by Linda Byler
The dust and the heat, the storms of winter, were all a part of her life, her love. This is where the children were, where Mose lay beneath the soil of the homestead.
All of this went through her mind in a second, as she listened to her daughter. The judgment of the young, the inexperienced. Sarah knew well the time would come for Hannah’s own test, the times when God would send her an unannounced quiz, when she was least prepared.
But she smiled, nodded, listened to Hannah’s words swirling through the kitchen like hard, pecking birds. Birds that needed to be avoided and chased out the back door.
She lifted the lid on the boiling potatoes, inserted a fork, poured off the water, called to Mary to set the table, turning her head to avoid the cloud of steam that rose above the pan.
The gravy was made, the green beans from the garden boiling in their buttered water. She applied the potato masher, pounding the potatoes with a strong arm, inhaling the rich, earthy smell of them.
She could never cook a good meal without gratitude, ever. The lean times were forever stamped on her memory.
Sarah dished up the steaming roasht—bread cubes, celery and onion, bits of cooked chicken, butter, salt and pepper, mixed well and baked in a roaster. Every edible part of the chicken had been used—the liver, gizzard and heart, neck meat and bits of skin, the rich broth simmered for yellow gravy.
“I am so hungry.” Hannah elaborated each word before bowing her head, or slightly inclining it, actually. More often than not she’d be gazing off somewhere above everyone’s head, her thoughts anywhere but giving thanks, while the rest of the family bent their heads, closed their eyes and actually gave thanks.
Everyone ate the evening meal with a healthy appetite. Sarah had to refill the serving bowls more than once, especially the roasht.
“You keep butchering these chickens and we’re going to be without eggs,” Hannah said, laying down her fork.
“This one was caught in the fence by her foot. She was unable to free herself without breaking it. I figured she’d never be able to escape the night varmints.”
“Varmints?”
“Sorry. A word borrowed from Hod and Abby.”
“I guess if we start to say varmints, we’re genuine western folks, huh?”
Summer waned, like a brilliant full moon that steadily lost its light, until only a delicate sliver of light hung in the night sky.
The sun was warm, but only at midday, the mornings as crisp and dry as crumpled toast, the evenings laid bare with encroaching cold.
The moisture from the infrequent thunderstorms had long evaporated or soaked into the bone-dry soil like an inadequate whisper. The prairie grass looked thin and beaten, as if it had given up hope, knowing winter would whip the remaining life from it.
Hannah watched the sky, tested the direction of the wind, her eyes clouded over with worry. The cattle drive would not be possible without rain. The cows needed water to make the long trek to Dorchester.
Manny spoke of trucking them. Why not hire a local truck with a cattle trailer? It was by far the most logical thing to do.
Hannah would hear nothing of it. She knew well the times she had dreamed of doing a real cattle drive. The thrill of roping, chasing, and branding, doubled by the excitement of sleeping out on the prairie under the stars, the cattle watched by vigilant riders. Besides, it would take a big chunk out of her profit to hire a truck and trailer. They’d do it the old way.
Hod Jenkins didn’t think it was a good idea. He hung out of the door of his rusted old pickup, squinted at Hannah and her mother as they stood on the porch steps. The motor idled, a low, rumbling sound, so they both moved off the steps and went to talk to him, standing in the dry, chilly air.
“You and that brother of yours better brush up on them ropin’ skills. Them cattle’s wilder ’n deer.”
Hannah shook her head, her mouth set in a stubborn line. “Our cattle aren’t like yours.” She had a notion to add, “skinny-ribbed, horned old horrors.” He should be ashamed to drive those long-haired skeletons to market.
Hod wagged his head. “You’ll find out.”
Hannah gave him a black look. “Yours would never make it, as skinny as they are.”
Sarah winced, looked at the bed of the pickup where an old gate was stacked to one side, a roll of rusted barbed wire and a digging iron leaning crazily against it.
“Longhorns is supposed to be skinny, Miss High and Mighty.” His blue eyes shone with an unusual glint of anger.
“Yeah, well, all right then. If Clay doesn’t want to join the drive, will Hank and Ken do it?”
“I couldn’t tell you.” Hod opened the door of his pickup, climbed out and stepped away a few paces before sending a stream of tobacco juice like pressurized water from a hose. The ill-smelling brown liquid landed with a dull splat in the dust, raising a small cloud that settled quickly over it.
Hannah swallowed and felt the bile rise in her throat. She watched as he settled the wad of liquid-sounding tobacco strands further in his cheek, wiped his mouth with his forefinger, then dragged it along the side of his jeans, which appeared to have been the recipient of many tobacco juice encounters.
Dust covered his greasy hat, settled in black granules around the band surrounding the crown, and lay in the creases and pocket flaps of his vest. His shirt had been blue at one time, but resembled the color of stagnant water now. His boots were cracked, the heels both worn down until he walked on the outside, the too-long legs of his jeans frayed and brown from dragging along in the dust.
Hannah swallowed again and imagined the odor of his unwashed socks, if he wore any at all.
Sarah, however, was blind to all of Hannah’s magnified scrutiny. She seemed to think Mr. Hod was the most important visitor of the month. She fired questions about Abby’s cough, listened to Hod’s words that became increasingly garbled with emotion, his head bent as he said that all the pills from the doctor hadn’t eased her cough. He was afraid she’d have to accept the inevitable hospital stay.
Immediately, Sarah offered to go to Abby. She’d ride back with him and take Baby Abby along, knowing how much Abby loved her. She hurried back into the house to change, leaving Hannah standing with Hod, who was leaning against the rusted sides of the pickup, the motor still rumbling in small, muffled chugs.
Hod turned to look at Hannah. “So yer pretty set on doin’ this cattle drive?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“How come?”
“I don’t want to pay a fee to have them hauled.”
“You know it’ll cost you, the way them cows will lose weight on their long walk. If I was you, I wouldn’t do it. How come old man Klasserman don’t know any better? You sure he’s sendin’ ’em?”
Hannah nodded. “He said he was.”
“His cattle’s ornery.”
Hannah frowned. “You have no idea what his cattle are like.”
Hod squinted, his blue eyes slits of light, gazing off across the plains. He hooked two thumbs into his belt loops, wagged his elbows and gave a sound between a snort and a laugh.
“You are one determined young lady. You have no idea how hard it can be, keepin’ them cattle on the move, all in the right direction. You’ll have cars, mebbe a coupla trucks. They’ll scare ’em straight across the prairie. So then when one of you tries to turn ’em back, the rest will be hightailin’ it somewhere else. You better pick good men.”
“Manny’s going.”
“He can’t rope worth a toot.”
Hannah bristled. “Sure he can.”
Hod shook his head, then faced her, lowered his frame closer to her and said forcefully, “You think you know everything. You ain’t seen nothin’. I’m only warnin’ you once. It’ll be tougher than you think. And when you get there, they’ll all have lost weight. So don’t come cryin’ to me iffen you don’t get nothin’ for them black cows.”
Hannah looked away from him, off across the garden.
“You got any spare horses?”
“No. You going to let the boys go?”
“That’s up to them.”
“I need a horse.”
“Wal, git your own. Them Amish have some fancy lookin’ horse flesh paradin’ around.”
Hannah wanted to stamp her foot in frustration. Instead, she watched her mother emerge from the house wearing a purple dress with a black apron pinned around her waist, the stiff black bonnet on her head. She always dressed according to the Ordnung, the laws branded into her, giving her life.
“All right. We’re ready.” She smiled at Hod, who pulled himself away from the side of the truck, opened the door for Sarah, then went around to the opposite side and closed his door before leaning out the window and wagging a finger. Probably the one he’d used to wipe his mouth, thought Hannah.
“Mind what I said. You need to think about it.”
Hannah didn’t give him the benefit of an answer. Filthy, arrogant old coot. Seriously, who did he think he was?
Well, she’d show him. She would brush up on her roping skills, her riding, everything. She’d have Manny, Jerry, and probably Jake. So those Jenkinses could just stay home, then.
As she stalked off to find Manny, she yelled to Mary and Eli to stay close to the house because they were going to work cattle.
Pete was stiff and slow, loose and wobbly in the hind legs. Goat was more interested in the occasional mouthful of grass than anything else. Manny wasn’t being very enthused, Hannah interrupting his harness mending, but he did what she asked, his nature far too dutiful to resist.
The cows had multiplied in number, of course, with twelve healthy new calves grown into young cattle and probably weighing six or seven hundred pounds. Manny guessed a few of them would tip the scales at closer to eight hundred. In spite of the drought, they’d had plenty of thick, dry prairie grass and fresh water from the tank, all sufficient to produce twelve half-grown cows.
The young cattle were well-rounded, filled out nicely in the chest and shoulder area, their heads well shaped at the top, with square, black mouths that moved constantly, ripping at the grass or laying contentedly, chewing their cud.
Hannah’s eyes shone as she sat in the saddle surveying her herd. “What do you think, Manny?”
He nodded and smiled.
They practiced riding and roping, chased cattle, missed many more times than they actually roped one. The horses were soon winded, Pete sagging in the back, Goat snacking on yet another mouthful of grass.
Hannah dismounted, sat in the grass, and told Manny that unless they had better horses, they couldn’t make the drive, that was all there was to it.
Manny nodded, agreed. “We’ll ask the Jenkinses.”
“I already did.” Manny looked at her, his eyebrows raised. Hannah shook her head.
Manny straightened his shoulders and sighed. “Guess I’ll have to make a trip over to Jerry Riehl. He’ll let us use a few of his, likely.”
Hannah tried to hide the exhilaration she felt at his suggestion.
CHAPTER 17
The rain did not come.
The days grew shorter, the air around them containing only a dry, bone-chilling cold, especially at night.
Manny split and stacked wood from the fallen cottonwoods in the creek bottom, shoring up the supply leftover from the year before, the thought of the previous winter’s blizzards goading him on.
Hannah continued to watch the skies, biting her lower lip in anxiety, knowing if the rains held off, there could be no cattle drive. With Manny’s help, Jerry had given his consent to bring two extra horses, which only served to double Hannah’s anxious watching of the empty sky.
They set the date for separating and branding the cattle. They would be sending eight of the heaviest ones, along with ten of the Klassermans, which brought the total to eighteen head of unruly young cattle, a fact Hannah could no longer dismiss.
The well-attended, most important cattle auction was to be held at the fairgrounds in Dorchester, about thirty-five miles away.
Hannah allowed a week for the branding and separating, the preparation of the food, depending on the fact that the rain would come. She forged ahead with her plans, in spite of Hod Jenkins’s warnings, Sarah having joined forces with him, advising Hannah to call it off, in spite of risking her anger which, inevitably, came thundering down around her ears.
Frustrated by the lack of rain and unwilling to give up her plans, Hannah railed against her mother, accusing her of siding with Hod just to go against her, that she didn’t know a thing about cattle drives.
Whereupon Sarah informed her daughter that no, she didn’t, but anytime you went against an experienced person’s advice, you were setting yourself up for failure. It was too dry, too risky.
Undeterred, Hannah forged ahead with her plans, until one afternoon Sarah had a glimpse of her deceased husband in the glittering determination in Hannah’s eyes and the set of her mouth. In the way her head jutted forward on her neck, as if her goal was closer as long as she kept her face forward. Well, Hannah hadn’t taken to fasting and praying, but that was the only difference.
Sarah was drying strips of beef in the oven for jerky, to be taken on the drive, a labor of love, and one she enjoyed. It was just so unsettling, this dealing with her daughter’s determination.
How can we go through life running parallel with the one we most disdain? It was uncanny, the likeness to her father, holding on to a dream with an iron grip, regardless of the circumstances that warned against it. But to face Hannah and throw this fact in her face would be unwise, like throwing gasoline on hot coals, an inevitable explosion.
She lifted the limp strips of beef from the herbal mixture, patted them in place on the thin aluminum sheet, and placed it in the oven. All she could do was place her trust in God and pray that He would keep the riders safe and the cattle healthy, somehow.
On the day of the branding, Jerry and Jake met the Jenkins boys for the first time. Loquacious as always, the Jenkinses were quick to make new friends and easy to talk to, giving easily understood instructions. They spent a good half-hour inspecting the horses, asking questions, circling them, whistling in admiration, then bargaining for a horse just like these.
Jerry didn’t say much; he was watching Hannah. She had been a puzzle ever since she’d watched them ride in. She had not acknowledged his presence, or the palomino, and refused to touch the horse, acting as if he didn’t exist.
So, that was the way of it. Jerry ignored her, took to the Jenkinses like a magnet, then sat back and watched Clay and Hank go to work. They rode as if there were no horse and rider, just one animal that thought and moved together.
In spite of the belligerent cows’ savage advances, the bellowing, pawing, dust-throwing of the bull, they showed no hesitance, merely rode among the cows with authority, packing them into a moving, black mass, trundling them across the prairie to the water tank where the rest of the crew was expected to hold them.
Jerry watched, eyes alight. When he wasn’t watching her, Hannah untied the palomino’s reins, mounted quickly without looking at Jerry, and rode out to the tank. He went on talking to Manny, who was astride the roan, an older horse, but a large one, well-formed, clean in his limbs, and sweet tempered. She felt sadness for Pete and Goat standing by the barnyard fence watching the goings on, Pete offering a gentle nicker occasionally. Goat was too busy taking chomps out of the top board of the fence, eating splinters like hay.
The Jenkins boys rode back, leaving instructions on holding the cattle, then started a roaring fire which soon burned down to a bed of red hot coals.
Out at the tank, however, things took a decided turn for the worse. The ill-tempered, outsized cow suddenly displayed an unwillingness to be ordered about, charging with all the weight and fury of a great buffalo and scattering the two men, who had no experience with being sidelined by a horned monster the size of that one.
Jerry yelled, wheeled the black in the direction of the barn, the cow intent on chasing them all, fol
lowed by whinnying horses, and the bawling, excited cattle. A few of them ran across the bed of hot coals, scattering them and igniting the bone-dry grass, which only added to the melee of animals and riders. Panicked, half-grown cattle stuck their tails up like broomsticks and thundered off across the prairie.
Hannah was mad. She saw red. What a coward, she thought. She stayed by the water tank and watched all of it, holding the prancing palomino in check and snorting inwardly. So much for those two helping on the cattle drive. It couldn’t be done with those creampuffs. And Manny was no better. She lost no time in loping off in their direction, after everything was controlled, including the fire.
From her perch on the palomino, she told them all how unbelievably unnecessary that whole pile of chaos had been, and if they couldn’t do any better than that, they may as well all stay home.
Even Manny’s face turned red with indignation after the tirade from his sister, thoroughly embarrassed by his unlikely display of cowardice, then feeling bad for Jerry who was being good enough to lend them the use of the two horses.
He had just opened his mouth to tell Hannah a thing or two, when there was a combination of shouts and hoarse yelling, followed by a spray of dust and the sound of hooves, as the fiercely determined cow streaked toward Hannah on the palomino, who twisted his body in a flash to avoid the red-eyed, crazed old cow, unseating Hannah in the process.
She felt the horse turn away from under her, felt herself sliding off the saddle, airborne for a split second before her shoulder hit the ground, her head snapping back, the rest of her body following with a bone jarring expulsion of breath, a folding in, as if she did a slow somersault, which she was never sure if she did or not.
The palomino was off in a wild flight, the stirrups slapping his sides, the reins flying of their own accord. The belligerent cow stopped, turned and eyed Hannah who was up on one elbow, faced with the enraged, pawing cow that had killed her father.
With no thought for anything other than getting away, she scrambled to her feet, running like the wind, yelling and shouting, horses wheeling, the cow lumbering off amid the galloping of horses’ hooves, all one big chaotic explosion of movement and noise around her.