Free Dakota Dusk by Lauraine Snelling Page B

she were afraid she might miss out on something. Downstairs, Mrs. Sampson was already taking three apple pies out of the oven.
    “How can we find room on the table?” Rebekka moved bowls of food around to make room for the steaming pans. “You trying to feed all the builders yourself?”
    “Nah. Just doing my share.”
    Rebekka dished herself a bowl of oatmeal from the kettle on the back of the stove. “You’d be up there nailing if they’d let you.”
    “Ja, I would. But since they’d drum an old woman like me . . .” Rebekka gave a decidedly unladylike snort. Mrs. Sampson gave her a look and then continued, “Off the roof, I want to make sure the workers come back the next day to finish the job. Our children need that school.”
    “And I need my job.” Rebekka poured a dollop of molasses on her cereal, then some milk, and sat down to eat. “But what are we going to do for books and desks? The library? Oh, and our piano?”
    “Won’t the insurance cover some of that?”
    “I hope. But it all depends on how much the rebuilding costs. I sent a letter to the state teachers’ association requesting their help and Mr. Larson contacted the State Board of Education. But all that takes time.”
    “We used to have the parents pay for their children’s books. So there still might be books in people’s homes that can be used. If you tell everyone to bring any books they have at home, you’ll have something to start with.” Mrs. Sampson lifted the full teakettle off the stove and filled the dishpan in the cast-iron sink.
    “Thanks. I’ll start passing the word today. Do you have someone to help carry all this over to the schoolyard?”
    “I’m picking up the wagon at the livery at ten. Then Mrs. Knutson and I’ll go around to some of the other houses to help them. I’m bringing my washtubs for the lemonade.”
    Jude Weinlander let his horse drink from the river’s edge. He leaned his forearms on the saddle horn and stared upriver. The town lay shimmering in the September heat, and even from this distance he could hear the pounding of hammers.
    He stared across the blackened prairie, where shoots of green could be seen poking up through the ashes toward the sunlight. Drying goldenrod nodded in the breeze across the river, where leaves already sported the tinges of fall. But on this side, all lay desolate.
    When his horse, Prince, raised its head, ears pricked toward the sound of building, Jude nudged the animal forward. “That’s the way we’ll head then.” He spoke for the first time since he mounted up, just before sunrise. The horse flicked his ears as if truly interested in what was being said. “Hope you know what you’re doing.” The horse snorted and broke into a trot. When he raised his head and whinnied, a horse answered from the town ahead.
    Jude sat on his horse at the edge of the beehive of activity. Floor joists and flooring were already in place and different groups were framing up the walls. The north wall stood while men nailed the plate in place. Hammers pounding, saws buzzing, people laughing and swapping stories, children running and laughing along a creek where the willows had been cut for the firebreak—it looked more like a party than a building site.
    Across the creek, Jude could see the town. He strained to read the sign on the train station—WILLOWFORD. He shrugged. Good a place as any. Maybe they could use another hand on the building.
    He watched the busy scene to determine who was in charge. A tall man, fedora pulled low on his forehead, seemed to be answering questions and keeping his laborers busy. Jude stepped from his horse and tipped his hat back before searching in his saddlebags for hammer and pigskin gloves. Before leaving his mount, he loosened the saddle cinch and wrapped the reins around a willow stump.
    Two barefoot, overalls-clad youngsters charged by him, their speed outclassed only by the volume of their shouts.
    “Need anything to drink?” A tall woman