Worthy of Riches (3 page)

Laurel untied her apron, grabbed a coat off a hook on the back porch, and pushed her feet into rubber boots. Brian ran to get his coat and pulled it on.

Jean lifted Susie out of her high chair and carried her into the living room. “I'm thankful she's still content to stay in her playpen,” she said, settling the little girl in the wooden enclosure. Handing her a doll with blue eyes that closed when she was laid down, she said, “You stay put and play with your baby. We'll be back in a few minutes.”

Susie took the doll by the hair, chattered at it, then cradled it in her arms. “Baby.”

“Brian, keep an eye on your sister for me.”

Brian walked into the front room. “I want to help with the milking,” he whined. “You said I could. You told me eight was big enough.” He threw back his shoulders and pulled his four-foot-one-inch frame up as tall as he could.

Susie was happily playing with her doll. “All right. I s'pose she'll be fine for a few minutes.”

“We can leave the door open,” Brian said. “That way, if she cries, we can hear her.”

“I suppose. And with the weather so warm, it'll be good to air out the house.” Jean kissed Susie's golden curls, then returned to the kitchen. She filled a bucket with warm water, dropped a washcloth in it, then followed Laurel and Brian to the back porch. Each grabbed a clean, empty pail and headed for the barn. Jean left the door open.

Swinging his pail up and over his head then back down in a wide circle, Brian skipped ahead. A hen and brood of chicks pecked at the ground outside the barn door where oats had been spilled. Dropping his bucket, he headed for the chicks; they scattered. The hen bristled, making a low burring sound in her throat. Ignoring her warning, Brian grabbed for a chick. Golden feathers ruffling and wings flapping, the hen bustled toward him. Snatching up the chick, he easily stepped out of her way. Still complaining, the hen gathered the rest of her brood and led them away.

Brian held the chirping creature, careful not to crush it. “Mama, is this a rooster or a hen?” he asked, studying the golden ball of fluff.

“Don't know yet. We'll have to wait and see.”

“I hope it's a hen. Otherwise, it'll end up in the pot. And it's awful cute.” The chick's protests grew louder. The hen responded by squawking and fluffing her feathers.

“Put it back with its mother,” Laurel said.

Brian set it on the ground. Flapping stubby, down-covered wings, it scampered to its mother and siblings.

“Brian, would you get the goat into its stanchion?” Jean asked.

Picking up his pail, Brian protested, “I thought I got to do the cows.”

“I'm not sure you're ready for that just yet. You could get stepped on or worse.”

“I'm big enough, and I'll be careful.”

Jean knew it was time for Brian to take on more of the chores, but he seemed so young. With a sigh, she relented. “All right, but make sure you keep an eye on those two. Sometimes they're playful or get in a hurry for their grain and you're …” She was about to remind him of his size but thought better of it and said, “You just watch out for them.”

Brian disappeared through the doorway, the interior gloom swallowing him.

Jean and Laurel followed. After the bright outdoor sunlight, the inside of the barn seemed dark, but they knew the way and didn't slow their steps. The barn smelled of hay, oats, and manure. Jean pitched hay into the cribs while Laurel measured out small amounts of grain for each animal.

Brian appeared, towing the Guernsey. She balked, and he tugged on the lead. “Come on, get up there.” The cow didn't move. “Penny,” Brian said sternly, “come on.” He pulled harder. Finally she plodded forward and allowed Brian to guide her to the crib where she immediately licked up her portion of grain, then buried her nose in the hay.

“She was testing you,” Laurel said.

Brian patted the Guernsey's side. “I showed her who was boss.”

“That you did.” Laurel headed for the Jersey's stall. “I'll milk Molly.”

Jean hooked a lead on the nanny goat and led it to a small stanchion. She set a stool beside it and sat down, then washed the goat's udder. Keeping an eye on Brian, she started milking. He sat, then while reaching for the udder, he tipped his stool, bringing his hand down on the bucket. Jean smiled, remembering how frustrated he'd been when she'd
first taught him how to milk. After several failures he'd finally managed to get the knack of it.

Bucket and stool back in place, Brian pressed his forehead against the Guernsey's soft hair and grabbed two teats. “Brian, are you forgetting something?” Jean asked.

He looked at her with a puzzled expression. “What?”

She lifted the washcloth from the bucket.

“Oh,” he said, retrieving the wet rag and cleaning the cow's udder. Again he sat, rested his head against the Guernsey's belly, and searched for her teats. His small arms barely reached, but he managed to grab hold of two and squeezed. At first the milk dribbled out, but finally narrow jets of white squirted and spattered into the bucket with a soft ring.

The animals munched, and the three Haspers settled into the rhythm of milking. Soon rich, frothy milk filled their pails. “Looks like they've been getting a good share of the early spring grasses,” Jean said.

The Guernsey blew air from her nostrils, flicked her tail, and let out an anxious bawl. She stamped the floor with her hind foot. Brian leaned back. “Hey! Hold still!” The cow paid no heed and stomped again, this time plunking her foot inside the bucket and knocking it over. “Rats!” Brian shouted. “Now look what you've done!”

The Jersey also seemed nervous. She swished her tail and moved her weight from foot to foot. “What is it, Molly?” Laurel asked, patting the cow's side and removing the bucket.

Jean stopped milking and listened. Setting her bucket out of harm's way, she walked to the Guernsey and ran her hand over the cow's neck. “You out of sorts today, Penny?” The cow blew air from her nostrils, her skin shuddering as she looked at the barn wall, the whites showing around her brown eyes.

Molly's gaze followed the Guernsey's. “Mama, what's wrong with them?” Laurel asked.

Jean heard snuffling along the barn wall. “Shh.” She walked toward the sound. Scratching joined the snuffling. Jean stepped back. “Something's out there,” she whispered. Peering through a space between boards, her stomach dropped and the hair prickled on her arms.

A cinnamon-colored grizzly dug at the ground along the barn wall. It was trying to dig underneath! He stopped and sniffed the air, then
returned to digging. He wanted in! Fear spiked through Jean. They had heard a few reports of mauled livestock. She wondered if this was the offender.

The animal stopped digging and lumbered toward the front of the barn. “Get up in the loft!” Jean whispered fiercely and ran for the door. “Now!” Brian and Laurel obeyed, their faces questions. She reached the double doors just as the bear rounded the corner of the barn. Thankful they hadn't opened both doors, she grabbed the open one and swung it closed, quickly dropping a wooden bar in place to secure it.

“What is it, Mama? What's wrong?” Laurel asked.

Jean didn't answer but walked quietly to the bottom of the ladder. Looking up at her children, she whispered. “It's a bear. Be still.” Brian started down the ladder. “Get back up there.”

His face blanched. “Can it get in?”

“No, but I don't want to take any chances.”

The grizzly set to work, digging dirt out from under the door. After a few minutes he moved away, circling the barn and scratching at the ground and walls. With a snarl, his feet slammed against the south wall. He pushed, making the boards creak.

“He's going to get in!” Brian cried.

Every nerve on end, Jean watched the barn wall. The animal stopped battering at it and found his way back to the doors. Then he put his nose through the place where the two met and pushed. The doors moved and groaned. Jean stepped onto the first rung of the ladder.

The doors held, and the bear stopped its assault.

Jean looked up at her children and forced a smile. “Praise the Lord; Daddy does good work.”

“Mama, what are we going to do?” Brian asked, his voice quaking.

“We'll be real quiet and wait until he leaves.”

The cows continued to stomp their feet, swish their tails, and let out an occasional worried bawl. The goats seemed to have more sense and stood quietly. Jean walked to the cows and stroked their necks, talking softly. “It's all right, ladies. He can't get in. Shush now.”

For several seconds the bear made no sound.
Maybe he's gone,
she thought, holding her breath and listening. Then she heard something
that sent terror pulsing through her. Susie was crying! “Oh, dear Lord!” Jean pressed a hand to her mouth. “Susie!”

She tried to remember if the door had been left open or if it was closed. She ran to the double doors and peered out. The bear lumbered toward the house, his cinnamon coat glistening in the sunlight and his huge paws padding the earth. Jean's eyes traveled to the door. It was open! The bear was already at the back of the house. He stopped and sniffed the ground. Stepping onto the porch, he swung his huge head back and forth, smelling the air.

Jean felt as if she were drowning in horror.
Lord, protect my baby!

“Mama,” Laurel said from behind her.

Jean jumped.

“What's happening?”

“The bear's on the back porch, and the door's open.”

There was no time to think. Jean wrenched open the barn door, throwing it wide. “Hey! Bear! Over here!” she yelled, running out and waving her arms. The animal swung around and looked at her. Mouth slightly agape, he stared at Jean, stepped off the porch, and ran toward her.

She stepped back inside, slammed the door shut, and bolted it. Near tears, she backed away. The grizzly rammed the barrier. The doors held.
Father, what should I do? What can I do?
She searched the barn, hoping to find something to use against the bear. The only weapon was a pitchfork, and it would be worthless against this beast. “I wish I had the rifle.”

“Mama, what are we going to do?” Laurel asked.

In a rage, the bear snarled and pushed against the door. A board popped and splintered.

“Someone's got to get to the house and close that door!” Jean almost screamed. “I shouldn't have left it open.”

“I'll do it,” Laurel said immediately. “I can run faster than either of you.”

“You can't outrun a bear. And it's too far.”

Laurel paced and thought. “What if you distract him? I can sneak out one of the stall doors and run for the house.”

Jean nodded. “That might work. But I'll go. I don't want you taking such a risk.”

“No. It has to be me.” Laurel stared at her mother. “Susie needs the one who can run the fastest.” She sat down and pulled off her boots. “I'm ready,” she said as she stood up.

Jean knew Laurel was right, but the idea of her daughter putting herself in the path of that animal was nearly unbearable. “All right.”

The bear's attack on the barn doors ended. There was no sound except for Susie's cries. Jean peered out. The bear was headed back to the house. “We've got to do it now!”

“I'm going,” Laurel said and ran to the back of the barn.

“I'll get his attention,” Jean called. She glanced at Brian who was peering down from the loft. “You stay put. I don't want to have to worry about you. Not a peep now. You hear me? No matter what happens, you stay right there and be still.”

His face white, Brian nodded.

Her stomach in knots, her heart thumping, Jean lifted the wooden bar and opened the door. “Laurel, are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“I'm going out now.” Jean stepped into the yard. The brute stood on the porch with his head inside the back door. “All right, bear! I'm here! I'm the one you want!”

He looked at her but didn't move. He seemed undecided about what to do.

“Come on, bear! Come and get me! There's nothin' in that house you need.” Jean picked up a handful of pebbles and started throwing them at the intruder.

The grizzly took a step toward her, then stood on his hind legs. Small black eyes glared at her. She couldn't remember being so frightened. Susie let out a loud wail, and the bear looked back toward the house. Jean took another step away from the barn. “Come on, bear. Come on. I'm here.”

Jean glanced at the corner where Laurel stood waiting.
She can't make it without the bear seeing her! He'll be on her before she gets halfway there!
Jean scanned the yard.
I'll have to draw him away from the house.

The chicken house was only a dozen yards away, but it didn't have a door. It would be of no help. A pump house stood several yards beyond. Jean doubted she could make it there before the bear got her.
I have to
try. If I don't…
She couldn't complete the thought. It was too horrible. If she could make it part of the way before the bear came after her, she might have a chance.

Father, give me courage. Help me run faster than I've ever run. And… if I die, take care of my family.
Jean edged toward the pump house.

The bear followed her with his eyes but made no move.

Jean took another step, and another. She recalled hearing somewhere that the natives sometimes talked kindly to bears, and it seemed to calm them. Figuring she had nothing to lose, she said, “All right, bear, that's a good boy. Now, stay put for just a while.” She tried to sound serene. “Everything's just fine.” Her voice trembled. “No one's going to hurt you. Just let us get our little girl.”

Mouth open, eyes trained on Jean, the bear bounced on straight front legs in a show of intimidation. Froth dripped from his muzzle. Jean had managed to make it nearly halfway. She kept moving, slowly, steadily. There was no turning back. It was now a longer run to the barn than to the pump house. The bear continued to watch her.

What if he doesn't follow me?
Jean wondered.
Susie and Laurel could be killed.
She changed her tone and talked louder. “Come on, bear.” She kept moving. “Come and get me. I'm right here.”

Then she remembered something Alex had told her, “Never run from a bear. If you do, he'll chase you.”
I need to run,
she decided. Once she started, she knew not to look back. Even one glance could slow her down enough to make the difference between safety and death.