He still wasn’t finished, “And—they have a truck that will come once a week and haul the trees to the mill.”
“People are really needing that much lumber?” I looked at our cabin, wondering about people struggling in these hard times in the city.
“Got to remember, we live a long way from the other side of the States. Not as bad here. It’s tight, but the mill thinks business will bounce back quick.” Tom was cautiously excited. “The downside is, if building stops, our deal is off.”
“Then we’d better get cracking tomorrow.”
In a week, our roof logs were hauled away.
We downed one of the beautiful cedar trees. Lodgepole wouldn’t work for shakes. It grew straight, but the grain rounded the tree too tight. Tom sawed the cedar into short lengths and explained, “Now this is how ya make shakes. Grab her with your left, gently hit it on the other side with the hatchet, give it a hard bounce on the cutting block, and it’ll split straight down.” I remembered Grandma Kole telling how she’d split shingles for their first house. Tom made it sound so simple. Sure enough. A tap at the top, pick it up and bring it down hard, and there it was—a shingle. This might be fun.
We sold enough logs to buy tar paper and nails. We were prepared to raise the roof come the end of harvest. Family, friends, and even strangers swarmed over our house with noisy hammers and saws, which made visiting near impossible. Even Blacky had a part, pulling on the rope to lift the rafters. We had dinner with delicious covered dishes. By late afternoon, it was complete. The door with bright shiny hinges and a doorknob completed the picture.
I expected people to head home before supper. They went to their cars, returned bringing all kinds of instruments, marched right into our log house, and began to play. I lit the kerosene lamp, and Tom moved our little table into our new home. Our first piece of furniture held the lamp that lit the whole house. It was the best housewarming ever. Singing echoed in the hills until way after dark.
Our guests drifted away, and the music stopped too late to move the bed. Only one more night sleeping in the stinky tent. We might even be able to get a real mattress before winter.
Chapter 38
An Unexpected Guest
We did it! The late fall allowed enough time to cut a mattress worth of trees, plus two chairs and winter food for us and the animals. Kerosene was an important purchase. Without our lamp’s light, it was pitch-black inside even in the middle of the day. We closed off the three-sided lean-to and made a barn to shelter our animals. What a great winter this would be.
Winter did what it always does. It brought wind, cold, and snow. We tucked ourselves, bearably warm, inside our snug walls. With such a large cabin, our winter’s dry wood supply was stored inside. The shaved cedar kindling made fast starts to warm our mornings. The cold of last year became a distant nightmare. I sewed small cloth pouches, stuffed them with aromatic cedar needles, and hung them ’round the walls to freshen the air in our tightly enclosed room.
We were startled by pounding on the door during breakfast in late February. Tom reached for his gun and slid the lock out of place. Pounding came again, only lighter. He cracked the door far enough to reveal the silhouette of a large man against the dawn light.
“It’s Friend! Let him in!” Why was he pounding on our door? He never visited our cabin; only stopped for coffee when we were outside working. The answer came at the sight of a gash on his forehead gushing red down his face. I grabbed dish towels while Tom helped him to a chair. Filling the cloths with snow, I pressed it against the cut just as Friend passed out.
“Get him on the old tic!” Tom yelled. We pulled the massive man little by little to the old mattress we’d saved—just in case. I held the cloths tight against the cut, hoping to stop the stream of blood. He began to shiver. We covered him with the bear skin he’d given us as a gift after we moved into the cabin. There was little else we could do.
The ooze of blood trickled to drops then seemed to seal itself off. A nasty bump began to rise, needing more cold presses. The shivering calmed, and Friend began to breathe normally.
“Got to feed the animals,” Tom ran out the door, leaving it open for fresh air. My stomach threatened to rebel. I breathed in the invigorating cold.
Friend’s eyes fluttered open as Tom came through the door and reached for his rifle. “Looks like we’ve got a wolf out there. Must have spooked Friend’s horse right where the big rock is just north of the barn. Blood’s all over the snow. No sign of the horse.” He disappeared. I shut the door, thankful for the safety of walls for both us and the animals.
Friend tried to sit up but flopped back, holding his head, moaning. I lifted his head enough to give him a sip. He was out again. Waiting seems endless when you’re in high anxiety. Where was Tom? What if he didn’t get the wolf, but the wolf got him? If he slipped and fell, he’d be wolf dinner for sure. Wolves didn’t come into this area often. In all my growing-up years, I’d only seen one. He was old and hungry and tried to attack our chickens. Browny, our dog, raised an awful fuss. Papa took that wolf down on the first shot.
There was no shot here—yet. Wait, wait, wait. I put snow packs on Friend’s knot. Wait, wait, wait. Friend began muttering. What was he saying? Must be Nez Perce. Wait, wait, wait. I sent my silent request up to God, Keep my Tom safe, please. A single shot echoed across the hills. Did he get him? Still more waiting.
When Tom opened the door, he motioned for me to step outside. On the snow-covered log bench draped a gray hairy body with huge white fangs. No wonder the spooked horse threw his rider. A whine came from out by the barn. Tom went to check, and I returned to my patient.
It was five days before Friend could sit up on his own. We fed him spoons of water, soup, and coffee, graduating to mashed potatoes and oatmeal to help him gain strength. Not his regular diet, I’m sure. The afternoon of the sixth day, we heard voices outside. “Go,” Friend spoke for the first time. “Qaacii’yewyew (katsee yow yow).” He extended his hand. Tom grasped it and smiled. “You’re welcome.”
The big man walked slowly to where his friends held his horse. After speaking with them for some time, they rode down the snowy dirt road. We didn’t have another visit from the tribe until spring.
The snow melted, the ground thawed, and I began preparing our garden bed for planting. What’s that sound? Horses, lots of horses clopping up the muddy, single-lane road from Culdesac. Tom heard too and stopped peeling bark. Headdresses appeared first up over the hill, followed by brown faces, and last, the Appaloosas they were riding. So many, we were overwhelmed and a little frightened. We stood in front of our cabin door and watched as more and more appeared. Men, women, and children halted their steeds around the area of our old tenting spot.
They spread grass mats on the flat area and began to load them with all sorts of unidentifiable foods. What was happening? Obviously, we weren’t in immediate danger. Friend came out of the crowd with wide strides. He stood tall and hearty, extended his hand to Tom, and spoke one word, “Potlatch.” He motioned for us to come. We followed and were surrounded by beautiful, smiling people.
Friend spoke slow and steady in Nez Perce, motioning around the area. He reenacted the story of last winter’s accident to the silent, respectful audience. “Qaacii’yewyew. Come, eat,” he pointed. It was then we realized his family and friends had dressed in their finest and provided this meal to say “Thank you for helping our brother.” Potlatch—a party. There was feasting, laughing, and much nodding of the head. A drum began to beat a rhythm hard to resist. Everyone was soon pulled into the dance circle, even Tom.
Chapter 39
Alice’s Deception
With soaring spirits and many friends’ support, we disciplined ourselves into a routine that would take us to our goal. People often stopped and checked our progress. We installed one window in the cabin to save on kerosene, laid a floor, bought a cookstove, another horse, and best of all
, an old car. The mill was up and running full-bore, and the area was recovering. We would never have reached this point without the help of friends.
My folks had been fairly distant during the last three years. We spent Christmas with them and saw them at the Fourth of July picnics but seldom in between. My mind was goal centered and blocked out concern, thinking no news is good news. They would let me know if help was needed. Letters were regular, holding daily routine information and local gossip. I had no idea what was really happening.
I was picking beans one morning, when I heard a car drive up. “Who’s this?” I said out loud. I didn’t recognize the car. Alice climbed out. “Hello, Alice. I didn’t know you had a new car. When did you learn to drive?” We hugged. “Have a seat.” I pointed to our now two-log benches. “Would you like a cup of coffee?” She sat while I fetched her a cup. “How good to have you visit. How’s your folks?”
Her eyes sparked, “How’s the folks? How’s the folks? That’s all I ever hear! Why doesn’t anyone ever ask me how I am?” I was shocked into silence. What is going on? She took a sip of the coffee and continued, “That old lady’s driving me insane. She follows me everywhere pretending to work, but I can feel her eyes poking me. She condemns me every chance she gets, ‘Well if you hadn’t … If you didn’t … Can’t you do anything right? You’ve ruined my son’s life. Be careful, you big, clumsy oaf.’ I’m about ready to flip.” Stunned, I found no words to offer.
“If I’d known I was gonna have to live with that old witch, I would never have married Johnny. He’s such a mama’s boy that he …”
“What?” I broke in, “You’re living with my folks?”
Hatred shot from her eyes. “Nobody told you, did they? Nobody has the guts to talk about the shame—the shame of who I am and what I’ve lived with. Shame of why Johnny married me and his shame of not being able to make a living. It’s shame, shame, shame on the whole Kole family.”
I repeated, “You’re living with my folks?”
“Nine months. Cooped up in that house all winter with that old bat, a spoiled rotten kid, and two men who’re beaten down by that controlling woman.”
“I didn’t know.” What else could I say?
“Johnny’s beaten to a pulp. She controls his every move. Never a moment, I mean never a moment are we left alone. He cries all night. She even told me when we first got there, I could sleep in your room. I refused. What right does she have to control our marriage? I’m sick and tired of it. If I had a gun, I’d shoot all of them; Johnny and I would run away where no one could find us and we’d be happy forever.”
I kept quiet although my mind was screaming, No! No! This can’t be happening to my family!
“She’s got this list every day. It has to be done or we don’t get supper. We’re slaves. She treats us like children. She’s mean and manipulative. It’s her way or no way. If it weren’t for Johnny’s father intervening, she’d have kicked us out long ago. Where would we go? We don’t have no money, no job. Johnny hates farming.”
Alice stopped long enough for me to ask, “What happened to the Fuller Brush job?”
“Nobody has money to spend on that kind of stuff. Johnny tried. He really tried. Three whole months, he went door to door peddling. A peddler, mind you! Not a decent job. Didn’t even earn enough to pay rent, let alone buy food. We had to get poor man’s food in the soup line to survive. How degrading! Embarrassing! He quit! Couldn’t find anything else. Jobs are still scarce in Lewiston, at least ones that don’t need training. Got a couple of house repair jobs. That’s hard work. He’s not strong, you know. Came home exhausted every night.”
My heart sank. That meant no payback to the folks for buying the business starter kit. That also meant no money for planting crops this year. Mama and Papa’s world was being turned upside down. What was going to happen to the farm?
I looked out toward the road. “Nice car. When did you get that?”
“Today. I rode down to Lewiston with Uncle Ope to pick it up.” Her attitude suddenly turned happy.
My mind was chasing its tail. If they’re broke, couldn’t afford to live on their own, had to move in with the folks, where did the money come from for this car? All I could say was, “Oh.”
“I came by to tell you we’re leaving for California. We’re done putting up with slavery. We’re declaring our freedom. Johnny’s gonna have everything packed by the time I get back. He’s gonna stand up and be a man. We’re throwing it all in the car and leaving. Thought it would be right for me to stop and tell you. You’ve always treated me decent.”
“Thanks,” I replied, looking down to hide the tears. After years of living with Mama’s rejection and Johnny’s meanness, I understood that my relationship with my family was about to change.
Alice climbed back in her fancy new car, smiled viciously, and waved, “Bye, We’re gonna be free and happy.”
As she drove away, I collapsed on the log. Why does everything have to be so complicated? Where’s the loving, tight-knit farm family you hear about? Why can’t people get along, understand, and accept each other? My life had been torn apart again by uncontrollable sadness. What have we done wrong, God? I heard a soft rustling in the grass. With a quick glance, I spied a snake making his way into hiding.
Chapter 40
Heartbreak on the Homestead
After sharing the California news, Tom insisted that I go visit the folks for a few days. We felled as many trees as possible the next day, so Tom could keep working, then he drove me to the farm. I dreaded facing them. What was I going to say? Tears flowed, and my small, white handkerchief was soaked by the time we got there. Not knowing what to say, Tom gave me a kiss, a hug, and said, “I’ll come back on Monday to pick you up.”
The place was quiet—like the calm before the storm when even birds hush their singing. The whole earth was holding its breath with me. I managed to make my feet move toward the house.
As I stepped on the porch, the screen door banged open and Edna grabbed me, “I knew you’d come. I can always count on you.” I held my grown-up fifteen-year-old sister tight as she sobbed hysterically on my shoulder. We sat on the steps. When she was all cried out, she shuddered. “It’s like living in a morgue.”
I looked around. No horses, no cow in the barn, no chickens in the pen, no pig. “Where are the animals?”
“Been butchered or sold,” Edna sighed.
“Just that quick?” How fast things were changing.
“Nope. That’s what we’ve been living on since last fall. Takes a lot to feed five grown-ups. Can’t believe how much Alice can eat. She can go through one ham all by herself if you’d let her. No wonder she’s such a big cow.”
“Edna …” I began to scold.
“Had to sell the horses to buy food for the cow but finally had to sell the cow too.”
We went to Grandmama’s for Christmas dinner. The folks came to the Stick Ranch to visit a few times, but I hadn’t been to the farm for over a year. Now I understood why they always made arrangements to see us someplace else. They’d been selling off the farm piece by piece, animal by animal, just to survive. They kept it a secret from me.
“What happens now?”
“Don’t know. Papa found out this morning that the crop money he’d been storing away to buy a place in Lewiston is gone. He went to town to put up farm auction signs for next Saturday. Mama’s in bed. The auction’s the last straw for her.”
The new car! Now I knew where the money came from for the new car. How could they do that to the people who had taken them in, given them a place to sleep, and food out of their own barn? Did the folks know that? How could I ask without raising suspicion?
“Uh, where’s Johnny and Alice?” I inquired naively.
“Don’t know. Haven’t seen them since Thursday. Sure like it when they’re gone. Quiet and peaceful. They left a note saying they went to t
own with friends. We were in Reubens visiting Aunt Juna.”
Oh, my goodness. Could this get any worse? It was Aunt Juna’s husband, Uncle Ope, who had taken Alice to Lewiston to get the new car. Was the whole family in on this conspiracy?
“Uh, Edna, can you keep a secret?”
“Ya-ah.”
“Promise you won’t say anything until I tell you.” That had her attention. She nodded. I took a deep breath. “Johnny and Alice won’t be coming back … they uh … left on Thursday to go, uh, to go to California …”
“What?” Edna yelled. I shushed her.
“They went to California to start a brand-new life.” I finished quickly.
Edna’s blue eyes stared at me. She shook herself like a dog shaking off water, “Well, good riddance!”
“Don’t say that. It’s going to break Mama’s heart. Johnny’s always been special to her.”
“Until he married Alice. You can’t imagine what it’s been like. Screaming, yelling, throwing things, silence, crying, banging doors. It’s been a loony bin. Mama will be glad they’re gone.”
Papa came putt-in’ up in the old Model T. “Remember, you promised not to say anything,” I warned Edna.
He climbed slowly out and walked toward the house like he was carrying a sack of rocks on his back. He shuffled along, looking at me with eyes that had turned out the light. “Sorry, Susie. Thought we could do it. Lost it all. We’ve lost everything.”
My arm went around his waist as we walked into the bare house. All that remained was the dining table, four chairs, cookstove, and Mama’s little rocking chair. The bare living room held only my phonograph and Papa’s chair. I pictured my wedding in that room, full of chairs, people, laughter, and happiness. Another piece of me that was no longer going to exist. Memories of smells, sights, and sounds would be all I could hang on to. Change eats away at the heart, and I must decide what to do with this.
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