Outside That Door

by Jennifer Robins

  “Yes, I remember mentions of it from one of the officers who stopped by here last week. We already have a feast for the harvest, but from what I understand, this could be a national holiday from now on,” Helen added. “It’s good to be thankful for a good harvest. This year was not bad at all. This year we will also celebrate our defeat of the British in Saratoga. Word has it we drove them out, and they retreated to the north.”

  Carl nudged Beth and leaned toward her, his voice kept low. “If I remember tight, it was Lincoln who made it a national holiday, some time after this.”

  Helen glanced up over her glasses with a smile and then held the Good Book up to begin reading.

  Logs for the fire had been replenished by Thomas, who now sat in his chair with his pipe hung neatly from one side of his mouth, head back and eyes closed. The fire danced up and down, showering the room with bright streams of an orange glow of warmth.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  With only one thing now on his mind, Carl took to asking Thomas over and over, “When will the chief arrive?” His patience had worn thin now that it had been so many weeks of this time warp.

  “I would like to meet this guy. I hear he can do wonderful things, magic things, like help us get back to the lives we came from.” He hesitated to say the time they came from. Thomas would never understand that.

  “There’s no telling when he’ll be coming this way, although it may well be any time now, since it’s been a while since the time he last came around. Seems to me he usually comes by soon after a battle. This farm is on his way to his own place, so it’s certain he will stop here on his way. He always does.” As he spoke, Thomas took the large shovel that leaned on the barn wall and started to clean out the horses’ stall.

  Carl worked along with him, stacking hay bundles at the side of the stall to be laid down as clean bedding. The big, tall black beauty let out a loud neigh as she watched the men get her place ready for the day. The cow looked on as she chewed her cud. Other animals in the barn had been fed and awaited the same barn-keeping chore for their stalls.

  The thick walls of the barn, with the doors closed, kept it fairly warm inside, even to the point where Carl had a few beads of sweat on his brow as he labored with the heavy bales of hay. With only two more stalls to take care of, the morning chores were almost finished. Carl could hardly wait to get back inside the cabin and take the heavy coat and boots off. Oh, what he wouldn’t do for a nice hot shower. But that could only be a dream. No showers around here. He picked up the next bale of hay. He glanced over at Thomas, who had the build of a workhorse, and marveled at his stamina and strength. All of his trips to the health club for his body building efforts, and still nothing ever made him look like this guy.

  The morning moved along at a rapid speed as the two men completed their work in the barn to happily return to the cabin just in time for lunch, which Helen had ready and waiting for them. A simple bowl of her vegetable soup along with the flatbread she’d baked that morning.

  Little Annie sat at the table playing with her spoon, only to be scolded by her mother to stop it and eat her soup before it got cold. “You have to keep your little belly warm, you know,” she told her with a light touch of encouragement on her arm resting on the table next to her bowl. “I have some sugar candy for you when you finish your lunch.”

  That brought a quick turn of events with the little girl. She picked up her spoon and began to shovel the soup into her mouth like some kind of race began. Now that it had cooled to a point for her to get it down faster, it took her no time at all to scrape the bottom of that bowl clean.

  The men took turns over a washbasin on the counter, cleaning off the remnants of the barn from their hands. Thomas went first, then took the towel from the rack over the counter, which hung on a ring he’d made for that purpose, and dried his hands while Carl dipped his dirty paws into the cold water, now clouded with the dirt from others before him. Once the two of them finished cleaning up, they went to the table to join the rest of the family in the simple feast that filled the cabin with its wonderful aroma. Helen scooped out the soup into their bowls from the black iron pot sitting on the stove, and then brought it to them at the table. Carl reached for the flatbread and broke a large piece off, ready to dip it into the soup. Beth sat across from him, watching him dig into the food like he hadn’t eaten in days.

  Suddenly the door opened and two soldiers walked in, shook off their boots, and smiled. Helen rose quickly to greet them, “Well, look who’s here. Come in and have some hot soup with us,” she told them as they opened their coats and took off their hats. “Tell us what’s new out there,” she asked. “We have had little news lately. Oh…and by the way, I want you to meet our guests.”

  Introductions made they sat at the table to join in the meal and discuss the news of the week…the past couple of weeks.

  Nathan, a young soldier maybe seventeen or less, spoke up. “We beat the pants off those Brits up there at the fort. Some of the others followed behind them as they retreated up north, but we wanted to get back home for awhile. I haven’t seen my parents in over six months.”

  The other soldier, an older man by the name of Samuel, said very little while he devoured the soup set before him. He only lowered his spoon for a few seconds to say something about the chief, which caught the attention of both Carl and Beth. “Yeah, he’s getting things wrapped up at the fort and—”

  “Hold it,” Carl spoke up. “Does this mean he’s coming this way to go home? I understand he always stops by here on his way.”

  “I don’t know; he didn’t say. We only saw him for a few minutes on our way out. He arrived as we were leaving.”

  Thomas joined in. “I expect he will be by soon, if he’s at the fort now. That should mean he’s on his way home, and yes, as I told you before, he does stop here.”

  An empty bowl sat in front of Thomas, but a full cup of rum took the place of the spoon he held in his hand. With a few healthy swallows, it went down his throat to join the soup he had already eaten. He looked over at the fire in the fireplace, knowing all too well it had become time to place another log of wood on the burning embers. He set the cup down and rose from his chair. Rubbing his stomach, he went to the fireplace and placed another large piece of wood on the burning logs.

  Carl sat with the soldiers to ask about the chief. “So you say you didn’t have time to talk to him. Do you have any idea of him coming this way and when?”

  “Can’t say when; he had only arrived at the fort when we were heading out. Who knows how long he’ll be there before he comes this way.” The man shrugged his shoulders.

  “But, he will come this way?”

  “Oh, yes, he will. He always does.” The soldier put a large piece of bread in his mouth and turned away from Carl to nod at Helen, to give her his approval.

  The men were hungry and tired. The long journey had taken its toll on them. Helen offered more soup and a place to rest by the warmth of the fireplace. Carl dropped the subject of the chief for now and let the two warriors to recover so they could be on their way before dark.

  With the warmth of the fire, the cabin hosted a nice place for the tired soldiers to rest for a time. They both gathered by the fireplace on the soft fur rug to enjoy the heat that escaped from the burning flames. Crossing their legs, they huddled next to each other and held their hands out to meet the warmth. Samuel, the older of the two, leaned back until he lay flat on the floor. He closed his eyes and yawned, while Nathan looked on with a half smile. It would not be long before they would be on their way again. The rest, well needed, was welcomed by both of them.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The chief turned to his companion soldier and handed him a rifle. “Won’t need this one now; thought you’d like to have it.” The soldier nodded and smiled as he took the gun from the hand of his Indian friend, whom he’d fought side-by-side with. Chief Paul was not the only Indian to fight with the Americans. His tribe went all out to help as much as they cou
ld. They looked up to Paul, a name given him by the Patriots, as a special man with special gifts.

  The sun sat on the edge of the western sky, leaving an orange glow on the horizon. A cold, brisk wind blew across the fort, chilling the air all around the large structured cabin where many tired men lingered for the night. The chief had only once stayed so long at the fort, but now the big battle in Oriskany in August was over, and with it his long chore to help bring the tribes together. He finally would have time to relax. His thoughts on that cold fall night drifted to his departure in the morning to head back to his family, even though there were things still to be done. The past few days at the fort to secure things took him away from the war, the brutal flow of blood and ending of so many lives. Freedom was now at hand from another battle, but the fighting was far from over.

  Short of food and supplies, his worry for the men took his mind off of his trip home while he lay down on a bearskin rug in front of the fire blazing in the large open fireplace. His visit back home would not last long, to his regret, but the war, even though they won the big battle, was waiting to be won. Brave warriors, General Washington and the like, had fought valiantly to push the Brits back and out of the territory. The retreat to the north by the British took with them most of the worst of the Indians who fought on their side. Chief Paul hadn’t seen his family for months. With little means of communication, he longed for a chance to go home. All of the small farms along the way would provide him with refuge as he traveled the long journey in the morning.

  Five other soldiers and three Indian guides sat around the long table drinking rum and eating dried beef mixed with cured venison. A fire raged in the open fireplace while the wind outside whistled through the land, slapping at the sides of the large log cabin. The war had taken its toll on all of them as well, on all those who fought for their freedom, who came forth to discover a new way of life, a new way to live without the control of the majesty, without fear of anyone taking freedom away. The new world offered such a life and those who sought it had to fight for it. With the brave help of the native-born Indians, like Captain Brant, it looked like the newcomers to this land of plenty would have what they came for. The new America, a place to settle without fear, without control of the empire and a life willing to offer them the most they had ever dreamed of—fertile lands of fields dripping with soil that would grow the many needs of life; rivers and lakes to provide food and water, trees to make homes, furniture, and warmth; and most of all, freedom. Most of the Indian tribes helped the new settlers, such as the chief and Captain Brant along with his followers. Life was hard, but hard-working, hard-fighting settlers relished the idea of the future.

  The vast oceans had parted them from their families, friends, and lives they were used to, but the desire for new lives prevailed. You could see it in the faces of those men who sat at the table with their comrades, the natural born citizens of this large wonderful land. The Indian didn’t need to speak fluent English to know what these men were all about; they knew in their hearts and minds that the settlers were ones to welcome and help. Many learned much of the language, but sign language was still used much of the time. Smiles, grins, shaking of the heads often translated to others something kind and warm.

  At hand now, a time to reflect, to think of the future, to settle in and form a real government. News spread throughout the land of the victory, and hope grew among the settlers. Nearing the end of October meant a time approaching celebration, a time to feast, to love, to come together—even the six Indian tribes who looked forward to peace, and a time of great harvest rejoiced in the end of a war-torn summer with an outlook of faith in the future.

  The men huddled around the fire, tin mugs of rum in hand along with heavy wool blankets over their legs. The whistling wind outside gave rhythm to the sounds of the owls and the distant night-howling of a wolf somewhere high up in the mountains. Oil lamps turned down to a dim glow lit the cabin enough for the night’s rest. The older man who stayed at the fort, who lived at the fort, sat in his rocking chair by the door, a colorful Indian blanket over him tucked up to his neck. His head nodded as the lids of his eyes dropped slowly, the pipe in the corner of his mouth fell to his chin and rested there. At the side of the high stone fireplace, a man laid back in a chair joined the sounds of the night with his loud snoring, while others curled up on the floor with the chief who now slept peacefully.

  * * *

  Morning brought with it a colder day, with flying snowflakes sailing through the air before landing on the ground. Dark clouds covered the rising sun in the east; letting only a few streaks of light penetrate the dawn. Sounds of the awakened horses in the barns announced the dawn of a new day. Wind blew over the land, catching the autumn leaves scattered around on the ground and sent them into flight once again before a final landing. A large hawk glided overhead in search of an early morning breakfast. The first day of November, the lead day into winter, a time to hunker down and wait for spring and warmer weather.

  Hot tea in tin pots on the stove let out a spiral of steam that reached high above the stove. Some of the men sat at the table with cups in hand, talking about the day ahead of them, while others tended to the fire and equipment needed for their journey.

  Chief Paul took his gear out to the barn to load up for his ride home. He shed his army uniform to dress in his native wear, of skins and wool poncho that hung down almost to his knees. With dark reddish skin, high cheek bones, and a long narrow nose, he stood six feet and some inches tall. His skin matched the leather hide of his pants—dry-looking and weathered, yet his eyes beamed with life and hope in a most mysterious way.

  The other Indians with him followed, taking the gear to the horses outside and mounting everything on their backs. When they returned to the cabin to get the canteens of rum, a few dried venison pieces, slices of corn bread, and whatever small personal belongs they had, Chief Paul came with them. His purpose was to say good-bye to the soldiers he had spent the past few months with and to let them know he would be returning soon after the feast of his homecoming that he knew was planned for him, his family, and the other settlers nearby his homestead. He’d sent word by messenger he would be coming home by the end of the month.

  The weather, now calm, still promised with clouds overhead there would be more snow. To get on their way was most important, the sooner the better. At least two days of travel, considering some downtime for the horses and time to eat and rest, lay ahead of them. Heavy blankets packed on the back of the horses would shield them from the bitter cold the dismal fall day brought. Winter had its seasonal face showing up now that the time of harvest was over. Chief Paul felt sure his wife and sons had taken care of everything at the farm while he was away. Whatever work left to be done, he would do when he arrived there. With two grown sons and a wife who could keep up with any man in the fields, he had nothing to worry about. The only thing to bother him was the fact that he had to be away from them so much, leaving his family with the heavy load of working the farm and taking care of the livestock. A sigh of relief came over him as he mounted his horse and led the way out from the fort, his companions right alongside of him

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Carl paced back and forth. News had come that many of the soldiers were breaking up from their camps and heading home. Speculation of Chief Paul’s appearance at the farm ran hopefully in his mind. Every little sound from outside had him hurry to the window or door. The afternoon brought clear skies for a change, and temperatures rose above freezing. That meant nothing would hold a traveler from getting to the farm. At least that’s what Carl surmised.

  At least the work out in the barn was a little more comfortable now that Carl had become more familiar with what had to be done. The weather gave Thomas a chance, with the help from Carl, to clean out the stalls and put fresh hay down. Not an easy chore when it was cold and snowing. The horses were let out in the corral to bathe in the morning sun that would soon be gone with the clouds moving across the sky. The men too
k care of the work of cleaning out the stalls while they were unoccupied.

  With breakfast far behind and not yet time for something to eat for lunch, Carl took up a vigil at the window, anticipating the sight of the one Indian he so wanted to see.

  “Come have a little rum,” Thomas told him as he sat at the table, a tin cup in hand. “You’ll beat yourself up looking for Chief Paul. He may not get around to this place for some time.”

  “Why do you say that?” Carl asked as he came to the table. “Word had it that they’re breaking up and heading for home. He has to come by here, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes, true, he does usually come by here, but that may take some time.” He poured some rum in a cup and handed it to Carl. “Don’t fuss over it. I think he’ll show up soon. For now, just relax. We had a busy morning and need to take the rest of the afternoon with ease.” He held his cup to his mouth for a healthy drink of rum, and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Later we must take care of cutting wood for the fireplace and setting feed out for the livestock. It never ends.”

  “Yeah, I know it. I don’t know how you folks do it. This is a lot more work than the farming I know of. That is, back in the future. You’d be surprised at how things progress from this time to my time. I’m sure you won’t believe it if I told you.” He took a drink of the rum and set the cup down.

  Beth walked up to him. “Take it easy with the rum. We don’t need you falling down drunk again. You’re not used to it like Thomas is.” A sound from outside had her looking toward the window while Carl sprang to his feet to take a look. To her disappointment, Carl reported it was just the wind. She, too, wanted more than anything to see Chief Paul ride in. If Carl is right, she thought, we might have a chance with him to get back, but back to what? Will the cottage still be there, and what about the cat; is Tabitha all right? Then the sudden thought of her parents and Carl’s family.