Maimie sat before the potbellied stove. She spread her paper dolls before her. Clara cut the figures from brown wrapping paper and the clothes from leftover gift wrap. Grasping the mama doll, the child removed a gingham dress and replaced it with a flannel nightie. She tucked the two children beneath a paper blanket, and the mama kissed her babies goodnight.
"Where's papa?" the little girl child asked. "Is he coming home?" the boy chimed in.
"Just watch the door, and papa will walk in soon," the mama soothed, straightening the paper blanket.
"Is Papa coming home soon?" Maimie questioned, gazing up at her mother. Wispy curls encircled her cherubic face.
"Soon," Clara answered, anxiously gnawing at her lower lip. Nervously, she glanced toward the glass window. The blizzard snow lashed at the four panes, making the outside appear grey.
"Stayed in town if he's smart," Granny grumbled, hiking her rocker closer to the stove. "He wouldn't get far walking in that howling wind."
"Shush," Clara hushed, waving disdainfully toward the old woman.
Maimie stared wide-eyed at her mother and grandmother. Then, she began to cry. Her smile crumpled, and she buried her face in her mother's skirt.
"See what you've done!" Clara exclaimed, rounding on her in-law. Anxiously, Maimie's arms encircled her waist.
"Lying to little children only brings grief," Maude advised. The older woman sucked at her empty gums.
Clara recoiled at the annoying sound. Indeed, she believed her husband's mother made repulsive noises on purpose. However, she would not allow herself to become unnerved. She had enough on her mind.
"Papa will come home soon," she reiterated, soothing the hair from Maimie's brow.
"I'm going out to milk the cow," Matthew exclaimed, bursting in from the lean-to. A coil of rope hung from his arm. "The horse and donkey need watering and feeding too."
"You'll do no such thing!" Clara announced, swinging on her son. Matt's announcement took her mind from her bothersome mother-in-law.
"But, Ma!"
"No buts, Matt," his mother countered. Hastily, she donned her winter coat and mittens. "Give me that rope."
"You can't, Ma," her son responded, tightly clutching the coil.
Determinedly, Clara took the rope and strode purposely into the lean-to. The wind tightly closed the outer door, but she pushed against it with all her might. It cracked, and she shoved it open far enough to step outside. Struggling blindly in the whiteout, she finally clutched the clothesline. It would lead her halfway to the sod barn.
Tying the rope to the clothesline post became an awkward chore. Finally, the struggling mother removed her mittens and shoved them into her coat pockets. With her fingers free, Clara deftly secured the rope's end and began to unwind the coil. Bending her head into the wind, she stepped toward the sod barn.
Icy snow struck her in the face. The sharp shards bit into her exposed eyes, partially blinding her. Determinedly, Clara struggled onward, her hand reaching out to discover the barn. Then, her shoulder grazed a solid mass. She would have missed the structure entirely if she had plodded on a little to the left. Breathing a sigh of relief, she followed the sod wall to the wooden door. Unlatching it, she stumbled inside.
For a moment, Clara stood in the barn. The animal body heat kept the building warm. She rubbed her naked hands together and, cupping them, blew into the void. Grasping the pitchfork, she began cleaning the stalls. She flung the hay and manure mixture onto the refuse pile, then spread a fresh layer of clean bedding.
Next, the farmwife turned to water the stock. She lifted the pail and strode toward the door. It would take several trips to the well to properly provide liquid for the waiting animals. Her shoulders sank in consideration of the chores. Nevertheless, Clara plodded to the door. As she pulled it open, a force from the other side propelled her backward. A lusty wind flung the door inward, and Matthew floundered inside.
"Matt!" Clara exclaimed in dismay.
"You can't water the stock alone, Ma," her son solidly stated. Deftly, he grasped the bucket and disappeared into the storm.
Together, mother and son worked determinedly. Matt made several trips to the well for water while Clara milked the cow. Filling two buckets to the halfway mark, she covered them with rags. Then, she tied a cord around the rims to secure them. She hoped to save as much milk as possible.
Finally, they completed their tasks. Matt opened the door and stepped outside. Grasping the stout rope, he steered his mother to it. The wind whipped Clara's skirts, tangling them around her legs. She stumbled and fell against the sod barn. Her son wrapped his arms around her waist and guided her toward the claim shanty.
Mama and Matt seemed to take an extra-long time doing the chores. Jessica waited anxiously inside the door. As soon as they entered, she removed Clara's coat and scarf. Then, she led her mother to the warm stove.
Clara held her hands out toward the hot, glowing coals. Her stiffened knuckles cracked, and she limbered them until they moved freely. Maude shoved a hot mug of coffee into her hands and pushed her into the rocker.
"Foolish," the granny muttered under her breath.
Jessie nodded in agreement. They should have stayed in Cincinnati, she assured herself. Weary of the frontier, she longed for city life.
"Foolish or not," Clara responded, standing her ground, "we have to care for the stock."
Maud grunted and began peeling the potatoes. A large pot of kidney beans baked in the oven. However meager, the beans would make a sustaining meal. She added salt pork chunks to a frying pan, then tossed in the potatoes. Jessica set the table.
Maimie crawled onto her mother's lap and rested her head beneath Clara's chin. Matt squatted to add more coal to the fire. Aware of Clem's absence, they hoped he remained in town. No one wished to think he wandered lost on the unforgiving prairie.
