The Last Letter (24 page)

For Abby Hunt, the minister, Jeanie selected a deep blue fabric. Beautiful if one put the color in the context of the prairie sky as it turned to night in the summer moon, but plain, too. Something suitable for a woman of the cloth, though Jeanie did not claim to understand the inner workings of the Quaker life or the people who were deemed ministers in it. Jeanie hoped the gown wasn’t at all too dowdy or insulting.

For Lutie, Jeanie had more trouble selecting material. Part of Jeanie wanted to give her the flimsiest, ugliest, material sewn to ill-fitted, imperfection. Another part of Jeanie wanted to fashion the most intricate dress, of lavender silk—Lutie didn’t do anything to compromise such rich fabric after all—to display like a peacock Jeanie’s skill to all who saw beautiful Lutie.

Jeanie’s conscience—that light that according to the Hunts lived inside her in the form of Jesus himself—tried to ferret a third point of view out of Jeanie’s soul. The kind part of her that would make Jeanie select something appropriate and pretty and practical for Lutie just as she had for all the others.

None of that inner struggle really mattered in the end because it was the collection of clothing Jeanie fashioned that thrilled her. She packed each family’s new wardrobe, bound by plain tan ribbon, into the wagon. She and Katherine would spend the day delivering the clothes in exchange for weekly supply of vegetables, maybe a squash, and hopefully a melon of some sort.

Jeanie felt so good that day that not even the fact that she couldn’t find the last pair of her silk shoes bothered her too much. She remembered throwing one pair under the bedstead just before the fire swept through. The other two pairs had been in the burnt material trunk.

She’d turned the small dirt house upside down—as much at that could be done in a space where really, nothing should be able to be lost for the size of the place said it was impossible. Perhaps she’d remembered wrong, that all three pairs of shoes had been in the trunk. What other explanation could there be?

Jeanie and Katherine, tucked into the wagon, a light breeze lifting the edges of their bonnets, made their way across their homestead to the Zurchenko’s. The sun crept up Jeanie’s back. The sky, a pale blue, lay overtop the green prairie. Jeanie had been shocked at the quickness with which much of the prairie shot back to green.

Nearly instant it seemed, were patches of tall grass tickling the knees again, yellow and purple blooms poked out of the edges of dead ground and danced in the wind. Pink roses that had escaped the fire, poked through their thorny, bundled stems. Even the once scorched, black land was sprouting greens again, the plants there having evolved to survive even the worst prairie fire, their seeds and roots deep below the plains, waiting to rise again.

Jeanie smiled and looked at Katherine, her little round face turned upward, a closed-mouth smile stretched her cheeks, and her eyes were closed as though she were gathering energy and life from merely sitting amidst nature’s finest beauty.

Jeanie looked over the horses’ heads, clicking her tongue at them then looked back at Katherine.

“Look at me, sweet Katherine.” Jeanie cupped Katherine’s chin then ran the back of her fingers over her daughter’s cheek then her finger down her nose. Katherine giggled and pulled back playfully.

Jeanie grasped her hand, pulling her close again. With their hands clasped Jeanie gave Katherine three sharp squeezes.

“Remember that. Right? I. Love. You.” Jeanie matched the words with three more clutches of the hand. “Nothing can ever change that.”

“Silly goose. I know that.” Katherine said, her eyes narrowing. She shrugged and suddenly appeared confused, her attention shifted off to where the sky danced with the land.

“I just wanted to remember this moment,” Jeanie said. “Your eyes, they way the blue bursts, almost unbelievably with purples and golds, like the prairie itself. As though you and your father who shares your eye color were somehow born of this place. Just waiting to come back.” Katherine nodded and squeezed her mother’s leg and leaned into her shoulder. Jeanie slung her arm around her daughter’s shoulder, contentment overshadowing anything else.

Though part of Jeanie still despised her prairie life and had to fight at times to entertain cheerful thoughts, she knew that without the prairie experience she wouldn’t have had this moment with Katherine. She might not have slowed down enough to let the image of Katherine settle into her mind as it did right then.

Katherine had been generous with her love back in Des Moines, Jeanie realized. It was as though Katherine invented this incredibly close relationship between the two of them and then it became reality when they lit out for the prairie. It wasn’t that Jeanie didn’t adore Katherine before, she just didn’t know how much more love for her children was possible until she stopped fretting over insubstantial matters of life like what hue of blue to paint the living room for the sixth time. Jeanie swelled with so much love at that moment that her heart seemed to warm inside her chest. She squeezed Katherine to her tighter. The great love scared her as much as it was fulfilling.

“It is sort of perfect, Mama.” Katherine looked into the horizon in front of them. “Even with nearly nothing to our names. With the way we lit out of Des Moines—”

“We didn’t run away. We ran to. Just like your father always wanted to. If I hadn’t been so stubborn, so scared to leave our lot, we’d have a large frame home here on the prairie with a slew of cows, fields of corn, wheat, and rye. We’d have a well just outside the door and plans for indoor plumbing and, and…Well, we’d be settled but for my stubbornness in seeing the value of making the dreams I carried in my heart a reality.”

Jeanie clenched her jaw at the gobbly-gook she spewed. She snapped the reins quickening the horse’s pace.

“Even a little girl knows that isn’t accurate, Mama.” Katherine pulled away and turned sideways in the seat and stared at her mother. Jeanie kept her eyes over the horses pulling the wagon.

“Don’t ever let me hear you say anything of the sort Katherine Arthur,” Jeanie said.

“I don’t mean disrespect, Mama. I was just looking at the facts and reporting them as I see them.” Katherine turned back to face straight ahead.

“Things aren’t always as you think you see them.”

“So, Grampy
didn’t
steal that money from his bank customers?” Katherine said, her hands flying through the air for emphasis. “Father
didn’t
talk Grampy into investing in some sort of oil fiasco? Not that it didn’t make sense on paper. After all, the Chinese first drilled for oil using bamboo shoots to funnel it up in 347 AD. The books we brought detail every bit of it. I see where Father got his logic what with the drilling nearly thirty years ago in California even Pennsy—”

“Enough.” Jeanie snapped the reins. Her voice shot out hard and at hearing her own tone she shivered as her own blood turned frigid. She knew Katherine had overheard some of the details of the scandal, that Katherine was quite capable of reading the papers, but she didn’t realize Katherine had taken the time to do so.

“But Mama, I’m studying like you said. Figuring out—”

“Study something else. We won’t re-entertain our past failures and mull over, discuss—we have to move on.” Jeanie’s shoulders heaved with breath. Tears came to her eyes and she shook them off then found the serenity she counted on to keep her carrying on in the face of whatever had happened with her father. She’d thought she managed to hide her father’s indiscretions—the fact that one of Frank’s air castles had been part of the family’s great fall as well as the three hundred other families who banked with her father— from Katherine, from all the children.

“All right, Mama, I know it hurts to talk. Oh looky! There’s the Misses Moore headed to the Zurchenko’s too!” Katherine sat high in her seat craning her neck and squinting into the horizon.

“Well, there’s a bit of luck for us, Katherine. If we don’t have to stop at the Moores’ soddie on the way back home, we’ll have enough time to finish the dress I’ve started for you. I think you’ll love it.” Jeanie was relieved Katherine hadn’t pushed her further on their family scandal, that she would put her worries about their family aside.

“Oh, yes Mama. I can’t wait to wear that lavender wool. And with a velvet collar. It’s decadent for the prairie, but I can’t say I’m sorry you’ve indulged me.”

“You are a good daughter and a good dress you shall have. Even here in this primitive setting.” Jeanie smiled at Katherine and smoothed a windblown hair behind her tiny, sea-shell ear. Jeanie nearly erupted with the love she felt for her daughter, the grace that had given Jeanie such a gem to bring to womanhood.

Katherine nodded so excitedly it looked as though her teeth might collide and crack into bits. She hopped from the wagon before they were even stopped and ran to the front door of the Zurchenko’s soddie. Katherine pounded away as though summoning someone to save her life. Greta opened the door and wiped her hands on her apron.

Anna peeked around her mother’s legs, more shy since her sister’s death. Katherine’s aggressive embrace was barely returned by Greta as her physical proximity to people was mostly practical more than it was driven by some emotional need to be close to others. At least it appeared that way to Jeanie. Greta’s face folded into that strange smile that only made her appear more cross than usual. She watched Katherine hold her hand out to Anna and coax her over to the wagon to see what the Arthurs had brought. Jeanie was glad Katherine made such an overt gesture to Anna after being there when Anzhela disappeared. They all understood these things happened on the prairie, but still, Katherine carried these things deeply in her soul and Jeanie hoped it wouldn’t color her life black as she grew up.

“Hi there,” Greta said.

Jeanie stood in the wagon and accepted Greta’s hand to help her climb down.

Jeanie looked Greta over. She’d lost weight, but seemed as cheerful as she ever had. “You’ve lost weight,” Jeanie said.

“With the crop due in soon, I think I’ll pick up some heft,” Greta said.

Jeanie felt a surge of discomfort, as though Anzhela’s ghost was sitting between them, reminding them both of the loss.

“Your Katherine. She is so sweet to care for Anna. She always indicates her concern for our family in such gentle ways. I want her to know I notice that, I am thankful for it.”

Jeanie nearly fell over with Greta’s generosity of friendship. How could she bear to be so understanding?

“I’ve missed you,” Jeanie said.

“And I you.” Greta smiled down on Jeanie and took her hand, squeezing it. “I’m fine. Really, life is life is death is pain and joy and back again. I find solace in my God Almighty. There, I feel no pain.”

Jeanie held the opposite view, that God couldn’t exist and inflict such pain, but she would never say that to Greta. Especially not now that she found the will to carry on with her Lord’s help. That was something Jeanie wouldn’t disturb.

Jeanie gestured to the back of the wagon, to discuss the cargo inside when Anton came around the side of the soddie. Greta had explained at an earlier time—so not to embarrass Anton—that Anton had the size to easily help the women load and unload the cargo, but he was still small enough that he wouldn’t be terribly missed in the fields.

“Hello Mrs. Arthur,” Anton said. He extended his hand to Jeanie and delivered one of his knee-buckling handshakes.

“My, my
my!
Anton, your grip is mighty!” He nearly floated away with pride when Jeanie exclaimed at his strength.

While exchanging pleasantries, the Moores dismounted their wagon and as usual, Lutie waltzed to the gathering and Ruthie nearly ran, asking what she could do to help make things easier for everyone involved in the exchange. While the women chattered about the state of the fields—the enormous growth that would allow a mid-October harvest even after the devastating fire—and the mysterious appearance of grapes on the Moore property as though the vines had been waiting for just the right time to pop back up from the earth and show themselves to the world.

The conversation dissolved and Jeanie took the silence as her opportunity to show her wares.

“I’m sorry to not have wrapped each garment in paper, but we are very short on supply and might need it for the dugout walls at some point, or perhaps, gasp, for the polite endeavor of actual writing.”

Lutie bounced around like a spoiled child, her fists under her chin, face straining with anticipation. “Let us see the clothes.”

Jeanie nodded and in wanting to delay this precious moment— the joy of having created something that would be beautiful and useful at the same time—she started with the simple utilitarian pieces—the men’s shirts and pants.

Greta held up the shirt intended for Nikolai. “Oh, it’s white. I don’t believe I’ve seen this shade of white, I mean, simply clean, since we left Russia years ago. Nothing stays white out here for long. I almost want to hide it away just to take a look now and then at what it means to have something be white.”

Jeanie cocked her head and let the kind words bathe her in pride and joy. She, too, was taken by the moment and nearly skipped to the pile that held Ruthie’s and Lutie’s dresses. She pulled Ruthie’s green wool dress from the pile and held it up, peeking around the edge of it to be sure to see Ruthie’s face when she realized it was for her.

Ruthie’s mouth fell open then slammed shut. “That’s not for me. It’s beautiful.”

“It’s for you, of course it is.” Jeanie stepped forward, turning the dress and holding it up to Ruthie’s body. The other women gathered to see. “The green just lights up your hair and eyes. I knew it would be the perfect color for you.”

“But, the color, it’s
depraved,
to be sure!” Ruthie giggled. “Not for prairie wearing, that’s for sure.”

“Bish-bosh,” Jeanie said. “Simply pair this blouse with the skirt for day to day work and then wear the fitted jacket for something special. These were the materials I was working with in Des Moines and there’s no point in my tossing it all away just because I was heading into the Dakotas. I hope you’ll all be pleased with what I’ve designed for each of you. I think we women have our strengths and weaknesses and drawing attention to the former is the first step in cultivating a pleasant self-perception. Oh, and though at the time we left Des Moines, the styles called for pea-cockish, elephantine bustles and mutton-leg sleeves, I’ve had time to reflect and found the style objectionable on numerous grounds.”