Her father laced his fingers together. “You want me to walk ya over dere?”
He hadn’t made a move to get into his boots or coat. Jarena’s lips formed a gentle smile. Although it was far from warm in their dugout, she knew her father didn’t want to venture out into the frosty night air. It wasn’t far to the Harris dugout, and the moonlight would radiate light off the snow to brighten her path. “You go on back to sleep, Pappy; you too, Thomas. I can see just fine. There’s no need for anyone else to get out in this cold.”
“Tell Nellie we be prayin’ for her,” her father said.
Jarena shrugged into her coat and grabbed a folded blanket from the foot of the bed before brushing her father’s cheek with a kiss. “I’ll tell her.”
As she walked across the crusted snow, Jarena wondered if her father’s prayers would do any more for Nellie than they had done for her mother when she lay dying. Another scream disturbed the nighttime silence. She quickened her pace. If they had still been living in Georgetown, Nellie would have had a doctor available. But out in this wilderness, there would be no one but a midwife and God. And Jarena wasn’t certain He would be paying attention.
She knocked on the wobbly door and then pushed it open without waiting. Nellie’s moans filled the one-room dugout, and Jarena’s pulse quickened as she glanced about. Miss Hattie was sitting on her bed while Calvin paced back and forth in front of her. Mildred Kemble had arrived and was sitting on a wooden box beside Nellie and Calvin’s bed.
Jarena hung her coat on a peg inside the door and hastily stomped the snow from her shoes. “How’s she doing?” she whispered to Miss Hattie. Her friend’s eyes were closed and her moans had stopped.
Miss Hattie crooked her finger, and Jarena went and sat down beside the old woman. “Mildred jest checked Nellie, and she says the baby ain’t turned right. She’s gonna try and force it around, but it’ll be painful—least that’s what Mildred said.”
Jarena gave an involuntary shudder and then leaned closer to Miss Hattie. “How’s she going to do that?”
“Don’ know. Sounds as though she’s gonna do some kind of twisting on her belly. She said Nellie needs to stay relaxed while she works on her. From what she said, I don’ think Mildred’s had much luck with it in the past, but she’s gotta try somethin’.”
Mildred motioned to Jarena. “Come on over here, gal. You talk to Nellie and try to keep her calm while I set to workin’ on her.”
Jarena truly didn’t want to be nearby while the woman inflicted pain upon her friend, but she did as she was told.
Mrs. Kemble stood up and pointed to the box where she’d been sitting. “Go ahead and sit down there. Hold her hand and talk to her for a few minutes.”
Jarena appraised Mrs. Kemble, uncertain whether she wanted to play a role in the older woman’s ministrations. “You won’t hurt her, will you?”
“Jest do as you’re told,” Mildred sternly replied.
For what seemed an eternity, Jarena sat beside Nellie babbling about the cold weather and the celebration they’d had when Thomas had killed a jackrabbit a few days earlier. “That rabbit was the first meat we’ve had in a long time, and I boiled the bones for soup. I’m going to bring some over for you later today.”
Mrs. Kemble placed her hands on Nellie’s swollen belly and began her attempt to turn the baby. Nellie screamed, arched her back, and then grasped Jarena’s hand with such force she was certain her fingers must be broken.
“Try to calm her! She needs to relax!” Mrs. Kemble hollered above Nellie’s piercing squeal.
“How’s she supposed to relax when you’re hurting her?” Jarena shouted in return. Calvin took his pacing straight out the door. Obviously, he could endure the cold weather more easily than watching his wife suffer any longer.
The older woman ignored Jarena’s question as easily as she ignored Nellie’s plaintive cries. While Jarena kept her gaze focused upon Nellie’s contorted face, Mrs. Kemble continued twisting and manipulating Nellie’s belly. Jarena tried everything she could think of, but nothing seemed to ease the pain.
A rush of cold air signaled Calvin’s return. “You’ve gotta stop—she can’t take no more of dis.”
Mrs. Kemble nodded in agreement. “You’s right. I don’ think I moved the baby much, and she needs to save her energy for when da pain gets worse.”
Nellie’s eyes fluttered open. “Worse! It’s gonna get worse?”
“She’s just talking, Nellie. Nobody can feel your pain, so there’s no way of knowing whether it will get any worse, but it sure isn’t going to do any good to worry.” Jarena tried hard to believe her own words. “Try to relax before the next pain comes. I’m going to run back over to the dugout and tell one of the twins to heat up some soup for you. You need to eat something that will give you some strength.”
Jarena looked at Mrs. Kemble for some sign of reassurance, but the older woman had already moved away from the bed and was slipping into her coat. “I’ll be back after I see to a few chores at home. Gotta make sure my young’uns is fed, and it don’t look like Nellie’s gonna be givin’ birth any time soon.”
“What about Mrs. Holt? Do you think she’d have some advice?” Jarena asked before Mrs. Kemble could escape.
There was no doubt the suggestion offended Mrs. Kemble. “Caroline ain’t been midwifin’ anywhere near as long as me. Next best thing to me is gonna be a doctor, and I ain’t seen one of them wanderin’ about this town, have you?”
Jarena wagged her head back and forth. “I didn’t mean to insult you, Mrs. Kemble. I’m just worried about Nellie.”
“Truth! Grace! I need to take some soup to Nellie,” Jarena called out the minute she entered the dugout. “Can you heat up some of that soup we were planning for the noonday meal?”
Grace’s eyes shone with excitement. “Did she have a boy or a girl?”
“Neither—she’s not given birth yet.”
The twins looked disappointed. “I’ll set the soup over da fire,” Truth said, “but it’ll be some time afore it’s hot enough for eatin’.”
Jarena grasped her sister’s hand. “If you put some in the small pan, it will heat faster and then I can get back right away.” She grabbed a small pot and handed it to her sister before turning her attention to her father. “Things aren’t going well, and Mrs. Kemble hasn’t been able to get the baby turned. She said the best thing would be a doctor. I’m afraid Nellie’s going to die, Pappy. She’s in terrible pain, and I don’t know how long she can go on like this. On the way home, Mrs. Kemble said if the baby didn’t turn, it would die.”
Ezekiel rubbed the stubble that covered his jaw. “There’s a doctor in Hill City—leastwise that’s what Mr. Hepple tol’ me when I was down in Ellis. Sounds as though I oughtta take the horse and see if I can make it over dere.”
Shaking her head, Jarena sat down opposite her father. “It’s begun to snow again, Pappy. I don’t know if you should go. What would we do if something happened to you?”
“I’ll go,” Thomas volunteered. Everyone turned toward him as he entered the dugout. “Only thing I’m worried about is takin’ a horse with me. If something should happen and we’d lose another horse . . . S’pose we oughtta see how folks will feel about that?” There was a hint of fear in Thomas’s voice.
“I ain’t gonna waste time tryin’ to get everyone’s agreement,” Ezekiel said. “You best dress as warm as you kin. You’ll be lucky if you can make it by nightfall in these conditions. Jest keep yourself headed due west. You best eat a good meal and take along some of dat cornpone afore you leave—and stop by the Harris place. Tell Calvin you’re goin’ to fetch the doctor and that you need to borrow his shotgun.”
A short time later Jarena lifted the small pan of soup from the fire and then walked alongside Thomas toward the Harris dugout. “Have you been in snowstorms like this before?” she asked, her teeth chattering from the cold.
“I spent one winter in Massachusetts ’fore headin’ west the nex’ spring
. It’s mighty cold up north, and they have more’n their share of snow in dem parts.”
“Did you go there when you were very young?”
He stopped in his tracks. “I don’ like talkin’ about my past. Ain’t nothing there I wanna remember.”
“Not even your mammy and pappy?”
He frowned. “No, Jarena, not even them. They’s dead and gone. In a better place than this—least that’s what dey believed.”
“You don’t believe in heaven or that you’ll see them again—when you die?”
“I’m not sure.” He shrugged. “I don’ spend much time worryin’ ’bout death. Figure when it’s my time, I’ll die, and iffen dere’s a heaven, maybe I’ll be good enough to get in.”
“Fortunately for all of us, being good isn’t how we gain entry into heaven. If that were the case, no one would ever get in—we could never be good enough to deserve an eternity in heaven. You know that, don’t you? The Bible tells us the only way into heaven is by accepting Christ as our personal Savior. Have you done that, Thomas? Accepted Jesus as your personal Savior?”
Silence.
“Thomas? Did you hear me?”
He grasped her elbow and hurried her along. “It’s too cold to be standin’ out here talkin’ ’bout the hereafter. Let’s get inside.” His evasive words formed frosty plumes that hung between them like a frozen obstacle.
Long after Thomas departed for Hill City, Nellie remained in a sleep induced by the laudanum Mildred had given her. Miss Hattie dozed in the old rocking chair—the one piece of furniture she’d insisted upon bringing to Nicodemus. With the two women sleeping, Calvin mumbled his thanks to Jarena and made a hasty departure to check the traps he had set the previous day. He’d said he was certain he would return with a rabbit or squirrel—or perhaps a prairie chicken—so he should go check before the snow got any worse. Although Jarena didn’t share Calvin’s confidence, escaping the dugout for a brief time might ease his worries, and so she had smiled and agreed.
Jarena covered Nellie with an extra blanket before she moved a chair closer to the fireplace. She stared into the flames and considered the last six months of her life. It seemed years since they’d left Georgetown. Could it truly be only five months ago that the four of them had boarded the train for Topeka? On the one hand, so much had happened; on the other, so very little.
The Christmas holiday would soon be evident in the Georgetown stores, where the merchants would be displaying their latest wares. Mr. Finnery at the general store would be telling all who ventured inside of the fruits, nuts, and special candies that were arriving for the holiday celebrations throughout the town. The preacher would be speaking of Christ’s birth, and there would be a palpable sense of excitement and joy during church services.
Jarena cast a casual glance around the Harris dugout and knew she’d not experience such pleasure this Christmas. Though their life as sharecroppers had been sparse and their Christmas holidays lean, they’d always had a fine dinner with at least a piece of fruit and perhaps a new hair ribbon or pair of gloves. This Christmas there would be no fine dinner. They’d not be patting their overfull stomachs or loosening too-tight clothing. This year there would be no table laden with food, no gifts to exchange or visits with cheery friends. This Christmas, hunger would be their unwelcome visitor—and likely would remain throughout the winter. Already their clothes hung too loosely on ever-thinning frames, and if food did not soon arrive, their bodies would appear more skeletal than human by winter’s end—if they survived at all. The thought caused Jarena to shudder.
The fire momentarily jumped to life as a small sheaf of sunflower stalks sizzled and then dropped atop the gray embers. Jarena leaned forward and warmed her hands, wondering how her father continued to maintain his staunch resolve amidst their dire circumstances. Even when his belly growled from hunger or his body ached for rest, he smiled and showed her the piece of paper that proved he owned a piece of this prairie. Perhaps because he’d suffered through slavery and had experienced indignities Jarena couldn’t begin to imagine, owning a piece of land made his freedom all the sweeter. How could she not cheer him on? Did he not deserve at least that much from his children? She would do better in the future—at least she would try.
Miss Hattie’s soft snores mingled with Nellie’s occasional moans, and Jarena wondered how Thomas was faring on his journey to Hill City. She pulled her chair away from the fireplace. It seemed inappropriate to be savoring the fire’s warmth while Thomas traveled through a blizzard to save her friend.
Jarena bowed her head. The time had come once again to pray.
CHAPTER
18
Wet snow trickled down Thomas’s neck. He pulled his coat collar close and tucked it under his chin. Since leaving the Harris dugout, the weather had continued to worsen; he now feared the storm was reaching blizzard proportions. He rode onward, but the blinding force of the storm made it nearly impossible for him to gauge his direction. Before leaving Nicodemus, he and Ezekiel had discussed the storm’s movement. The blizzard had come in from the north, and Thomas had been making every attempt to keep the blowing wind to his right, using it as a guide. Now, however, the blinding snow was swirling around him in circular patterns that made it impossible to determine direction.
The weary horse plodded forward while Thomas remembered the warm fire he’d left behind in Nicodemus. Why had he volunteered to make this journey? He knew why—the loss of his life would mean nothing to the settlers in Nicodemus, while any of the other men would leave families mourning their death. Better that he should die than one of them, he decided as a huge gust of wind encircled and held him hostage in its whirling grip.
Suddenly the horse dug in like a tenacious mule and refused to move. What if he didn’t arrive at his destination by nightfall? He kicked the animal’s flanks, but the mare would not budge. Perhaps he would die sitting atop this old workhorse—an ice-covered statue in the vast wilderness. Had the thought been less credible, he would have laughed aloud. The intensity of the storm continued to increase by the minute, yet the horse remained motionless. He doubted there was any shelter to be found in these flatlands, yet how could he tell? He couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of the horse. An outcropping or hillock might be nearby, but likely he would unwittingly ride past it, unaware that protection was close at hand. He reached down and patted the horse’s neck. Ice and snow draped the animal’s mane, and Thomas wondered if they both would succumb to the harshness of the elements before reaching their destination.
“Not the way I’d choose to die,” he murmured while urging the horse onward. The mare finally relented and once again began slogging through the heavy snow. He’d heard stories about folks becoming so disoriented in snowstorms they became overpowered by the cold; eventually their despair and weariness caused them to lose hope and surrender to their urge to sleep. And it was at that very moment when they would condemn themselves to death—or so he’d been told. He harkened back to those tales he had heard, longing to remember some small detail that might assist him on this dangerous trek—a tiny recollection that might give him an advantage over the forces of nature. But he could think of nothing.
The pelting snow stung his face, and Thomas bowed his head against the unremitting storm. “Is this how you’re plannin’ to end my life?” he asked aloud while attempting to hold the reins between freezing fingers that now refused to tighten. “You know I ain’t one to put much stock in prayin’—never have liked to ask favors from no one, but I’d be much obliged if ya’d let me live long enough to get to Hill City. Ain’t so much fer me that I’m askin’, but for that woman and her young’un what ain’t even been born yet. Maybe you could consider it an early Christmas gift to Calvin an’ his fambly.”
Thomas had hoped to look into the distance and see Hill City before him, for surely he’d been traveling long enough to have arrived at his destination. Instead, the harshness of the blizzard increased to proportions that he’d never before exper
ienced. When nightfall could no longer be denied, he spied a crevice in a nearby hillside. He pulled back on the reins and slid off the horse’s back, certain this would be the best protection that he could find before he was completely enveloped by darkness.
Hopeful the cut would provide enough shelter to keep the animal alive, he led her close to where he hoped to tunnel into the hillside. At least the weather-worn bluff would provide shelter from the wind. “Wish I had somethin’ to feed you, girl, but you’re gonna have to hang on ’til we get to Hill City.” The mare gave a soft whinny, and Thomas patted her side before turning his attention to the hillock.
He longed to fall over into the deepening snow and escape this cold torture, but he willed himself to use his freezing hands and begin shoveling into the hillside. Though his body rebelled, Thomas used every ounce of strength he could muster. Like the prairie dogs, he hoped to burrow out a safe haven to protect himself against the elements. Desperate, he told himself he needed to create a shelter only big enough to protect his body from the freezing wind. If he could complete that one task, he might make it through the night.
And so he dug at a fever pitch until, with his muscles aching and his strength completely spent, he dropped into the opening and permitted himself a reward—a piece of Jarena’s cornpone. How he longed for a cup of hot coffee and a fire to warm his hands, but at least he was sheltered from the wind. Surely the storm would pass during the night. The mare stood nearby with her backside positioned toward the wind, and Thomas suddenly remembered one of the stories he’d heard back in Massachusetts—a tale of a man killing his own horse and using its body as a shelter in order to survive.
The thought gave him pause. If tomorrow brought no relief, would he be forced to make such a decision? Could he kill the mare to save himself? Such action would surely breed a firestorm in Nicodemus, for the horse was far more valuable to the survival of the town than one man—especially one who was a stranger among them. He didn’t need to decide tonight. He would remain awake as long as he could, but if sleep came and he never awakened, so be it.
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