Ticket to Curlew (9 page)

FEBRUARY BEGAN WITH
a five-day storm. The ordinary rush of the wind changed to a howl that started as a low moan, rose to a high screech and sank again to a moan but never stopped. The wind carried snow with it until the bedroom windows were nearly covered. Then it changed its mind and angrily blew the great heap of snow clean away.

In those five days the sun was lost. Daytime was faintly gray and nighttime was black dark. Mama kept the lamp burning all day. Every morning Sam watched her tilt the kerosene can to see how much was left in it.

Once she saw him looking and said, “Don't worry, Sam. There's enough here for more days than this storm is likely to last. Anyway, we have candles. And there's plenty of coal. That's the most important thing.”

Sam knew she was right, but he felt that the circle of yellow light around the lamp helped hold the storm outside the thin walls of their house. All day long they sat around the table with the lamp in the middle, reading or sewing or playing dominoes. Sam always sat with his back to the stove. From there he could look up and see the white shape of Prince in the photograph beside the window. The horse almost seemed to be in the lamplit circle with the family.

Pa had strung a rope to the barn just as he had been advised to do many months before. On the first day of the storm he said to Sam, “I'll do the morning chores, but I'd like your help in the afternoon.”

Sam spent the day close to the stove. He played games with Josie and Matt and mended some harness. Pa was teaching him how to make holes with the awl and draw the waxed thread through. The day passed slowly. By chore time he was glad to put on his jacket and boots. The circle of lamplight seemed more like a prison than a haven.

Pa eased the door open just far enough for Sam to slip out, but even so the cold blast of wind filled the little house. Sam got a good grip on the rope. Then Pa came out behind him and pulled the door shut firmly.

Once Sam was away from the shelter of the house, it seemed that there was nothing in the world but wind and icy snow. He knew Pa was behind him, but he could not see him if he looked back or hear him if he shouted. It was fifty steps to the barn. By the time Sam got the barn door open, his face was numb and his fingers were stiff inside his heavy mitts.

Once they got inside, Sam and Pa stood for a minute getting their breath. The still air and the warm smell of the animals made the barn seem less cold than it was.

“It's a good thing we covered up every crack,” said Pa. “And it's a good thing we have five animals in here, plus the chickens, of course. They keep each other warm.”

Sam thought for just a moment of the horses out in the storm. Were they huddled together to keep from freezing? Then he got on with the milking.

The cows weren't giving much milk these days and he wasn't sure they could get the little bit there was safely to the house, but the animals still had to be milked.

When all the chores were done, Sam and Pa wrapped themselves up again. Pa put the lid on the milk pail and they went back into the storm. By the time they made it to the kitchen, Sam was grateful to be back in the circle of lamplight.

That night and every night of the storm, the howling came into Sam's dreams. He saw Prince trying to outrun the bitter wind, running from wolves, always running. He woke in the mornings as tired as if he had been running all night himself.

By the fourth day of the storm, everyone in the family came to breakfast with heavy eyes. Pa looked at the plateful of biscuit Mama put on the table and said, “It's been days since we've had bread, Clara.”

“Exactly how do you expect me to make bread?” said Mama crossly. “I have to keep the stove hot so that we won't freeze, but a foot from the stove it's too cold for bread to rise. We're lucky to have biscuit.”

Everyone stared at Mama. Pa looked a little ashamed. Suddenly Matt said, “I know. You can put the bread in Josie's bed. It's the warmest place in the house. It's not fair but it is.”

“How could you put bread in my bed,” said Josie scornfully.

“I could, you know,” said Mama. “If I had it ready, all wrapped up in towels and put it in your bed as soon as you got up, I think it would be warm enough to rise. Matt, thank you. This wind has paralyzed my brain and my manners.”

On the fifth morning of the storm Mama did exactly as she had planned. By noon the bread was baking and they ate it straight from the oven, spread with apple butter. Matt got all the end crusts, his favorite part.

On the sixth morning Sam woke up with a strange feeling. Something was missing. He lay in bed listening.

It was the wind. The moaning and shrieking were gone. The storm had blown itself out. Frost covered the windows, but the light that glowed through it was pale pink.

Pa was already in the barn. “I'll help him, Mama,” said Sam. “I'll eat breakfast later.”

He put on his coat, hat, boots and mitts and stepped out the door. The world was quiet, and the sun was rising red in the east.

By the time the chores were done the sky was pale blue. Sam ran from the barn to the house. The air was so cold he could feel it burning as he gulped it down his throat. In spite of that he felt like running straight out onto the prairie. But he went into the house instead. He needed hot oatmeal inside him before he did any such thing.

Pa was already sitting at the table. “I'm going to take the cutter and go into town, Sam. Want to come?”

It was tempting to think of town and people to see and talk to, but Sam's legs wanted to run, not ride in a cutter. He looked away from Pa and saw Josie's face, shining and eager. “Take Josie, Pa. I'd rather go for a walk.”

Everyone stared at him. “Take a walk in this terrible cold?” said Mama. “Don't you think it's too dangerous, James?”

Pa considered. Then he said, “You've been cooped up all this time, Sam. No wonder you need to run. If you use your common sense you should be all right. That means wrap up well and don't go out of sight of the house. If you see even one single cloud, head for home. This weather won't last and a storm can come up fast. I'm told there is usually a lull of at least a day or two between storms, but you can't be sure.”

“What about you, James?” said Mama.

“Josie and I will use common sense, too. We won't linger, will we, Josie? And if we see a cloud we'll head for home. Even if snow starts, Rabbit and Lady know the way.”

“What about me?” said Matt. “Can I go with Sam?”

Sam's heart sank. Just for an hour he wanted to be alone. Just for half an hour.

“No, Matt,” said Mama. “I need you with me. We'll play some games.”

“Outside games,” said Matt firmly.

“Of course,” said Mama. “I'm tired of this house, too, but, unlike Sam, I'd rather not be alone. We'll play Fox and Geese.”

After breakfast they cleared the table in double-quick time. “You three run along,” said Mama. “I'll do these up later. We don't want to waste the sun.”

They all put on their warmest clothes. Sam had two thick sweaters and he wore them both, as well as three pairs of socks. He turned the flap of his cap down over his ears and even tied the strings under his chin, something he ordinarily scorned to do. Then Mama wound his scarf around him so that it covered his mouth and nose.

“Now remember what your father said,” she reminded him a little anxiously. His mouth was so muffled up that he could only nod in reply, but he nodded hard. He had no intention of freezing to death on the prairie.

He decided to walk straight west. That direction the land rose a little and he could see the house from farther off. That was what he told himself, but really it was because Prince had been set loose to the west, and that made his feet want to walk that direction. Of course, there was no telling where the horses were now. Prince could be fifty miles away. Or more.

Sam started to feel gloomy thinking of Prince so far away, but then the glory of the sun shining on the snow and the great sense of space around him wiped everything out of his mind except the wish to run. So he ran. The earth under his boots was as hard as bare rock, and the snow was thin and dry.

When he could run no more he suddenly remembered his promise to Pa and he turned around. The house was still well in view, though small in the distance. The scarf over his mouth was damp with his breath. He tried to shift it to a dry spot with his clumsy mittened hand. Then he turned around slowly.

As on the very first day when he walked out on the prairie, he was in the middle of a great tilting circle with an arching blue sky overhead. But now the blue of the sky was cold and pale and the tops of the taller golden prairie grasses showed above the gleaming white snow. He was in the center of a blue, white and gold world. He began to run again, partly from exhilaration and partly from the need to keep warm.

Suddenly he heard a great rumbling sound. Thunder. He stopped. Fear made his bones feel weak. Thunder in such cold weather must mean a storm coming fast.

Sam looked up at the sky. The high blue was clear. No clouds. But the thunder rolled on.

Then Sam realized he was hearing the thunder partly through his feet. The frozen ground was shaking. He turned around again slowly, squinting against the dazzle of the sun on the snow.

He saw horses galloping toward him. A whole herd of them running fast, their manes and tails flying in the frosty air.

Sam could not move. Maybe the horses would gallop over him, but he could not move.

He could see their colors now, black and brown and spotted. One that must be Goldie, a dark one that was surely Pete. But where was Prince? There must be a white horse among the others. He scanned the moving mass of bodies anxiously.

Then he saw that the herd had an order to it. That black horse was always in the rear and at the front was a white horse, like a shadow against the white snow. A white horse galloping straight toward him.

As the herd came closer Sam kept his eyes on that white horse. Surely he was smaller than the others. Surely it was Prince.

It was. Prince was galloping straight toward him.

But when the horses were so close that Sam could see Prince's black eyes looking at him, the whole herd suddenly veered away. All the horses followed Prince and he led them in a great circle around Sam. Three times they circled. Then Prince tossed his head and neighed. All the other horses neighed, too, and Prince led them away, straight away from Sam toward the north.

Sam watched them until they were out of sight. Once again he was alone in the middle of that great expanse of white and gold under the arching sky. He stood until a tingle in his right big toe told him he had stood long enough. Then suddenly he was running again, running toward home.

It was a long run. Sam was surprised at how far he had gone. He reached the farmyard just as Pa was leading Lady and Rabbit into the barn. They had been to town and back while he was out on the prairie.

Sam rushed panting into the barn. It was a few minutes before he could speak. Pa stood waiting. Finally Sam took a deep, steadying breath.

“Pa,” he said. “Pa, Prince is the king of the horses!” And he told Pa all that had happened.

When he finished, Pa held up both hands as if he was going to say something very important.

“Sam,” he said, “if Prince is the king of the horses, we'll have to change his name.”

“Change his name?”

“Yes, Sam Ferrier. From now on the horse once known as Prince will be called King.”

For a long moment Sam thought about it.

“King,” he said to himself, and then out loud. “King. It sounds right to me, Pa. It sounds true.”

SAM TOLD THE
story of how he had seen Prince being king of the horses many times. The family wanted to hear it over and over. Mr. Corbett and the boys declared it was better than anything in the newspaper. Gregor simply beamed and said, “Yes, King. I know this word. King. A good name.”

Josie talked to Sam privately one day when they were doing chores. “Will Prince know King is his name when we call him that? Will he mind being just a pet when he's been a king all winter? Maybe he won't want to come back, Sam.”

Sam automatically kept on milking. All winter he had worried that his horse would die on the winter prairie. Now Josie had come out with a new worry that he had pushed to the back of his mind. The horse he had seen leading a whole herd was King, not Prince. Maybe he had gone wild.

“You could ask Pa,” he said slowly. “Maybe he knows what happens with the horses at the end of the winter.”

“Sam, you know Pa will say that King will come back. But what do you think? You know King best.”

“He was glad to see me. I'm sure of that,” Sam said. “But he's like a wild horse now. Free. We can get him back all right, but I don't know whether he'll be so friendly again. He's the king of the horses now and I'm glad. He's King but I hope he's still Prince, too. We'll see when spring comes.”

But spring was very slow in coming. Everyone looked for signs. The days got longer. The storms only lasted two or three days, and little by little the cold lost some of its edge.

The children played outside every day unless there was a storm. The snow was soft enough now to make a good snowball or a sturdy snowman.

And they played Fox and Geese. First they trampled a huge circle in the snow. Then they made paths like spokes leading to the center. One player was the fox. The others were the geese who had to flee from the fox along the paths. Around and around they ran.

It was most fun when Gregor played, too. Of course, he came over to learn English, but Sam said that if they talked while they played, it could count as a lesson. So Josie, the fox, would scream at Gregor, a goose, “I'm coming to eat you! I'm going to catch you with my sharp teeth.”

“No! No!” Gregor would shout back. “I'm running fast. Never will you catch me!” Sometimes he laughed so hard that he fell over and got caught.

When they were out of breath and cold, they went into the house for hot sugary tea and cinnamon buns.

Gregor could tell them now about his family and how they came to Alberta. “My father and mother waited a long time to come. They saved their money. They sold everything. Then we waited more for travel papers. When they came some of our ticket money had gone for food. My uncle who was with us, he gave us his money and did not come.”

“Where is he now?” asked Mama.

“Still in Ukraine.” Gregor looked sad. “But again we save our money. We will send it to him and he will come. Someday. Now we make our farm, our new home.”

“Like us,” said Josie.

Yes, Sam thought, like us but harder.

The end of March was near but winter still wasn't ready to leave. “I can't wait to go back to school and see some people,” said Josie. “School will start soon, won't it?”

Pa went into town and talked to Mr. Pratt. He came back with good news. “School will begin on the first Monday in April,” he said.

“How will we get there?” asked Sam. He hoped Pa would say they would have to bring King home.

“You'll take Rabbit and go in the cutter as long as there is snow on the ground,” said Pa. He looked at Sam's disappointed face. “About the time the snow goes, the horses should come home. If they don't, we'll go and get them. That's a promise, Sam.”

Sam felt strange going back to school without Gregor, after they had sat together over books for so many hours. Gregor could read Josie's reader now with some help. It seemed wrong that he couldn't take his place at a desk with the rest of them. But Gregor's uncle was waiting for ticket money, and Gregor had to help earn it.

“I'll ask Miss Barnett if we could borrow a reader for you,” Sam told Gregor. “Then you could keep up a little. Anyway, you can talk to anyone now when you get the chance.”

“I like that I can talk,” said Gregor. “I thank you, Sam.”

“It was the best part of the winter,” said Sam. He was embarrassed. “No thanks necessary.”

Even Easter on April 23rd didn't seem like spring. The day was clear, so the Ferriers could go to church in the cutter, but with snow stretching to the horizon it was hard to think of flowers and new life.

When they got home, Mama looked at the table set for Easter dinner and said, “I can't help missing flowers. Even one little crocus would make it seem like Easter.”

Still, there was ham and cranberry jelly that Mama had carefully saved all through the winter.

They were just going to sit down when there was a knock at the door. It was Gregor. In his hand he held a small package wrapped in white cloth.

“An Easter gift,” he said. “For you, Mrs. Ferrier, from my mother. She made.” He handed Mama the package and she carefully unwound the wrapping.

“It feels like an egg,” she said.

One egg? They all wondered.

She set the package gently on her plate and turned back the last layer of cloth.

“It is an egg,” she said. “The most beautiful Easter egg I have ever seen.”

They all crowded close to look. The egg was covered with a beautiful fine pattern in red and black and yellow.

“It's a work of art,” said Pa at last.

“Your mother made it?” said Josie. “How could she make such a pattern on an egg? How does she do it?”

“I cannot say,” said Gregor. “My mother always does this with wax and colors. In Ukraine she made many. Here more difficult. She can't find many colors. Still, it is beautiful.”

“Yes, it is,” said Mama. “Look.” She got a teacup and set it upside down in the middle of the table. Gently she put the egg in the little hollow in the bottom of the cup. “There,” she said. “Instead of flowers, a beautiful egg. Thank you, Gregor. You have brought Easter to our table.” She paused a moment to admire the egg. “Would you stay and eat with us?”

“No, I thank you but I must go home. But my mother she says thank you that you teach me English and to read. She is very glad.”

Then he was gone. The Ferriers sat down to eat their dinner and to marvel at that egg. “It's something to keep forever,” said Mama, and they all agreed.

The next morning Sam bundled himself up to go out to the barn. He opened the door and stood still on the doorstep for so long that Mama said, “What is it, Sam? Is there something in the yard?”

“No,” said Sam. “It's the wind. Feel it, Mama.”

Mama, Josie and Matt all came to the door. They stood with Sam, just feeling the soft wind that was blowing from the south. Sam took off his hat and felt the wind stir his hair.

“This wind smells good,” said Matt.

It did. There was a whiff of earth and grass in that gentle wind.

“Well,” said Mama. “I think the wind is telling us winter is over. Sam, you'll all be late to school if you don't get out to the barn. Josie, you run and help him.”

As they walked, the snow seemed to be wilting under their feet, flattening out and sinking.

Pa was already in the barn, pouring water into the chickens' pan. “I don't think we should take the cutter today, Pa,” Sam told him. “The snow may be gone by this afternoon.”

“You're right, Sam. You'll have to ride Rabbit. He won't like it any more than you will, but we have no choice.”

“We need King,” said Josie. “Our King.”

Sam got busy currying Lady, but it wasn't her solid brown shape he saw. He saw a white horse galloping at the head of a whole herd of horses, his black eyes shining, his mane blowing. King of the horses.

“We need Pete and Goldie, too,” said Pa. “If they don't all come back in a day or two we'll have to go get them. You two skedaddle back in and eat your breakfasts. I'll finish up here.”

Now Sam looked for King every day. He could imagine him at the farm gate in the morning or the evening, hoping for oats. As he rode Rabbit to school and home again, Sam's eyes searched the prairie for the band of horses. But there was no sign of them.

At dinner on Friday Pa said, “I need Rabbit here on the farm. I just can't spare him any longer.”

“We have to get King back,” said Josie. “But how will you find him, Pa?”

“That shouldn't be a problem,” said Pa. “Corbett tells me that the band of horses has been sighted just a few miles northwest of here. We'll go out tomorrow, Sam, and bring in our three.”

Sam woke up very early the next morning. He tiptoed to the kitchen to look out the window. There was only a faint hint of dawn in the dark sky but Sam was too excited to go back to bed. He got dressed and went out to the barn to get King's stall ready for him. He put some straw in Pete and Goldie's stalls, too, but he gave King extra.

He got back into the house just as Mama was shaking down the ashes in the stove and adding more coal.

“This is an important day, isn't it, Sam?” she said.

“It sure is.” He wanted to tell Mama about how worried he was that King wouldn't want to come home, but Matt came in to get dressed by the stove, and Josie was clamoring for her turn.

Pa and Sam started out right after breakfast. They both rode Rabbit, just as they had when they came home after setting the horses loose so many months before. Sam hoped he would ride home on King. Pa seemed to have no doubts about that.

“King may be a bit wild after a winter in the open, Sam. It may take him a few days to settle down with us. Don't be too disappointed if he doesn't seem glad to see you.”

Sam resolved that he would only be disappointed if King didn't come home with them at all.

As they rode they constantly scanned the horizon for horses. It seemed to Sam that they had ridden a very long way. The sun was bright and he was afraid that its dazzle would keep him from seeing the horses if they were far away.

Then suddenly, to the west where he had seen nothing just a moment before, Sam saw dark moving shapes. He reached around Pa to point.

“Look! There they are.”

And there they were. Twenty or thirty horses grazing. As Sam and Pa got closer, they saw that most of them were bunched together, but three or four were scattered around at a distance from the herd. Sam couldn't see King, but he thought he could spot Pete.

“We'll move toward them very slowly,” said Pa. “I'm hoping King or one of the others will recognize us and remember oats and come to us.” He kept Rabbit at a slow, even walk. None of the grazing horses seemed to notice their approach except the nearest one, a spotted horse not much bigger than a pony. It lifted its head and moved uneasily.

When they were close enough that Sam could see its shifting eyes, the horse suddenly neighed loudly and bolted toward the main herd. All the horses lifted their heads.

Then out from the center of the herd came a white horse. He didn't look in the direction of Sam and Pa. He just ran away from them toward the northwest with all the other horses behind him.

There was nothing Pa and Sam could do. They just sat and watched their horses and two dozen more disappear into the distance.

“By golly,” said Pa, “he's set sentries. Did you see those horses grazing away from the others? King set them on watch duty to warn the herd of approaching danger. We're going to have to outsmart him. But how?”

Sam didn't have the answer. They rode home in silence. Sam wanted King back more than anything, but he couldn't help thinking, What a smart horse. He really is a king.

On Sunday Adam Martingale went with them. Pa carried sacks of oats and Adam had a lasso. He knew how to use it, too, which surprised Pa and Sam.

“I've been practicing in the barn over the winter,” said Adam. “I'll give you lessons, Sam. If you people are going to run any cattle, it's a necessary skill.”

Once again they found the herd grazing peacefully with the sentry horses placed far enough away to give warning. “I guess we'll have to start with them,” said Pa. “As long as they do their job we don't have a chance with the main herd.”

He opened a sack of oats, slid off Lady's back and quietly approached the nearest sentry horse with the bag open in his hands. The horse raised its head and sniffed. It looked toward the herd but it remembered the smell of oats and was drawn to Pa.

“Sam,” said Pa quietly. “Begin talking and ride closer to the herd. Talk to King. Maybe he'll recognize your voice.”

So, while Pa enticed the spotted sentry horse with oats, Sam rode toward the herd.

“Hey, boy,” he said. “Hey, Prince, we've changed your name. You're a king now and we'll call you King. Come on, boy. I've missed you.” He talked and talked, getting closer and closer to the bunched-up horses. He could see Pete now and Goldie and a flash of white in the middle of all the horses.

Suddenly the black sentry horse to the west of Pa gave a resounding neigh. The group of horses parted, and Sam could see King. For a moment King looked at him. He wheeled and rose on his hind legs. He seemed to survey his herd. Then with a long neigh he broke out of the cluster and headed toward the north, away from Pa, Sam and Adam. Away from home.

The three of them rode slowly back.

“We'll have to have a round-up,” said Pa. “We need more men and horses for that. Tomorrow I'll ride out and talk with some of the others who have horses in that herd. We should be able to get them in on Tuesday or Wednesday.”

Sam had no doubt that these men would bring the horses in. Look what a few frontiersmen had done to the buffalo. But he hated the idea that King wouldn't want to come home. What if he was a friend only because he had to be?