First Dawn (22 page)

Silence.

“Thomas? Did you hear me?”

He grasped her elbow and hurried her along. “It’s too cold to be standin’ out here talkin’ ’bout the hereafter. Let’s get inside.” His evasive words formed frosty plumes that hung between them like a frozen obstacle.

Long after Thomas departed for Hill City, Nellie remained in a sleep induced by the laudanum Mildred had given her. Miss Hattie dozed in the old rocking chair—the one piece of furniture she’d insisted upon bringing to Nicodemus. With the two women sleeping, Calvin mumbled his thanks to Jarena and made a hasty departure to check the traps he had set the previous day. He’d said he was certain he would return with a rabbit or squirrel—or perhaps a prairie chicken—so he should go check before the snow got any worse. Although Jarena didn’t share Calvin’s confidence, escaping the dugout for a brief time might ease his worries, and so she had smiled and agreed.

Jarena covered Nellie with an extra blanket before she moved a chair closer to the fireplace. She stared into the flames and considered the last six months of her life. It seemed years since they’d left Georgetown. Could it truly be only five months ago that the four of them had boarded the train for Topeka? On the one hand, so much had happened; on the other, so very little.

The Christmas holiday would soon be evident in the Georgetown stores, where the merchants would be displaying their latest wares. Mr. Finnery at the general store would be telling all who ventured inside of the fruits, nuts, and special candies that were arriving for the holiday celebrations throughout the town. The preacher would be speaking of Christ’s birth, and there would be a palpable sense of excitement and joy during church services.

Jarena cast a casual glance around the Harris dugout and knew she’d not experience such pleasure this Christmas. Though their life as sharecroppers had been sparse and their Christmas holidays lean, they’d always had a fine dinner with at least a piece of fruit and perhaps a new hair ribbon or pair of gloves. This Christmas there would be no fine dinner. They’d not be patting their overfull stomachs or loosening too-tight clothing. This year there would be no table laden with food, no gifts to exchange or visits with cheery friends. This Christmas, hunger would be their unwelcome visitor—and likely would remain throughout the winter. Already their clothes hung too loosely on ever-thinning frames, and if food did not soon arrive, their bodies would appear more skeletal than human by winter’s end—if they survived at all. The thought caused Jarena to shudder.

The fire momentarily jumped to life as a small sheaf of sunflower stalks sizzled and then dropped atop the gray embers. Jarena leaned forward and warmed her hands, wondering how her father continued to maintain his staunch resolve amidst their dire circumstances. Even when his belly growled from hunger or his body ached for rest, he smiled and showed her the piece of paper that proved he owned a piece of this prairie. Perhaps because he’d suffered through slavery and had experienced indignities Jarena couldn’t begin to imagine, owning a piece of land made his freedom all the sweeter. How could she not cheer him on? Did he not deserve at least that much from his children? She would do better in the future—at least she would try.

Miss Hattie’s soft snores mingled with Nellie’s occasional moans, and Jarena wondered how Thomas was faring on his journey to Hill City. She pulled her chair away from the fireplace. It seemed inappropriate to be savoring the fire’s warmth while Thomas traveled through a blizzard to save her friend.

Jarena bowed her head. The time had come once again to pray.

CHAPTER
18

W
et snow trickled down Thomas’s neck. He pulled his coat collar close and tucked it under his chin. Since leaving the Harris dugout, the weather had continued to worsen; he now feared the storm was reaching blizzard proportions. He rode onward, but the blinding force of the storm made it nearly impossible for him to gauge his direction. Before leaving Nicodemus, he and Ezekiel had discussed the storm’s movement. The blizzard had come in from the north, and Thomas had been making every attempt to keep the blowing wind to his right, using it as a guide. Now, however, the blinding snow was swirling around him in circular patterns that made it impossible to determine direction.

The weary horse plodded forward while Thomas remembered the warm fire he’d left behind in Nicodemus. Why had he volunteered to make this journey? He knew why—the loss of his life would mean nothing to the settlers in Nicodemus, while any of the other men would leave families mourning their death. Better that he should die than one of them, he decided as a huge gust of wind encircled and held him hostage in its whirling grip.

Suddenly the horse dug in like a tenacious mule and refused to move. What if he didn’t arrive at his destination by nightfall? He kicked the animal’s flanks, but the mare would not budge. Perhaps he would die sitting atop this old workhorse—an ice-covered statue in the vast wilderness. Had the thought been less credible, he would have laughed aloud. The intensity of the storm continued to increase by the minute, yet the horse remained motionless. He doubted there was any shelter to be found in these flatlands, yet how could he tell? He couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of the horse. An outcropping or hillock might be nearby, but likely he would unwittingly ride past it, unaware that protection was close at hand. He reached down and patted the horse’s neck. Ice and snow draped the animal’s mane, and Thomas wondered if they both would succumb to the harshness of the elements before reaching their destination.

“Not the way I’d choose to die,” he murmured while urging the horse onward. The mare finally relented and once again began slogging through the heavy snow. He’d heard stories about folks becoming so disoriented in snowstorms they became overpowered by the cold; eventually their despair and weariness caused them to lose hope and surrender to their urge to sleep. And it was at that very moment when they would condemn themselves to death—or so he’d been told. He harkened back to those tales he had heard, longing to remember some small detail that might assist him on this dangerous trek—a tiny recollection that might give him an advantage over the forces of nature. But he could think of nothing.

The pelting snow stung his face, and Thomas bowed his head against the unremitting storm. “Is this how you’re plannin’ to end my life?” he asked aloud while attempting to hold the reins between freezing fingers that now refused to tighten. “You know I ain’t one to put much stock in prayin’—never have liked to ask favors from no one, but I’d be much obliged if ya’d let me live long enough to get to Hill City. Ain’t so much fer me that I’m askin’, but for that woman and her young’un what ain’t even been born yet. Maybe you could consider it an early Christmas gift to Calvin an’ his fambly.”

Thomas had hoped to look into the distance and see Hill City before him, for surely he’d been traveling long enough to have arrived at his destination. Instead, the harshness of the blizzard increased to proportions that he’d never before experienced. When nightfall could no longer be denied, he spied a crevice in a nearby hillside. He pulled back on the reins and slid off the horse’s back, certain this would be the best protection that he could find before he was completely enveloped by darkness.

Hopeful the cut would provide enough shelter to keep the animal alive, he led her close to where he hoped to tunnel into the hillside. At least the weather-worn bluff would provide shelter from the wind. “Wish I had somethin’ to feed you, girl, but you’re gonna have to hang on ’til we get to Hill City.” The mare gave a soft whinny, and Thomas patted her side before turning his attention to the hillock.

He longed to fall over into the deepening snow and escape this cold torture, but he willed himself to use his freezing hands and begin shoveling into the hillside. Though his body rebelled, Thomas used every ounce of strength he could muster. Like the prairie dogs, he hoped to burrow out a safe haven to protect himself against the elements. Desperate, he told himself he needed to create a shelter only big enough to protect his body from the freezing wind. If he could complete that one task, he might make it through the night.

And so he dug at a fever pitch until, with his muscles aching and his strength completely spent, he dropped into the opening and permitted himself a reward—a piece of Jarena’s cornpone. How he longed for a cup of hot coffee and a fire to warm his hands, but at least he was sheltered from the wind. Surely the storm would pass during the night. The mare stood nearby with her backside positioned toward the wind, and Thomas suddenly remembered one of the stories he’d heard back in Massachusetts—a tale of a man killing his own horse and using its body as a shelter in order to survive.

The thought gave him pause. If tomorrow brought no relief, would he be forced to make such a decision? Could he kill the mare to save himself? Such action would surely breed a firestorm in Nicodemus, for the horse was far more valuable to the survival of the town than one man—especially one who was a stranger among them. He didn’t need to decide tonight. He would remain awake as long as he could, but if sleep came and he never awakened, so be it.

The sound of laughing voices and jingling bells skittered through Thomas’s head like mice chasing through the rafters. He drifted in and out of consciousness, the peacefulness of sleep drawing him back into its loving embrace. The jingling returned; his mare snorted and stomped and he awakened. Stillness blanketed the pure white countryside. Again he heard it. Jingling bells—and boisterous laughter. Forcing his aching, frozen limbs to move, he lunged forward and propelled himself out of the snow-packed enclosure.

“Ho! Over here!” he called. He stood completely still and strained to listen.

“Helloooo,” a voice returned.

“Here! I’s over here!” Thomas shouted as he hurried to release the hobbles from the mare. He stood up, and in the distance, he saw a team pulling a box sleigh. With a determined yank, he pulled off his stiff hat and waved it high above his head. “Looks like we’s gonna make it, old girl,” he told the horse, unable to believe his own eyes.

There were two men in the sleigh. Both of them appeared to be young—and white. For a moment, Thomas wondered if they’d help or leave him to die. “This ain’t the South—they’s gonna help you,” he muttered aloud, hoping the words would fortify him.

He waved as the sleigh came alongside. “You lost out here?” the driver asked.

“I’s from over in Nicodemus—tryin’ to make it to Hill City. We need a doctor real bad. We’s told there’s a doctor in Hill City.” His teeth continued to chatter long after he’d completed his reply.

“My father’s the doctor. I’m Harvey Boyle.”

The other man extended his hand. “I’m Jeb Malone, the blacksmith over in Hill City.”

Thomas reached up to shake hands. “Thomas Grayson. Any chance you could haul me back to Hill City so’s I could talk to the doctor?”

“Sure thing. Best tie your horse on the back of the sleigh. Looks like she could use some grain. Jeb’s the fellow who can help you out with that.”

“That horse ain’t the only one hungry in Nicodemus,” he said as he tied the horse and then hoisted himself into the wagon. “I’m thankful fer your help. I hope I’m not causin’ you too much trouble.”

Harvey emitted a boisterous laugh. “Jeb’s been trying to get me to take him back to town for a half hour, but this is quite a snow. I’ve been enjoying myself too much, so I refused. We don’t get snows like this one at home.”

Thomas tensed at Harvey’s remark. “You from down south?”

“Kentucky. We don’t get much in the way of heavy snow, and I wanted to come out here and enjoy a sleigh ride. Jeb is used to cold weather—he’s originally from up north, and he’d rather stay close to a fire.”

“Is there more than one person sick over in Nicodemus?” Jeb asked Thomas.

“No, and I wouldn’ truly say Nellie’s sick. It’s her time, and the baby won’t come. We got us a good midwife, but she ain’t had no luck gettin’ the baby to turn. You think your pappy’s gonna be willin’ to tend to a colored woman?”

Harvey laughed and slapped his knee. “My father will be more than pleased to help. He took great pleasure in providing clandestine medical treatment to slaves before the war—much to the vexation of their owners. He cares little about the color of a man’s skin.”

“Then ya think he’d be willin’ to make the trip to Nicodemus?”

“Once he hears there’s a need, you won’t be able to keep him away.”

Jeb turned on the seat and faced Thomas. “Did you sleep out in the storm all night—alone?”

He nodded. “Just me an’ the horse.”

A couple of miles farther on, they came to a community with several small structures and one large house. Thomas quickly surveyed his surroundings. From what he’d seen thus far, Hill City had progressed more than Nicodemus, but still, it wasn’t the town he’d expected to see rising out of the prairie.

“You go in with Harvey and talk to Dr. Boyle,” Jeb said. “I’ll take your horse over to my place. I can rub her down and feed her for you.”

Thomas wagged his head back and forth. “Don’ give that horse no feed. I ain’t got no money to pay ya.”

“Give him some of our feed,” Harvey said before turning toward Thomas. “We’ve got plenty, and that horse is nothing but bones. Come on and we’ll talk to my father.”

Thomas tipped his hat. “I thank you fer your kindness.”

Harvey smiled and nodded. “Here in Kansas, folks have to look out for one another. Otherwise, most of us would perish. Jeb taught me that.”

“Well, I know Jeb is right on that account ’cause we got us a whole passel of folks ready to perish over in Nicodemus—jest ain’t found no one to help look out for us.” Thomas followed Harvey up the few steps to the house and stopped on the front porch. “You tell your pappy. I’ll jest be waitin’ out here, and you can let me know what he says.”

Harvey tugged Thomas by the coat sleeve. “No, of course not. It’s far too cold to wait outdoors. Come in.”

Thomas glanced at the floor as they stepped inside the foyer. Their boots were dripping snow onto the carpet, and he wanted to go back outside. What if the mistress saw the mess he was making on her rug?