dragging him halfway across Dakota Territory on one of the hottest days of the year. Father God, only you can save him. Please cushion him and bring healing to his body. Father, I love him so, and I know you love him more.

  They met Haakan just north of the ford on the Park River.

  “Ah, thank you. I didn’t know how we were going to get him across.” Katy dismounted and laid a hand on Zeb’s forehead. Just like laying her hand on a hot stove. She bent down to listen to his mumblings, but they made no sense whatsoever.

  “How long’s he been like this?”

  “Since we found him last night. He’d gotten off his horse and not made it back on.”

  “Lea
stways he didn’t fall off. Could have broken some bones that way.” Haakan nodded toward Baptiste. “Let’s get him in the wagon. He should be more comfortable there.”

  When they started out again, Katy sat in the wagon pillowing Zeb’s head in her lap and changing the cloths as they dried. She tried to block out Zeb’s ramblings, but when he shouted, “No, I’m not going!” she wondered what evils tormented him. Several times she ducked when he flailed an arm around, but weak as he was, even that wouldn’t bruise her too badly.

  Darkness had firmly settled over the land when they drove into the Bjorklund yard. But Haakan kept right on going.

  “Let’s take him to the icehouse,” Haakan said. “Between that and Metiz’ medicinals, we’ll just see if we can’t keep this boy alive. And when we done all we can, we know God can finish the job.”

  Once there, Haakan hung the lantern on a peg and shoveled sawdust back off the blocks of ice. Then laying down hay first, blankets second, they carried Zeb to the new bed and laid him on it. Kneeling beside him, Katy could feel the coolness through the padding and her skirt.

  Haakan chipped some ice off and brought her the slivers. “Put these on his tongue, a little bit at a time so he don’t choke.” He touched her shoulder. “And, Katy girl, know that everyone around here is praying for him. And you.”

  They changed the poultice some time later when Ingeborg brought the supplies, and already Katy could feel that Zeb’s temperature was dropping. He lay quiet now, his breathing barely stirring his shirt front.

  “Is he dying?” Katy finally found the courage to ask Metiz.

  “No. Resting. You sleep; I watch.”

  “No, I’ll be all right.” Katy sat beside the pallet, feeling the cold up through her clothes. She took Zeb’s hand in hers and stroked the dark hair covering the back of it. Such a fine hand he had, long fingers that calmed a horse and stroked her hair, both with gentleness and filled with love.

  She laid her cheek against the back of his hand. Oh, to feel it move over her skin again. Father, please.

  She jerked awake. What had she heard? The rooster crowing?