Hi friends. I hope you all have had a blessed Thanksgiving. Today I am bringing you Part 3 of A Home in the Wilderness. So far, the widow Helen Curtis and her three teenage children have managed to build a home on the land they had bought before Will Curtis, Helen’s husband, was killed in an accident. Their neighbor, Jerome Whitmore, and his crew had helped them. But in January of 1949, they face a powerful storm …
A Home in the Wilderness
Part 3
By Sheri Schofield
Elijah and Luke had just finished hauling a load of hay out to the shallow cave where the cattle liked to go for shelter in the cold. It was supposed to be a pleasant day, according to the weather report. But a shadow suddenly darkened the landscape as they finished cutting open some haybales. They didn’t notice it at first, but the cattle lifted their heads and headed for the shelter.
“What’s this?” Luke said as a heifer pushed past him into the cave.
“They’re all coming here. I wonder why.” Elijah walked over to the entry to the cave. “Luke, the sky is really dark. I think we need to head home.”
“Okay.” Luke came outside. He frowned as he looked around. The sky was growing ominously dark. The clouds in the distance nearly touched the ground and seemed to be moving rapidly across the prairie to the south. “Could be a tornado. Let’s get home.”
They mounted up and urged their horses into a canter, looking at the clouds frequently, but not seeing any funnel clouds.
“Maybe it’s just a snowstorm,” Luke said as a cold wind buffeted him. “
Over at the Bar W, Jerome lifted his head from working on his tractor engine when a gust of cold wind hit him. A weird electrical feeling hung in the air. He saw the dark clouds moving swiftly toward the ranch from the west. A weird upside-down rainbow appeared in the sky. Slamming down the engine cover, he ran to his horse and raced out to the field where his crew was mending a fence.
“Get back to the house! Now!” he shouted. There’s a bad storm coming. Get the horses in the barn then go to the main house and stay there. I’m going over to the Circle C to make sure they all get inside.”
“I’m coming too!” Steve shouted, heading for his bay mare.
Jerome turned his horse and raced toward our place, Steve trailing him. In the distance, he saw two riders cantering toward house. Good. They’d make it in time. “Must be the boys,” he muttered. “Better check on Helen and Liza.”
He dismounted and took long steps toward the door.
I’d heard him ride into the yard. I’d been washing up dishes. Grabbing a dishtowel, I headed toward the front door. Jerome ponded on it and shouted my name. I opened the door.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, searching his face.
“There’s a bad storm headed this way. I saw your boys coming in from the field. You’d best put the chickens in their coop. I’ll put the horses in the barn. I don’t think I can get back to my ranch in time to beat that storm.”
Steve pulled up behind him but didn’t dismount.
“Where’s Liza?” he demanded. “I saw the boys coming from the pasture. There’s a bad storm coming.”
“She’s in the barn milking the cow.”
“I’ll get her,” Steve said. He rode toward the back portion of the barn. “Liza! Where are you?” he called upon reaching the barn door.
“I’ll bring the rest of your horses in.” Jerome remounted and raced for the pasture where three of our horses grazed.
Walking swiftly toward the chicken coop, I gave the familiar call I used to signal feeding time and tossed a handful of chicken feed into the open doorway. The chickens ran toward the food, each one trying to be first. Once they were all inside, I pulled the door shut and pulled the latch closed.
I looked out to the pasture and saw the boys coming. Wind and a burst of ice crystals came between us. Running back to the house, I grabbed the iron bar hanging from the cast iron triangle and sounded it. The boys, hearing the dinner triangle, spurred their horses into a run.
The storm hit just as they reached the house. Sand-like ice crystals poured down on them as though from a huge bucket. Visibility dropped. I kept ringing the triangle to guide them all in. First Steve and Liza staggered through the snow, slopping milk from Liza’s bucket with each step, then the boys came in. Jerome, who had reached the barn with the horses from the field, raced back to the house through the snow.
“Let me take your horses to the barn,” Jerome shouted against the wind, reaching for their reins.
“Not without a rope to guide you back!” I shouted as the wind roared around us.
“Here!” Luke pulled his rope off the saddle and handed it to Jerome. Turning to Elijah, he said, “Give me your rope, too, Lije.” Tying the two ropes together so they would reach the barn, he handed one end of the rope to Jerome, who tied it around his waist.
“I’m coming with you,” Steve said, grabbing onto the rope.
“Stay here,” Jerome said.
“No, boss. We’ll finish sooner together.”
“Come along then.”
Luke tied the other end of the rope to the post which supported the roof over our entryway.
“I’ll be back as soon as I wipe the horses down,” Jerome said, moving off in the direction of the barn leading the two horses, with Steve close behind him.
We went inside the house. “Liza, put a kettle on the stove. Luke, bring some more wood in from the shed outside the kitchen.”
Luke opened the back door and reached for some of the stacked wood. A burst of wind blew from the west, scattering the snow beyond the front yard, but it didn’t hit the house. Will had built the house in a sheltered spot which protected us from the worst of the wind. Luke ducked back inside and added some wood to the fire in the stove.
I looked out the window. Where was Jerome? I noticed the rope was slack. Was he inside the barn still? The rope tightened up. He was coming back. I kept watch from the front window until a bulky shadow appeared through the storm, covered with snow. Reaching for the door handle, I opened it.
Steve came inside supporting Jerome, whose head was tied up with his neckerchief and his face was bloody. “A tree branch blew down and hit him on our way to the barn. I tied up the wound then took care of the horses. Here. Help me get him into a chair.”
Luke stepped up to Jerome’s other side, guided him to the table, and pulled out a chair.
I filled a large bowl with hot water from the teakettle and hurried over to Jerome. “Liza, find me a clean washcloth.”
“I’m okay,” Jerome murmured in a groggy voice.
“Good. I’m just going to clean up some of this blood and take a look at your head.” I gently wiped the blood from his face while Steve undid the bandana. The wound was still bleeding. I held the towel against it firmly for a few minutes.
“Liza, would you please heat some water up for coffee?” I glanced over at Liza, who stood next to Steve.
“I’ll help.” Steve said turning to follow her. “I know how he likes it.”
“The wound goes all the way to the bone. It’s hard to stop the bleeding,” I said. “Jerome, I’m going to tie your hair together around the cut. That will work like stitches, but you’ll have to cut the knots out later.”
“Do it.”
“Okay.” Fortunately, his hair was long enough for me to tie. With Liza holding the edges of the cut together, I tied several small bunches of hair from opposite sides of the wound in double square knots.
“It’s working,” Steve said with satisfaction, looking over Liza’s shoulder. “The bleeding has stopped.”
Luke brought Jerome a cup of coffee and helped guide it to his lips.
Jerome took a sip then reached his hands up to hold the cup himself. “Thanks, Luke. I needed that.” He looked up at me. “Where did you ever learn to use hair to close cuts?”
I laughed. “From raising these three kids. We lived too far out in the country to drive to the hospital every time they got cut. I’ve stitched a few things up with thread, too. We make do. But you aren’t going to like this next part. I have to disinfect any germs that may be in or around that cut, and all I have is alcohol.”
Jerome’s mustache twitched. He chuckled. “I think I can handle that, Helen.”
After disinfecting his wound, I encouraged him to move to the large, overstuffed chair in the open living room.
“I didn’t mean to be a burden,” he mumbled still a little unsteady on his feet as I helped him across the room.
“You aren’t,” I said. “We are grateful you came to help us. I’m not sure we could have saved the horses from this storm if you hadn’t arrived when you did.”
“Your boys would have managed.”
“Maybe.” I took his hand. “But you know the area and weather here. I’m glad you came to help us. Now just relax and let us take care of you for a while.”
He reached over and placed his other hand over mine.
It was comforting but unnerving. I thought of Will, how he had done the same thing so many times. I didn’t move, though my heart was in conflict over the gesture.
Will is gone. He isn’t coming back. Jerome is a good neighbor. He’s kind and thoughtful of us. But it feels too soon to be thinking this way!
The snow didn’t settle much at first in the lee of the mountain behind the house. Before dark, however, I knew the snow was piling up out in the pasture. I knew the chickens would be safe, protected by the cliff. The horses would be crowded in the barn, but their shared warmth would keep them safe, too.
Maybe the storm will fade soon, I thought hopefully.
Liza and Steve brought potatoes, canned green beans and carrots from the basement and began preparing dinner. I had planned for stew from last night’s left-over roast, so Liza began cutting the remaining meat into cubes while Steve began washing the vegetables.
Elijah stood at the window looking out at the storm.
“Elijah, I know you are worried about the livestock and all the other creatures out in this storm.”
“Yes. But there’s not much I can do for them.” He paused. “It’s time for me to feed the chickens. I can at least do that.”
“I’ll go with you,” Luke said.
They donned coats and followed the rope toward the barn. Steve had looped the rope around the chicken coop post before tying it to the hay wagon parked next to the barn.
Elijah gathered eggs while the chickens pecked at the feed he’d brought. The boys returned to the house the same way, holding onto the rope.
By the time dinner was ready, Jerome was feeling well enough to join us at the table. I sat at one end of the table with Jerome next to me. We all joined hands round the table.
“Luke, would you bless the food?” I asked.
“Sure. Lord, thank you for providing this food for us. Thank you for this shelter during the storm. Watch over all those who are out there in this danger and keep them safe. Amen.”
“And keep the animals safe,” Elijah added.
Later that evening, I lifted blankets from my linen chest and brought them out for our guests.
“Jerome, will the couch do for the night?” I asked.
“Yes ma’am. It’s remarkably comfortable. Thank you,” he said, accepting the blanket and pillow I handed to him.
“Steve, why don’t you take my bed,” Luke said. “I can sleep in the attic. We’ve stored extra bedding there.”
“I don’t want to put you out,” Steve protested.
“You’re not.” Luke grinned. “It’s warmer up there than down here. I’ll probably be more comfortable than you.”
Luke added a backlog to the fire then pulled the rope to lower the ladder to the loft. “See you in the morning,” he said, disappearing into the attic.
We thought the storm would end soon, but the next day it was still blowing. We had a battery-operated radio. The weather report indicated the storm would not be over for some time and warned people to stay inside. But we had livestock in the barn. Would they be safe?
With no outside work possible, I knew we’d need to focus on something besides the storm. “Luke, why don’t you bring out the pinochle. We could play a game or two.”
The young people settled down around the kitchen table, but Jerome was restless and kept walking over to the window and looking out at the storm.
“Jerome, would you like to help me with something?”
“Yes ma’am. What can I do?”
“I have some walnuts that need to be cracked so I can use them in apple spice muffins.”
“Sure. Lead me to them. It won’t do me any good to keep worrying about my cattle.” Glad to have some distraction, he shelled a good pile of walnuts while I prepared the apples and batter. Once the muffins were in the oven, I made two cups of coffee and led the way into the living room.
Accepting a fresh cup of coffee and a muffin, Jerome settled into a big chair while I curled up on the end of the couch with my own coffee, sharing the end table with him.
“Rosalie used to make apple muffins.” He sighed. “I miss her.”
“I know what you mean. Will was my life. I feel so alone without him. Tell me about your wife, Jerome.”
We talked quietly about our lives before we lost our mates, understanding what the other felt. For the first time, I felt a comradery with him, a comfort in his understanding of my sorrow. I could tell he felt the same toward me.
Later, Jerome helped me with dinner while the young people played Chinese checkers.
“Steve is surely taken with your Liza,” he commented softly.
“Yes. She likes him, too. I’m glad to see how well they get along.”
“How old is Liza?”
“Eighteen. How about Steve?”
“He’s twenty-two. Time to start thinking about settling down.”
“Hm. That’s a good age difference between them.” I nodded. “We shall see.”
He grinned, his blue eyes twinkling. “We surely will.”
I laughed.
The storm roared outside, but in our home, there was warmth, friendship and safety. But how about the livestock? Were the cattle safe? Did Jerome’s crew manage to drive the horses into the barn? Had the cattle moved to the safe haven of the cliff overhang and small cave? Could any living creature survive such suffocating snow and below zero temperatures?
I could see Jerome was preoccupied as the evening progressed. Would he try to reach his ranch in this storm? My heart was afraid for him.