sleep.
Though he did fall asleep again, he was up long before dawn and writing in his journal by lamplight. He left off to watch as light streaked a thin line on the horizon, chased the cobalt away, blew out the stars, and woke up the rooster, who even in winter took seriously his job of announcing the sun. After painting the clouds in pinks, the heavenly artist added reds and oranges, outlined in gold, and soon a rim showed above the dark horizon. Like a prairie dog first testing the breeze, then showing his head, the sun popped up, and the land dazzled a welcome diamond-dusted white.
“Ahh,” Jeremiah breathed in delight. “I am home. Storms or not, Dakotah does sunrises and sunsets like no other place on earth.” He thought a moment. “Not that I’ve seen too much of the earth, but at least of what I have seen of this country.”
He heard the clank of stove lids, the murmur of voices, one female, one male. Glancing at his pocket watch, Jeremiah realized he was missing something. Reveille, that’s what it was—the bugler announcing the new day with the clear notes of reveille. The rooster came in a close second. Jeremiah noted in his journal that he would most likely find more than the bugle to miss about his army life, which had been most of his life—from age seventeen until less than a month ago.
The back door slammed. Carl must be going out to milk. I need to get out there and take care of Kentucky. If I leave him in that stall without walking around, he might get permanently stove-up. Maybe for his sake I should have waited out the winter in a warmer climate, as the general said. Possibly for both our sakes , he thought as he put his weight on the bad leg while putting on his pants. But rarely one for looking back, McHenry finished dressing and headed down the stairs. He’d lived his life with his mother’s motto, “You do the best you can and let God handle the rest.” Lord, please give me the words I need .
“Well, good morning, Mr. McHenry.” Pearl finished tying her apron as she spoke.
“Good morning, Mrs. Hegland. Please forgive my churlish behavior last night. I don’t see right—” He gestured to his eye patch.
“I understand. You’re forgiven.”
He breathed a sigh of relief.
She continued, “And I’ll tell the others.”
“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Hegland.” His words were more heartfelt for her graciousness. “And thank you for opening your home to me. I cannot begin to tell you how I enjoyed the room, the bed, including the hot rocks, the quiet—” “You didn’t hear the baby in the night? I didn’t want him to disturb our guests.”
“I heard him and lay there thinking how long it had been since I’d heard a baby cry in the night. What a warm sound of a home and love within it.”
“Perhaps you’ll have one of your own one day.”
“I doubt it. Getting kinda late in life to have a baby.” He sighed. Was that another thing to miss? “Better get on out and take care of my horse. I’ve got hay at the station that we can bring out here if I can use the sledge. If you have one, that is.”
“Oh yes. Carl outfitted our wagon with runners for the winter. Hay is going to be at a premium if the weather doesn’t let up some.” She took out crockery bowls and wooden spoons as she talked. “Breakfast will be ready in about an hour. Thank God the blizzard blew itself out.”
“Ma?”
“Excuse me, Mr. McHenry. Yes, Carly?”
McHenry shrugged into his sheepskin coat, a remnant of his years stationed here in Dakotah Territory, and after watching the doorsill, he shut the door securely behind him. As soon as he stepped past the shelter of the back porch, the cold attacked with his first breath like broken glass slashing and burning its way down his lungs.
He flipped the end of his scarf over his lower face and pulled his broad-brimmed felt hat down more securely on his head. Even with no wind to speak of, the cold penetrated the wool of his pants and long johns,
Though he did fall asleep again, he was up long before dawn and writing in his journal by lamplight. He left off to watch as light streaked a thin line on the horizon, chased the cobalt away, blew out the stars, and woke up the rooster, who even in winter took seriously his job of announcing the sun. After painting the clouds in pinks, the heavenly artist added reds and oranges, outlined in gold, and soon a rim showed above the dark horizon. Like a prairie dog first testing the breeze, then showing his head, the sun popped up, and the land dazzled a welcome diamond-dusted white.
“Ahh,” Jeremiah breathed in delight. “I am home. Storms or not, Dakotah does sunrises and sunsets like no other place on earth.” He thought a moment. “Not that I’ve seen too much of the earth, but at least of what I have seen of this country.”
He heard the clank of stove lids, the murmur of voices, one female, one male. Glancing at his pocket watch, Jeremiah realized he was missing something. Reveille, that’s what it was—the bugler announcing the new day with the clear notes of reveille. The rooster came in a close second. Jeremiah noted in his journal that he would most likely find more than the bugle to miss about his army life, which had been most of his life—from age seventeen until less than a month ago.
The back door slammed. Carl must be going out to milk. I need to get out there and take care of Kentucky. If I leave him in that stall without walking around, he might get permanently stove-up. Maybe for his sake I should have waited out the winter in a warmer climate, as the general said. Possibly for both our sakes , he thought as he put his weight on the bad leg while putting on his pants. But rarely one for looking back, McHenry finished dressing and headed down the stairs. He’d lived his life with his mother’s motto, “You do the best you can and let God handle the rest.” Lord, please give me the words I need .
“Well, good morning, Mr. McHenry.” Pearl finished tying her apron as she spoke.
“Good morning, Mrs. Hegland. Please forgive my churlish behavior last night. I don’t see right—” He gestured to his eye patch.
“I understand. You’re forgiven.”
He breathed a sigh of relief.
She continued, “And I’ll tell the others.”
“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Hegland.” His words were more heartfelt for her graciousness. “And thank you for opening your home to me. I cannot begin to tell you how I enjoyed the room, the bed, including the hot rocks, the quiet—” “You didn’t hear the baby in the night? I didn’t want him to disturb our guests.”
“I heard him and lay there thinking how long it had been since I’d heard a baby cry in the night. What a warm sound of a home and love within it.”
“Perhaps you’ll have one of your own one day.”
“I doubt it. Getting kinda late in life to have a baby.” He sighed. Was that another thing to miss? “Better get on out and take care of my horse. I’ve got hay at the station that we can bring out here if I can use the sledge. If you have one, that is.”
“Oh yes. Carl outfitted our wagon with runners for the winter. Hay is going to be at a premium if the weather doesn’t let up some.” She took out crockery bowls and wooden spoons as she talked. “Breakfast will be ready in about an hour. Thank God the blizzard blew itself out.”
“Ma?”
“Excuse me, Mr. McHenry. Yes, Carly?”
McHenry shrugged into his sheepskin coat, a remnant of his years stationed here in Dakotah Territory, and after watching the doorsill, he shut the door securely behind him. As soon as he stepped past the shelter of the back porch, the cold attacked with his first breath like broken glass slashing and burning its way down his lungs.
He flipped the end of his scarf over his lower face and pulled his broad-brimmed felt hat down more securely on his head. Even with no wind to speak of, the cold penetrated the wool of his pants and long johns,
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