Dakota Dusk (6 page)

“There’s a letter for you,” Mrs. Sampson called when Rebekka walked in the door.

“Next stop, Willowford.”

The conductor called
. Next stop, home,
thought Rebekka as she stared out the window, trying to catch a glimpse of a familiar landmark. Two months was a long time to have been gone. She leaned her head back against the seat and thought of all that had happened since she had opened the letter . . . the letter from her grandmother, her father’s mother.

She still couldn’t believe how they had found her. And now she had family. She, who had no one, suddenly had a grandmother, an aunt, three cousins, and various other in-laws and almost in-laws. People in Minneapolis certainly did live differently than her friends in Willowford. Why, she’d never seen the contraptions called horseless carriages, electric lights, and indoor privies. Granted, she’d read about those things in newspapers, but now she’d seen them with her own eyes.

She brought herself back to the present and peered out the window, checking if she could see the Missouri yet. Instead she saw smoke.

Smoke across the prairie, as far as she could see! Prairie fire! Fire between here and Willowford. Which way was the wind blowing? Would the train be trapped? The thoughts raced through her mind like flames driven before a gale-force wind.

“No worry, folks,” the conductor announced in his sonorous voice. “The wind is coming from the east, blowing due west, so we’re in no danger.”

Unless the wind changes,
Rebekka let her thoughts drift to the cataclysm on the prairie. While the train slowed down, she leaned forward, as if she could encourage it to forge ahead. What was happening in Willowford? There was nothing to stop the fire between here and there. She’d seen the Willowford Volunteer Fire Department practice. Had they put their skills to use?

As the train covered the remaining miles, the prairie on each side of the tracks lay charred and blackened. Some fence posts still smoldered, and here and there a haystack sent tendrils of smoke skyward. Farm buildings off to the north lay in an oasis of green where the farmer had set a backfire to save his home. Plowed firebreaks kept the rampaging inferno from gobbling up another farm. A third lay in smoking ruins.

“They was some good, the soddies like I lived in as a child,” one of the passengers said. “Prairie fire burnt right on over us. All we had to eat that year was potatoes. Good thing the livestock lived in a soddie barn, too. I’ll never forget us runnin’ to herd the cows and chickens inside.”

Rebekka shuddered. But people didn’t live in soddies anymore, usually.

Smoking piles of animal dung dotted a pasture. She hated to look in case there were also dead animals lying around, but so far she didn’t see any.

The train whistle sent its haunting call ahead of them. Rebekka leaned her forehead against the grimy window. The feeling of relief at the sight of buildings still standing caused a lump to rise in her throat. But where was the creek, the trees that lived along its bank? And that smoking ruin she could barely see for the tears streaming down her cheeks. The schoolhouse lay in smoldering rubble.

Her schoolhouse. All the books for which they’d saved and scrimped. The flag, the bell . . . had she left any of her personal things in the desk? She thought of the shelves of books donated for a library someday. All gone.

She drew a handkerchief from her bag and wiped her eyes. As the train crossed the railroad bridge over the creek, she understood why it was hard to see from a distance. The men had cut the trees to use the creek as a firebreak. The trunks and limbs not under water still smoldered. The men of the town leaned on shovels or tossed dirt on stubborn patches. Black with soot, they stared at the train, their weariness evident in the drooped shoulders and slackjawed faces.

Rebekka blew her nose. She couldn’t cry anymore now. At least they’d saved the town. They could rebuild the school. But until then, where would they meet? The church? School was due to start in three short weeks. What would they use for books?

Her mind raced ahead as she stepped down on the station platform and thanked the conductor for his assistance. Had anyone been injured? Guilt stabbed her as all she thought about was her school. Buildings could be rebuilt, but what if someone had died or was severely burned? Were the children all right?

She set off down the street to Widow Sampson’s boardinghouse. Men congregated at the saloon where the owner had rolled out a keg and was handing out free beer.

“Miss Stenesrude, Miss Stenesrude.” A young boy, blackened and unrecognizable, came running across the dusty street. “Did ya see? The schoolhouse burnt right down.”

“Yes, I saw. Is everyone all right?”

“Ja, just some burns from blowing stuff. And everybody’s coughing. You never had no tiling hurt like breathing smoke. Pa says we’ll prob’ly start school in the church until they can build a new school.”

“Thank you, Kenny.” Rebekka felt relieved she’d finally figured out who her bearer of bad tidings was.

“Can I help you with your bag?” The boy fell in step beside her. “I’m plenty strong.”

With a flash of trepidation, Rebekka relinquished her bag to the boy’s sooty hand. How would she get the soot off the handle? She pushed the thought back as unchristian. Her “Thank you” sounded more fervent because of her doubts.

“Ah, my dear, I am so glad you are returned and safe through all this.” Mrs. Sampson wiped her hands on her apron and grasped one of Rebekka’s in both of hers. “How was your family? Ain’t it awful about the school? But thank the good Lord, He spared the town. They was all ready to send the women and children to the other side of the river by boats and the ferry, but we was fightin’ the fire right alongside the men.”

Rebekka felt a stab of guilt. She should have been here helping. “Were they able to save anything from the school?”

Mrs. Sampson just shook her head. “And no one’s been out to the farmers yet to see how they fared. We just came home and washed up. My hair’s still damp.” She patted the coronet of braids she wore.

“Have you had any new boarders?” Rebekka asked from halfway up the stairs.

“Nah, your room is still the same one. You make yourself at home and I’ll have the coffee ready shortly. Mrs. Knutson went over to her shop to check and make sure everything is all right there. We’ll have supper soon’s I can set things out. If you still would like to help me, we need to wash everything down tomorrow to get rid of the soot. Like spring cleaning all over again. I closed up the rooms afore I left to help on the fire line, so this house ain’t bad as some.”

Rebekka shuddered. The smell of smoke permeated
everything
inside and out, and the odor made her eyes water. What they needed now was a good rain to wash things clean again.

That night she fell asleep with her windows wide open and the breeze trying to blow away the fire’s residue. How good it felt to be home, in spite of the fire. But what would she do about school?

In the morning the three women were aproned and wearing kerchiefs tied over their heads to protect their hair as they dragged the rugs out to the line for a good beating, washed and hung out the curtains, and scrubbed down every surface in the house. Since she was the tallest, Rebekka stood on a stool to wash the outsides of the windows.

“Good afternoon, Miss Stenesrude,” Mr. Larson called as he opened the picket gate and strode up the walk. “Seems everyone in town is doing the same thing today. Scrubbing and counting our blessings. Good to see you back.”

“Good to be back. Although I wasn’t too excited about my welcome.” She climbed down from her stool and wiped her hands on her apron. “What can I do for you?”

“Could you come to a school board meeting tonight at the church at seven?”

“Of course.”

“Good. I have two more members to call on. I’ll see you then.” He turned and strode back to his horse. “See you tonight.”

The meeting that night had one item on the agenda. How would they get the money to rebuild the schoolhouse?

Within a week the bank had loaned the school district enough money to begin the building. Rebekka spent a good part of every day driving the buggy to the outlying farms to invite the people to a school raising.

“You mean like a barn raising?” one woman asked.

“Just like that.” Rebekka nodded. “Plan on the second Saturday in September. Most people will be done harvesting by then, so we’ll make it into a school building and end of harvest celebration. If enough people turn out, we should be able to frame the walls and put on the roof by Sunday night.”

“Count on us.”

Rebekka missed only one farm and that was intentional. As she drove by the Strands’, she kept her eyes straight ahead. But ignoring the goosebumps chasing each other up and down her back wasn’t as easy as looking the other way. Why did she feel that the whole situation wasn’t resolved yet? She hadn’t even heard hide nor hair of Adolph. She tried to put a lid on her worry box. “Remember, you ninny, that God says He watches over us like a hen with her chicks. And you know how fierce that little hen can be.” The horse flicked his ears at her voice.

The lumber came in on the train, and the townspeople hauled it in their wagons to the school site. Rebekka walked among the stacked lumber piles, inhaling the scent of freshly milled timbers and siding. Wooden kegs of nails, crates of window glass, and the sawhorses belonging to Lars Larson lay in readiness. The flat river rocks used for support under posts and beams had been measured and placed in the proper positions.

Off to the side, the cast-iron bell salvaged from the burned building rested, cleaned and repainted and ready to lift into the new tower. Rebekka stopped at the bell and tapped it with the toe of her boot. A hollow thunk made her smile. Like everyone or everything, the bell needed to be hung in the right position to make music. “Soon,” she promised the inert object. “Soon you’ll be calling the children to school again.” She turned in place, taking in all the supplies, ready for the morning. All that was needed were the people.

The hammering and sawing started about the time the first rooster crowed in Willowford. Rebekka bounded out of bed and rushed through her morning toilet as if she were afraid she might miss out on something. Downstairs, Mrs. Sampson was already taking three apple pies out of the oven.

“How can we find room on the table?” Rebekka moved bowls of food around to make room for the steaming pans. “You trying to feed all the builders yourself?”

“Nah. Just doing my share.”

Rebekka dished herself a bowl of oatmeal from the kettle on the back of the stove. “You’d be up there nailing if they’d let you.”

“Ja, I would. But since they’d drum an old woman like me . . .” Rebekka gave a decidedly unladylike snort. Mrs. Sampson gave her a look and then continued, “Off the roof, I want to make sure the workers come back the next day to finish the job. Our children need that school.”

“And I need my job.” Rebekka poured a dollop of molasses on her cereal, then some milk, and sat down to eat. “But what are we going to do for books and desks? The library? Oh, and our piano?”

“Won’t the insurance cover some of that?”

“I hope. But it all depends on how much the rebuilding costs. I sent a letter to the state teachers’ association requesting their help and Mr. Larson contacted the State Board of Education. But all that takes time.”

“We used to have the parents pay for their children’s books. So there still might be books in people’s homes that can be used. If you tell everyone to bring any books they have at home, you’ll have something to start with.” Mrs. Sampson lifted the full teakettle off the stove and filled the dishpan in the cast-iron sink.

“Thanks. I’ll start passing the word today. Do you have someone to help carry all this over to the schoolyard?”

“I’m picking up the wagon at the livery at ten. Then Mrs. Knutson and I’ll go around to some of the other houses to help them. I’m bringing my washtubs for the lemonade.”

Jude Weinlander let his horse drink from the river’s edge. He leaned his forearms on the saddle horn and stared upriver. The town lay shimmering in the September heat, and even from this distance he could hear the pounding of hammers.

He stared across the blackened prairie, where shoots of green could be seen poking up through the ashes toward the sunlight. Drying goldenrod nodded in the breeze across the river, where leaves already sported the tinges of fall. But on this side, all lay desolate.

When his horse, Prince, raised its head, ears pricked toward the sound of building, Jude nudged the animal forward. “That’s the way we’ll head then.” He spoke for the first time since he mounted up, just before sunrise. The horse flicked his ears as if truly interested in what was being said. “Hope you know what you’re doing.” The horse snorted and broke into a trot. When he raised his head and whinnied, a horse answered from the town ahead.

Jude sat on his horse at the edge of the beehive of activity. Floor joists and flooring were already in place and different groups were framing up the walls. The north wall stood while men nailed the plate in place. Hammers pounding, saws buzzing, people laughing and swapping stories, children running and laughing along a creek where the willows had been cut for the firebreak—it looked more like a party than a building site.

Across the creek, Jude could see the town. He strained to read the sign on the train station—WILLOWFORD. He shrugged. Good a place as any. Maybe they could use another hand on the building.

He watched the busy scene to determine who was in charge. A tall man, fedora pulled low on his forehead, seemed to be answering questions and keeping his laborers busy. Jude stepped from his horse and tipped his hat back before searching in his saddlebags for hammer and pigskin gloves. Before leaving his mount, he loosened the saddle cinch and wrapped the reins around a willow stump.

Two barefoot, overalls-clad youngsters charged by him, their speed outclassed only by the volume of their shouts.

“Need anything to drink?” A tall woman dressed in a white blouse and ankle-length serge skirt moved from helper to helper offering drinks from a bucket on her arm.