Thunder Snow Page 2
Michael stoked the wood-burning stove and gave me a curious glance but said nothing. Mr. Hargrove, our principal, came in, examined William’s leg, and clucked his tongue.
I slumped down on a wooden bench at the back of the room. One more thing to upset Momma. Why did I always do these things? And why did I always think of Momma after I did them? Forget Momma and worry about William, I chided myself.
“How did this happen?” Mr. Hargrove asked, his eyes locking with mine.
I swallowed. “It was my fault. I should have gotten out of the way of Dan’s horse.”
William stirred. “No, Mr. Hargrove, it was my fault. I should have stopped Dan sooner.” His voice was gruff with pain.
“What did Dan do?” Mr. Hargrove asked, turning his attention to William.
I caught my cousin’s eye and shook my head. I knew Dan. The less said the better. Momma always said the more you stirred manure, the worse it stunk. And Dan stunk bad enough already. Besides, if word got back to Momma, she would blame me.
Momma would be right. It was my fault.
“Nothing, sir,” I said, drawing his attention back to me. “I just got in the way of Dan’s horse, and William tried to help me.”
Aunt Jenny and Uncle Colt came into the room, Laurie on their heels. Uncle Colt took one look at William’s ashen face and scooped him in his arms.
“William!” Aunt Jenny saw his swollen leg and gasped. “Oh, my goodness. Colt!” Her hand flew to her mouth.
Uncle Colt hurried out the door with Aunt Jenny and Mr. Hargrove following. Laurie slid onto the bench beside me. She bent forward, breathing hard.
“What did you tell Miss Jackson?” I whispered.
She gulped in a few mouthfuls of air before answering. “Told Miss Jackson you needed help.”
“Don’t tell anyone Dan was trying to scare me.”
“Why? He needs a good whupping.” Laurie’s eyes narrowed, and she tugged at one of her braids.
“Won’t do any good. It just makes him meaner.”
“Meaner? He’s already as low as a snake in a rut.”
“It’ll make things worse. I know.” A weariness enveloped me. Why was life so hard? I leaned back and closed my eyes.
Momma and Dan tormented me. But at least I had Poppa. A shiver ran down my spine, and a lump formed in my throat. What if I lost Poppa? I shook my head, biting on my bottom lip.
Miss Jackson clapped her hands. “Everyone to your classes.”
First through fifth-grade students had two classrooms in the west wing. The younger students headed in that direction. The two other classes, for the older kids, were in the east wing, and I stood to follow the students filing out.
I took a step and yelped in pain. Miss Jackson hurried to my side.
“What’s wrong, Sarah Jane?”
I shook my head. “Nothing, Miss Jackson. Just a charley horse.” I smiled to myself through the pain. Charley horse. That was a good one.
I hobbled to class down the long, dark corridor. I didn’t examine my leg until I had slid into my desk. I pulled up my dress to examine the bruise. Some swelling, but I’d survive. Good thing the hoof had just grazed me. I shivered as I thought how close the horse’s hooves had been to me.
Each classroom had a wood stove, and I leaned toward its warmth as Miss Jackson wrote our morning lessons on the chalkboard.
The door scraped open, and Dan sauntered in. He stared at me for a second before walking to his seat and plopping down. I resisted the childish urge to stick out my tongue.
“Dan, you’re late. What did you do with your horse?”
“My horse, Miss Jackson?” He plastered on his most innocent face.
Miss Jackson sighed. “I want your father here first thing in the morning to meet with Mr. Hargrove.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He bent his head over his lessons.
One good thing. In all the excitement, no one but Dan had mentioned what happened yesterday. I was doing it again. Thinking only of myself instead of poor William. What if William never walked again? It would be my fault. Dear God, please let him be okay.
“Sarah Jane, get to work.” Miss Jackson peered over her glasses at me.
I pulled my books from my desk as Miss Jackson called the first reading group.
I finished my history, my eyes drooping, and studied the back of Michael’s head. I wondered what he thought, if he blamed me for William getting hurt.
Dan and Michael had been friends as long as I had known them. Best friends. He would probably believe Dan’s side of the story.
“Jay”!” Laurie whispered.
I jumped and turned to look at her.
“You ain’t scared of the devil with horns.” She flipped one of her braids over her shoulder.
I placed a finger to my lips. Dan also heard and glared at Laurie and then at me.
I shook my head at Laurie before she could say anything else. I ducked behind my history book. Maybe, if I were lucky, he would keep his horns to himself. I sighed, knowing it wasn’t likely.
Chapter 3—Cedar Spring
I dragged my feet heading home. Aunt Jenny and Uncle Colt had picked up Laurie early on their way back from the doctor. William’s leg was in a cast, and he would be bed-ridden for at least two weeks the doctor said. He would stay in a smaller cast for several more weeks. I didn’t want to think about it—or about anything.
The limbs of the oaks, hickory nut trees, and dogwoods waved in the March breeze. The last of the old leaves had dropped off and small new leaves greened the branches.
The woods by the road were also thick with pines and cedars. Emerald sunlight filtered through their needles.
When I stopped to sniff the fragrant evergreens, a squirrel scampered down one of the nearby trees. As I watched it, I spotted a faint trail next to one of the cedars. I had never noticed it before, probably because Laurie and William always walked with me and kept me distracted.
Without thinking, I clambered up the bank and into the woods. The ground, coated with a thick layer of pine needles, sprang under my feet, and the smell released by my step wafted upwards.
The path led to a tiny clearing, no more than fifteen feet at the widest. On the edge of this clearing, a spring bubbled from the ground and flowed into a stream. Rocks, some as big as boulders, lined the stream.
Someone had been here before me. A metal dipper hung on a nail driven into a tree. This tree, one of the largest cedars I had ever seen, spread its branches above the spring, like huge arms opening to the sky.
I took the dipper and plunged it into the clear spring water and brought it to my lips. The icy coldness of the water revived me, and I drank the sweet water eagerly. I hung the dipper back on the nail and sat down on a moss-covered rock, breathing in the fresh air and the smell of the cedar. For the first time that day, some of the worry over William eased.
I lingered as long as I dared, but I knew Momma and Poppa waited for me at home. I pushed myself off the rock.
Before following the path out, I drank in the sights, savored the smells, and allowed the peace of the scene to seep into me and wash away some of my worries.
Once on the road, I walked faster. I longed to break into a run but knew better this close to home. Away from the spring, fears welled again within me. Would William and Laurie forgive me? And Aunt Jenny and Uncle Colt? What if Momma found out?
My hand trembled as I opened the gate. Zeke scampered to meet me, Chance racing in circles around him. Zeke grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the barn.
“Hurry, Jay. Come see!”
The barn stood on the east side of the yard, made of the same gray weathered boards as the house. Black iron nails, now bleeding rust, held the planks together. I blinked as I entered the barn. The scent of musty hay and cow manure hung in the air, a scent of earthiness, a scent of the farm that clung to Poppa even after a thorough scrubbing with lye soap.
Zeke dragged me to a stall where a newborn calf struggled to stand on wobbly legs. Poppa
rubbed the calf clean of the after-birth with an old fertilizer sack. The calf made a mewing noise, sounding almost like one of the barn cats that prowled around.
Poppa’s dark eyes filled with delight. “Our first spring calf. A little early but I ‘spect he’ll do fine. We’ll keep him in the barn if we have any more cold weather.”
The calf’s mother, Buttons, nudged Poppa out of the way, her tongue searching for her baby. The calf staggered to its mother and nuzzled.
I watched in silence, and a lump formed in my throat. Tears stung my eyes. What was wrong with me? I leaned forward and rubbed Button’s velvety nose to hide my tears.
“Jay, Colton came by a little while ago. He told me about William breaking his leg. Y’all better be more careful around horses.” Poppa said.
“Yes, sir,” I said, my head still turned away.
“You best get your chores done now.” He patted my shoulder before moving away to feed the rest of the cows.
“Come on, Jay,” Zeke said. “I’ll help you feed the chickens.”
I smiled. “Sure. You can keep that old rooster from spurring me.”
“Not me!” His eyes widened, and then he grinned before skipping out ahead of me.
MOMMA SURPRISED ME at supper by not even mentioning William. I knew she didn’t like Poppa’s sister or her family. Often she ignored them, pretending they didn’t exist. Fine with me if that meant I escaped a lecture—or something worse.
After supper, I dried the dishes. Then I bathed and pulled on my sleeping gown. I sat down on the wood floor by the flickering flames of the fireplace. We still needed a fire to dispel the chilly nights of our cooler-than-normal spring.
I did my homework while shadows chased each other across the pages of the book. Poppa came in and settled into one of the rocking chairs.
Once, long ago, I had snuggled in Poppa’s lap in that chair, the only one upholstered with fleece-side-out sheepskin. I used to run my fingers over the soft, snowy fleece as Poppa rocked and sang.
I bent my head back over my schoolwork.
Poppa pulled out his pipe and lit it. The aroma of burning “lighter” mingled with the pipe smoke. Zeke climbed onto Poppa’s lap, and the rockers slapped gently against the floor. Poppa crooned old hymns, and my eyelids began to droop. Momma came in with her mending.
“Sarah Jane, light the lamp and finish your homework.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I rose and stretched. I lit the lamp, and the scent of kerosene joined the smoke smells. I dropped back to the floor and opened my math book, but the words wavered before my eyes. After struggling for a few minutes, I decided Miss Jackson would just have to help me tomorrow. I closed my book.
Momma stuffed her mending into her sewing bag and stood, smoothing her hair. She took Zeke, his eyes drooping, from my father’s arms. She carried him to the small bedroom, closed off only by a curtain Momma had sewn from old flour sacks.
Poppa and I both watched the fire. As it died down, the logs glowed, shifted, and dropped coals. Poppa used the poker, and the logs once again flamed.
I cleared my throat. “Poppa?”
“Yes, Jay?”
“What can I do about Dan?”
He leaned the poker against the bricks of the fireplace. “The Bible tells us to love even our enemies. With Dan, you’ll have to work extra hard.” He smiled at me. “But God will help you.”
“I know.” I nodded. “But even with God’s help, I don’t understand how I can.”
“Jay, there’s different kinds of love. This kind of love comes from your head, not your heart. You don’t have to like him—just love him.”
“I don’t get it. How can you love someone you can’t stand?”
Momma came back in. “Who can’t you stand?’
I hesitated and looked at Poppa. He gave me an almost imperceptible nod.
“Dan Drake,” I said.
“Why, his father owns five hundred acres. They have a car!”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
Poppa shot me a warning look.
“What’s wrong with him?” She sat down in her chair and set it to rocking.
I sighed. “He picks on me. And on Laurie, too.”
“Nonsense, Sarah Jane,” Momma said. “You’re probably aggravating him, and Laurie’s as bad as you are. That child would make a preacher cuss.”
“Now, Molly . . .” Poppa said with a slight shake of his head. “Jay, time for bed.”
I knew he was hurrying me to bed to avoid another argument. I rose and kissed Momma on the cheek.
“Good night, Momma.”
I made a quick trip to the outhouse and hurried back in to dive under my quilt. Poppa had made each of us a bed, and Momma had sewn together material and stuffed it with corn husks for a mattress.
Poppa sat beside Zeke’s bed listening to his prayer. When Zeke finished, I told Poppa about the spring I had found.
“That’s called Cedar Spring,” he said. “The water will soothe a parched throat in the middle of summer. It always comes out of the ground cool and fresh.”
“That cedar tree’s the biggest I’ve ever seen.” I yawned and pulled the quilt tighter around me.
Poppa nodded. “There’s an Indian legend about the cedar tree.”
“Tell us the story, Poppa,” Zeke said. “Is it one Granny Grace told you?”
“Yep. Her Indian mother told her this story when she was a little girl. So, one story and then it’s time for you to go to sleep. Deal?”
“Deal, Poppa,” Zeke said.
“This is the story the Indians tell. When God first created the world, he made day and night. Man saw how good the day was with the birds singing and the warmth of the sun. They longed for more and begged God to let the sun shine all the time. God agreed. But the people grew unhappy. The earth heated up as they toiled in the hot sun.”
“You mean the sun never quit shining?” Zeke asked.
“Yes, sirree. And it was difficult to sleep when darkness never came. Plants grew in such wild abundance that a walk in the woods was almost impossible. Now the people longed for the night. They begged God to let the sun go down and never come back up. God agreed. The earth cooled down, and the people shivered as they worked. But again, the people grew unhappy. Soon, without the sun, plants began to die, and the earth froze over.”
Zeke sucked in his breath. “How could they see, Poppa?”
“They couldn’t see, Ezekiel. Not without the light. The moon didn’t even shine. The moon reflects the sun, and without the sun, it can’t shine.”
“Reflect?”
Even in the darkness of our room I could see Zeke’s puckered forehead and the tilt of his head.
“Zeke,” I said, “Reflect means to bounce off. The light from the sun bounces off the moon.”
His brow smoothed. “Oh. Like bouncing a ball?”
“Sure is, Ezekiel,” Poppa said. “Like bouncing a ball. Many people died from the cold and from starvation. Now the people begged God to give back both day and night. God agreed, and the people realized God’s way was the best way.”
“That’s what the teacher said in Sunday school.”
Poppa laughed. “And that’s a good lesson to learn. God gathered the spirits of all the people who had died during the long night. He created the cedar tree and placed the spirits inside, and, to this day, the Indians consider it a sacred tree.”
“That’s a good story, Poppa,” Zeke said.
Poppa kissed Zeke’s cheek. “Good things come in pairs. Day and night. Work and play. Jay and Ezekiel.”
Zeke giggled.
“Jay, if you go to Cedar Spring again be sure to watch for snakes. Especially when it warms up,” Poppa said.
I grinned at him. “Do you mean watch for a snake like Dan?”
“Now, Jay. No more calling him Drake the snake.” He kissed my forehead. “Good night and don’t forget your prayers.” He drew the curtains closed that separated our small room from the rest of the house.
Poppa’s story replayed in my head, and I thought of the cedar at the spring. I said my prayers, praying for God to forgive my foolishness.
Chapter 4—Spit Fire
Poppa always built a big fire every morning using lighter knot wood. He then crisscrossed the lighter with oak or pine logs.
I used the poker to jab in the fireplace, knowing it was time for school. The fire mesmerized me, and the pungent smell of the lighter wood lulled me. The flames shot high up the chimney. The oak logs glowed red. I plunged the poker between the logs and sparks flew. One dropped at my feet, and I stomped it before sweeping it down a crack. The planks of our wood floor, darkened and shrunken with age and with gaps between them, didn’t have any marks left by the ember. At least none that I could see.
Hopefully, Momma’s eyes wouldn’t be able to see one either.
Momma came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron, and I jumped.
“What in the world are you doing, Sarah Jane?”
“I was just warming up by the fire.”
“I heard you banging on the floor.” She inspected the floor around the hearth but said no more about it. “You’re fixing to be late for school. You’d better get going.”
I picked up my books and headed out the door. “Bye, Momma.”
“And you act right!” she called after me.
I nodded my head but didn’t stop. Out of sight of the house, I broke into a run. No one else walked along the road, a definite indication I was late. I only slowed when the school came into sight. The schoolyard stood empty, and I paused for a minute, steadying my breathing and smoothing my hair before opening the door.
Miss Jackson watched as I tread softly to my row and slid into my seat. I opened the top of my desk quietly, without even daring a look at Michael. The room was silent except for pencils scratching on papers and an occasional cough. I read the day’s assignment from the blackboard and pulled out my books.