Daunting Days of Winter (31 page)

Rose mentally urged Smokey onward, willing him to hurry and get past this unwanted stranger, but without any physical prodding, Smokey maintained his steady pace, unconcerned with the approaching man. Rose’s hands shook. She grabbed the saddle horn and squeezed it tightly, clenching her jaw to steady her nerves.

“Hello!” The man’s greeting was carried on a stiff wind, which blew in her direction.

Rose waved but didn’t speak, certain her voice wouldn’t carry that far. She stopped Smokey, took her gun in both hands and aimed it in the general direction of the man, then waited.

After crossing the median, he leapt nimbly over the rail on the south side of the road, not more than forty feet away. Rose’s finger rested on the trigger. She was sure he could sense her anxiety, and it was obvious her rifle was aimed at him, yet he made no attempt to reach for the rifle slung over his back.

“Good afternoon,” he shouted, one hand cupped to the side of his mouth. He continued walking towards her, though his pace was slower and his hands were held out where she could see them. “Nice day today, isn’t it?” His smile was warm and friendly, non-threatening.

Rose nodded. “A little windy for my taste, but at least it isn’t too cold.” He stopped a dozen feet away, too far to grab at her. Rose kept a firm grip on her rifle.

The man nodded, turned partway into the wind, and held up his hand to test it. “The wind is nice for me at least. Helps push me along. I’m sure you feel it more than I do, riding into it.”

Rose smiled and felt her chest loosen slightly, but still maintained the grip on her gun. The man turned back to her and smiled. He looked young, maybe twenty, and was either clean-shaven or didn’t have much of a beard yet.

“Where you headed?” Rose asked.

“Minnesota,” he answered with an optimistic grin. “You?” His eyes were bright blue, his complexion clear, and he had a slender build.

“Missoula. Looks like I’ll get there first.” Rose studied him, still wary.

The boy shrugged. “More than likely. I’ve got a lot of miles to go, but I’ll get there eventually. I passed through Missoula a few days ago. With the horses, you should be there soon.”

“Do you have food?”

“Some. My pack is mostly food, and a couple changes of clothes. I try and shoot what I need or work for it when I have the chance. Churches have been helpful.”

She noticed a handgun tucked in the belt of his pants and tensed up. Though he’d done nothing to threaten her, the weapon still worried her. “You had many problems on your trip?”

“A couple,” he said while nodding. “But nothing too serious. I ran track at UW, so I’ve been able to outrun everything to this point, sometimes literally. I’m not carrying much, so no one’s wanted to waste a bullet on me I guess. Hoping my luck continues. You?”

“Don’t ask,” Rose replied. “Things I don’t want to think about, much less discuss.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. It’s sad how far we’ve fallen, isn’t it? Hopefully the rest of your journey will be smooth.” He glanced up at the sky to the bank of clouds slowly closing in on them. “Weather looks like it’s going to change soon. I guess I should let you get on your way.”

“Probably best,” Rose agreed, assessing the clouds herself. “Have a safe journey and be careful, okay?”

He smiled again, a broad, bright grin lighting his face, deep dimples denting his cheeks. “I’ll try and be safe, Ma’am. Thank you.” He crouched down and rubbed his dog’s head. It was a small, mangy looking thing, half-starved, but happy. The dog wagged its tail and licked the boy’s hand. “Good luck to you too,” he said as he started past her, his pace brisk and energetic.

Rose watched him stride by, confident, unencumbered with fear. “Hey, Minnesota,” she called out to him when he was thirty feet past.

He stopped and turned towards her, the smile still on his face. “What is it, Missoula?”

“Thank you.”

He looked puzzled. “Thank you for what?” he asked, sincerely curious.

“Thank you for restoring a little of my faith in humanity,” Rose answered, giving him a smile and a wave as she gently kicked Smokey in the flanks.

CHAPTER 38

Thursday, February 16
^th

Deer Creek, MT

Jennifer quickly tied her bootlaces and slipped on her jacket before pulling the door open and letting herself out. The brisk morning air momentarily took her breath away as she put on a hat and pair of gloves, then quickened her pace towards the Shipley Ranch. She covered the mile and a half to the ranch in fifteen minutes, though without a working watch or clock to consult, she just knew it took awhile.

Once at the ranch, she only needed five minutes of milking time, as there was only one of the three females in milk, that one being a fortunate consequence of an early pregnancy resulting in two kids being born in late September. Still, all of the goats needed to be fed and tended to before milking, if for no other reason than to keep them occupied so she could milk uninterrupted. The two other females had recently had their babies and would soon be producing milk for the community, so it was important to keep them all healthy in order to grow the herd size.

The Shipley’s had four mature Nubian goats, three does and a buck, which were valuable for both milk and meat. The goats had always been like pets, remnants from kids’ 4H projects, and Bryan’s wife, Katie, enjoyed having them around, finding them to be better companions than Bryan’s dogs, with the added benefit of weed control. Additionally, the goats’ natural diet was much cheaper than the truckloads of dog food Bryan’s dogs consumed. Now, however, the goats had become one of the most valuable possessions in the community, especially since the cattle the Shipleys raised were Angus and not a dairy breed.

In exchange for a quart of milk each morning, Jennifer had volunteered to take care of the goats, a task which included feeding the small herd, cleaning the pen, washing the milk containers, and caring for the animals, something Carol, a thirty-year veterinarian, and Katie coached her on as needed. Once the kids were weaned, there would be all three does to milk, but Jennifer, now accustomed to the work, was confident she could have the milking done in less than ten minutes, five if she really got good at it.

Emma usually helped with the animals each day but had been coughing through the night so had stayed in bed. Jennifer was glad for the opportunity she usually had to work with her daughter, as it gave them time together plus gave Emma something good to do, helping her state of mind. Emma had nearly returned to her old self after Kyle’s return, but then with his banishment she’d sunk back into a funk that once again worried Jennifer.

Madison’s arrival had changed things, however, helping all of them, but especially Emma, to focus on something else and to forget, for portions of each day at least, their own problems and how much they missed having Kyle there. Emma glowed when she held her little sister, as she now referred to the baby, beaming proudly as she fed her and even willingly changing diapers and rocking the baby when she cried. Jennifer continued having nightmares about the night the young mother died, but recognized that good was coming from the new life that had been brought into their home.

Jennifer offered more help to the Shipleys than just tending the goats, knowing the value of the milk she received far outweighed the work she provided, but her repeated offers were graciously declined. “Help with the goats,” she had been told, “and take good care of the baby.” Jennifer choked up a little when she thought about the kindness of others, especially when there were dire needs in every home.

Jennifer worked quickly through the chores, lost in thought as she finished up the milking. She rubbed the doe affectionately, pleased the animal hadn’t stuck her foot in the bucket like she had the day before. Jennifer poured her portion of the milk into her quart container and the remainder in a pail for the Shipleys, washed the milk bucket, delivered the Shipley’s milk, and headed home. The sun had cleared the mountains and was quickly warming things, giving her hope for a warm, sunny day that would get them out of the house and not require them to burn too much wood. Two days of colder than normal temperatures and running a steady fire all day had made her anxious for a break from that routine.

She skirted along the upper edges of the creek bank as she walked home, noticing that the water levels were climbing a little higher each day, slowly filling the small reservoir the community was in the process of creating. Under Craig Reider’s direction, a dam was being constructed across the creek with the hope of providing extra irrigation water in the summer when the creek flow slowed. Despite the fact it was being done with shovels and wheelbarrows, the work was proceeding quickly.

The base of the dam was twenty feet thick and built with salvaged concrete from sidewalks and driveways of vacant homes, then back-filled with gravel. A dirt and gravel mixture was being dumped on top of that, filling in the cracks and keeping the water backed up behind it. When completed, the dam would measure nine feet high and pinch off across a section of the creek that was no more than thirty-five feet across. Two sections of twelve-inch irrigation pipe ran through the base of the dam and would be used to allow water to flow through once the reservoir filled, but until then, they were blocked off in order to fill the lake.

Hurrying to get the milk back to Madison while it was still warm, Jennifer offered a curt smile as she passed two men with rifles slung over their shoulders, who were pushing wheelbarrows loaded with shovels and rakes towards the dam.

Jennifer had just reached home when she heard a ringing in the distance, like a church bell, a sound that at first she couldn’t place. Then, like a kick to the stomach, the realization hit her. Someone had shot the truck hood that hung from the tree outside the militia house, the one that David had had so much trouble hitting a few weeks before. Someone had sounded the alarm.

She bounded up the steps and burst through the door. Emma quickly looked up at her while rocking the baby. David raced up from the basement, a rifle in one hand, his boots in the other. “Here, make a bottle,” she said, handing the milk to Emma and grabbing David as he brushed past her. “Where are you going?” she demanded, her voice strained.

“You heard the alarm, Mom, I have to go.”

“No, David! I’ve already lost your father. I will not allow you to go. Just stay here and help me protect your brother and sisters.”

David looked at his mom, no fear in his eyes. “Mom. I can do this. My friends are out there. I need to go help.”

Jennifer squeezed his arm harder, looking him in the eyes, and felt her chin quiver. “But David, if something happens, I don’t know what I’ll do. I don’t know if I can take it.”

“I’ll be careful, Mom. I promise. But I have to go. There aren’t very many of us, so everyone’s needed. Besides, it’s probably another false alarm. The guys on day shift are too jumpy.”

Jennifer’s grip loosened, and David pulled away, his face calm. He grabbed his jacket from the front closet and a backpack with three loaded magazines, pulled on his boots, and hurried to the font door. “I do know this isn’t a drill, Mom, so have your gun ready. Hopefully it is a false alarm, but if it’s not…,” he stammered. “Be ready, just in case.”

David flew out the front door and was gone before the sound of the slamming door quit echoing through Jennifer’s mind, her maternal fears imagining every conceivable threat her son was off to face.

Emma had the bottle filled and was back on the couch holding the baby close and watching her mother. “I’m scared, mom,” she whispered. “Is he going to be alright?”

Jennifer tried to fake a smile. “I hope so, Em. I really, really hope so.”

CHAPTER 39

Thursday, February 16
^th

Deer Creek, MT

David flew down the street, running as fast as he was able with his gun in one hand and his backpack thrown over his other shoulder. He spotted men coming from two other streets and was overtaken by a man on horseback who galloped past, shouting words of encouragement.

A garage a half-mile from the militia house, designated as the mustering point after the previous incident made it apparent that the militia house was too close to potential threats, was his destination. David, breathing heavily when he arrived, listened to the men already present as they speculated about the situation, though none of them really knew much of anything.

David was standing off to the side and trying to catch his breath when someone shouted to quiet the group. Voices quickly went silent, and everyone strained to hear, listening for anything out of place. David heard a low rumbling just as someone blurted out “engines!” Another man confirmed it. “I heard it too. It sounds like more than one.”

A nervous murmur rumbled through the twenty men who were gathered. Craig Reider, now standing at the front of the group, spoke. “Listen up! Sean has gone ahead to the militia house to find out what he can. He said the rest of us need to be ready for action as soon as he gets back.”

Craig spent the next few minutes confirming weapons were loaded and ready and everyone was primed to shift into action once Sean returned. David was focused on Craig’s instructions when someone alerted the men. “Here comes Sean, and he’s moving pretty fast.” David turned towards the militia house and saw Sean sprinting down the street. Sometimes the militia jogged around the area to get in shape, but never a full on sprint, and it scared him.

David felt a hand grab his shoulder, startling him. He jumped as he turned and saw Ty Lewis giving him a reassuring smile.

“How you doing, David?” Ty asked, his eyes on Sean sprinting towards them.

“Alright, I guess,” David answered, his attention re-focused on Sean as well. David tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry, like at the end of an August football practice. He licked his lips and waited for Sean to reach them.