Free Dakota Dusk by Lauraine Snelling

inside.”
    Rebekka shuddered. But people didn’t live in soddies anymore, usually.
    Smoking piles of animal dung dotted a pasture. She hated to look in case there were also dead animals lying around, but so far she didn’t see any.
    The train whistle sent its haunting call ahead of them. Rebekka leaned her forehead against the grimy window. The feeling of relief at the sight of buildings still standing caused a lump to rise in her throat. But where was the creek, the trees that lived along its bank? And that smoking ruin she could barely see for the tears streaming down her cheeks. The schoolhouse lay in smoldering rubble.
    Her schoolhouse. All the books for which they’d saved and scrimped. The flag, the bell . . . had she left any of her personal things in the desk? She thought of the shelves of books donated for a library someday. All gone.
    She drew a handkerchief from her bag and wiped her eyes. As the train crossed the railroad bridge over the creek, she understood why it was hard to see from a distance. The men had cut the trees to use the creek as a firebreak. The trunks and limbs not under water still smoldered. The men of the town leaned on shovels or tossed dirt on stubborn patches. Black with soot, they stared at the train, their weariness evident in the drooped shoulders and slackjawed faces.
    Rebekka blew her nose. She couldn’t cry anymore now. At least they’d saved the town. They could rebuild the school. But until then, where would they meet? The church? School was due to start in three short weeks. What would they use for books?
    Her mind raced ahead as she stepped down on the station platform and thanked the conductor for his assistance. Had anyone been injured? Guilt stabbed her as all she thought about was her school. Buildings could be rebuilt, but what if someone had died or was severely burned? Were the children all right?
    She set off down the street to Widow Sampson’s boardinghouse. Men congregated at the saloon where the owner had rolled out a keg and was handing out free beer.
    “Miss Stenesrude, Miss Stenesrude.” A young boy, blackened and unrecognizable, came running across the dusty street. “Did ya see? The schoolhouse burnt right down.”
    “Yes, I saw. Is everyone all right?”
    “Ja, just some burns from blowing stuff. And everybody’s coughing. You never had no tiling hurt like breathing smoke. Pa says we’ll prob’ly start school in the church until they can build a new school.”
    “Thank you, Kenny.” Rebekka felt relieved she’d finally figured out who her bearer of bad tidings was.
    “Can I help you with your bag?” The boy fell in step beside her. “I’m plenty strong.”
    With a flash of trepidation, Rebekka relinquished her bag to the boy’s sooty hand. How would she get the soot off the handle? She pushed the thought back as unchristian. Her “Thank you” sounded more fervent because of her doubts.
    “Ah, my dear, I am so glad you are returned and safe through all this.” Mrs. Sampson wiped her hands on her apron and grasped one of Rebekka’s in both of hers. “How was your family? Ain’t it awful about the school? But thank the good Lord, He spared the town. They was all ready to send the women and children to the other side of the river by boats and the ferry, but we was fightin’ the fire right alongside the men.”
    Rebekka felt a stab of guilt. She should have been here helping. “Were they able to save anything from the school?”
    Mrs. Sampson just shook her head. “And no one’s been out to the farmers yet to see how they fared. We just came home and washed up. My hair’s still damp.” She patted the coronet of braids she wore.
    “Have you had any new boarders?” Rebekka asked from halfway up the stairs.
    “Nah, your room is still the same one. You make yourself at home and I’ll have the coffee ready shortly. Mrs. Knutson went over to her shop to check and make sure everything is all right there. We’ll have supper soon’s I