VoyForums

VoyUser Login optional ] [ Contact Forum Admin ] [ Main index ] [ Post a new message ] [ Search | Check update time ]
Subject: Project


Author:
Angh
[ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]
Date Posted: 10:39:46 02/03/03 Mon

Diary entry Nov. 1917
Lord, Norman is a good man with the patience of a saint. He works so hard to carve a life for us out of this woebegone, hardscrabble place, please keep him safe. Help me to get over the tears and the bitterness in my heart. I know you have your hand on our shoulders, and there was a reason you took the babies, even though I don't understand.
Grant me strength enough to face the wintry solitude and humor to face the coming months of turnips and cabbage. Bless us with a better yield of potatoes next year. Help me accept this life and make the best of the gifts bestowed on us. Help this heart to see clearly, what my eyes cannot. And please Lord, end the war soon and bring our soldiers' home safely from France. Amen


Sharp winds whined through the long valley making the power lines hum a mournful harmony. Yellow brown leaves danced wildly up the canyon, harbingers of winter. Ada stuffed the last clothespin into the swaying bag on the line and hefted the basket of clean laundry onto her hip with icy hands. A gust of frigid air billowed her worn sweater as she hurried for the warmth of the house.

The fragrance of simmering chicken filled the kitchen, and while Ada folded the laundry on the kitchen table, she thought about dumplings for supper. Norman enjoyed a fluffy dumpling, and would surely appreciate a hot, filling meal, with winter pushing at them earlier than usual this year. Ada sprinkled and rolled the ironing, deciding to do it later after supper. That activity would keep her mind off the cold, and eliminate a Tuesday chore. She enjoyed ironing at night, while Norman sat in the kitchen with his coffee, listening to the radio. Sometimes he read aloud while she rhythmically pressed his shirts on the old wooden board, his deep voice faltering only over the most difficult words, or strange names in the Missoula paper. She loved his rendering of bible passages; it was flawless due to the training of his father, a Presbyterian minister.

Ada especially enjoyed her husband's reading skill. A childhood illness rendered her nearly blind, leaving the world little more than a hazy blur before her blue eyes. With the help of a strong magnifying glass she could read, but it was difficult and frustrating to have to study each letter, with her nose pressed close to the paper. Norman enjoyed sharing the newspaper and books with his wife, so they got on fine.

Ada was not a pretty woman. Along with her weak eyes and plain features, her hair also turned white when she was about eleven, giving her an aged appearance. She was tall like her father and big boned. Her mother despaired that Ada would wind up a spinster, until Norman bought the farm next to theirs. He saw past Ada's ordinary features, finding comfort and delight in her enthusiasm for life. A genuine goodness toward humanity shone like a beacon to all who knew her. She was true pioneer stock, born on a homestead near Ft. Benton, Montana, just eight years after the foolhardy Custer and his gallant band met their destiny at the Big Horn.

Ada's Grandfather came early to the territory with the American Fur Company. When beaver played out, he turned to trading, then farming and running a ferry across the Clark Fork River near Horse Plains. At his urging his two daughters and their husbands moved up from their homes in St. Louis, arriving on the last steamboat to carry passengers up the Missouri. By the time Ada was born the Indians were subdued, but the horrifying events at the Big Horn were still a fresh memory to the homesteaders. They remained well armed and vigilant for the occasional renegade outburst. Racial hatred festered and thrived in Montana for generations.
As a child Ada was more frightened of the cowboys than Indians. She would run behind the soddy and hide whenever she heard horses approach. The rough living white men always made such a whoop-up of their arrival on the prairie, but the Indians were silent and respectful when they stopped by for a handout or trade for meat.

[ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]


VoyUser Login ] Not required to post.
Post a public reply to this message | Go post a new public message
* Notice: Posting problems? [ Click here ]
* HTML allowed in marked fields.
Message subject (required):

Name (required):

  Expression (Optional mood/title along with your name) Examples: (happy, sad, The Joyful, etc.) help)

  E-mail address (optional):

* Type your message here:


Notice: Copies of your message may remain on this and other systems on internet. Please be respectful.

[ Contact Forum Admin ]


Forum timezone: GMT-8
VF Version: 2.94, ConfDB:
Before posting please read our privacy policy.
VoyForums(tm) is a Free Service from Voyager Info-Systems.
Copyright © 1998-2008 Voyager Info-Systems. All Rights Reserved.