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By Root 536 0

Family Robinson to John. It was his favorite book; Isaac’s mother had sent it when he was born. It occurred to me that we weren’t so different from those people shipwrecked on an island. Like them, there was nobody but us to pull us through. It called for hard work and determination. But money would be a help. Things would be easier if all our money hadn’t gone for Ned Walker’s land. Isaac had bought it this past spring when the drought was just a small worry. It was an opportunity, he had told me then. Just like it had been when he bought the Peterson ranch seven years ago and then Carl Janik’s land a few years later.

Off in the distance, the buttes turned dusky, their edges fading in the twilight. I wanted to make things right with Isaac; I wanted to get rid of the uneasy silence that sat between us. “Tomorrow,” I said, “I appreciate you going to town. I know you wanted to move the cattle.”

He leaned back in his rocker. “I’ll move them as soon as I get back. John and Mary’ll help.”

I eased back too. The sharpness was gone from Isaac’s voice. He was like that. His words could cut the meat off of a person’s bones, but just as quick, he could forgive and forget.

Above us, the darkening sky was wide and open, stretching farther than a person could see. There was a half-moon; it was low. Below it and a little off to the side, a star bigger than all the others shined bright.

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Isaac said, “if the train’s bringing water in for folks. I’ve heard that they did that before, a few years before we got here.”

I waited, my hands on top of my swelled-up belly.

“While I’m in town I’ll ask around, see if there’s any.”

Relieved, I blew out some air.

“Still have to water the horses in the morning. Can’t risk losing them.”

I tensed.

“I’ll be gone more than a day. The children have to have water. You do too.”

Liz, I thought.

Isaac laid his hand on the arm of my rocker. “I’ll get us through this, Rachel. I always have.”

“I know that.” I sank back into my rocker. I had let Liz down.

I couldn’t sleep that night from the worry of it all. I dreaded morning when we’d put Liz back in the well. In the dark, I laid on my side in our narrow, low-slung bed, Isaac’s back pressed up against mine. His breath came out in short puffs as he slept. I imagined Liz’s eyes staring at me. My mind skipped from that to worrying about money, about how we didn’t have any. I worried about all the cattle that were dying, and I worried about the price worn-out cattle would get at market next month. I worried about the coming winter, and I worried about the baby what was just a few weeks off. Then I got to worrying about water, and that turned my mouth even drier. I thought about having a long drink of cool water, and that set the baby off, pushing on me. I got up and went outside.

I liked to think my feet had eyes—they were that good about getting me around in the star-bright darkness. They carried me over the rocky ground and around the empty prairie-dog holes that were deep enough to snap an ankle if you stepped just a little bit wrong.

I went in the outhouse. There, I did what I’d been doing for the past two weeks. I unbuttoned the top half of my nightdress. I put my hands to my bosom and like before, a chill caught ahold of me. There wasn’t enough swelling; I was going to have trouble feeding this baby.

I stroked my belly for a moment, then fixed my nightdress. I left the outhouse and for some reason I couldn’t explain, I turned the other way and went down the rise to the well by the barn. From the way the moonlight hit it, the well looked to be shining. The wood-slatted cover was over the opening. The plank, tied to the pulley rope, swung back and forth in the breeze. I put my hand to it to stop it.

Folks in Chicago had running water in their houses.

And just like that, I was homesick. That quick, my chest started aching. I missed how me and Mama and Sue, my sister, used to sew together on Sunday afternoons, talking over the past week. I missed Johnny, my brother, and how we used to do our lessons together at the kitchen