Elsie motioned the young girl from Bothwell she’d hired to help with meals for the harvesters to join the other girl already in the kitchen. What with the men come to help with harvesting the fields of wheat and barley, there was no way Elsie could manage on her own. Her girls were busy at their own places helping their men bring in their own crops. True, there was Agnes and Walter here, but many more hands were needed to ensure the crops were taken in before the frost could blight them.
“Take the coffee off the heat before it boils,” Elsie cautioned Liz, the Bothwell girl.
“Yes, sorry.” She flicked her long red braid of hair over her shoulder before moving the pot off the heat.
“The ham is in the icebox, Grace. Knives are in the drawer there. Start slicing the meat for sandwiches, if you would,” Elsie directed the shorter of the two girls.
Grace’s long blond hair was caught up in loose knot at the back of her neck. She hurried to do Elsie’s bidding the strings of her apron swinging against her skirts.
The shouts of the harvesting crew carried on the still morning air where they gathered in the yard. Elsie glanced out the window and was surprised to see Sarah’s husband Arnold among the men. She squinted against the slanting sunlight. Ike put a hand on the younger man’s shoulder and shook his head. A knot twisted her stomach. Something was not right, not right at all. Arnold should be at home taking care of his own harvest, not standing here in the yard.
She swallowed hard. Her son in law shook Ike’s hand and mounted the gelding he must have ridden over on. The man’s demeanor gave away his dejected state of mind. Ike came toward the house with slow steps.
“I’ll be right back. See that the coffee is ready for the men, and make up some fried eggs and ham on buns.” Elsie smoothed her hair with nervous hands and went to meet her husband. Whatever it was he had to say to her, she didn’t want other ears to hear. The practical part of her acknowledged something must be wrong at the Bertsch’s. “It could be anything,” she muttered. “Maybe that old equipment of his broke down again and he was over here looking for parts. Yes, that must be it.”
The hinges on the door squeaked when she pulled it open and met Ike on the wide porch. The fresh scent of the late September morning was full of the pungent perfume of the pots of purple petunias set along the railing. Their sharpness softened by the heady sweetness of the late roses.
“Elsie…” Ike halted and wiped his mouth with his hand.
“What is it? I saw Arnold out here a minute ago.” She paused and swallowed. “Did that old tractor break down again?” Elsie twisted her fingers together in the pocket of her apron, reminding herself to breath.
“Elsie, it’s Sarah. She lost the baby. Arnold says he doesn’t know what to do. She just sits holding the crib quilt she was working on and staring. He’s scared.”
“I’d best go over straight away.” Her hands were already untying the long apron from around her waist. “Is her malaria bothering her? I’d best get some things together.” Elsie turned back toward the house.
“I’ll hitch the buggy for you.” Ike stepped down off the porch.
“I’ll call Helena and ask her to send Sadie over to take care of the lunch and give those girls in there some direction.” She paused with her hand on the handle of the door and took a deep breath before straightening her shoulders and stepping inside.
While her mind calmly went about cataloguing what she needed to gather to take with her, her emotions churned wildly. Poor Sarah, and the poor child. This was the third pregnancy that had ended in sorrow. Sarah had always been the more delicate of the girls, there was no telling how she’d react to yet another disappointment. It’s worrying she isn’t expressing any emotion, just sitting and staring. She’s got to let that pain out, it does no good to hold onto grief like that.
Worry lent speed to her hands and in short order Elsie had gathered everything she felt would be useful. She stuffed it all into a covered basket and hurried to the door. The buggy waited at the bottom of the porch steps, Ike stood at Polly’s head. The patient mare stoop hip shot, tail lazily swishing at the odd fly.
Elsie handed the basket to Ike who had come around to help her into the buggy. He swung the basket up onto the seat and then handed her up.
“You call if you need anything, okay?” Ike tipped his head back to see her better.
“Of course.” Elsie picked up the lines and chirruped to the big mare. “I don’t know when I’ll be home, but Sadie will take things in hand.”
The buggy swayed and bumped over the uneven ground of the yard. Once she turned onto the dirt road she urged the horse to a jog ignoring the pain in her hips the jolting caused. The sky was that pure blue so particular to early autumn. On either side of the road barley and wheat fields rolled to the horizon, some shorn of their crop already and some with heavy headed stalks rippling and shining in the strong sunlight. The sweet perfume of wild roses mingled with the dry scent of the dust disturbed by the horse’s hooves. Elsie glanced at the full blown pink blooms nodding at the side of the road. Her mind on more pressing matters, she still took note of the bulbous bright red rose hips peeking out among the throng of dark green leaves of the bushes. She must remember to get the young ones to collect them. An excellent source of vitamin C, the hips also made a tasty jam.
“Heyup, horse,” she urged the animal to a faster pace, slapping the reins on her rump. Snorting the mare hurried her pace to a trot, the buggy jouncing along behind me. Elsie held the lines in one hand and steadied herself with the other. Almost without having to be told the horse slowed marginally and turned into Sarah and Arnold’s lane. “Slow down, you,” Elsie muttered at the animal and shifted to a more secure position on the seat. Almost before the buggy halted, she dismounted from the buggy, wincing at the twinge in her knees when her feet hit the ground. One of the boys Arnold had around the place to help out took over care of the horse and buggy, Elsie tugged the basket down and hurried to the house. Bright red and white geraniums sat in pretty pots by the steps while multi-hued pansies lifted their tiny faces to the sun.
Arnold met her at the door, the screen door opening with a creak. “She’s upstairs. I can’t get her to even look at me.” He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up in spikes.
Elsie resisted the urge to tell him to straighten his collar and comb his hair back into place. “I’ll go on up and see what I can do, Arnold. Maybe have one of the girls helping in the kitchen to put the kettle on and make some tea.” She spoke as she brushed by him and ascended the stairs. The poor man looked so helpless Elsie could hardly bear to look at him. At the top of the staircase she paused on the landing, took a deep breath and pulled her shoulders back. Taking another moment to compose herself, she used the hall mirror to pat her hair back into place and brush the dust from her skirt.
“Sarah?” Elsie rapped on the door with her knuckle before giving it a little push. It swung open smoothly without a sound and she stepped inside, setting the basket down at her feet. The woman in the chair was hunched over the material in her lap, fingers twisting the fabric into contortions. To Elsie’s consternation, her daughter’s face was dry, eyes wide and staring out the window in front of her. Sarah gave no sign she knew anyone had entered the room. “Sarah, look at me.” Elsie moved to kneel at her daughter’s side.
The bereft woman kept her gaze fixed blindly on the brilliant rectangle of sunlight spilling in through the window where the curtains fluttered in the prairie breeze. Her fingers tightened on the tiny quilt, knuckles whitening under the pressure. Elsie covered her daughter’s fists with her hand and worked to loosen the fingers clenching the material.
“There now, just ease up, Sarah. That’s a good girl.” She eased the crumpled quilt away and tossed it on the end of the double bed. “Are you all right? Shall I have Arnold call the doctor? Sarah!” her voice sharpened in an attempt to elicit a reaction.
She was rewarded by an almost imperceptible shake of her daughter’s head. A scuffle of boots on bare floorboards drew Elsie’s attention to the doorway. Arnold hovered there uncertainly, anguish plain on his handsome face. She rose and crossed to speak with him.
“Call Agnes please, Arnold.” She paused for a moment and frowned, glancing back at the unnaturally still woman in the chair. “And Doc Regehr as well. The poor child needs to be looked at and maybe something to ease the pain in her heart. Go now, man. She’ll be fine,” Elsie urged her son in law when he hesitated.
“I’m not so sure about that, Mother Elsie. I’ve never seen her like this. It scares me.”
“All the more reason, then, to get a move a on and make those calls. Agnes first if you please. I’m going to need help cleaning things up before the doctor arrives.”
Arnold took one last look at the shining blonde head of his wife drooping over her clasped hands before he fled into the shadows of the landing, his boots echoing on the stairs as he descended. Elsie caught her lower lip in her teeth. I should have asked the boy to call Ike and let him know I’ll be a while. What a time for this to happen. Right in the middle of harvest. The deep timbre of Arnold’s voice rumbled from the hall below. She nodded. Good. I need Agnes to help me get Sarah tidied up and change the bed.
Flies were beginning to buzz lazily around the tossed bed clothes. Elsie moved to the open window and lifted the sill enough to shove the expanding screen into the opening.
“Light. The light is gone.”
Elsie almost missed the desolate muttering. She spun around to find Sarah’s unblinking gaze fixed on her. “What? What is it, Sarah?”
The muscles in the long neck rippled as Sarah swallowed hard before working her jaw, as if forcing words to emerge. “The light. It’s gone.” Her arms crossed over her belly and she bent forward over them. “Gone.”
Elsie knelt and enfolded the slight figure in her arms. “Hush now. Hush. God has His reasons for what He does. There will be more children. Once you’re healed and healthy again.” She stroked the soft corn silk hair. Sarah’s head rocked against her mother’s shoulder.
“No, no more. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t.” Finally, sobs shook the thin shoulders, a high pitched keening rose from Sarah’s throat. “I can’t keep doing this. Hoping this time will be different. That this time the baby will be healthy, and not gone before it’s even born.”
Elsie made soothing noises and rocked her daughter in her arms unable to make any sense of the now incoherent words punctuating the sobs.
“Mome, what can I do?” Agnes stopped in the doorway before entering and closing the door behind her. She dropped her sweater on the straight back chair by the wall. “What happened? Is it the same old trouble?” Sympathy and shared anguish darkened her blue eyes.
“Yes, the same trouble. I had so hoped this time would be different…” She shrugged helplessly. “She was just entering the fourth month…I prayed this wouldn’t happen again.”
“Oh dear, poor Sarah. It’s God’s will I suppose, and He must have His reasons. But still, it’s hard.” Agnes bustled over to strip the sheets from the bed as she spoke. With the bloody wet sheets, wrapped in the chenille bedspread, bundled in her arms she moved toward the door. “I’ll be right back, I want to set these to soaking in cold water and salt. There should be fresh sheets in the linen press, I’ll bring some back.”
“Agnes, can you bring warm water and some clothes? I’m sure Sarah will feel better once we get these dirty things off her.” Elsie lifted her head to catch her elder daughter’s gaze.
“Of course, Mome. Be right back.” She disappeared from the doorway, heels clicking briskly on the polished floor of the landing.
“Come now, Sarah. Let’s get that hair brushed. You’ll feel better once we get you set to rights.” Elsie picked up the brush from the dresser and gently ran it through the tangled skein of golden strands. Her busy fingers plaited the long gossamer hair into one braid and tied it off with a ribbon from the tray in easy reach on the dresser. “There now, that’s better.”
“Here we are,” Agnes returned laden down with fresh linens for the bed balanced precariously on a basin of water. Towels, hung over her arm, swung against the skirt of her dress. She hooked the straight chair over by her sister with her foot and set the basin of water down on it. Elsie pulled two of the towels and a wash cloth from Agnes’ load and dropped the small cloth into the warm water. Agnes set the bedding on the end of the bare mattress and used a thick towel to blot the wet spot on the mattress. Thankfully, it wasn’t large, the bunched up sheets must have caught the worst of it.
Elsie turned her attention to her younger daughter, easing the nightgown off her arms and over her head. Sarah sat like a wooden doll, stiff and unresponsive. By the time she was clean little beads of sweat were running down Elsie’s spine. “Agnes, can you please pass me a clean nightgown.”
“Of course.” Agnes turned from her task and opened two drawers before finding the right one. She pulled out a linen night dress and handed it to her mother. “Do you need help with that?” A small frown furrowed her brow.
“I’ll manage. Keep on with what you’re doing. The sooner we get her into bed the better.” Elsie gathered up the fabric and eased the night dress over Sarah’s head. By the time she had the garment on correctly, Agnes was just turning back the covers of the newly made bed. Tires scrunched in the front yard. “That must be Doctor Regehr. Run down and let him in please, Agnes.”
The sound of her light steps hurrying down the stairs resurrected Elsie’s memories of her children racing and playing in the big house of their childhood.
“Sarah, Doctor Regehr is here. You need to talk to him, tell him what happened. You can do that, can’t you?” Her hand stroked her daughter’s hair.
“What happened?” Sarah finally focussed her gaze on her mother. “What do you mean what happened? I lost another child, another one…What have I done to deserve this?”
“You haven’t done anything wrong, child. This isn’t your fault—”
“How can it not be my fault?” Her voice rose in hysteria.
“Here’s Doctor Regehr now. He can explain to you how it’s not your fault.” Elsie got gratefully to her feet and moved to stand by Agnes as the doctor came into the room.
“Agnes, Mrs. Neufeld.” He stepped past them and stopped by Sarah. “Hello, Sarah. Let’s take a look shall we?” The doctor picked up a limp wrist to take his patient’s pulse. He glanced at the two women hovering in the doorway. “If we could have some privacy, ladies? I’ll yell if I need anything.”
“Of course. We’ll just go down and see how Arnold is holding up,” Elsie said.
“I could use a cup of tea,” Agnes declared.
Reluctant to leave Sarah, Elsie hesitated in the hall even after Doctor Regehr closed the bedroom door. Agnes took her arm and led her down to the kitchen where Arnold sat at the table, head in his hands.
“How is she?” The man made a masterful attempt to hide his red rimmed eyes.
“As well as can be expected. Doctor Regehr is with her, he’ll set things right.” Agnes filled the kettle and set the water to boil as she spoke.
Elsie sank into the nearest chair, her knees suddenly unsteady. She glanced at the clock on the wall. Heavens the time was moving on. Her sense of loyalty to her daughter warred with the need to be at home helping with harvest.
“Here, Mother.” Agnes startled her from her thoughts, setting a cup of tea on the table by her hand.
“Thanks, Agnes.” Her hand trembled a little, setting the cup chiming against the saucer.
Arnold drank his tea in one gulp, set the cup back on the table and rubbed both hands briskly over his face. “Is there anything I can do here? I should be helping the men with the harvest. I was on my way out when…” He stood almost knocking the chair over backward as he did so.
“I can stay with Sarah. Why don’t you go on? Might make you feel better to be busy,” Agnes said.
“You’ll call me if Sarah needs anything?”
Agnes nodded and began clearing the cups from the table. The scene was oddly blurred, as if Elsie looked through a narrowed lens that detached her from the reality of what she saw. A hand on her shoulder startled her and she blinked. Doctor Regehr stepped further into the kitchen.
“Sarah will be fine in time. I’ve given her something to help her sleep. Best thing for her right now.” He washed his hands at the sink and dried them on a towel. “Someone needs to stay with her in case she wakes up. The medication makes some people confused.”
“I’m staying,” Agnes said. “I’ll go up and sit with her.” Agnes hurried from the room.
“Are you sure she’s all right?” Elsie turned worried eyes on the doctor. “She was acting so…strange, I guess is the best word.”
“Shock and grief will do that sometimes. This is the third pregnancy in a little over a year that has ended like this. But she’s young and healthy, plenty of time to try again. God willing she’ll be able to carry to term.” He shrugged into his coat.
Elsie tightened her jaw and kept her thoughts to herself. Trust a man to think that it was that easy to get over losing a child. Like falling off a horse and getting back on, a woman was expected to just carry on. Elsie was all too aware how the loss of a child left a huge hole in a woman’s heart. One that never went away. It wasn’t something that was ever discussed, or even mentioned, but she was sure she wasn’t the only one who grieved a lost child in the privacy of her heart.
“Well, I’ll be off.” Doctor Regehr took his leave.
“I’m going too. Can I catch a ride with you as far as the field at the end of the lane?” Arnold asked Elsie while he put his cap on.
“Of course. I do need to get back and keep an eye on things.” She glanced at the stair case. “Agnes seems to have things well in hand here.”
* * *
Polly stopped obligingly by the edge of the field where the binder was working. Arnold hopped down and went to join the stookers setting the sheaves of bound grain into stooks. Waving Elsie clucked to the horse and continued on her way. Turning into her own lane she found the men involved in the same pursuit. She leaned her elbows on her knees and rested her chin on her hands, needing a few moments of calm to compose herself before going back to the house. It was a pretty pastoral scene, the golden grain bound and standing upright, leaning on each other. How much quicker it would be if they could afford a combine, and easier on Ike to be sure. At least they had their own binder and enough family and neighbors to not have to hire too many men for this part of the harvest.
In the field the patient horses trudged along. A sickle knife in front of wide white denim belt of the binder and carrier platform flashed in the sunlight. The cut grain fell in a golden way onto the platform before being bound it into a sheave. The sheaves dropped onto the carrier from the belt before being dropped in rows for the stookers to set, dust danced golden in the air haloing the workers. The stooks reminded Elsie of rows of bushy tipis. They would stand and dry until they were ready for the thresher.
A shout caught her attention as she stirred herself to carry on for home. “What on earth? Whoa, mare.” Elsie stood up to see better, shading her eyes with her hand. The men were gathering around something near the binder. She hitched the reins around the buggy brake and climbed down. Picking her way across the cut stubble as fast as she could, Elsie arrived at the binder out of breath. “Oh my goodness, what happened?” She dropped to her knees, mindless of the sharp stubble pricking her legs and the dust and chaff her skirt picked up. Hank, her second oldest son, lay senseless on his back.
“That gelding I borrowed from the Reimer’s kicked him square in the chest when he was trying to fix one of the tugs on the harness.” Ike bent down and peered at Hank’s face. “Think we should move him?”
“Let me see.” Elsie waved her husband back. “Is there something we can shade him with? Bring me some water.”
Two of men provided some shade and Elsie wet her handkerchief from the dipper one of the men provided. Carefully, she wiped Hank’s face, glad to see some colour returning even though his eyes remained closed. Suddenly, he took a deep shuddering breath and struggled to sit up.
“What? Where am I?” he managed to gasp out.
Ike put a hand on his shoulder. “Just take it easy, son. Darn horse kicked you in the chest. Sit up slow.” He bent and slid an arm around Hank’s shoulders.
Elsie sat back on her heels, wet cloth still dripping in her hand. “Why don’t you come back to the house and rest a while?”
Hank got to his feet and stood wavering a bit. “No, Mome. I’m fine. Just take a minute to get my legs back under me.”
“Really, Heinrich, I think you should come to the house.” Elsie set her chin sternly.
“Using my proper name won’t make any difference, Mome. I said I’m fine and I am. There’s work to be done before the sun goes down.”
Elsie looked at Ike with the hope he would side with her. He removed his dusty hat and wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve. Jamming the hat back on his head he lifted one shoulder in apology.
“If he says he’s all right, then the boy’s all right. Time’s a’wasting. This wheat isn’t going to cut itself.” Ike went to gather up the lines and set the binder in motion again. The others went back to work as well, leaving Elsie to make her way back to the patient Polly.
“See that you come up to the house in time for supper,” she called after the men. Elsie climbed back into the buggy and set off for home. Harvest was a busy time and a happy time, but it could also be dangerous. The crop had to come off while the weather held hot and dry, which meant long days and tired people. Hank’s accident brought back memories of Susan climbing up on the binder platform wanting to be with her brother Jake. She was a determined child, even at six years old. Ike had pulled the binder out of the shed to get it ready prior to starting the harvest. Jake was up on the platform helping, when Susan scrambled up too. Ike had been unaware she was even on the equipment. The child was standing too close to the sickle blade when Ike turned the crank to start the machine. She’d gotten a nasty slash on her leg, but both her and her brother learned a good lesson the hard way. Poor Ike, she’d thought he’d never get over hurting the child, wavering between anger at her for getting up there in the first place, and guilt for not looking before he turned the crank.
Elsie halted Polly and stepped out of the buggy. In short order she unhooked the buggy and striped the harness off the horse. Dragging the heavy leather straps into the barn she hung them where they belonged. She took a moment in the dark interior to release a sigh of tiredness. One of the dairy cows lowed out in the pasture, reminding her they needed to be fed and milked. Patting her straggling hair back into place, Elsie walked into the sunlight and headed for the house. The clatter of dishes and murmur of conversation drifted into the living room from the kitchen. Helena’s voice rose above the higher younger ones keeping things in order.
Satisfied all was moving along with the supper, Elsie ascended the stairs in order to freshen up and change into something clean. Feeling more like herself, she went down to join the activity in the kitchen.
“Mome! I’m glad you’re back.” Helena drew her mother aside and spoke in a low voice. “How is Sarah? Is she going to all right?”
“She’s doing as well as can be expected. Doctor Regehr saw to her and gave her something to help her sleep. Agnes is sitting with her.”
“That good, then. I’ll pop over later and see if Aggie needs a break. Such a shame, I’m sure she’s disappointed.”
“How is the supper coming along?” Elsie glanced out the window at the sun sinking toward the golden brown hills.
“We seem to be out of a few things. Looks like a trip to Niverville is in order, but it’s getting dark…”
“Harold has a car. Maybe we can use it. I’ll go ring the bell in the yard, one of them will come to see what we want.” Elsie headed back out to the yard. A dull ache lodged itself in her lower back. She didn’t have long to wait before one of the older grandkids came loping across the field and up to the porch.
“What’s wrong, Oma? It’s not supper time already is it? We’ve still got a quarter of the field to go.” His young face glowed in the slanting rays of the sun.
“We need to go into Niverville. Ask Harold if he’ll come and drive us, please.”
“Right away.” The teenager raced off toward the cloud of dust thrown up by the binder.
Elsie went back into the house. “Have you made a list, Helena? Can you manage here until I get back?” She picked up her purse and pinned a hat to her hair.
“This is what we need.” Helena came out of the kitchen with a list in her hand.
“Thanks, Leina. I’ll make the trip as quick as I can. Oh, here’s Harold now.” Elsie hurried out to where Walter had drawn the car up to wait for her. It was a Model T Ford. The vehicle was a little worse for wear, but Harold’s wife said he loved to fuss over restoring it to its former glory. Their neighbor held the door open for her and then closed it carefully behind her.
“I’ve brought Peter with me. He’s asleep in the back, poor lad.” Harold informed her
Elsie glanced at the ten year old curled up in the corner of the small area behind the front seat. He was small for his age, and his health was what Doctor Regehr referred to as ‘delicate.’
It was still daylight, but the sun was sinking as they rolled out of the yard and turned south. Elsie allowed herself to relax against the seat, turning her head to gaze at the fall colours of the prairie highlighted by the low slanting rays of the sun. Her eyes must have drifted closed, the next thing she was aware of was the car braking sharply.
“What’s wrong? Are we there?” Elsie blinked and pulled herself up further in the seat.
“No, it’s getting dark and the darn headlamps aren’t working. Again.” Grumbling under his breath, Harold got out and stamped around to the front of the vehicle. Elsie jumped when he thumped his fist on the glass covering the lights. A few more thumps and he stood back glaring at the car. With a glance at the setting sun, he got back in and put the car in gear.
“I think we can make it to Niverville before it gets full dark. I should be able to buy new bulbs there.”
Elsie nodded and tried not to worry about driving home in the dark without any way to see properly. Peter popped up from the back seat.
“Are we there yet? Can I have a licorice whip?” His blue eyes were sleep smudged under the shock of white-blonde hair that stuck up every which way.
“Not yet, Peter.” Elsie smiled at him. The boy subsided into the back seat as the car moved forward.
Harold pulled up in front of the grocery story as the last light glowed in the sky. Bright pin points of lights appeared in the royal blue evening sky as the stars showed their faces. Peter scrambled out of the back seat to join his father who was opening Elsie’s door for her.
“I’m off to find some bulbs for the headlamps. Peter, come with me.” Harold and his son strode purposefully off.
Elsie followed them into the general store, turning toward the food stuffs rather than the side of the store that held the hardware. She wasted no time in collecting the items on her list. While she waited for her items to be rung up, Harold appeared at her shoulder.
“They don’t have the right bulbs here. I’m going to nip over to Leppky’s at the BA station. Bill should be around, he’ll open up for me even if he’s closed up. Do you need help carrying all that out to the car?”
“You go ahead over to Leppky’s. Peter can help me carry the groceries out to the car.” Elsie handed the correct amount of money over to Mrs. Bronstone. “Thank you.” She smiled at the storeowner’s wife.
“Nice to see you,” Mrs. Bronstone packed the items into the string bags Elsie pulled from her purse.
“You, too. I don’t get to Niverville as often as I’d like,” Elsie replied.
The screen door swung shut behind Walter’s tall figure. Elsie passed the lighter bag to her grandson and ushered him out of the store. The pair crossed the wooden boardwalk, feet echoing in the fast falling darkness. When they arrived at the car, the groceries went into the back and Peter tumbled in after them.
“What about my licorice whip? Pape promised.” His lower lip trembled.
“Now Peter. Big a big boy. Your father is worried about finding the right bulbs for the headlamps so we can see to get home.” She paused for effect, “And besides…” Elsie pulled a licorice whip out of her purse where she hid it after purchasing it along with the groceries. “I think I know a young man who deserves this.” She held the whip where he could see it.
“Oh! Thank you!” Peter leaned forward to accept the treat from Elsie. He thumped back into the seat happily making the licorice disappear.
“Well, that’s that.” Harold opened the driver side door and stuck his head in. “Leppsky’s has the bulbs but they’re five cents more than the store in Chortitza. Five cents each,” he clarified. “Highway robbery, that’s what it is.”
“But how will you see to drive home?” Elsie tipped her head to look at him.
“I’ve got an idea, but it will make slow going.” The man disappeared and the trunk creaked open causing the vehicle to sag on its springs a bit. Muttering and muted banging reached her ears as Harold rummaged in the back. The trunk closed with a metallic crash and the tall frame moved to the front of the car. Something clanked when he hung it on the radiator cap. A match flared, throwing his face into light and shadow. A small circle of light glowed at the front of the vehicle. Harold strode around and settled into the driver seat. “There, that should do it.”
“What have you done?” Elsie peered out the windscreen.
“It’s a lantern. We’ll have to drive slow, or the wind will blow it out, but it will get us home.” He slid the car into gear and eased out into the main street of town.
“We should have phoned Helena and let her know we’d be longer than we thought. She’ll have to make do and feed the men with what is there,” Elsie worried.
“It’s too late to turn back now. I want to be sure we have enough kerosene to make it home before it runs out.”
Elsie gritted her teeth and refrained from replying. It took a long time to get home, the journey made even longer for Elsie as she worried over Sarah and how Helena was faring with the men’s evening meal. The serenity of the broad night sky failed to soothe her as it usually did. She leaned her head against the side of the door, the wind from the open window cooling her face. Raspberry and rose bushes hunched at the sides of the road, throwing deep shadows over the surface that the wavering light of the lantern did little push back.
* * *
The week after the cutting of the crop was warm and dry with a good wind blowing across the stooks enabling the wheat to dry sufficiently for threshing to begin. Ike hired his brother-in-law Isaac’s threshing outfit. It was another busy time on the farm. Elsie hired the same girls to help with the kitchen chores. Isaac arrived with his crew of ten men, the thresher pulled by a tractor, rather than the work horses. A long belt was attached to the thresher from the tractor to supply power to the machine. A box wagon was brought up to catch the straw that shot out of the thresher pipe. One wagon could hold approximately sixty bushels of grain. Once the dew burned off, the teams with the hayracks were out on the field loading the rows of sheaves to bring to the thresher. Once they had packed the hay rack with as many sheaves as possible, they brought them to the granary to be unloaded and wait their turn to be fed into the thresher.
Elsie brought some coffee and sandwiches out to the crew when they took a break. Suddenly, the thresher quit making its racket. Elsie looked up from pouring coffee, startled at the sudden silence. Isaac slid down from the top of the machine where he had been greasing it. He disappeared into the tool shed. She looked at Ike for an explanation. He lifted one shoulder in a shrug.
“Isaac, do you need help with anything?” Ike picked up his coffee mug and wandered over to the tool shed.
“No. I’ve got it under control.” Isaac stomped back to the thresher and climbed back up the machine, a hacksaw in his hand with a look of grim determination on his face.
Ike stood for a moment looking up where his brother-in-law disappeared. The sound of the hacksaw grating on metal emerged from the innards of the thresher. When he was finished he climbed back down and started the thresher again. Leaving the machine thundering away, he returned the hacksaw to the toolshed.
“What happened?” Elsie queried when Isaac came to get his coffee.
“Nothing important,” the man replied tersely and moved off to nurse his coffee away from the crew.
Later that night as they settled down to sleep Elsie brought the subject up with Ike. “What did Isaac need the saw for today? I’ve never seen him look so fed up and angry.”
Her husband surprised her by laughing. “He didn’t want to talk about it, but we plagued him until he did. A keyway was stuck out from the shaft further than it should have been. Caught his hat and a chunk of his hair and ripped it out. He was too mad to say anything at the time, just went and got something to cut the darn thing off with.”
“How much hair did he lose? Was he cut?” Elsie propped herself up on an elbow to better see Ike’s face.
“Not too much. About the size of a quarter is all. He took his cap off to show us and the hole in his hat. Must have hurt like the dickens. Maybe that’s why he didn’t say anything at the time.”
The bed shook with silent laughter again. Elsie lay back down, puzzlement furrowed her brow. She would never understand how men could laugh off danger and potentially dangerous situations. Like they had to put up this brave front or something for their fellow males.
“Morning comes early, Elsie. Time to sleep.” Ike rolled over on his side and heaved a huge sigh.
“Good night, Ike.” Elsie folded her hands on top of the counterpane and closed her eyes. Sleep was slow in coming; her thoughts kept bouncing back to Sarah and Arnold. Her health was improving, but Sarah was so quiet, so detached from everything around her. She said another prayer for her youngest daughter. God would help her heal and bear the grief with fortitude.