Part 4
By dawn the snow was coming sideways. Daniel opened the house door against his shoulder and caught the guide rope before stepping off the porch. A few yards out, the light behind Anna’s curtain disappeared.
The screen was bending, its willow branches moving against one another with a dry rattling sound. Snow was collecting across the open ground where he and Clara had left space for it. He reached the barn by touch and went through the offset passage without admitting a full blast of wind into the stalls.
The cows lifted their heads. Their bedding was dry; the trough filled when he worked the supply, and afterward he waited for the line to drain. He went back to report those things to Clara, taking care not to call any of them safe for the whole night.
They crossed one at a time, looped to the guide rope. By afternoon, one marker had vanished beneath a drift, but the cloth on the next still flickered into view between gusts. Daniel was checking the outer gate when he heard something knock beyond the screen.
He waited. It came again, low and irregular, against the next post.
He secured a spare line before going farther. Near the cloth, a man lay with one knee drawn under him and a hand against the timber. Daniel pulled the scarf away from his face and recognized Ben Cole from the wagon.
There was no horse.
Ben tried to stand when Daniel got an arm beneath him, but his leg folded. It took a long time to work him back along the line; twice Daniel had to stop with the man’s weight across his shoulders, unable to tell whether he was getting him any closer.
Clara met them at the house door. She helped Daniel get Ben inside, out of his wet outer clothes and into blankets. Pale patches marked his cheeks, and his hands lay stiffly on the quilt while he tried to tell them something.
“Saw the rag,” he said. “On the post.”
Later, after he was warmer, he told them he had lost Hollis’s crew while they were trying to bring cattle in. The north barn was taking the wind through its doors. The animals had crowded into one corner, and the men couldn’t keep water in front of them.
Daniel brought him another blanket. Ben looked at the curtain, then toward the door beyond which the screen was still standing. He didn’t mention the wagon, and Daniel let him rest.
Before daylight on the second morning, Mabel began to calve. She wasn’t due yet, and when Clara came back from the barn she went straight to the clean cloths. Daniel knew from the way she counted them that this wasn’t an ordinary wait.
“Can we get Foster?” he asked.
Clara looked at the covered window. Foster might as well have been on the other side of the mountains. She put the cloths in a pail and asked Daniel to bring warm water.
Ben was awake and could sit up, though his cheeks were still sore and he moved carefully. He agreed to stay with Lucy. Daniel brought Sam along the guide rope himself, the boy’s mitten tucked under his belt until they reached the barn.
Inside, Clara had tied Mabel’s tail aside and washed for the work. The calf was badly positioned. Clara settled herself against the stall boards without looking away from the cow.
He brought the clean straps she asked for. Sam held the lantern while she worked slowly, stopping when Mabel strained. Beyond the stall the new entrance kept the wind from blowing straight across her wet sleeves.
The light began to shake. Daniel reached toward it, but Clara spoke to Sam first. “Look at Mabel’s face. Hold it where I showed you.”
Sam planted his feet wider. Daniel went to check the water and the screen, then returned when Clara called him to help. Together they worked with Mabel’s effort until the calf slipped onto the straw.
It lay still.
Clara cleared its mouth while Daniel rubbed its wet sides, waiting for the narrow ribs to lift. Sam put a dry towel into Clara’s hand without being asked.
Daniel changed the wet straw in his fist. The calf made a small movement that might have been only his own hand moving it; he bent closer, afraid to stop.
Then it drew a breath, and another, rougher one.
Clara sat back against the stall board. Sam was staring at the calf with his mouth open, the lantern steady now. Daniel took it from him and set it on its hook before the boy’s arms gave out.
When they returned to the house, Ben had pulled a chair beside the cradle and was warming Lucy’s milk. He had kept her wrapped and settled while the others worked. Daniel stood in the doorway long enough to see his daughter reach toward the bottle, then went to wash his hands.
The third afternoon brought wind hard enough to make the barn timbers complain. Daniel had just checked Mabel and her calf when a sharp crack came from the screen. Through the passage he could see the north panel pulling away from its frame.
One lashing had broken. If the panel went, drifting snow would pour into the approach and pack against the barn doors. Daniel took the repair bag from its peg and called Clara over from the house.
She looked out once, then picked up the rope. Ben was staying with the children; there was nobody else to send. Daniel checked the knot around his waist while Clara braced herself inside the barn entrance.
“Three pulls if I need more line,” he said.
“I remember.” She took the loose coils clear of his feet.
He went down on his knees beyond the first post. The next was broken, and he had to find its base with his boot. At the screen a gust lifted the loose lattice; he turned too late, and the branches struck his shoulder, knocking him flat.
His bag opened. He felt a tool slide away through the snow and reached after it, but the bag itself stayed caught by Anna’s leather strap. He dragged it under his chest until he could get his breath.
The rope tightened.
Daniel pulled three times, deliberately, and waited. Clara fed him enough line to reach the frame.
He couldn’t rebuild the broken section. A spare pole lay against the base where they had left it; he worked it across the frame and secured the damaged panel against it, stopping whenever the pressure of a gust pinned his arm. At last the lattice stopped hammering loose.
Daniel turned toward the barn.
He needed both hands to rise, and his right hand would no longer close around the rope.
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