Prairie Widow (13 page)

“Really, Mr. Wilkes, there's so much land around. Surely I'm not depriving anyone.”

Wilkes stroked his whiskers thoughtfully. “Can we go inside, Mrs. Vandermeer? It'd be easier to talk.”

“Certainly. I didn't mean to be inhospitable.” Jennifer stepped toward the decline. She held up the hem of her skirt with one hand, and held onto Wilkes' hand with the other. She and he stepped down to where Wilkes' bay was tied before the dugout. They went in.

The room was already dully lit from an oil lamp, but Peter had gone to bed, leaving Emma up alone. Emma ran up to her mother and hugged her skirt. “Peter wouldn't stay up,” she complained, her eyes teary. “I was afraid.”

Jennifer sighed, eyeing her sleeping son curled up in the comer on the mattress. She patted her daughter's head. “There's nothing to be afraid of. I was just outside.” She turned to Wilkes. “Please do sit. I'll make us some tea.” She then stooped and addressed Emma. “Now it's your turn to go to bed. It's late.”

Emma turned to her doll sitting on the rocker. “I told you not to be afraid,” she said. Whereupon she walked obediently off to dress for bed.

Jennifer straightened and walked over to the cookstove.

“Mrs. Vandermeer, please don't trouble yourself,” said Wilkes. “I'm not much of a tea drinker.” He gestured for Jennifer to sit at the table.

She did so, across from him, her hands folded.

“Now about this school business,” said Wilkes.

“I do have coffee, if you'd prefer.”

“No, thanks. Mrs. Vandermeer, do you really want to teach out here?”

Jennifer fell silent.

“I didn't think so. Whose idea was it, anyway?”

“Lucy Baker thought…”

“Ah! Lucy. I should have known. No disrepect to her, but sometimes that woman can't mind her own business. Her head's filled with ideas about what she'd like to see out here, but your obligation is to yourself, not to Lucy Baker.”

“But I can't go back on my word. I already agreed to stay until the spring. Lucy said a railroad spur might be in town by then—and by your efforts.”

“Yeah, but by the spring? She knows very well it won't be done so quickly. You can't always listen to what Lucy says. Now, between you and me…”

Just then, Emma, dressed in her nightgown and carrying her doll, returned to Jennifer to say good night. Jennifer kissed her and kissed Melissa too. “Say good night to Mr. Wilkes,” she instructed.

Emma faced the shaggy-faced guest. “Good night.”

“'Night,” responded Wilkes abruptly.

Emma hurried over to the mattress with a quick pat on her rump from her mother.

“Mrs. Vandermeer, as I was saying, this railroad, you just can't wait for it…”

“Shh,” went Jennifer, raising a finger to her lips.

“You just can't wait for it,” repeated Wilkes more softly, but excitedly. “To tell you the truth, I don't know if it'll ever come. There are too many farms springing up around the town.”

“Why, I'd have thought that could only help.”

“No, the Kansas Pacific likes to hook up with cattle trails. That's where the money is—shipping Texas cattle. The farms out here are starting to cut off Four Comers from the trails.” Wilkes, who had been growing increasingly agitated, calmed himself. “The point is, if I were you, I wouldn't wait for any railroad.”

“Well, unfortunately, I can't return east without one.”

“Hell, I'll take you to a rail town if that's what's stopping you.”

“But I promised Lucy…”

“To hell with that woman!”

“Your voice, Mr. Wilkes…”

Wilkes rose suddenly from his chair. “To hell with my voice!” he snapped. “Look, Mrs. Vandermeer, you're already mostly packed, so let's cut the nonsense. I'm going to assume you'll do the smart thing.” He stepped over to the door and opened it. He put his hat on. “After all, you have your children to think of. So let me know soon, and I'll escort you to a railtown. Good night.” He left, slamming the door.

Jennifer remained sitting and listened as Wilkes rode off.

“Momma, I'm glad he left,” called Emma from the mattress.

Jennifer turned. “Shush. Go to sleep.”

“He's a bully, right, Momma?”

Jennifer returned her gaze to the door and windows. “He's trying to be.”

The next morning, Jennifer, for the first time, awaited Joseph Caulder's arrival eagerly. She wanted to tell him about Wilkes's visit. She now remembered all too clearly that Wilkes had been the topic of conversation at Lucy's house. Her neighbors apparently didn't like the man, and she was sure Joseph would be most interested to know what Wilkes's business was at her place. When Jennifer at last espied Joseph riding up the trail on his mule, she actually felt relieved, and she hurried to prepare him some coffee.

Only it wasn't Joseph. It was his brother, Isaac.

“That's curious,” said Jennifer, stepping forward from her doorway.

As he pulled off the trail and onto the property, Isaac, as straight-faced as his brother, nodded at Jennifer, who responded in kind. She waited patiently as the mule trudged over to her dugout. She noted for the first time how much older Isaac was than his brother. He seemed almost old enough to be Joseph's father. Or had the prairie simply taken a greater toll on him?

“Good morning, Mr. Caulder,” said Jennifer, daring to smile.

Isaac Caulder nodded quickly once more. “Mrs. Vandermeer,” he said. He stayed atop his mule.

“Is there something I can do for you?” asked Jennifer, shading her eyes with one hand. “I was expecting Joseph.”

Isaac seemed even more shy than his brother, and he turned his head away, preferring to look at the ground as he spoke. “I'd like a word with you.”

“Why, certainly,” said Jennifer. “Why don't you come in?”

“I'd as soon as not. This won't take long.”

Jennifer lifted a curious eyebrow. “Is something the matter?”

“Nothing that can't be fixed.” Isaac now looked off in the distance. “I just wanted you to know my brother won't be coming around here anymore.”

“Won't he?”

“He's got enough work on our own place.”

“I thought he might. Frankly, I was wondering where he found the time to come here. Not that I didn't appreciate his help. He's a very generous man.”

“Maybe too generous.” Isaac looked to the ground again. “And—I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't lead him on so.”

At this, Jennifer, her mouth agape, stepped back. “Lead him?…”

“The Lord sees all, ma'am. You oughtn't take advantage of a man because you think he's lonely.”

“Mr. Caulder!”

“Now, I won't argue with you. Just leave my brother be.” Jennifer became so flustered she could hardly speak. She stepped right back up to the mule. “You are making very improper suggestions!”

“I'm being direct, ma'am. As direct as I can be. I don't have anyone else to help me, and I can't afford to have my brother go running off and making a fool of himself over some woman. The least you could have done was pay him for his work.”

Jennifer stood there, glaring at the grim man. “Now you listen to me,” she started. “First of all, it was not my idea that your brother come over here. I told him repeatedly that he should tend to his own farm first. Second of all, I resent your coming onto my property and making insinuations about my righteousness, as if it were your business. And finally, what right do you have to make such decisions for your brother? He's forty-two and old enough, I think, to decide these things for himself.”

“My brother, ma'am, is a fool over some matters and would likely commit blasphemy if I didn't watch over him.”

Jennifer nearly sputtered in frustration, but she spoke slowly, “I wish to say only one last thing, Mr. Caulder. And that is, you are mistaken about me.”

Isaac Caulder nodded curtly as if to say her comment was as good a way as any to end the conversation, whereupon he pulled his mule about and started back toward the trail.

As she watched her neighbor ride off, Jennifer tried to calm herself. She slowly did. Remembering Wilkes' visit, she thought, almost amused, My, how unpopular I've suddenly become.

So many thoughts now entered Jennifer's head that she could barely sort them out. She was surprised to realize that she might actually miss Joseph puttering grimly about her property. And while she resented Isaac for his forwardness, she also felt sorry for him. He seemed a lonely man and was perhaps frightened of losing his brother.

For Wilkes, however, Jennifer had no sympathy. How two-faced he had shown himself to be! He would never have tried to push Walter around. But Walter's wife? That was another story!

Jennifer was only getting herself riled thinking of Wilkes, and she decided it was best to occupy her mind with matters more pleasant or, at least, more pressing. She decided to plan her next class. This worked, but only so far. Even as she sat at her table, Jennifer couldn't help but stay her pen to think of that so-called land agent. The coward! The bully! Indeed, so preoccupied with him had she really become, whether she cared to admit it or not, that he even entered, that very night, her dream.

In it, Jennifer stood before her class. Among the many youthful faces of her students was added one more—the bewhiskered Wilkes. He was well enough behaved, but he was standing in the back of the room and rocking from side to side, just like the dark-eyed boy. Jennifer was wary of him. Then, one of her students said, “Look at the pretty sunrise, Momma.” Sunrise? During class? Have we started so early today?

Jennifer began to awaken. Her eyelids drew back like two tiny stage curtains, preparing her for the next act in some interminable opera. Strangely, the room was cast in a faint, flickering light. Jennifer sat up. Emma was standing several feet away, gazing out one window at a distant glow emanating along the length of the horizon.

“But the sun doesn't rise there,” said Jennifer, still half in her dream. She slid out of bed and threw her robe and slippers on. She joined Emma and watched the glow, too.

“Isn't it pretty, Momma?”

All along the horizon was a thin fringe of shimmering light. In the sky overhead were great billowing dark clouds, their undersides luridly illuminated.

“Oh, God,” gasped Jennifer in sudden realization. “It's coming this way!”

“Quick! Find Poppa's scythe!” cried Jennifer, looking about the room.

“What's a scythe?” asked Emma, searching fervently.

Peter, barefoot and dressed in his nightgown, approached his mother with the long-handled tool. Jennifer grabbed it and hurried outside. “Don't leave the dugout!”

She started whacking away at the trampled grass before her home.

The fringe of light, meanwhile, had grown thicker, nearer, and its billowing smoke was being born ahead of it by high winds, so that the stars over the dugout were disappearing behind an encroaching, inky shroud. Ashes and flakes began to rain down on Jennifer's head, as if the benighted dome itself were crumbling. Every so often, a rabbit broke forth into the clearing, fleeing the approaching light fringe.

Jennifer had now shorn away a broad swath in front of her home. As she began to gather the cut grass in her arms to dump beyond the clearing, a pall of black smoke drifted past her, smarting her eyes and making her cough.

“Stay inside, I said!” she shouted, noticing her children in the open doorway.

“It's a fire, Momma!” shouted Emma.

Peter hurried outside and began to help his mother gather the cut grass. Emma followed.

“Keep back!” cried Jennifer frantically as she stooped to gather more grass. A prairie chicken hurried past her. Then a couple of deer bounded across the small clearing. Birds skimmed overhead. The oxen in their stalls lowed fretfully. “Stay inside!”

Peter and Emma continued to gather the grass and dump it away from the dugout.

The fire was closer still. Everyone and everything around the dugout was lit up. Jennifer heard the dull roar of incinerating grass. She felt the first wave of heat. The four bellowing oxen, in a panic, broke free of the posts that secured them, and they burst forth from the hay-covered structure to join the wild animals in flight.

“All right! Inside!” shouted Jennifer, ushering her children back into the dugout. She slammed the door behind her. The room bore a dark haze.

“Will we bum up?” asked Emma.

“No, our home is made of earth,” answered Jennifer, her chest heaving. She looked out the paneless windows at the fast-appproaching wall of flame, which poured swelling black smoke, balls of torched grass, and sparks into the sky. So wide was this wall, which soared forty feet high, that Jennifer couldn't see its ends. And so near was it that the room was filled with its roar, light, and ever more of its heat.

“I'm scared,” said Emma, clinging to her mother's robe. “I want Poppa!”

Peter backed up to the deepest recess of the dugout. His blue eyes wide with fright, he stared at the brightly lit windows that framed the holocaust outside. At his feet were two rabbits, a prairie chicken, some field mice, and other critters that had stumbled into the dugout when the door was open. He was joined by his mother and sister, who retreated from the gaping windows and searing heat. Jennifer prayed it would get no hotter.

But it did. Hesitating only briefly at Joseph's fire-break, the fire leapt over and roared on toward the dugout faster than a man could run. Its heat turned the soddy into an oven. Thick smoke streamed in through the two windows, making Jennifer and her children choke and their eyes tear. Jennifer started for the windows to close the shutters, but the smoke overwhelmed her, and she forced her children onto the dirt floor and held them tightly under her. The roar became deafening; the light, blinding; the heat, scorching. “Oh, God…”