by Mari Collier
By consensus people quit singing and gradually grew quiet.
“Okay, Reverend,” one man snarled, “who gets them blankets?”
James stood. “One of the things my father taught me was that when trapped in the cold, people must sleep together. Your body heat will stay higher when next to another body. For families that is easy. You can spread your overcoats over each other. I suggest for the single people, two men in each seat, for the single women, two women together. That way you share each other's body heat.” He did not add the part about sleeping nude together wrapped up in blankets. It was a solution that would not sit well with these people.
James looked at the expectant mother and she was shivering in her thin coat.
“Why don't we let her have one of the blankets? She is trying to create warmth for another. Whoever is selected to tend the stoves will have the other and the mattress.”
Somehow everyone got squared away and covered. Pastor Rolfe helped with the children and then offered to tend the fires during the night when no one volunteered. No one wanted to lose their seat closest to the stove, any blanket, or heavy overcoat. Pastor Rolfe found a spot on the floor and put the mattress close to the stove. He burned his hand twice while opening the stove doors and putting in the one log. His sleep was fitful and in the morning the cold woke him.
It was another day in the dim lit area; people complaining of hunger and thirst; people complaining about the stench coming from the lavatories. The lavatories were simply seats with holes cut in them and the earth absorbed the droppings as the trains rushed onward. Here it just piled up and froze.
By the middle of the day the wood was gone and the men began breaking up the seats, and the bitter cold left them with little energy to sing. A few joined Pastor Rolfe in evening prayers and the rest joined in when the entreaty went out to the Lord for their rescue.
Pastor Rolfe was shivering badly when dawn broke, but he realized the snow was melting. Like the others, his lips were cracked and bleeding. Two of the men tried pushing the doors open to see what the temperature was outside and if there was any chance of finding wood. It was futile and everyone seemed to withdraw into their own little band to keep warm. Young children whimpered at times from the cold. Others ran like crazy to the lavatories and then ran back to crawl under the coats. The expectant mother kept her eyes closed and continued to shiver.
James tried again to lead them in song, but the effort was too much for the exhausted group.
“Look!” One boy who had pressed his nose against the upper corner of the window was pointing outside and yelling. “It's horses and wagons.”
The men heaved against the door and it opened enough to allow one person at a time to squeeze through. Two of the men walked forward and returned in a few minutes.
“They're unloading the high-muckety-mucks first. We gotta wait inside our car, or we can't get on. Sure hope there's enough room.”
Pastor Rolfe straightened. The expectant mother was gray-faced, her lips almost white. Occasionally, she would moan. This was not right. She should be among the first transported to warmth and safety. James went striding forward. He did not notice the snow sifting into his shoes, melting, and then freezing to the sock. Like everyone one else he was cold, so cold he didn't notice—at first. When he did notice, his determination to find a ride for the suffering woman was undeterred. He approached the man obviously in charge of overseeing the removal and seating of the passengers.
“There is a lady in the last car that is with child, suffering from the cold and is apt to have the baby before long. She is on her way to St. Louis for better care. I beg you in the name of our gracious and merciful Triune God to take her now. If it means the loss of a seat, I'll gladly stay here.”
The comfortably clad, well-fed man looked with amazement at the shivering man of the cloth, with his not too new clothes and clerical collar.
“I'm sorry, Reverend, but I have my orders. We take from the front cars first.”
“If the woman and her child die, how do you intend to explain that at the throne on judgment day?”
The man's face was already red from the cold and he was about to raise his fist when another man stepped forward.
“I can take the next sleigh. Put the woman into my place.”
“Sir, I cannot. You would have to take her place in the last car. Let me warn you. That car will be bitterly cold. There was no coal distributed from the stoker's bin that far back. Gentlemen like you are too important for the likes of…”
“Enough! Since this car is empty, we shall take the coal from this car back to the other car with us. Is that suitable, Reverend, er, I don't know your name, sir.”
“I'm Pastor James Rolfe and your solution is admirable. There are children there too.”
“Mr. Matthew Anheuser.” Their gloved hands shook.
“Follow me, Reverend Rolfe.”
Pastor Rolfe was too cold to chide the man for using the English term showing respect for a Lutheran pastor. The thought of how much good the coal would accomplish until his group of passengers was rescued drove him on. Everyone in that car was cold, miserable, and hungry. They had shared what little food they had and tried to provide the water as necessary, but once the wood ran out the snow would not melt.
The well-fed man was still directing the loading when they reappeared carrying the heaped up coal bucket and another lard bucket put into service as an improvised basket.
“Mr. Anheuser, sir, I cannot leave you for the last wagon.”
“Very well, I'll take the next wagon or sleigh. I expect to see your men back there for the lady in distress.” He and James continued on.
“We are the closest train to St. Louis. That is why the wagons reached us so rapidly. It seems the entire mid-section of the country has been hit by this horrendous storm.”
Pastor James shook, but it was hard to tell if it was from the cold or the news.
The people in the car stared with disbelief when they arrived with the coal. The expectant mother was wrapped as warmly as possible. Mr. Anheuser felt that carrying the coal was charity enough and he returned to the next wagon being loaded when the men arrived to transport the woman forward.
“Everyone will have to walk forward to the wagons. It will take too long to clear a path back here. We'll let you know when we are ready.” One of the drivers yelled in at them.
Thirty minutes later a different man appeared and led the passengers forward through the snow and bitter cold. Someone offered James a drink of water. James noted they offered the other men whiskey, but they probably assumed a Reverend wouldn't touch the stuff. It didn't matter; he had ensured the safety of Mrs. Jensen, the expectant mother.
The trip back to town was almost as cold as the cabin, even with the wool blankets. People were numb and most of the women and children had to be helped into the station. The ladies of a Methodist church were there to greet them with hot coffee and soup. Pastor James's hands were still shaking when a young man tapped him on the shoulder.
“Sir, Pastor Rolfe, I have a cart outside.”
Pastor Rolfe eyes were blank as he looked at the young man. His feet felt strange; almost detached.
“Your wife asked me to come here and look for you today. I'm your neighbor, Luke Wagner.”
“Oh, yes, sorry, I didn't get much sleep the last two evenings.” For some reason he was surprisingly grateful and vowed to tell Mina what a miserable excuse of a Christian he had been during her pregnancy. It was then the pains began; horrible knifing, needle sharp pains in his feet. He needed help climbing in and out of the cart and walking into his house.
* * *
Two months later Pastor Rolfe woke, unaware of where he was, his head and body were bathed with sweat, and Mina was sitting on his bed washing his face and offering him water.
“Where am I?”
“It's all right, James. Lorenz sent some medicine with Grandma. It just didn't come in time to stop the amputation. Grandma is with the b
oys now. You're in the hospital. The doctor says you are a miracle. He doesn't understand how the gangrene stopped. Don't be mad. I had to do something. Lorenz sent a letter for you to read when you feel better.”
“What did they amputate? When? Let me up.” Frantically, James felt at his arms, then reached for his thighs. He tried to push upward, but found he was too weak and he lay back panting, the pain starting in his feet and spreading upward. He seemed to remember days and nights of pain and fever. “They just took part of your right foot and the toes from your left foot.” Mina was hiccupping sobs between her words.
“I couldn't get a telegram to Lorenz or Grandma any faster. Everyone was hit by that horrible storm. You read the papers when you came home.”
She gave James another drink of water. “I had to put the liquid they sent in your water to get it into you. The salve I put on when everybody wasn't looking. Oh, please, James, say you are not angry because I used what Lorenz sent. I love you. I couldn't let you die.”
James found the strength to reach for her hand. “It's all right,” he was able to whisper. “I-I'm surprised Lorenz sent anything.”
“Here, I'll read Lorenz's letter.” She brought out the paper.
“Dear James, We are all praying this reaches you and Mina in time. You did an incredibly brave thing. I'm only sorry Uncle Herman isn't here to know what a brave man you are. Once again, our prayers are for your quick recovery. I hope you accept this in better grace than I did when you told me so many years ago that you all had been praying for my safe return.
Respectfully, your brother-in-Christ and your brother-by-marriage, Lorenz.
Chapter 18: The Bargain
Three days after returning the stranded children, Lorenz and Kendall rode towards the spring where the homesteaders had filed. Lorenz's and Kendall's saddlebags were filled with flour, beans, and rice. From Lorenz's saddle hung an axe, and from Kendall's a miner's shovel. Kendall had almost stayed at home, and then decided he wanted to watch and listen. He would have lots to report to Marty.
“Why are y'all taking that food to the homesteaders, Pawpaw? That'll just help them stay.”
“Maybe, maybe not, but it doesn't matter. I won't have people starving to death on my land.”
Kendall almost reminded his father that the government considered it the homesteaders' land, but held his tongue. Neither he nor Randall had ever won an argument with his father. Only Melissa could win and she never had to argue. It was like she never even spoke. But then it was the same in the Rolfe family. Chrissie always got her way with her father while the boys worked all hours on the ranch whenever they weren't in school.
He thought about Chrissie while they were riding. She always seemed more like a sister than Melissa. After all, her middle name was the same as his grandmother's, and he had spent as much time teasing Chrissie as his own sister. Melissa wasn't any fun to tease. She didn't cry or scream. She would just look at him with those cold, grey eyes like their father's and say, “I'll get even.”
Strange. A little more than a year younger than he, Melissa would prove an annoying antagonist as she would get even. “Even” meant anything from ants in his clothes to extra salt on his food and he couldn't tell on a girl.
Chrissie ran, screamed, or cried when she was little. Lately though, Chrissie would giggle and say things like, “Oh, you!” Then she would giggle some more. Plus, he noticed it really wasn't safe to be around her. She wanted to hug, and he would find himself more than willing to hug. Once, when his father caught them inside the barn, Lorenz cautioned him about being alone with Chrissie.
“Y'all might want to back off until y'all are a bit older. I'd hate to see y'all married and raising children before the age of eighteen.”
Kendall had protested his innocence while he father just looked at him, those grey eyes filled with amusement and not really believing him. But it had been sobering. He realized he would have everybody mad at him if he did do something stupid and there were times when he definitely had wanted to do what men do. Why hadn't his father taken him into Arles to the sporting house? Tom Jackson had taken Thomas once. 'Course Aunt Olga didn't know anything about it. And Marty had been there too without Uncle Martin knowing about it. Marty had to use his own money though 'cause Uncle sure wouldn't let loose of any.
They rode steadily, picking their way through snow covered ground, going ever higher. Three times they had to dig through the drifts rather than let the horses ruin their legs by going through or being cut on the sharp edged branches hidden underneath.
It was close to noon when they rode into the yard. The two Gavin men were taking what remained of the corral and carrying it into the house. They both stood stiffly at the door looking at them with hate-filled eyes. Frank Gavin moved in front of his son before he spoke.
“Come to gloat?”
Lorenz felt his shoulders straighten. “No, we came to bring food and to see if you all were still alive. We've flour, beans, and rice in these saddle bags if you all need it. The way into town is still snow filled. I don't think a wagon could make it.”
For a moment need argued with pride and need won. “We thank you, but I'll have to ride into town anyway. Our young 'un caught something in this cold and he…” Gavin swallowed. “He's dead.” The voice was harsh. “I am obliged for the food.”
“Mr. Gavin, I, we ask the Lord to bless your family and ease your sorrow. We'll be glad to give you all a hand with the wood.”
“Much obliged.”
The house was little more than one room with a rope for a blanket to divide the space. The blanket was missing, probably put to use during the cold thought Lorenz. Mrs. Gavin was sitting in the rocker, holding the dead two-year-old Bernard in her arms. She had wrapped him in a shawl and her eyes had a flat quality. Her hair was uncombed. A blanket was wrapped around her hunched shoulders and the dead child. She looked straight ahead at the door as they entered and did not see them.
“Mrs. Gavin, these nice folks have come to pay their respects and give us a hand.” Frank Gavin tried to rouse his wife, but she continued to look straight ahead, her eyes blinking every so often as she rocked back and forth.
Elias, the seventeen-year-old, hurriedly put some wood in the cast iron cooker that served as the kitchen range and the stove for heat.
Lorenz took off his hat and quickly looked at his son before he spoke. Kendall promptly removed his hat.
“Ma'am, I know y'all must be suffering with a grief I cannot understand. My son and I offer y'all our deepest sympathy and our prayers.”
The woman's eyes did not widen, nor did she speak.
“She ain't said much since little Bernie died.” Mr. Gavin's voice was thick as he continued.
“I do thank you for the food. You know you've won. We'll be leaving as soon as we can earn enough for a horse to pull us down the hill.”
“That doesn't mean I win. The county agent in Arles will just send some other hopeful soul or family up here with a bunch of lies about how good the land is for farming. The next one might not be an honest man and try rustling my cattle for his income. I'd rather stake you until you proof up your claim. Then I'll buy all six hundred and forty acres and your buildings. Y'all would come out of it with about three hundred dollars. That's enough to take your family where there's farming land and y'all can buy your place.”
“That's tempting, but it's not legal.”
Lorenz's smile was tight. “It is if folks think y'all can't repay the loan the bank has given y'all to keep farming. I'll cover the loss at the bank too and make it five hundred dollars. That means if y'all give up farming, y'all could buy a real house in a town.”
“Yes.”
They all stared at Mrs. Gavin. She was looking at Lorenz, her face and lips white, her eyes almost feverish. “And my baby gets buried in your graveyard among good folk.”
Lorenz nodded his head towards her. “Yes, ma'am, y'all are welcomed to a grave plot. I'll even have Mr. Jackson build the coffin for him. I just can
't let y'all believe that only “good” folk are buried there. It's a town graveyard and some of them are there because they tried to kill someone in town.”
“Isn't your mother buried there?”
“Yes, ma'am, so are my brother, cousin, and uncle. It's where Tante Gerde, Mrs. Schmidt, will be buried too.”
“Then that's settled. We'll bring him down as soon as the road is clear.” She closed her eyes and rocked backward; then opened her eyes as she rocked forward. The empty look returned to her eyes and she continued her swaying back and forth.
The men walked outside, glad to pull clean, cold air into their lungs.
“She's been like that since last night. I'm sorry. Elias and I will bury Bernard here tonight when she's asleep.”
“Mr. Gavin, the ground is still frozen solid. I'll get word into town and we'll get a wagon as close as possible. I'm praying she'll be all right as soon as she knows the baby's properly buried. Tell her a Baptist minister rides through here every three months or so. We'll let you all know when he's there if you all would like a Baptist service.”
Lorenz stuck out his hand. “I'd like to shake on our agreement.”
“How do you know I'll keep my part of the bargain?”
Lorenz's smile was wider. “Because, sir, y'all are an honest man, and we've made a gentlemen's agreement.” He nodded at Kendall after the two men shook, and they mounted their horses.
Gavin's voice was bitter. “You know I've lost all my livestock. Had you counted that in?”
Lorenz settled into the saddle. “Yes, sir, I did. Most of my livestock died too.”
Kendall waited until they were out of earshot and asked, “Why did y'all do that, Pawpaw?”
“That family just lost a child, and the woman has almost lost her mind. This way they have hope and they'll let me buy the land. It's the Christian thing to do.”
“Yeah, but is breaking the law when y'all stake them and then buy the land Christian?”
Lorenz turned toward him. “The damn government is putting too many laws on the books. It used to be men were free out here, and no one questioned whether that spring and range were part of the MacDonald's range.”