She put the groceries away, stacked fabric, yarn, and other winter projects, stored kerosene and fresh water jugs. The next item on her list was to stretch the lifeline.
She ran down the stairs to the fruit cellar, found the old rope coiled neatly on a meat hook. She put her shoulder into it and lifted it off the hook. Staggering under its weight, she climbed back up the stone steps. The wind was louder now, and suddenly cold, carrying pieces of trash and small bushes through the yard. She dumped the coils on the porch, hunted for the outside end of the rope, and threaded it through the iron eye that was screwed into the house.
Squinting against the particles of sand that stung her face and hands, she located the other end of the rope and began dragging the heavy line to the barn. Her dress whipped about her thighs and waist; her dark hair caught in her lips and tangled in her eyelashes. The world had turned reddish brown and gritty.
She threaded the end of the rope into its iron loop and pulled hard. She braced her foot on the side of the barn and pulled with all her might, sucking in sand that coated her tongue, but the heavy rope lifted only a few inches off the ground. It would have to do for now. She tied it as best she could and slipped into the barn carefully, so the wind wouldn’t catch the door.
It was almost silent. The barn was warm and cozy, sealed tight against the airborne sandpaper. The animals were restless, but quiet in contrast to the whistling madness outside. She laid a reassuring hand on each flank as she passed. They smelled like old friends. Dave and Harry were kneeling in the other corner, heads under the rear axle of the tractor. Harry looked up as she came in.
“I can’t get the rope very tight, the one from the house to the barn, Harry; you’ll have to help me.”
“Okay. Be right back, Dave.” Harry got up and trotted toward her. “How is it outside?”
“I don’t know. It’s wild.”
They slipped out the door together; Harry pulled his hat down over his eyes. The wind had risen even more than she had believed possible. “I’ll get it,” he shouted over the incredible noise. “Go on back to the house.”
She ran to the house, the wind catching her lithe frame and almost knocking her over. She leaned into it to maintain her balance, dust filling her nostrils, blasting her legs and arms right through her sweater. She followed the rope as it slowly rose from the ground and was secured to the barn. This was the rope they would follow to the barn, to minister to the animals, in case of blizzard. In a whiteout, Harry explained, you can’t see your hand in front of your face. Men get lost and freeze to death two steps away from their home porch. When he told her about the blizzards, Fern put the rope on her list of things to do. She wouldn’t take a chance that it might be forgotten.
As she went up the steps, she heard a new noise in the wind, a high-pitched scream, and wondered what was tearing away. It was the scream of metal ripping, or a nail being forced from wood. She opened the storm door, holding on carefully so it wouldn’t slam. She stepped into blessed peace and quiet. She put on the tea kettle, then patted the dust out of her clothes. Quietly, she waited for Harry and David, fidgeting, absently wondering where David would sleep tonight. Surely he couldn’t go home in this weather.
Too soon, she heard the pounding of boots on the front porch, and went quickly to open the door. Harry stood there, torso bare, little drops of blood oozing from a hundred places on his arms and chest where the wind had driven sharp fragments of rock and bits of sand. Dave was leaning heavily on him, his face pale, his arm wrapped in a scarlet, dripping cloth.
“Jack broke. Dave’s cut himself bad.” He walked Dave over to the table and eased him down in a chair.
Fern had never seen so much blood. Her stomach went sour, and bile came up to the back of her tongue. This is an emergency, Fern, she told herself. Now prove yourself to be a resourceful wife. She poured warm water from the kettle into a big bowl and set it on the table, along with a stack of freshly laundered kitchen towels.
Dave’s eyes rolled back in his head, and his neck muscles gave out; he hung limply in the chair. Harry peeled Dave’s blood-soaked shirt from his arm, and Fern gasped as she saw the flesh of his forearm laid wide open. Tendons hung, bone glistened, and an artery, like half a worm, pumped hot red blood into the wound. Instinctively, she reached out with both hands and squeezed the two sides together.
A calm washed over her like a flood of warm water. All the panic of the moment, the fear of the blood, the anticipation of the storm were gone. Her eyes closed, and she saw clearly a blue liquid start to flow through her, saw it come through the top of her head, sparkling with little golden flecks, and it swept easily, pleasantly, through her head, her neck, down her chest and through her arms to her hands. They felt warm with the sudden rush, yet cool with the freshening balm. In her mind’s eye, she saw the cool blue, like an icy mint, surround the hot throbbing wound, and the fever was drawn out, the pain was soothed, the blue liquid melting into the tissues like butter on a fresh hot roll. The rent flesh merged together again, naturally, melding and flowing under the touch of her hands.
The flow of blue trickled, then stopped. Gradually, reality reentered her senses. She heard Harry’s raspy breathing. She heard the wild wind rattling and shaking the house. She opened her eyes. She saw David’s unconscious frame lolling in the chair. She moved her hands, and saw the long forearm covered with blood, and a thin red scar running down its length. She dipped a towel in the warm water and washed off the blood. The arm was pink and healthy looking.
She dared not look into Harry’s face. She kept working, cleaning the blood away, frightened, trembling, not understanding. When the arm was clean, she indicated the couch. “Let’s get him to the sofa.” She looked up at Harry. He was staring, open-mouthed, at her. She didn’t want him to look at her that way. “Come on, Harry.”
Between them, they dragged David to the sofa and laid him down. Fern fetched a pillow for under his head. Then she covered him with a blanket and made two cups of tea. Her hands were shaking. She had to keep them busy.
She put the tea on the table, then sat down next to Harry. He was still staring.
“That arm was laid wide open.”
She nodded. “I saw.”
“It’s a miracle.”
She thought about that for a moment. “Yes,” she said. “I guess it was.”
CHAPTER 3
Martha kneaded the dough. She pushed and folded, pushed and folded, sprinkling flour in the sticky places. It was an automatic, easy rhythm. Her pudgy fingers knew the work by themselves. As she pushed, her body rocked forward, up on her toes. As she folded, she fell back flat on her heels. Pushed and folded, sprinkled more white flour, pushed some more.
Her mind wandered.
The chickens squawked and fought over the new food. She didn’t think they would like it; it was just hard pieces of corn and seeds. Looked like rocks, too, in it. But they loved it. They just scratched and pecked and flapped.
Martha tried eating a little of it, but it was too hard to chew. How can the chickens chew it when they got no teeth? How come they like that better than the bread? Mr. McRae knows.
Martha’s hands told her when the dough was ready. She greased up a big mixing bowl and plopped the dough in it, turning it once to oil the top. Then she put a clean kitchen towel over it and sat down to watch it rise.
Now she could think about the sparkling wall. All those pretty glasses lined up in front of the mirror. All those bottles with different-colored waters in them. The cool empty room. No, not empty. There were those men. And that funny feeling when her feet wouldn’t go straight.
She thought about that drink in the bar only when she had time to sit down and concentrate. She knew there was more to it than she remembered. She knew there was more to it than she would ever even know. She didn’t understand a lot of things. Most of all, she didn’t understand the moments of clarity she had, when the whole world looked sharp, in focus, and her mind understood.