Ragni shook her head and began unloading the supplies they’d bought the night before. She left the paints and other art supplies in the car and took the new stovepipe into the house, hoping she’d measured right and the pipe would go in as smoothly as the window had. The man at the hardware store had given her what sounded like complete instructions. If only she could remember to think—with love— before opening her mouth and saying something like, “She has two feet.” What difference did it make to her if Paul gave Erika a ride over to his ranch?
It wasn’t Paul; it was Erika. She dropped the packages on the counter in the kitchen and stopped to analyze her thought. Erika has a crush on him, and I don’t want her getting hurt. She goes home with a broken heart and Susan is going to kill me. As if I have any control over what the kid does, let alone her thoughts and feelings.
Are you sure it’s Erika and not you? This time the little voice whispered so softly, she almost failed to hear it. Almost but not quite.
Choosing to ignore the voice, she thought back to the first crush she’d had on an older man. Susan warned her, but that did about as much good as telling the wind to stop blowing.
Peter was a college student doing his student teaching in the art department her freshman year in high school. “You’re pretty good, you know that?” he’d told her one afternoon in class, shoving fingers through tawny hair that curled to his shoulder. They were working with pastels, so he took his eraser and lifted a highlight on the curve of the apple she’d been working on. “Just that little bit will make that reflection pop. See what I mean?”
She’d never drowned in a guy’s eyes before. “Yeah, sure.” The words came from some far distant universe. Will you be here for the rest of the year? My life?
She spent the next two weeks dreaming of their every encounter and making sure she took all his advice to heart. Until she saw him lean in the car window and kiss the woman behind the steering wheel.
Her sister had been right: puppy love was the pits.
Ragni laughed at herself. If only she could share that memory with Erika, but right now she wouldn’t understand. Not want to understand. Stepping around Erika, who was pouring water from the bucket into the large pot on the camp stove, she headed to the privy, still thinking back to her high-school years.
A dry, buzzing rattle caught her attention on the path to the outhouse. Ragni glanced up to see a mottled brown snake coiled in the sunshine in front of the door. Her scream scared the crows in the trees, and they set to screaming danger to the world. She sprang backward, ten feet or so in a single bound. The stories are true. Your entire life does pass before your eyes in times of extreme danger. She didn’t need to die of snakebite—the way her heart felt, she’d have a coronary.
Silent treatment now forgotten, Erika came running. “What’s wrong?”
Ragni pointed to the snake, forked tongue flicking the air, flat head weaving back and forth. Shuddering, dry-mouthed, her heart thundering in her ears, she whispered, “Get the hoe.”
“We can’t kill him! Just leave him alone, and he’ll go away. Paul said the snakes are more afraid of us than we are of them. Give him some time, he’ll go away.”
“But he might come back.” Ragni was shivering and wrapped her arms around her chest.
Erika put an arm around Ragni’s waist. “Come on, let’s have a caramel roll.”
The two of them sat in the car, Ragni swigging water as if she’d run three miles. “I don’t get this,” she finally said. “You couldn’t sleep in the tent because a little bitty mouse was rustling in the grass, but there was a six-foot snake curled up next to the outhouse and you didn’t blink an eye.”
“You screamed enough for both of us.” Erika peeled off another section of her caramel roll and tipped her head back to let the piece dangle into her mouth. “Besides, if you’d been making noise like you told me to do, he’d have left before you got there.”
“Unless he was sleeping or hard of hearing.”
“Snakes pick up vibrations from the ground too. Stomp your feet next time.”
“I’ll stomp you, you twit.”
Erika lifted her eyebrows and grinned. “Right. And he—it wasn’t six feet long.”
“I have to pee.”
“You think it’s safe?”
“It will be if you come with me,” Ragni pleaded.
“Oh, for…” Erika slung herself out of the car and trudged all the way to the privy, then stood outside whistling.
“Thanks. That sucker really scared me.”
“Me too, if I’d gotten that close.” Erika shuddered. “He was big. Not six feet, but fat.”
“But you… you were so cool about it.” Ragni slowly shook her head. I don’t get it.
Erika grinned at her with a slight tip of the head.
Back in the kitchen, Ragni stared at the stove. “Shall we try to put the pipe back up?”
“I thought we were going to clean out the chimney first.”
But how? Ragni stared at the opening in the chimney, a two-inch metal flange surrounding the hole. “Guess if I get up on the roof and poke the broom down it…” She hesitated, still not eager to leave the ground.
“Paul said for us to stay off the roof. He’s afraid it’s not safe.”
So big deal for Paul. Ragni shot a look at Erika. “We could run a hose through it.” Ragni stood, hands on hips, and stared at the wall. “I bet Poppa’s snake would work.”
“That thing he cleaned out drains with?”
“A more useful kind of snake, at least in this instance.”
“You know, I used to dream that the floor was covered with snakes, and if I let my hand or foot move off the bed, I’d be bitten.”
“Eeuw. What a terrible dream.” Ragni shook her head and shivered again. “I’ll probably have nightmares after my reptile encounter.”
“Aren’t there people who clean out chimneys?” Erika boosted herself up to sit on the counter.
“Yes, if we had a telephone to call them. I thought of starting the fire anyway, but with all that soot in the pipes, we might burn the place down. At least that would take care of Paul’s concern.”
“I thought you liked not having a phone.” Erika, arms rigid on the counter, stared down at her swinging feet. “But if the cabin burned, the hay field might burn, and then Paul would be really unhappy.”
“True.” Ragni felt the need to get back to the situation at hand. “Well, I’m going up on the roof with the broom, and you can dig soot out from in here. Let’s put down that tarp I bought so we can carry the crud outside and dump it.”
“Slave driver. We got all clean, and now we’re going to get really dirty.” Her face said quite clearly what she thought of the coming mess.
Getting on the roof was more difficult than Ragni thought it would be.
“Let me do that.” Erika stood at the bottom of the stepladder. “I can get up there easier than you can.”
Ragni wavered—in her mind, not her body. Erika was definitely more agile than she was, not that she was decrepit or anything. But seventeen more years of living made a lot of difference, as did more pounds.
“No, I will. Hold the ladder.” She clung to the roof as she climbed onto it. “Hand me the broom, please.” Taking the broom from Erika, she turned over to hands and knees, then pushed herself upright. She was fine now, as long as she didn’t look down. You are the biggest sissy of all time. It’s not like you’re on a skyscraper, or even a two-story building. Just this little old cabin. Scolding herself took her mind off the drop from the edge of the roof to the ground.
Once at the chimney, she bumped a brick in the cap; it slid off and thumped down the warped and moldy shakes, taking a shake with it as it clattered to the ground. Lord, what am I doing up here anyway? How can I be so stubborn and stupid?
Hearing a truck coming down the road, she looked up to see dust billowing. The now familiar tan truck slammed to a stop in front of the cabin, and Paul leaped to the ground. “What do
you think you’re doing up there?” His shout could be heard clear to Medora.
“I’m cleaning out the chimney so I can start the stove.” With effort, she kept any quaver out of her voice.
“You trying to kill yourself or what?” Paul stood back far enough from the house to see her clearly.
She looked down at him, all six-foot-plus of righteous male indignation, arms akimbo, fists planted at his belt. The hat brim shaded the upper part of his face, so she couldn’t see his eyes, but from the rest of his body language, she knew they were flashing fire. Looking down was not a good idea—not a good idea at all. She blinked several times, as if trying to get a lash hair out of her eyes and sucked in a deep breath, but the only solution was to sit down and close her eyes.
Answering him took more air than she could suck in at the moment. The need to keep from lying flat out or curling into a ball supplanted the desire to tell him exactly what she thought of his domineering behavior. Kill myself indeed. “Aunt Ragni, are you all right?” Erika asked from the stepladder. She looked over her shoulder. “We have to help her.”
“Why in the world would she…?” Paul muttered, coming closer to the house.
“We’re just trying to clean the chimney.”
Ragni would have smiled at the bite in Erika’s voice if she could think that far. Is this what women used to feel like when they were about to swoon? She let her head drop forward as far as it would go, but when one was sitting on a roof with knees bent, the soles of one’s boots flat, and ancient, buckled shakes digging into one’s posterior, nothing helped much. She scooted forward slightly. The sound of ripping fabric made her freeze. My pants. She nudged herself forward again, but now she was stuck. Not only am I scared of heights, now I can’t move, and my pants are ripped. If only she could sink through the roof.
“Hang on, I’m coming to help you.” Paul motioned Erika off the ladder and climbed up to step catlike onto the roof. The creaking sound came from the boards beneath the shakes. “Are you dizzy?”
The nod was not a good idea either.
“Heights been a problem before?”
“Mmm hmm. Thought I was over that.”
“Take my hand.”
Ragni looked up to see his extended hand. Her hand had a mind of its own as it left her knees and…
He took a step, and the shake he stepped on broke away, knocking him slightly off balance. He took a step the other way, onto the slight dip that extended from the chimney to the lower edge of the roof, a dip that would be noticeable only as a shadow when the sun was right. The ensuing crash sounded like the whole roof was caving in.
Shooting that half-grown cow didn’t sound like such a bad idea at the moment. Tossing the laughing man in the river sounded like the best idea of all. Nilda stalked over to where the shirt hung snagged on a dead branch of a fallen tree. Now it would need not only washing again but also the services of a needle and thread. Beckoning Eloise to follow her, she gathered up the drying laundry and returned to the house.
The bread had risen all right—over the sides of the bowl to puddle on the counter. With a murderous glare, Nilda punched down what was in the bowl and returned the escaped dough back to the main body. She dumped the entire ball out on the floured surface, slammed and kneaded it a few times, and cut it into five portions for loaves. They only had two loaf pans. She formed the remaining three pieces into round loaves and placed them on the cookie sheets to rise again under a clean dishtowel—one of the first things to be washed and dried.
She could hear the men outside, along with the sound of digging and hammering.
“Ma?”
“Ja.” She turned and forced a smile for her daughter’s benefit. “What do you need?”
“I’m thirsty.”
Oh bother, she hadn’t churned the cream she’d poured into the churn so they would have fresh butter to put on the fresh bread. A cup of buttermilk sounded like an excellent idea right about now. Instead she pulled the milk jug out of the tub of cold water and poured Eloise a cup.
“You take this out and sit on the front step to drink it. Do not leave the step, you hear me?” Visions of her daughter getting lost in the tall grass or bitten by a snake haunted her more than she wanted to admit. Fret not. If only the doing was as easy as the saying. “And stay away from the cows.” She wasn’t sure if the warning was for her or Eloise.
Eloise nodded and, holding her cup carefully with both hands, walked to the door and looked over her shoulder to her mother. “Bread?”
Nilda huffed out a sigh. “Soon. Just put the cup down on the step, sit yourself down and then drink it.” She gave the stew a stir and added more wood to the fire.
By the time she rang the bar for dinner, she had the long Johns drying on the tree branches and the bread out of the oven. Guilt over not having bread dough frying for dessert and because the sun was well past straight up made her ring the bell harder than necessary. If anyone commented on her timing, she would not be responsible for her answer.
“Smells mighty good in here.” Hank slicked back his hair, wet from washing at the basin she’d set out, as he came through the door behind Mr. Peterson. The two men took their places as Eloise continued carefully placing silverware on the table. They are using the wash basin, and I didn’t even have to mention it. The thought made her smile inside.
“You know how to fish?”
The question caught her by surprise. So far Mr. Peterson had not spoken to her while he was eating.
“No, I’ve never gone fishing.”
“I see.”
You see what? Are people born knowing how to fish? “I’ve never lived near a river for fishing.” Had she not been watching, she’d have missed the nod of his head. She waited for more conversation along that line, but he concentrated on his plate, shoveling in the food as if she might snatch it away.
“The posts are up. I’ll string the clothesline after dinner.” Hank wiped his greasy fingers on his pant legs.
“Mange takk.” She caught a quiver of a smile from the big man at the end of the table. He seemed to like her using Norwegian phrases. She used her folded apron to protect her hand and carried the coffeepot to the table.
“You going to eat?” Mr. Peterson glanced up from forking the stew into his mouth.
“When you’re done.”
“Why?”
“Ah, because that’s the way it is.”
“Not here. Sit.” He pointed to the vacant chair. “And your girl.”
Her name is Eloise, can you not say that? “As you wish.” Nilda settled Eloise on the chair that now had a box on it and took her own place.
“You are a good cook.” Hank reached for another slice of bread and sniffed it before breaking it apart to sop up his stew. “Nothing smells as good as fresh bread.”
“Thank you.” Nilda dished up a small portion for Eloise and a larger one for herself. The fragrance of baking bread still lingered in the house and floated up from the piece she broke in half for Eloise. We should have butter on it. So much to be done here, and now he wants me to go fishing…
Having a clothesline sped up the laundry the next day so that she could begin planting the garden. She marked a row with two sharpened sticks and the strings left from the store packages. With the row marked, she raked under the string, figuring that it didn’t matter if there were clods of dirt between the rows. After digging a furrow with the hoe, she showed Eloise how to plant the precious bean seeds, one little-girl foot apart. Eloise did as her mother showed her, brow wrinkled in concentration.
I should have sewn us both sunbonnets, Nilda thought as she felt her own nose grow warm and saw her daughter’s face turn pink. For us who have never had enough sun, this is a surfeit for sure. One more thing to do in the short evenings.
“See, Ma.” Eloise pointed to her work.
“Now you must cover them up.” Nilda used her hand to pat the dirt back over the seeds. “Like this.”
Eloise squatted down and mimicked her mo
ther. She held up a blackened palm. “Dirty.”
“It’s all right. We’ll go wash in the river after we finish our rows.”
In a minute Eloise stood, a wriggling worm clutched between finger and thumb. “Look, Ma, look.”
“A worm, you found a worm.”
“Worm.”
“Ja, they are good for the garden. Put it back in its home.”
Eloise looked around, stared at her mother and then at the worm. “Where worm house?”
Nilda laughed and scooped her daughter up to swing her around until she giggled as well. “Worms live in the ground. That’s where you found it, right?” She set her back down and planted a kiss on her forehead.
“Ja, in the dirt.”
Carefully, Eloise put the worm back in the row and drizzled dirt over it. “Worm gone, Ma.”
Nilda marked and raked the next rows. When next she glanced over to check on Eloise, the girl was curled up in the grass in the shade of the house, sound asleep. Dusting the dirt from her hands, Nilda picked up her daughter.
“Come now, lets wash your hands and put you to bed.” She kissed the smooth cheek, warm from the sun and damp from the heat. Without completely waking up through the ablutions, Eloise sighed as her mother laid her on the bed. Nilda felt a love so intense that her eyes blurred. If nothing else, this move was bringing color to her daughter’s cheeks and laughter to her lips. All over a worm. One did not find wriggling worms sitting on a house stoop in the city.
The next afternoon while she and Eloise were planting corn, the sun went behind a cloud, and she glanced up to see purple and gray storm clouds blotting out the western sky. Thunder rumbled, and the wind quit rustling the cottonwood leaves and began beating the branches about instead. Lightning forked against the blackness. By the time she’d gathered up their tools, the first drops of rain splatted on her forehead.
Eloise raised her face to the cool drops and smiled. She lifted her hands, palms up, and slowly turned in a circle.
Ah, if your bestamor could only see you now, Nilda thought, taking Eloise’s hand and heading for the house. Grandmothers should be closer to their grandchildren, to see them grow and delight in each new discovery. Like the picture of Eloise playing in the dirt.
The Brushstroke Legacy Page 19