“Why don’t you go on ahead? I’d hate to hold you up.”
“We don’t mind,” Voe said. “Do we, Jerome?”
Jerome was as husky as her little brother was thin. But he was a muscled husky, formed from farm work. A big, blond German boy. “I don’t mind waiting, Jess. I enjoy talking to Mr. Gaebele here about dairying and such. I don’t hardly ever get to see you at church, you’re out of there so fast.”
At the mention of church, Jessie’s mother’s shoulders relaxed. Jessie thought him wise; he knew how to butter up her father and her mother all in one breath. “You attend the Youth Alliance?” Mrs. Gaebele asked.
“Sometimes. Lots of us do,” he said.
Jessie just wanted to be left alone. She sent her father a pleading look. But tonight he was blind.
“Run along now, Jessie,” her father told her. “You’ve worked hard enough for one day.”
“I’ll help you heat the bath water,” Selma told her. Jessie blushed. Lilly just shook her head. Jessie wasn’t going to get her way tonight; even she could see that.
One of the nice things about a Minnesota summer afternoon, FJ thought as he walked home, was that it lasted so long. Mosquitoes came out, yes, and one had to keep the children from being bitten, but it was possible to work a little late, stop at the lodge, and still be home in time to toss a ball to Russell. The boy was tall and slender with soulful eyes like his mother. He was a fine lad to spend time with.
Thunder turned FJ’s eyes skyward. Dark clouds clustered like grapes to the south. A downpour might wash out his hopes to toss that ball with Russell, but they could use the rain.
He swung his walking stick, a habit he’d acquired when he first suffered from pneumonia while with the Seventh Cavalry, Troop G. They’d been sent to the frontier, and the regiment was known for having replaced Custer. Later he was stationed at Fort Keogh in Montana. He had frequent bouts of fever there, and his bones ached terribly when riding, so by the time his unit arrived in Fort Meade, South Dakota, he was worn down and ill and had to spend eight weeks in the hospital. Pneumonia and then rheumatic fever, they called it. He called it deathly ill. He used a cane as he recovered, and the walking stick had become a part of his uniform, replacing the sword that now hung in the library at home. At his commander’s recommendation, he left the infantry and joined the hospital corps at Fort Riley, Kansas. He had the pleasure of exercising Custer’s old horse, which had been brought to Fort Riley to live out his old age. But once again the illness struck. This time they sent him to Fort Snelling outside Minneapolis, for the climate. He improved there, taking part in various company expeditions as part of the hospital corps. FJ participated in “police actions” rather than heavy fighting, which suited him fine. He had no taste for killing. The last Indian action he’d seen was against the Milaca Indians in Minnesota.
He shook his head of the memory. The campaign had required the hospital corps to follow, and what he witnessed there left such a sour taste in his mouth that he left the army soon after. Had he stayed but one year more he could have been commissioned as a physician.
Mrs. Bauer sometimes reminded him of that decision as being a poor one, that he could be a doctor now instead of a photographer. But she hadn’t been there. She didn’t know.
His cane clicked against the stones, and he became aware of the sudden quiet. No bird sounds, no rustle of leaves. His skin prickled. He felt the wind change suddenly, coming not out of the southwest but from the north, and yet the trees blew as though the southwest wind still pushed them, swirling the branches like eggs whipped in a bowl. Birds flitted away in large flocks, silent, which seemed odd. So odd, FJ looked up again.
Black and greenish clouds hung terribly low from the sky. He must have been daydreaming, because he hadn’t realized that
“We don’t mind,” Voe said. “Do we, Jerome?”
Jerome was as husky as her little brother was thin. But he was a muscled husky, formed from farm work. A big, blond German boy. “I don’t mind waiting, Jess. I enjoy talking to Mr. Gaebele here about dairying and such. I don’t hardly ever get to see you at church, you’re out of there so fast.”
At the mention of church, Jessie’s mother’s shoulders relaxed. Jessie thought him wise; he knew how to butter up her father and her mother all in one breath. “You attend the Youth Alliance?” Mrs. Gaebele asked.
“Sometimes. Lots of us do,” he said.
Jessie just wanted to be left alone. She sent her father a pleading look. But tonight he was blind.
“Run along now, Jessie,” her father told her. “You’ve worked hard enough for one day.”
“I’ll help you heat the bath water,” Selma told her. Jessie blushed. Lilly just shook her head. Jessie wasn’t going to get her way tonight; even she could see that.
One of the nice things about a Minnesota summer afternoon, FJ thought as he walked home, was that it lasted so long. Mosquitoes came out, yes, and one had to keep the children from being bitten, but it was possible to work a little late, stop at the lodge, and still be home in time to toss a ball to Russell. The boy was tall and slender with soulful eyes like his mother. He was a fine lad to spend time with.
Thunder turned FJ’s eyes skyward. Dark clouds clustered like grapes to the south. A downpour might wash out his hopes to toss that ball with Russell, but they could use the rain.
He swung his walking stick, a habit he’d acquired when he first suffered from pneumonia while with the Seventh Cavalry, Troop G. They’d been sent to the frontier, and the regiment was known for having replaced Custer. Later he was stationed at Fort Keogh in Montana. He had frequent bouts of fever there, and his bones ached terribly when riding, so by the time his unit arrived in Fort Meade, South Dakota, he was worn down and ill and had to spend eight weeks in the hospital. Pneumonia and then rheumatic fever, they called it. He called it deathly ill. He used a cane as he recovered, and the walking stick had become a part of his uniform, replacing the sword that now hung in the library at home. At his commander’s recommendation, he left the infantry and joined the hospital corps at Fort Riley, Kansas. He had the pleasure of exercising Custer’s old horse, which had been brought to Fort Riley to live out his old age. But once again the illness struck. This time they sent him to Fort Snelling outside Minneapolis, for the climate. He improved there, taking part in various company expeditions as part of the hospital corps. FJ participated in “police actions” rather than heavy fighting, which suited him fine. He had no taste for killing. The last Indian action he’d seen was against the Milaca Indians in Minnesota.
He shook his head of the memory. The campaign had required the hospital corps to follow, and what he witnessed there left such a sour taste in his mouth that he left the army soon after. Had he stayed but one year more he could have been commissioned as a physician.
Mrs. Bauer sometimes reminded him of that decision as being a poor one, that he could be a doctor now instead of a photographer. But she hadn’t been there. She didn’t know.
His cane clicked against the stones, and he became aware of the sudden quiet. No bird sounds, no rustle of leaves. His skin prickled. He felt the wind change suddenly, coming not out of the southwest but from the north, and yet the trees blew as though the southwest wind still pushed them, swirling the branches like eggs whipped in a bowl. Birds flitted away in large flocks, silent, which seemed odd. So odd, FJ looked up again.
Black and greenish clouds hung terribly low from the sky. He must have been daydreaming, because he hadn’t realized that
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