Outside That Door

by Jennifer Robins

  Thomas had to unload the wagon and bed down old Betsy for the night before he could have dinner, so he left the house to hurry out to the barn. With only the light of the night, the half moon and stars overhead, he took the horse and wagon into the barn where he lit a lantern and hung it on the hook. He chuckled to himself as he thought of Carl stumbling along in a stupor and the look on Beth’s face. Out there in the wilderness, drinking was so much a part of life, he thought very little of the matter—only that it took on a bit of humor.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  A knock on the door early in the morning could only mean one thing—Thomas was up and ready for farm duties. Beth rolled over and looked at her sleeping husband, who didn’t move an inch but was still breathing. The smell of his drinking still lingered. His face looked pale, his hair was a mess, and he needed a shave, which she knew would not happen.

  She swung her legs over the side of the bed and hurried to the door. Pressing both hands against the wood, she yelled out, “I don’t think Carl can come right now. He’s not feeling too good.”

  The muffled sound of Thomas’s voice through the door clearly expressed some sympathy. “Yes, I suppose so. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”

  “I’ll have him up a little later,” she yelled back as she heard him walk away.

  She looked back at her husband on the bed. Carl stirred slightly, but he looked so bad she didn’t want to even try to wake him. “This is great,” she whispered, as a frown dressed her face. “Not only are we back in a war I don’t care about, but you have to go out and get drunk.” In a huff she pulled the nightshirt given her up over her head and threw it on the bed in disgust.

  The chill of the morning stung against her nakedness. She hurried to dress in the warm clothes and draped her shoulders with the spun wool shawl that almost covered her whole body. When she stepped outside the bedroom door she paused to tie the shawl at her neck. It flowed down past her knees like an over-sized cape.

  “Good morning,” Helen said as Beth strolled to the table where she was sitting with a cup in front of her. “Come have some tea,” she offered, a brow lifted as she gazed back at the closed bedroom door. “Is your husband all right?”

  “Yes,” Beth said as she sat at the table. “He’s just not feeling too well this morning.”

  A little nod of her head and Helen went on to pour the tea.

  With Carl down for the count, Beth didn’t know what she could do around this ill-equipped farm cabin out in nowhere land. No TV, no radio, not even a newspaper or magazine to read. Forget those old books that smelled like someone’s hot attic. Helen had her days filled with sewing, cooking, and putting up food for storage. It wasn’t easy, as Beth could see, to do much of anything about food without a refrigerator, freezer, and a microwave. But Helen seemed to make do with what she had to work with. It was amazing to see how people lived back in those days, live on the spot, not in any movie or pictures in a book.

  Helen promised a nice meal of quail if and when the men went out to hunt—or maybe some venison if they got lucky. Buffalo was so tough, but the Indians had a way with it. Some of the food they raised in the vast fields that ran as far as you could see in three different directions had been prepared by drying and stored in a cellar adjacent to the barn. Corn and wheat, ground down by a large stone wheel to flour-like consistency and put in large crocks, sat in a corner of the cabin.

  While the women in the cabin prepared for breakfast, Thomas was out in the barn,, taking care of his chores which had him up before dawn every day of the week without exception.

  Large lofts held feed, mostly corn for the animals. Fenced-in areas of hay and straw piled inside the barn, where it kept dry and out of the way in the far back side of the building, would take care of the livestock for the winter months. Large wooden bins with wooden lids at the side of the barn were half filled with cobs of corn, the field type raised for feed. Thomas had everything in neat, controlled order and had worked hard all spring and summer and into the fall to make it that way.

  Beth wondered, as she sat sipping on her hot tea, if she could get used to this way of living. Just the thought of giving up all the things she had in her life was stifling. Her work meant so much to her, her friends, her hobby of sculpturing, the movies she liked, books, her hairdresser, and so much more. What about Tabitha? The thought of their poor cat suddenly dawned on her. What had happened to her? Would they ever see her again?

  “Would you like more tea?” Helen interrupted her thoughts.

  Beth’s eyes rose to meet her humble host standing next to her, but tears clouded her view. “No thank you. I’ve had enough.”

  Helen placed a hand on her shoulder. “I don’t know what happened to you and your husband, but I hope it will be rectified soon for you.” She circled around to the other side of the table to sit across from Beth. “This place you say you came from, is it far from here?”

  “I don’t know how far—maybe very far, like many years far. I expect you won’t understand that, but I appreciate your concern for us.” She looked down into her cup, now filled only with the tea leaves left behind from her morning brew. Too bad I can’t read tea leaves.

  “Is your home nice…a nice place?” Helen was getting more inquisitive.

  “Yes, my home is nice, and I would love to get back there.” A tear traveled down her face and hung on the end of her chin.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you so much.” Helen rose to her feet. “What can I get for you? Would you like something to eat?”

  “No thank you, nothing.”

  Just then the bedroom door opened and out walked Carl, looking like death warmed over. The hangover he had was nothing to be proud of, but he was not about to make any excuses for it.

  “Remind me never to go for supplies again, Beth.” He mumbled as he came up to the table on shaky legs. “They wouldn’t by any chance have some coffee around here, would they? Or some aspirin?” He flopped down into a chair next to Beth.

  “Tea is all you will get. And don’t sit so close to me; you stink.” Beth moved her body to another chair away to avoid him. “If you can, I wish you would go to the river and wash up a little and change those clothes.”

  “What do you expect? I was out on a run with wildlife, Indians, and gunfire all around us. That rum kept me from freaking out. I was never so scared in all my life.” He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief from his pocket. “Any word on Chief Paul this morning?”

  “Carl, we don’t even know if he can help us. Take it easy.”

  “Yeah, but I have a feeling he can, and I’m looking forward to talking to him.”

  A plate of cooked beans and some dry flatbread was set on the table in front of him. He looked down at it and turned a pale white. Gently he pushed the plate away to the middle of the table. The lids of his eyes closed down tight as he took a deep breath.

  “I told you to just drink some tea,” Beth insisted as she looked over at Helen who stood by the table with a smile. “Is there more tea?”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll get it right now.”

  She hurried to the stove for more hot water and filled another cup with tea leaves, then poured the hot water over them.

  Since tea was all he would get that chilly fall morning, he took the cup handed to him and sipped at the steaming beverage. He lifted a brow as the taste trickled down his throat. The show of a slim grin and another sip had his face returning to its proper color. Helen had added a bit of honey to the tea to make it more tolerable in his delicate condition.

  The sound of the front door slamming shut had Carl holding on to his head with both hands. Even the drop of a pin would have had his head pounding, but the thick wood door just about did him in.

  Thomas came in looking cold, with his face red and wet. Water from the tip of his nose dripped down over his dark beard. He shook his head, letting out a spray of rain from his bushy hair.

  “It’s a bitter one out there this morning,” he commented a
s he approached the table. “I’ll have some hot tea, Helen, and when I’ve finished I need something to eat. I’m feeling a bit tuckered out from all that work out there.” He then rubbed a large handkerchief over his face and up top of his head before taking off his long wool coat. Helen took it from him and hung it on the back of the chair by the fireplace so it would dry.

  Beth was surprised how dry his shirt was, but after thinking it over, she glanced at the wool coat and realized nothing could penetrate thick wool. Carl had his head down on the table, cradled by his arms with an empty cup in front of him.

  “Looks like our friend here had a bit of a bad way to go this morning.” Thomas let out a laugh that was not appreciated by Beth, but she said nothing, just gave him a look.

  The food consisted of a wheat meal cooked to a thick consistency, with milk poured over it. Some apples brought in from the fruit bin outside were cut in quarters and placed on a plate in the middle of the table. More tea, served again with a little honey and sweet-smelling spices, hit the spot.

  After breakfast Carl went behind the barn, took his clothes off, and let the cold rain wash his naked, chilled body as he stood there shivering. They all thought he was nuts, but that is what he wanted to do, even though Helen had offered to warm water for him to bathe in.

  With a large wool blanket wrapped around him, he hurried back into the house to be greeted by his lovely wife with clean clothes draped over her arm. “Here. Get in the bedroom and dress. I can’t believe you did that.” She almost threw the cloths at him. “If you get sick, don’t look to me for help.”

  Carl’s lips were blue; he shivered all over and looked like a drowned rat. Still, he took the trousers and shirt and hurried off to the bedroom without saying a word, but his teeth made a chattering noise they all heard.

  With the rain still coming down hard outside, Thomas stayed in with the hope it would clear up by afternoon. He wanted to go hunting for a better meal to serve his guests. Helen had asked him the night before to get out there and bring home something good. She was itching to cook a big dinner and make something nice for dessert. A nice pudding with some rum sauce over it went through her mind as she pondered over a quail dinner or maybe rabbit. After all, these were not the regular kind of guests she had visiting—these were fine city folks. At least, that was how she thought of them.

  Carl strolled over to the fire and placed his hands straight out toward the open flame to warm them. The color had returned to his lips, but the shivers still persisted. He rubbed his hands together then put them on his face once they were warm and toasty. Standing close to the chair with Thomas’s coat over the back, he could smell the wool as it dried from the heat of the fire. It had an odor something like a wet dog. He twitched his nose in an attempt to avoid it.

  Beth went to the window to see if the rain had let up. The sun was slowly squeezing out from the clouds, making its first appearance of the day. Naked treetops swayed in the wind, branches leaning to the side as though in a dance. It was a symphony, a ballet of earth’s time for sleep.

  Thomas had his rifle in front of him as he sat at the table, cleaning it. He was ready to go out there and hunt something up for Helen to cook, and he was wasting no time about it.

  The rifle felt strange in Carl’s hand once he took it from Thomas, a little skeptical in his thoughts. “What is this for?”

  “It’s one of my best, and you, my man, are going with me to hunt up dinner.” A senior of at least ten years of Carl, Thomas spoke to him sternly, as if issuing him an order.

  “I’m not sure I can shoot one of these…” He trailed off as he looked the weapon over. “It’s a nice shotgun,” he said, after further examination. He handled the gun easily, as though he’d used it before. Heavy as it was, he managed to hold it up with one hand to look it over. His face lit up with the excitement of holding a weapon and showed a sudden sparkle in his eyes Beth had never seen before. “I guess I could go with you all right. What will we be looking for?”

  “Anything but a human.” Thomas laughed. “Come on; let’s go.”

  Beth came up to his side, a skeptical frown on her face. “I wish you wouldn’t do this.”

  “Why not? We have to eat.”

  “That’s not what I mean. I don’t want you out there again, not after your trip yesterday.”

  “I’m not going to get drunk, so stop the nagging. I’m going with Thomas. This could be a real adventure, and I don’t want to miss out on it. I’m feeling better now, and I want to go.”

  “Let the men go, dear. They always have to hunt for food. It will be all right. Now come relax.” Helen’s voice was soft and reassuring. “We can plan a dessert.”

  It didn’t take Carl long to dress for the trip out into the wilderness once again. Thomas gave him one of his wool coats and a fur hat to cover his head.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The sun warmed the cool morning a little as it streamed through the trees, coming up from the horizon and heading for high above the cabin. Carl looked up to the sky to estimate the time as somewhere around eight. He still felt the bite of the rum the day before, but he was ready to travel out on the hunt, anxious to bag something for the dinner table.

  They strolled out into the wooded area just behind the cabin, with guns loaded and plenty of water stored in an animal-hide canteen. A stream ran not far from there which provided many of the wildlife with food and water, a perfect place to possibly find some fine feathered creatures lurking. Carl followed Thomas, staying close while he watched for movement in the bush, with an occasional glance down for crawly things that might come up and bite him in the leg.

  Thomas carried a long knife attached to a holder at his leather belt. It bobbed up and down as he walked along the uneven path heading down to the stream. He stood so much taller than Carl, it was difficult to see past him. A big guy, the farmer had a build on him the likes of any great wrestler or prize fighter. Carl pictured him on a football field.

  The thick brush on each side of them kept them in line on a clear, well-trampled path. Thomas walked along fast, without hesitation, but kept his movement quiet. He had instructed Carl to make this trip as silent as possible so they could come up on their prey without scaring them off. He seemed to know there would be some game at the stream. Surely he had done this many times in the past and knew just what to expect. The chill of the day didn’t worry him, and neither did the fact they might run into the enemy along the way, but Carl couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if they did. He’d seen what kind of things these bad Indians were capable of.

  Why did it have to be so quiet? It gave Carl an eerie feeling to only hear the sound of the wind whisking through the trees. Astonished at how Thomas crept along, making little noise other than an occasional crunch of a small twig under foot, not loud enough to disturb anything, Carl kept in step with his leader.

  As the area began to clear of the thick growth, there came the sound of the slow-moving stream just ahead, an almost pleasant symphony of water flowing downstream. It seemed like they had been walking for miles, but it had only been the length of a football field. Thomas slowed his gait while he lowered his upper body to almost kneeling. Carl did the same. They looked out through bushes now emptied of their leaves to see some pheasants near the water. This was it; they now had to be very careful not to move, not to make any noise and wait, wait until one was in range.

  Carl’s blood was pumping, his heartbeat hastened as he glared out at those birds so unsuspecting of their presence. Thomas was bent down in a squatting position, his gun held high against his shoulder, his eyes on the site. The little twitching of his beard gave Carl an idea he was ready to fire, but nothing happened yet. He got down beside him and raised his gun in the same fashion as he thought of the last time he’d gone hunting. It had been so long ago, he hardly knew just when, only that he’d been single at the time and still in college. Since then, the only time he had shot a gun was at the local shooting range on the outer part of town where
there were no homes or businesses.

  The birds fluttered their wings, dipped down into the water for food, and scurried about after a female, who was sought after by three males. How beautiful they are, Carl thought as he watched.

  Suddenly a sound from the other side of the stream had the pheasants disrupted, and they hurried to the sky. Thomas stood, aimed, and fired. Carl did the same. Thomas made a hit. Now it was a matter of how they would get the prey out of the water before it drifted away.

  Thomas hurried down the banks of the stream until he came right in line with his kill. Without hesitation he ran into the water, fighting the rapid flow, legs lifting high with each step forward. He scooped up the dead bird and held it up in the air as he rushed back to the bank. “Here we are, dinner,” he shouted as he came up to Carl who stood holding his shotgun down at his side. A wide smile on his face, he held the dead pheasant up by its feet to admire it. “This will feed us all tonight. Helen will be pleased.” He tied the feet of the bird to a long leather string connected to his belt. “Let’s be on our way. It will take some time to dress this bird so my wife can make a meal out of it.”

  Disappointed his shot missed the one he aimed at, Carl took his place behind Thomas and they started back to the farm. The sky had darkened again with a few drops of rain hitting the hats they wore. Picking up speed, they hurried along to beat the downpour expected to arrive in mere minutes. The wind’s bite stung the flesh of their faces as they made their way through the thick wooded area down the narrow path from which they came.

  Carl caught the smell of the kill as Thomas hurried on in front of him, the dead bird swinging back and then forward with his stride. The big farmer knew what he had to do when they arrived back at the farm. Gutting and cleaning game was not something Carl looked forward to and was hopeful his kind host would not ask him to help.