Matthew Holmes squatted in front of the potbelly stove. Although Clara urged him to go to bed, the boy refused. He took it upon himself to sit up during the overnight hours. The blizzard raged, and the fierce wind whipped around the shanty.
Matt noticed Jess staring at him from her upper bunk in the darkness. She, too, remained sleepless. Maimie sat up and hovered over her sister's prone form. Her white moon face appeared frightened. In the bunk below, their granny snored. Nothing affected her sleep.
Clara dozed fitfully on the large bed. She disliked sleeping alone. Somewhere on the open prairie, Clem remained lost. She did not know if he were safe in town or stumbling in the storm. If he tried to get home, indeed, he could not survive.
Clara held back her tears, although her heart broke. She did not wish to frighten the children. If they panicked, she would lose all control. Maud would not assist.
"What if Papa never comes home?" Jessica whispered, finally breaking the silence.
"He'll come home, won't he, Matt?" Maimie asked, clutching her sister's flannel nightgown. Jess turned over and hugged her little sister.
"Pa stayed in town," Matt stated, determination lacing his remark. "He bunked down in the mercantile. I bet there are many men from the shanties staying there."
"But what if he didn't...." Jess began. Maimie whimpered.
"Of course, he stayed in town," Clara snapped. "Paul Stubby, Shay Whitman, and Alec Marrs are all there too. They're probably playing checkers and one-upping each other with hunting stories." She listed several other pioneers who probably walked into town that morning.
"How long do you think the storm will last?" Jess asked, continuing to hug her sister.
"No telling," Matt answered, adding coal to the stove. "It might end tomorrow; it could go on for three days."
"What if it goes on and on?" his sister whispered, her voice trembling. "What if we starve to death or freeze?"
Maimie's frightened wail echoed around the cabin walls.
"Hush now, Jessie," Clara cautioned, rising to take her youngest child in her arms. "No one's going to starve or freeze. We have plenty of provisions, and there's lots of coal. There's no sense alarming your sister."
Jessica turned around and faced the wall. Outside, the wind howled. In the distance, thunder rumbled. Her tummy rumbled too, and she clutched it. Tightening her stomach muscles, she prepared to hold onto her need. She hated the outhouse and hated the chamber pot even more. It embarrassed her to relieve herself while the others watched and listened.
Clara tucked Maimie into the big bed and crawled in beside her. Matthew continued to squat in front of the stove. Silence pervaded the shanty, broken only by Maud's snoring.
Jess continued to hold on to her grumbling stomach. Her eyes shifted toward the chamber pot, and she winced. How long could she continue to hold on? Embarrassed, she turned to face the wall.
The house in Ohio had indoor plumbing. Proudly, Mama kept the bathroom fixtures sparkling clean. The clawfoot bathtub gleamed whitely in its corner. Jessica enjoyed the luxury of a flushing toilet. Frequently, after school, she invited her friend, Constance Philipsen, inside to use it.
Jessica could use it in privacy back in Cincinnati. In Dakota territory, privacy did not exist. She had to face her personal needs under the scrutiny of the entire family. A tear escaped beneath her lashes, and she held back a sob. She could not hold on any longer.
Hastily, Jess swung off the top bunk and grabbed the chamber pot. Snugging it beneath her arm, she exited into the lean-to. Slamming the door closed, she leaned against it. COLD! She shivered and hugged herself. A gap appeared between several of the wooden slats. Snow blew in and piled on the floor. Sighing, Jess placed the small enamel pot on the floor. When she completed her task, she left it where it sat.
Jess cracked the door and silently re-entered the shanty. Keeping to the shadows, she hoped no one noticed her. Quickly, she climbed into the upper bunk.
"Left it out there, I bet," her Granny grumbled. "Never consider other people."
Ugh! Jessica moaned. Trust Granny to notice her every move. She turned to face the wall and buried herself beneath her quilt.
"You planning on leaving it out there?" the old woman continued to grumble. "Not going to clean it out? Never know when someone else might need it."
Jessica froze. She wasn't about to get up again. Nor did she plan to clean it out--the thought disgusted her.
Matt rose from his position beside the hot stove. He bundled into his coat and scarf and then exited through the lean-to door. After several moments, he re-entered with the chamber pot. He'd emptied it and cleaned it out with fresh snow. He placed it in its usual spot and hunkered in front of the stove.
"Oh, Matt, you didn't have to," Jess whispered, leaning over her sleeping pallet.
"No problem," her older brother responded. He put more coal on the fire, and the shanty settled down to sleep.
