The Hard Land Part 16
A story of love and survival
It was the day before Thanksgiving and Frank was enjoying having Henry help him around the farm. They had been working inside the barn for a little while, so Frank was shocked when he stepped out to find it had grown dark. He pulled his train watch from his pocket and clicked open the cover. It was still early afternoon. Snapping the watch closed, he returned it to his pocket and lifted his eyes to the hills west of the farm. Black clouds hung low, obscuring the peaks, and blotting out the sun.
“Henry,” Frank called to his son, “let’s get the animals fed before the storm comes.”
Henry sprang from the barn door with Patch beside him.
“Throw down some hay.”
Henry skittered up the haystack like a squirrel after nuts and began tossing small forkfuls of hay to the ground.
Frank put two or three of the piles together to fill his pitchfork and tossed the hay over the fence for the cattle and horses.
“That’s good,” Frank called when the animals had enough feed. “Come on down.”
Henry slid down the face of the haystack and landed on both feet.
Frank chuckled. “We better get some shelter over the pigs.”
Frank scrounged around the yard and managed to find a few timbers which he threw over the corners of the pig pens. “Henry, get me some binder twine.”
Henry raced to the granary and returned lugging a partial roll, twine stringing along the path behind him.
“Is this enough, Pa?” Henry asked as he struggled up the trail.
Frank smiled and took the roll from Henry. “It’ll be oodles.”
Frank cut several lengths of string with his pocketknife and secured the lumber to the pen. He stepped back and eyed his handywork. The rough-cut lumber roof matched the haphazard construction of the pig pen.
By the time Frank headed to the house with Henry in tow, the snow started to fall. When they stepped through the back door of the house, an inch of snow sat on their shoulders. Frank helped Henry out of his coat and shed his own. Carrying them into the kitchen, he hung the coats on a chair in front of the stove to dry.
“It smells wonderful in here,” Frank said as he kissed Anna.
“Just getting a start on baking pies for Thanksgiving,” she said. “I hope the snow lets up by tomorrow so the Bensons and Hansons can make it.”
Frank eyed the pies, forcing himself not to snitch a piece. “If they don’t, we’ll have plenty to keep our bellies full.”
Anna swatted playfully at Frank with the dish towel as a gust of wind shook the house, and the back door flew open.
Frank charged across the room to close the door, reaching it just in time to see something lift off the roof of Earl’s cabin.
Anna came up beside him. “Was that shingles?”
“I don’t know if it was just shingles or part of the roof. I better go check it out.” Frank picked up his coat from in front of the fire.
“Do you have to go out in the storm right now?”
“I need to be sure nothing gets wet. I’d hate to have Earl and Elizabeth come home to find their things damaged.”
Frank slipped his coat over his shoulders. It’d felt warm in his hand, but it was still damp. He shuddered and walked out into the storm.
The wind tore at his coat, and he held on to his hat with one hand to keep it from being ripped from his head. Leaning into the wind, he tramped through the deepening snow and mounted the steps to the cabin. He unhooked the chain that kept the door closed and stepped inside. When he looked up, he felt relieved. The roof structure was still intact, but he could tell several shingles were missing as snow filtered down onto the floor.
He scooted furniture across the floor to a part of the cabin where the roof was still intact. The furniture would stay dry, but replacing the shingles was a job for another day.
Snow swirled around his legs as he pressed across the short distance to the house. A drift about eighteen inches deep lay against the back door. He pushed the door open to find Anna waiting for him.
“How are things?” Anna asked.
“Some shingles are missing, so I moved the furniture across the room,” he said. “I won’t be able to fix the shingles until the snow melts, and that’ll be spring the way it’s coming down.”
Anna handed him a towel. “Get out of those wet clothes.”
He brushed the snow from his clothing and dried his hair. Once free of snow, he slipped out of his coat and made his way to the bedroom.
Anna hung the coat on the chair while Frank was changing.
When he emerged from the bedroom, he had dry clothes on his body and wet clothes in his hand.
“Help me stretch a clothesline,” Anna said setting two chairs a few feet from one another in front of the stove.
Frank tied the ends of a rope to each chair, and Anna carefully hung Frank’s wet clothes up to dry.
“Look at all the snow,” Henry said, his nose pressed to the window.
Frank stepped up beside him. “I know. I’m glad we were close to the house when it started.”
“Will we have to milk the cow tonight?” Henry asked.
“I’m afraid so,” Frank said.
“What if we can’t find our way to the barn?”
“I don’t think we will get enough snow to cover the barn, son.” Frank looked past Henry.
“The barn’s not that big,” Anna said, “and the snow is piling up in drifts.”
At five in the afternoon, with the storm still raging, Frank donned his coat once again. This time it was almost dry.
Henry dashed to get his coat, but Frank stopped him. “I’ll milk alone tonight.”
Henry looked relieved. He hung his coat up and returned to the window.
Frank drove the milk cow into the stanchion and unhooked the bucket from the nail. The wind whistled through the barn, and the building creaked. Anna was right. It was not that big of a building.
Frank sat down on the one-legged stool and grasped two of the cow’s teats. Milked pulsed into the bucket.
The cow raised her leg and took a few tentative kicks. One of them came within inches of his leg.
Frank pivoted on the stool to prevent the milk from spilling and patted the cow’s flank. “Calm down, Bessy,” he said in the most soothing voice he could muster after nearly getting kicked.
Frank finished milking and set the bucket aside. He released the cow from the stanchion and guided her back to the pen. After closing the gate, he pitched a couple of forkfuls of hay into the feed trough.
He turned around and picked up the bucket of milk with one hand. He opened the barn door and reached to turn off the lantern. A sudden gust of wind flung the barn door into Frank’s outstretched arm. He jerked free of the door and knocked into the lantern with his hand.
The lamp swayed on the nail momentarily before it crashed to the straw and manure floor, igniting the dry hay. Flames instantly leaped into the air.
Frank’s eyes darted around the barn frantically searching for something to use to extinguish the fire. To his left, he saw the bucket of water he had used to clean the cow’s udder. He sat the milk bucket down and grabbed the bucket of water. When the water hit the fire, the flames dimmed slightly but quickly flared again.
Frank ran into the storm, scooped up snow in the bucket, and tossed it toward the fire. The small amount of snow he collected in the bucket did little to slow the spread of the blaze. He rushed past the flames and swung open the gates of the pens. If he couldn’t get the fire out, at least he could save the cow and her calf.
The cow and calf surged out of the barn but turned back as the snow swirled around them.
Frank swung his arms, blocking the two bovines and shouting as loud as he could.
The animals hesitated as if they were unsure where to go.
Frank waved his arms more frantically until the pair turned and burst out into the storm, kicking their heels into the air.
Frank turned back to face the growing fire. He grabbed a scoop shovel that was leaning against the wall and began to throw shovels full of snow through the open door onto the fire. He was losing the battle and the flames spread from the floor to the wall. Frank began to pull boards off the side of the barn and toss them into the snow. They landed with a hiss as the snow cooled the burning timbers. When he could no longer wrench more boards free, Frank returned to shoveling. The storm increased in intensity and snow piled high on the roof.
When Frank could hardly raise his arms and he was about to give up, a swoosh of snow swept down from the roof and landed on the last remaining flames. He stumbled back as the last of the flames flickered out and slid down against a fence post exhausted.
He had no idea how long he sat in the snow, but it was Anna’s voice calling through the storm that brought him out of his stupor. He lurched to his feet and fumbled around in the darkness. As he stumbled forward, he tripped over the milk bucket.
Anna wrapped her arms around him. “Are you alright?”
Frank stared at Anna. He must be dreaming, but she felt so real. “I spilled the milk,” he mumbled.
“It’s okay. Let’s get you to the house.”
He leaned heavily on Anna, stopping every few feet as coughs racked his body.
“Keep going,” Anna coaxed, her skirt dragging in the snow.
Her pleading kept him moving toward the light streaming from the house, and he was relieved when he felt the wooden steps under his feet. He stumbled up the stairs and lunged for the door.
Anna guided him through the back door, but she could not stop him from collapsing into a coughing fit on the floor. She knelt beside him and put his head in her lap. “What happened?”
“I dropped the lantern and started a fire in the barn.”
“What about the animals?’
“I,” Frank coughed. “I let them out into…” He coughed again. “…into the storm.”
Anna sucked in her breath. “Is the fire out?”
“It is, I think.” Another fit of coughing. “I breathed in a lot of smoke.” His voice was hoarse, and he coughed again.
“Are you burned?”
“I don’t think so.”
Anna examined his hands and face. His red beard was singed. “I don’t see any severe burns. Let’s get you out of your coat.”
“How did you know I was out there?” Frank gasped for air.
“I heard the animals carrying on and looked out. That’s when I saw the flames and came out.” Her voice began to falter, and she swallowed hard as she helped him remove his coat. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“Help me sit at the table,” he managed before another round of coughing seized him. His chest burned. “I just need time.”
Anna helped Frank get seated at the table and picked up his smoky smelling coat and stepped out onto the porch to hang the coat on a hook to air out.
“Do you want me to leave the door open a little to get some fresh air?” she asked.
Frank bent over and coughed. When he could speak again, he said, “I’m afraid it will be too cold.” His voice came out raspy.
Anna pushed the door closed and returned to Frank’s side. “Sit here and rest.”
Another round of coughs shook Frank.
Charlotte and Henry peeked around the kitchen door; their eyes wide with panic.
“Pa will be okay,” Anna said. “You two go to bed.”
The children slipped back into the rooms, but Frank could hear their sobs.
“Better let them come out.” Frank’s voice was barely a whisper.
Anna called to the children, “Okay, you two come out. Pa wants to see you.”
Charlotte and Henry timidly stepped into the room and stopped.
Frank motioned them forward and wrapped his arms around them. “It will be okay,” he whispered and gave them each a kiss.
Anna took the children by the shoulders and pointed them toward the bedrooms. “Now go to bed.”
When the children were gone, Anna sat down next to Frank and took his hands in hers. “I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.” Tears streamed down her face. She leaned forward and kissed Frank’s forehead.
Frank squeezed Anna’s hand and closed his eyes.
She gently lowered his head to the table and threw a blanket over his shoulders.
An hour later, Frank bolted up and looked around the room. “I should go find the animals.”
Anna shook her head. “You can’t go out in the storm in your condition.”
He coughed again. “I suppose you’re right.” He slumped into a chair.
“Are you ready for some supper?”
“I’ll eat a little.”
He ate a small amount and coughed a lot. He let Anna help him to bed.
When he awoke the next morning, his cough had moderated and his chest, though it still ached, no longer burned. His voice was raspy, but it was stronger than the whisper he had managed the night before.
He dressed, determined to find the animals, and reached for his coat. “Anna, what did you do with my coat?”
“It’s hanging on the back porch,” she said.
Frank opened the door and grabbed the coat. It was frozen stiff. He carried it in and hung it by the fire. “I’ll have to get some heavy shirts to wear.”
“I’ll help you.”
They scrounged through all the dresser draws and soon had Frank dressed for the storm.
“Don’t overdo it,” Anna warned, as she tied a scarf around his neck.
Frank stepped off the porch and sank above his knees in newly fallen snow. The frigid air brought on a burst of coughing. He slipped the scarf over his face and broke a new trail in the direction of the barn.
Patch bounded off the porch and was swallowed up in the white drifts. By following Frank’s path, Patch made it to the barn and sniffed around the burned hay.
In the growing daylight, Frank circled the barn, looking for the milk cow and her calf.
The saddle horses stood at the pasture gate, and the milk cow was heading for the barn like she knew it was time to be milked. Out in the pasture, the other cattle were milling around, and the work horses stood side by side near the granary.
Relief flooded over Frank.
He checked the barn for damage. One of the walls was completely burned and the hay that was lying on the floor of the barn was either burned or too wet to be of any use, but the south side of the barn was still standing. The saddles and harnesses still hung untouched.
Frank threw fresh hay over the pasture fence and the rest of the animals ambled up to eat.
The milking stanchion had gone in the fire, so Frank tied the cow to a post and sat down to milk her.
When he finished, he set the milk bucket down at a safe distance and untied the cow.
When he picked up the bucket of milk and headed to the house, a bit of blue sky was visible through breaks in the clouds. A little snow continued to fall, but the nightmare of the previous night was over.
