By Beth Anderson Schuck
The April air sat heavy. It felt as damp as rain despite the sunshine slipping through the trees. Her tiny frame tensed from the effort as she dragged the axes behind her. The ax blades dug up vibrant green shoots of grass.
“Where are you headed so late, Miss Nels? It’s almost supper,” I added, hoping to spark interest.
Nels’ shoulders sank as she dropped the axes on the ground. Her body dripped with disdain for whoever bothered her now. I could tell the sting of the community meeting was still fresh in her mind. Tears had soaked the front of her chambray shirt, mixing with sweat. Her cheeks were striped with pale skin among the dirt and pollen that caked her face and arms.
“I’ve got to cut out an apple tree or two. I’m behind schedule and spring is passing fast,” Nels said. Her strong tone gave the impression she believed she could take down the trees by herself. I wasn’t sure.
“Would you like some help?” I wanted to reassure her that she wasn’t alone in this remote Utah community. I understood isolation. People who didn’t really trust you nor really want you here, it seemed.
“No. I can do it. I mean, no ma’am.”
“You can call me Della. I’m old enough to be a ma’am but prefer my name. It’s less formal.”
Nels nodded. She turned and picked up the heavy axes. A burlap bag strung over her shoulder added some bulk to her baggy denim overalls, at least one size too large for her wiry eleven-year-old frame.
A breeze began by the creek, rustling the leaves up and out, spreading quickly. It reminded me of warm milk streaming over a wooden spoon.
“I think it’s going to storm,” I yelled after Nels. No response. “Be careful,” I added. I sounded just like a mother despite my weak feminine aura.
I made a simple supper, not my favorite part of the day. On Saturdays, it was my turn to cook extra for Nels. The families of Junction, Utah made this agreement to share the work. The orchardist gets to stay in the barn, gets meals prepared by a different family each day, and gets a share of the profits from the sale of the fruit harvest. If there is any. Profit, not fruit.
I decided to scrutinize for myself how the orchard was progressing. At the community meeting, Mrs. Wills and Mrs. Swenson stated the trees weren’t doing well since Nels’ father had passed last winter. I had argued that it was too early to dismiss her (their idea). In my typical overly strong response, I stated emphatically that the trees looked healthier than ever.
Choosing a tree by the edge of the Empire apple grove—my favorite of all the apples—I leaned against the sturdy trunk, my tall frame almost meeting the tree branches, my head fitting between them. Nels had laid out her tools and now checked her notebook. She carried that journal everywhere, her nose in it often.
She readied herself, balancing her body weight back on her heels. Nels swung the ax and a whack rang out in the orchard. The wind whistled in my ears and the pine trees amplified the sound. It seemed almost musical. I swayed awkwardly with the wind.
After a few swings of the ax, Nels stopped to rest. She cocked her head and wiped her brow with her sleeve, pushing her short bangs straight up in the process.
That girl needs a bath, I thought. Just then Nels startled and almost fell over backward.
I heard a moaning sound: noooooooo… It seemed to be the wind again and I glanced at the darkening sky. Storms were definitely coming.
Nels picked up the ax and began another swing, when boom! Lightning flashed and thunder clapped loud and close. I flinched and bumped my head on a tree branch. Ow, that was close.
“Nels, let’s go,” I yelled. I picked up the hem of my long skirt to make running possible. Turning to tear toward the barn, the nearest shelter, I glanced back at the girl. She seemed frozen. Had she been struck by lightning? Sheets of rain fell as dark clouds moved over the sun and surrounded the trees.
Nels put her face up to the sky to face the torrent. She howled, sounding more like a coyote than a human.
“Owwooo, don’t tell me what to do!”
She slung the burlap sack over her shoulder and picked up the axes, one in each hand.
The rain let loose and pelted the tops of the trees, knocking some of the pink apple blossoms onto the ground.
The barn door creaked as I slid it open, startling Maisy the cow and Junior the donkey. They peered at me and then resumed munching their hay.
Nels’ possessions were all in one corner of the barn. A feather pillow, flattened from use, and a small quilt that seemed toddler-sized, not nearly big enough for a young girl. Pens and inkwells sat dangerously on a crude wooden shelf hung by two rusty nails.
Her tools were impressive. Oil cans, rags, many sizes and types of saws, axes, and a ladder all lined up by the barn wall. Ropes, ties, and netting were arranged in a row outlining a space within the large barn.
“Did you hear that? That sound?” Nels asked, out of breath from running with the heavy axes. Water dripped from her braids and down her nose.
“What, the thunder?” I asked, watching the water droplets pool on the dirt in front of me.
“No, no, the wailing. I think it was the trees.” Nels’ voice rose as the rain pounded the barn roof. “I think THEY made the storm to keep me from chopping that tree. Papa told me they spoke to him. The trees, I mean.”
Nels’ face began to register that her strange words sounded rather unbelievable.
I realized I was frowning. Shifting my weight allowed me to reset myself.
“You didn’t hear it, did you?” she asked.
I shook my head. Then I remembered the moaning sound from the pine trees. “Well, I did hear the wind, right before the lightning.”
Nels looked at the ground and kicked the dirt.
“I better dry off the tools before they rust. I’ll need a fire to dry my clothes.”
“Let me help,” I said, feeling guilty for not supporting her notion of talking trees. I piled up the kindling in the fire ring and looked for the matches. Wanting to pull her out of her thoughts, I asked her about her papa.
“Does that journal help you to care for the trees?”
Nels pursed her lips. “Yes, Papa wrote everything down. He was always saying that he knew how to get nature on his side. Of course, that didn’t help him during the flood,” she added. She cast her gaze toward the ground and then even deeper down.
The December flood had damaged the orchards, washed away one house, and cost Nels’ father his life. They never found his body.
“So, your papa talks to you in the journal?” I asked. “He’s helping you with his words.” I hoped to get a response.
Nels shrugged.
“I’m glad you’ll be staying in Junction. I think we can help each other. I don’t have many to talk to, except for the occasional visitor.”
The ladies of Junction didn’t appreciate strangers, so if anyone passed through, I was the only option for lodging. Meeting new folks was a task I enjoyed. I saw it as a distraction from my lonely existence in the isolated community.
Nels examined me from toe to head, looking for something. I wasn’t sure what.
“I mean, living here is fine. I could use someone to really talk to,” I stammered. I nervously picked at the kindling to stir up the fire and get it going.
Nels stripped off her wet overalls and shirt and picked up an equally dirty denim shirt and men’s pants. She pulled on a belt and stretched it tight around her small waist. I wasn’t sure it would hold up those ill-fitting pants.
She had no manners, really, but what did it matter if she was alone all the time? She draped her wet clothes over the only chair in the barn and pulled it close to the fire.
“So, you thought the trees were talking?” I said, settling in by the fire. The hem of my skirt was wet and heavy, so I held it close to the flames. The fire cracked and popped loudly. My body felt invigorated from the fire’s heat and brazen noises.
Nels searched my face. She picked up the journal. “Let me read you something,” she said. “It’s dated January 1909. ‘ The trees are speaking to me again. They are telling me where to plant the new twigs brought from Oregon. When I am alone in the orchard, I listen. I hear them and do what they say.’ ”
I shuddered involuntarily and then searched for words.
“Nels, do you hear the trees, too?” I asked. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, but it seemed like the right thing to ask.
Looking up from the journal, she closed it and set it on the shelf.
“Yes, I can.” It was the last thing she uttered the rest of the evening.
* * *
After the rains, it was damp and steamy as I rose early to start on the chores. Before the light completely broke, I saw a doe and two fawns walking by the creek. The mama’s ears twitched. She turned her head toward me, scanning for potential danger.
“If only Nels had someone to watch over her,” I said.
The doe stared at me and seemed to nod her head as she nudged her fawns onward. Urging them away from me.
I walked to the barn to let the animals into the corral, a chore assigned to me, as I don’t have children to tend to in the morning nor a husband to worry me. Another way I’m separated from the women. Being thirty and unmarried in 1910 is rare. Here in rural Utah, it is unheard of. Not admired, to say the least. As I often explain to my aunts in the letters I write to them, I just enjoy being alone in nature. I haven’t found anyone to shift my view around.
I unlatched and opened the barn doors. Maisy and Junior looked up. “I’m here. Let’s go, you two.” I tugged on Junior’s harness to get him going in the right direction. Maisy always followed dutifully, just as a female in Junction should.
A large black cat sat by Nels, flicking its tail back and forth.
“Now Mr. Heks, I need your help. Keep watch over my things. I need to work all day to catch up on what I missed yesterday. I can’t let Mrs. Swenson win. She thinks I can’t be an orchardist. You know I can, right Mr. Heks?”
The cat purred loudly.
“That’s right. You’re on my side, you handsome cat.”
“Good morning, Nels.” She nodded at me and continued packing up ropes, saws, and supplies in a handcart. “Where you headed today?”
She hesitated. “I’m going to the Grimes Golden grove. Those apple trees are about to bud and I need to trim the dead branches, check the irrigation ditches, and top off all the trees. Should be back at dinner,” she added.
Nels turned the handcart around to head out the main barn door and I saw my chance.
“Mind if I walk with you as far as the schoolhouse? I need to check on a few things.” I tried to sound as friendly as possible.
“Yes. I mean no, I don’t mind,” said Nels.
“Good. The animals are set, so let’s go. What’s the cat’s name again? He is so handsome.”
“That’s Mr. Heks. My papa named him. I think it means ‘witch’ in Norwegian.”
“Oh, my. That is a great name for a black cat.”
As we left the small gathering of homes that formed Junction, the conversation flowed more easily.
“All our names mean something. My name is pretty interesting. Della means ‘noble’ and Falk means ‘falcon.’ So, I’m a noble bird. That almost seems like a joke, given my current life.” I laughed. I felt I was rambling and Nels not even listening.
She tilted her head and stopped the cart.
“I love your name,” she said. “My name means something, too. When Papa came over from Norway, he picked the surname ‘Lund’ which means grove, as he knew he would be an orchardist. I’m not sure why I have a boy’s name, Nels. I like it though.”
“Maybe your mama named you,” I said, hoping to find out about Nels’ family.
“Well, no. My mama died having me, so she never saw me.” Nels paused and began walking again, pulling the cart and balancing all the implements atop it. She had a lot to manage, not just with the cart.
Why did I pry, just when she was opening up to me?
I let some time pass, as that always helps folks to relax and forget. Then, as we neared the turnoff for the schoolhouse, I decided the time was right.
“Nels, I thought about what you asked last night. About the trees talking to you. I think I did hear something unusual. I didn’t recognize it, but it was musical, pulling me in to listen harder. Was that what you heard?”
“Miss Della, I don’t know. I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who can hear them. I think I’m cursed or something. My papa could hear the trees, that I know. But why would I hear them? What good could come from it? Thanks for talking to me, but this is something I have to figure out for myself.”
As Nels rolled the cart farther and farther down the path, I cursed myself for not knowing what to say or do for this girl. If only I could make her realize she’s not alone.
* * *
Since I am unmarried and not so odd as to scare children, the residents determined I should be the teacher. Junction was too far from anything that resembled civilization for the children to go elsewhere. The children did need to learn to read and write and a bit of history. I agreed, even though my temperament wasn’t suited for the task. What I was suited for was yet to be determined.
As I looked over the dusty schoolroom, I realized there were ten desks and chairs along with the teacher’s table. It was cramped. A more than adequate wood stove and plentiful windows created a home-like atmosphere. When classes began this fall, there would be ten children, six from the Swensons alone and four from the rest of the homes. If Nels joined, I would need another desk and chair.
“I will ask Mr. Swenson if he will make a desk and chair for Nels. He obviously loves children, and how could he refuse the new schoolmarm?” I said this to no one, but it seemed logical.
Nels could read well, but she needed to spend time with the other children. Her mature nature could help me with the young ones. I wasn’t sure I could keep the children on task.
A group of ravens cawed loudly. The racket interrupted my thoughts. I stepped outside and locked the door. The children were not excited about starting school, so there was no risk anyone would bother the schoolhouse, but I wanted to appear responsible.
The ravens circled over the trees across the path. I had to see what interested them.
“Caw, caw, that’s all you say. I need to know who is gnawing off these trees. Can’t you tell me?”
It was Nels, of course. Talking to the universe, I guess.
On the ladder and balancing a saw, she gripped the top of a rather spindly apple tree. Her voice was loud above the trees and echoing off the tall canyon walls.
“Yes, I’ll leave out some leftovers after dinner tonight. Mrs. Swenson’s bread is always stale anyway. You can have it all.”
Not wanting to be seen, I pretended to gather sticks for my wood stove. As I stuffed the sticks into my bag, I saw Nels clip off the top branches of the tree, sculpting it to a roundish shape resembling a dome.
“That didn’t hurt, now did it?” she said. “You look much better.”
OWWW.
I heard a low moaning, which sounded the same as Maisy when she doesn’t want to go into the barn.
OWWW. I squatted down to see if I could hear better lower to the ground. I didn’t want to disturb whatever was going on in the orchard.
Nels shouted, “You’re fine. Your branches will grow stronger if I limit them. Trimming doesn’t harm you, it helps.”
Caw, caw rang out from the ravens again.
“I’m done. I need to go to the creek and then back to the barn. I’ll be back next week. Please have your flowers out by then,” she added.
“Woooooo,” was the mournful response.
I sat down on the grass and hid behind the tree trunk. Nels certainly talks to the trees, and I think they talk back. If it helps her, that shouldn’t bother anyone. But I know the people of Junction don’t like odd or different. Her rare talent needed to remain a secret.
Nels finished packing up the handcart and began to pull it out of the orchard.
I called to her, “Nels, wait for me.”
She stopped and turned around. “Sure, but I’m headed to the creek to check on the irrigation tracks.”
“Ok, I’ll walk that way too. I’m getting the schoolhouse ready. I’m the teacher now and I want it to be organized the first day.”
Nels nodded, but clearly wasn’t interested.
“With the rest of the summer, I’m going to review history, so I can teach that too. Not just reading and penmanship.”
“Papa loved stories and told me all about Norway’s history.”
“Could you tell me sometime? I’d love to know all about it.”
“Why?”
“Well, we need to understand the past to avoid making mistakes again and again. And I think it’s interesting to learn about the past.”
The ravens glided silently overhead.
“Are they following us?” I asked.
“Well, probably, Miss Della. I promised them some bread later.”
I raised my eyebrows so she would explain.
“Well, the ravens promised to watch over the Grimes orchard and see what is eating the tree bark. If I feed them bread, they will scare off the animals for me. That way I won’t have to put up fencing around the trees. The ravens will save me a mess of work.”
I nodded; that made good sense. This girl was smart when it came to trees.
* * *
The last Saturday in August arrived. So, I invited myself over to the barn, also known as Nels’ place, to share dinner. Beans with salt pork made an easy meal. With the last of the peaches, I made a cobbler. Only one week until school begins. I needed to convince Nels to join us. Peach cobbler is so tasty. It makes a person malleable, I reasoned.
I added a history book onto the wheelbarrow already piled high with food and plates for dinner. Reading aloud to Nels had made us closer. It was something she enjoyed. I did, too.
Mr. Heks sat by the barn, staring at the grasshoppers around him. We had a large invasion of grasshoppers this month, but Nels wasn’t worried. They feed the birds, which help my trees, so I’m not complaining about them, she had told me.
The orchards had provided plenty of plums, peaches, and apples. Mrs. Swenson admitted that she was pleased with Nels’ work, so the girl could stay another year. I had kept Nels’ secrets. Luckily, the ladies of Junction didn’t want to get to know her. They were happy to keep their distance. She could retain her peculiar ways, just as I kept mine.
“Nels, lets heat up these beans. Can you start a fire, please?”
Nels startled awake, as she had been napping. She sat up and carefully folded her quilt and set it on her pillow.
“Yes, ma’am,” she said.
Mr. Heks followed me in. “I think he’s hungry too. I know I am.”
As Nels arranged the kindling into a tepee-like shape, the cat meowed.
“Don’t worry, we’ll have some for you.” She patted his head. His tail swished back and forth. “Let’s get this lit, so we can eat.”
Soon the fire crackled, and I placed the cast iron pot of beans on the grate over the flames. We ate silently, except for the cat. He slurped up the beans with gusto. Everyone had their fill of beans and bread, so we decided to eat the cobbler later.
Pulling out the United States history volume, I asked where we had stopped reading last week.
“I think we’re ready for Betsy Ross, isn’t that right, Nels?”
“Yes.”
She settled in with her elbows on her knees, leaning close to me.
Mr. Heks swished his tail in agreement. He sat too near the embers of the fire and a sharp odor filled the barn. His tail was singed—just enough to smell horrible, but not enough to hurt him.
“He’s one fine cat, that one. Always follows you where you are working.”
“He’s my companion on my journey,” said Nels.
“Speaking of friends, I want you to attend school with me. You are smart and need to continue learning. Now that you are staying another year, let’s try it.” I paused and decided to let that stand as my request.
I waited for a response, a look, or any emotion. I couldn’t read anything.
“I don’t think so, Miss Della. I have a lot of work to do and the orchards are my duty.” She stirred the fire with a poker. The cat skirted away as embers flared into flames.
“How about this? You can do both. I do reading in the morning. You can skip that and join us for afternoon classes. You’ll be done by 3:00 p.m. and can work until dark. I need you to be there. You’re so calm and helpful.” I paused and convinced myself I could say what I most feared.
“I’m not sure I can teach the children without you.” There, I said it out loud.
Nels glanced sideways without moving her head. “Well, maybe. I don’t have anything to wear, though.”
“Well, I thought of that. I made a pair of overalls out of denim from a lodger’s pants that were left behind.”
Nels smiled. “Oh my, Della, you’ve been planning this for a while.”
I nodded. “We have to stick together. We’re not like the others. But we can be close, a family of sorts. Looking out for each other. Being there for each other.”
“Let me think on it,” she said. “But for now, Mr. Heks and I need some of that cobbler.”
* * *
The first day of school arrived with a stormy beginning. I stopped by the barn to remind Nels to meet us at the schoolhouse at noon, but she was already out working. I still managed to get to school early. I wasn’t too wet, just a bit disheveled.
It was damp and a bit chilly, so I started a fire in the woodstove. I wrote my name in large letters on the small chalkboard. A small stack of readers sat on the corner of the teacher table.
I heard the children before I saw them. Loud thumps as dirt clods were thrown at each other and at the trees. The girls squealed loudly and the boys guffawed.
Oh my, I have my hands full. I took a deep breath and stared at the floor. You only need to appear confident. They will behave. Just demand it.
“Let’s go children,” I yelled as I rang the bell that Mrs. Wells gave me. Clang, clang. It was time for school to begin.
The morning wasn’t terrible. Well, not really. The boys had to sit on one side, as they could not stop teasing the youngest girl, Johanna. I was able to assess students’ reading by asking them to read aloud from the Bible. Most of the children were assigned the level one reader.
“Let’s break for lunch. Since it’s wet outside, we will eat at our desks. If it clears up, we’ll have a break at 1:30 p.m. to run around and work off some energy.” Loud groans arose from the boys’ side of the room, but they were hungry enough to ignore the hardship of staying inside a little longer.
I stepped outside to see if there was any sign of Nels. Still misting, the heavy air surrounded me. Everything outside was muffled, the trees blurry in the mist, and the sounds of the orchard swished through the wet leaves. Dusty-green evergreen trees and muted orange rock walls surrounded the tiny schoolhouse. Looking in every direction, I saw no one.
I ate my jelly bread quickly. I pulled the golden apple from my lunch bag. “These apples are the best of the year, so crisp.” Nels was making this place livable with her tree magic. I placed the core back in my bag, for the donkey loves them.
“Let’s begin this afternoon with history. Who can tell me the first US president?” No response or sign of life from the children.
“Who can name any US president? Can anyone recite the presidents with me? I’ll start.” I was desperate for a response.
I heard the caw, caw of the ravens.
I noticed the children straining in their seats. Perhaps the questions are too difficult for the first day. No, it was something going on outside.
“Miss Falk, look out the window,” said one of the children.
I can only call what I saw a parade approaching the schoolhouse. A pair of ravens marched at the front of the procession, followed by Mr. Heks swishing his tail. Next came a family of skunks, alongside a doe and two fawns. Wrens and finches flitted above them, tweeting and singing a light song. Ground squirrels ran around in circles behind the deer but moved forward in step with the others. Butterflies and dragonflies zoomed up and down above Nels’ head, sparkling like stars in the sunlight. Dressed in the new overalls I had made, she pushed her handcart full of tools, her hair flowing down her back. It had actually been brushed. Rays of sunshine hit the parade, lighting the entire scene from above.
“What is she doing, Miss Falk? Is she coming here?” Johanna asked.
“Yes. Nels will be joining us,” I responded. I couldn’t suppress the huge grin bursting through my “teacher” face.
“Why are the animals bringing her?” one of the older boys asked.
I cleared my throat, as it had tightened up with the excitement.
“She is friends with the animals. And with nature. They are supporting her on her journey. Her journey to be a part of Junction, just like the rest of us. You will like her, I’m sure of it.”
Nels parked the handcart under the scrub oak tree by the schoolhouse. She waved goodbye to the animals. “Thanks for the escort. I can handle it from here.”
The wind swept up from the creek and rustled through the orchard. The fresh scents of the earlier rain blew into the schoolhouse.
The children clapped their hands as the animals retreated back into the trees. Nels came through the door to the elation of the children.
She smiled at me and nodded. “I made it, Della. I mean, Miss Falk.”
“Yes, you’ve arrived. Right where you need to be.”
The End
Beth Anderson Schuck is a retired librarian who believe reading can take you anywhere. She writes historical fiction featuring willful female characters. Being in nature whether hiking, birdwatching or gardening makes her whole.
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