Morning in Nicodemus (2 page)

   Before he cleared the rise in the land to see their home nestled into the south side of the rise, he heard Marcus's buckskin gelding snort. Liberty's gaggle of geese were honking their warning. He almost dropped his fish in his hurry to reach home. 

   Marcus was dismounting from his horse and leading the other two. One glance at his brother's downcast face proved Virgil had been right about his doubts. The parents were not with him. On the two horses Marcus had taken to the railroad station to bring them to their homestead were only some supplies tied together over their backs.

   Stifling a sob, Marcus handed Liberty an unopened envelope. 

   “The station man at Ellis gave me this,” he said. “Ma and Pa weren't on the train.”

   “What does it say?” Liberty asked, tears running down her cheeks.

   “I don't know. I didn't let him know that I couldn't read. I came home as fast as I could for you to read it, Lib.”

   Both young men crowded by their sister. “It's from Miss Grace,” Liberty said as she tore open the envelope and silently scanned its short message.

   “Tell us,” Virgil demanded.

   “Read it to us,” Marcus said.

   “Oh,” Liberty sobbed, temporarily remembering that her brothers couldn't read, “it says that Ma is sick again and they couldn't come this time.”

   “Read it out loud,” Marcus repeated. “I've been two days coming home not knowing what it said. I wouldn't let anyone else read it.”

   “Oh, Marc!” Liberty said, hugging him. “It's from Pa!” Then she read, “My dear children, this letter is to let you know that your ma and I can't come now as we planned. 

   She is sick again with the croup and can't make the trip. I had to spend the money I saved for our train fare on medicine for her. She's better and not coughing so hard and her breathing is better. We will try again. Be patient, my children. Our homestead in Kansas is the golden opportunity for all of us. We are so proud of you. Marcus and Liberty, keep up the good work and Virgil, please be patient. Let your brother guide you. We will surely come soon.”

   Virgil groaned and gave his stringer of fish to Liberty. 

   He tramped though the open door of the soddy and slumped down on a log he had hewn out for a seat. Disappointment and worry were clearly etched on his face. He propped his elbows on his knees and held his bent head in his hands as he stared out the door. “The darkness is not gone,” he moaned loudly enough for his brother and sister to hear. Then he picked up a hollow reed he worked on occasionally to make a musical instrument. With his pocket knife he smoothed the area around the holes to better fit his fingers.

   “What's he talking about?” Marcus asked.

   “Oh, it's just some words in a song.”

   “What's that got to do with anything?”

   “It means something to him.” Then she said more softly, “And to me.”

Marcus shrugged. “Well, it makes no sense to me.” Dismissing it, he turned his serious face to the soddy, watching Virgil. “I wish I was twenty-one. Then I could prove up on our land. Virgil's got to stay here since he's the only one of us of legal age.”

   Liberty put her hand on his arm. “Don't fret about him. He'll stay. 

   “He was counting so much on Ma and Pa coming. He's worried about Ma. And about having all this responsibility.” She also glanced through the door to Virgil sitting dejectedly on the log stool. He was looking at the little handmade, flute-like instrument he held in his hands. “He won't let us down,” she added.

   “I know he won't, but he misses the folks. He doesn't like it here. He hates the plowing. The monotonous prairie with no trees.”

   “I don't think he hates the country. It's just so . . . It just goes on forever. I think he sort of glories in its bigness.”

   “Well, I know that he hates that Pa made me the boss.”

   “Yes, that's hard on him, you being younger. But he loves hunting with the Osages.” When Marcus nodded, Liberty continued, “He loves fishing in Solomon River and trapping.”

   “Yes, I can't do that. We really need him. Pa knows that. He knows you and I couldn't get along without him. Even if the folks came, we'd still need him.” Marcus studied the small sod hut they had built, like a dugout, half buried in the rise. “He wants things to happen quicker. He hates us still having to live in this soddy like animals. Farming here in Kansas is nothing like what those posters we saw back in Kentucky promised. Or what that preacher man said.” 

   “But we are free here,” Liberty said. “People don't hate us. We can go where we want. We came here on our own. Like White folks. Nobody ordered us here. And nobody can come and order us out of our house.”

   “That's right, Liberty. Here your name means something. You can live it.”

The family often talked about Liberty's unusual name. Born soon after President Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation, she represented everything liberty stood for. The time of darkness was over in spite of Virgil's pessimism. Just like their last name. Pa wouldn't take the plantation owner's name as many ex-slaves did. He chose one to encourage his children. Lander. His dream was for them to own land. The name would make it come true.

   “And this land is ours!” Marcus straightened up as tall as his five foot eight inches would let him. “And next year when I'm twenty-one, I can file for my own land. Imagine that, Lib. I will own land.”

   “You couldn't do that in Kentucky.” Soft music came from inside. She smiled when she recognized the tune of “Wake, Nicodemus.”

   “No. Too expensive. Folks there wouldn't want coloreds owning land. Here . . .” he waved his hand indicating their acreage. “Here we can. Kansas welcomes us.” Aware of the labored melody coming from the soddy, Marcus smiled at Liberty and cocked his head toward Virgil.   “We'll make it.”

   “Yes, we will. Ma and Pa will come soon, I'm sure. Ma will get well and—”

   “Virgil will be all right with things here,” Marcus interrupted.

   “He likes some things.”

   “Yes,” Liberty said, grinning and motioning back north toward the next homestead. “Bethel Martin.”

   “Yes, especially her.” 

   “However, old man Martin may have something to say about that,” Liberty said, her face becoming serious.

   Marcus said, “He don't think Virgil is right for Bethel.” Marcus dropped his head and said so softly Liberty could barely hear him. “Nor do I.”

   Liberty looked closely at Marcus, then glanced through the door to Virgil and back to Marcus. Her brows lowered as she realized that Marcus also liked Bethel. “You like it here, don't you?” she asked.

   “You bet.”

   “So will Pa. When he gets here, he'll use the Homestead Act to file on another claim,” Liberty said.

   “And next year, I'll be old enough to file on another.” Marcus paused. He glanced through the door to Virgil. “Imagine that. Together we will own four hundred and eighty acres! We'll make it.”

   “You bet we will.” Virgil's voice boomed from inside the soddy.

   Marcus and Liberty glanced at each other in surprise.

   “And Liberty,” Virgil said, standing up and stooping to clear the soddy door as he came to them, “I'll thank you to leave Bethel out of it.”

   Liberty giggled. She whispered to Marcus, “He'll be all right.” Marcus nodded.

   From the backs of the spare horses, she untied the supplies and seed corn Marcus had traded for in Ellis and skipped into the soddy. He and Virgil led the tired animals to their paddock.

   “I'm really sorry the folks didn't come, Virge,” Marcus said. “I know how you feel about staying here.” He looked at Virgil's gloomy face and added, “And about me being in charge.”

   “Pa knew what was best. It's all right. They'll come yet,” Virgil said. Marcus nodded.

   As they fed and wiped down the exhausted horses, Virgil remembered his father's words to him last year just before they left Kentucky.

   “Son, I know that Marcus is the farmer, not you. He'll put up with anything to have land of his own. You like to go places, travel, explore. But until Ma and I can join you children, we need both of you. You're old enough to file for a homestead. Your skill in hunting and fishing will keep all of you from starving. Though I put Marcus in charge, your talents will make our homestead a success. Your brother and sister will fail without you. When Ma and I join you, then you can do what you want.”

   Virgil had promised. After all, his parents would soon come. And the whole trip promised to be an exciting adventure. Western Kansas wasn't far from Colorado and the mountains, the gold mines, and no telling what other wonderful things awaiting him.

   Pa was right. Last winter Marcus and Liberty would have starved without him. Together the three made an unbeatable team. We're still here, and we will someday own a ranch in the West.

What an amazing achievement for former slaves!

 
   “Wake up, Virge. Virge!” Marcus yelled as he poked his brother awake. “You gotta get up. The sun's already up and we have to finish planting that patch of corn.”

   Virgil groaned and turned over. Lying on a tarp on the dirt floor of their soddy, he pulled the light cover over his head. “Go away. You aren't my father.”

   Marcus stepped around Virgil's bed pad to Liberty who was preparing their breakfast. The smell of frying bacon almost covered the raw earthy odor of the soddy. “Lib, you try. I can't get him to move.”

   Liberty frowned at Marcus. “You're too bossy, Marc,” she said. She glanced at Virgil's form. He turned on his side and drew up his knees. Even with his eyes closed, his position dared Marcus to move him. “Please, Virge,” she said softly to him. “Get up so I can put breakfast on the table.”

   Virgil moaned. He threw off the quilt, stood up, rolled his bedding into a tight bundle, and stored it in the corner beside the others. He pulled on his trousers, shoved his feet into his boots and left the soddy.

   Liberty said to Marcus, “All this plowing is getting to him.”

   “He's not the only one,” Marcus said. He looked at the calluses on his hands. “I can't hardly hold the plow handle anymore my hands hurt so.”

   Virgil reentered the soddy and grabbed a biscuit from the pan on top of the stove. He tossed it from hand to hand to cool it before taking a bite as he sat down at the rough table.

   “I found another goose egg,” Liberty said, bringing him his plate. “It was cracked, so Goosie can't hatch it. I saved it for you.” Beside the slab of bacon on his plate, the yolk of a large fried egg stared back at him.

   “You should eat it yourself,” he said. “It's from your goose. You deserve it.”

“No. Goosie laid it special for you because you killed the coyote that almost got her. I think she cracked it so you would get it.”

   Virgil grinned at her, shaking his head at Liberty's imagining that the dumb goose could have such feelings.

   “Go ahead and eat it,” Liberty urged. “It's the last one we can eat, for I'm going to let her set on the next eggs she lays.”

   “Good,” Virgil said. With his biscuit, he soaked up the running yolk from his plate.

Liberty was hanging over him as he ate. “The Martins want some geese,” she said. “When Goosie hatches this clutch, Bethel wants us to trade some of them to her for some of their chickens. She said her father was willing.”

   The mention of Bethel cheered Virgil. If her father, their neighbor north of their homestead, wanted some of Liberty's geese, then he didn't object too much to Virgil courting his only daughter. Maybe he and Bethel could see each other often and be alone without his constant presence.

   “We should finish planting today,” Marcus said. “Then you can go fishing after we finish.” 

   “I can go fishing whenever I want,” Virgil retorted. “I don't need your say so. Or your infernal orders.”

   “I know.” Marcus backed up and glanced at Liberty who shook her head at him. “I know. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way. I just thought . . .”

   “He's just planning out the day,” Liberty said, taking Virgil's hand. “You know how he likes to work on a schedule. Have you looked outside? It looks like it might rain and—”

   “Yes, yes, I know,” Virgil said. “Gotta get the corn planted afore the rain. The rain will be perfect to sprout the seed. I know all that. I was born and bred to farming, though in Kentucky we had plenty of rain, and we raised cotton and tobacco instead of corn and wheat. He don't have to tell me that without a corn crop we won't have any cornmeal for our bread or feed for the horses and stock. I know that. I'm not stupid.”

   Marcus glanced at Liberty as if to ask her how to respond. She stepped behind Virgil at the table and motioned for Marcus not to say anything but to go outside and get the horses ready. When he left she turned to Virgil. “Marcus can't help telling us what to do,” she said. “He's worried all the time. More so now Ma and Pa aren't coming and all. It's hard on him.”

   “I know. It's just . . .”

   Liberty watched him a few seconds. When he didn't say anything more she said, “He has trouble adjusting to the weather here. Too dry or too wet. Too cold or too hot. He wants things done on time, and when the weather is good—like it is today, he needs to work. So he makes a schedule. He organizes everything, including you and me.”

   “I know. It don't take a slip of a sister to tell me that.” Virgil stood up, kissed Liberty on her cheek and as he left the soddy, poked his head back in and said, “Wash up the dishes quickly and fix that pen around the geese so the coyotes won't get them. Especially Goosie sitting on her eggs.”

   “Yes, Massa. Yes sir,” she said laughing.

   He strode back into the soddy, his face livid. “Never, never, use that word again. No one in this family will ever be a slave again.”

   “No, Virge, we won't. I'm sorry. I was just jesting.” She gave him a loving pat on his back and pushed him out the door. Goosie squawked when he almost stumbled over her.

   He grinned and said just loudly enough for her to hear him, “Can't you come up with a better name for this silly goose?”

   In the soddy while her brothers were preparing the field for planting, Liberty spent the early afternoon making a pillow with the soft goose down that she had plucked early last summer. Then she had tied it up in a worn-out scrap until she had time to work with it. This afternoon, before the boys came in for supper, she had a spare hour. After her brothers' angry set-to in the morning, she thought that maybe Virgil would be comforted and feel better about being here if he had the luxury of a feather pillow to sleep on.

   She found enough cloth from an old dress she had outgrown. By ripping out the seams and sewing smaller pieces together, she had enough material to form the two sides of a pillow cover. With her thread doubled for extra strength, she made tiny stitches to sew the two pieces together on three sides. Then she found the bag of down she had stored on the shelves by the table. She thrust her hand into the bag and grabbed handfuls of the down.  

   Carefully she lowered her hand into the new cover and let loose the soft, tiny feathers. They were so light she didn't want to lose a single bit of fluff. She only hoped there would be enough to fill one pillow. 

   Next year, she promised herself, she would have enough from her expanded gaggle to make pillows for her and Marcus. Even for Ma and Pa, she dared hope. Maybe in a couple of years enough to make a feather bed. She smiled at the prospect.

   Insulated inside the soddy and concentrating on her work, she wasn't aware of the storm brewing outside. She poked into the cover the last handful of down. Then she re-threaded her needle and whipped together the top seam of the pillow, closing it tightly. When she made the last double stitch for strength and bit the thread with her teeth to cut it, she punched the pillow to fluff it up.

   Perfect. Virgil would be so pleased. She smiled as she buried her face in the softness before she put the pillow on top of Virgil's rolled-up bed pad. She anticipated his pleasure. She remembered one time after working all day, exhausted and downhearted, he finally came in to bed. Discouraged, he had said, “In this forsaken place, I don't even have a pillow,” as he bunched up his dust-drenched pants to lay under his head.

   Liberty shook her head. There were so many problems here. Everything seemed against them.

She stood straighter with defiance on her face. “We're here,” she said aloud, “and nothing is going to run us off! Isn't that right, Nicky?” She picked up her gray, tiger-striped cat that rarely left the soddy. Her brothers never objected to his presence, for he helped rid the place of mice and bugs.

   The cat answered with a silent meow and struggled to get down. He immediately ran behind the shelves when an extra loud gust of wind slammed the door shut.

   Late that afternoon Virgil and Marcus finished preparing the new plot for corn. 

Marcus walked behind the crude harrow Virgil had made. Into the logs he had laced together, he had inserted hand-whittled wooden pegs to protrude underneath. As he led Lady over the rich, plowed land, the weighted-down harrow smoothed out the clods. They crisscrossed the area a couple of times to get the fine dirt cover they needed for the planting bed.

   Though Virgil's attention was on his job and mainly how much more they had to do to finish it, he was aware of nature all around him. He constantly marveled at how deep the grass roots went into the ground and what a strangle hold they seemed to have with the earth. He watched a brood of pheasants fly up ahead of him and for future hunting possibilities noted where they landed. Nor did he fail to notice the darkening banks of clouds gathering in the southwest. As he pulled his hat down tighter to keep it from blowing off, he said, “It's gonna storm.”

   “We'll beat it,” Marcus said confidently, though he was also studying the sky. The increasing wind blew the finely-disked dirt into their faces. “We need to hurry and plant this patch.”

   “Better wait,” Virgil said. “Those clouds look ugly. Can't afford to lose the seed in a washout.”

   Since Virgil rarely gave any farming directions, Marcus started to object until he saw the worried look on his brother's face. He looked at the clouds more carefully. Even as he watched, they boiled up, turning black. The wind increased.

   “What do you—” Marcus started to ask.

   “We better see to the horses,” Virgil interrupted, unhooking Lady from the harrow.

   “What should we do?” Marcus's worry turned to fear as the clouds formed a funnel.

   “That's a twister,” Virgil yelled above the wind. “Hurry! When we get to the house, turn out the sow and cow. They'll find some shelter. I'll take care of the horses.” As he spoke, he leaped on Lady's back and motioned for Marcus to jump on behind him. 

   Virgil spoke softly to the frightened mare who was prancing sideways, her eyes wild. When he felt Marc's arms grasp him tight around his waist, he neck-reined Lady around the plowed patch toward the soddy. Fine silt carried by the wind buffeted them, frightening the mare even more. The swirl of the dust and the strong odor of ozone created an eerie atmosphere. Nothing seemed real. Virgil depended on Lady to find her way to the paddock.

   When Marcus slid off, Virgil said, “Put everything you can in the soddy. Even the geese. Then you and Liberty stay inside until the storm passes.”

   Marcus nodded and yelled above the roaring wind, “What about you?”

   “Go! I'll stay with the horses.” When Marcus didn't move, Virgil motioned again with his hands for Marcus to move and yelled even louder, “Go, man. Get going. The soddy will be safe. Get to Liberty.”

   “But—”

   “I'll be all right. Go!” 

 

 

*    *     *

 

 

   Alerted to the increasing roar of the coming storm, Liberty looked out the soddy door. She took a step back when she saw the black clouds racing toward her.

   “Oh!” she cried out loud. She had never seen a cyclone, but had heard about them. Some of the early settlers at Nicodemus mentioned there were twisters in Kansas. 

   Prairie fires, buffalo stampedes, even swarms of locusts, she expected them. But a real cyclone? Just old wives' tales, she had thought.

   However, the fearsome clouds to the southwest were forming a wavering tail that jerked back and forth, sometimes touching the ground. It was headed straight toward her. “Virgil! Marcus!” she yelled. They were right in the twister's path. 

   Through the swirling and roar of the wind she heard the two horses in the paddock snorting and galloping from one end to the other. The pigs were squealing and the geese honking.

   Above the clamor she thought she heard Marcus's voice. “Geese,” she thought she heard. Or maybe, “Cow and calf”? When she stepped outside, she had to hold her long skirt to keep it from flying over her head.

   Marcus was running toward her bent over. In the dust-filled air behind him she saw the cow running free with her calf bucking behind her. The sow and her piglets were bolting in the opposite direction. Though she knew the animals were bawling and squealing because their mouths were open, the storm blocked out all other sounds.

   Did the wind blow down the fences? she wondered.

   “Get your . . . storm . . . soddy . . . ,” were the only words she could make out from Marcus yelling at her. He was gesturing as he ran, not toward the soddy, but toward the enclosure Virgil had thrown together for the geese.

   “Geese!” he shouted. “In the soddy.”

   Then she understood that he wanted her to bring the geese into the soddy. Oh no! was her first thought. No room and they'll make a mess, was her second. 

   She looked again at the black funnel cloud that was getting nearer. Marcus was trying to tell her that the storm would blow the geese away.

   That the soddy was the only safe place for them. Bracing against the wind, she ran to Goosie's nearby nest, grabbed the indignant bird, and shoved her inside the soddy. She closed the door just as Marcus came with a screeching goose clasped under each arm. He forced them into the soddy.

   Then she ran out for the two ganders. Marcus held her as she faced the wind again. She spotted the birds huddled together behind the soddy. Each holding a gander and hanging on to each other, they struggled to the soddy, the young ganders flopping and squawking loudly. Marcus shoved open the door and pushed Liberty inside. With difficulty, he pulled the door shut behind him. Feathers floated in the air. The imprisoned geese had already knocked over anything not fastened down before they added the two ganders.