“Is he ... is he an Indian?” Peggy Jean whispered fearfully.
“Yes, he is,” Mother nodded cheerfully, but four-year-old Peggy crept closer to her mother. Mollie, their big collie dog, was growling and barking, climbing all over Naomi and Helen, Peggy’s two big sisters who were struggling to keep the dog quiet in the crowded back seat of the car.
They had been driving all day in their Model T Ford that Father called his “flivver.” What a long, long day it had seemed, but Father had just encouraged them by saying, “We’re almost there now! There’ll be a light in a window. Everyone watch and see who sees it first!”
The narrow road was a grass-filled trail, twisting between big trees whose branches laced together overhead. Everyone began to peer eagerly into the darkness, looking for the first faint gleam of light.
“Oohhh! What is that?” Father had jerked the car to a sudden stop. The trail ahead was completely blocked by a lumber wagon and a team of very frightened horses, rearing and tossing their heads in fear. Up on the high wagon seat a dark-skinned man was holding the reins taut and shouting strange-sounding words.
“Well now! Isn’t this a fine kettle of fish!” Father exclaimed, pulling on the brakes and hurrying out to talk to the man.
“How will we ever get past that big wagon, Mother?” Naomi and Helen chorused together from the back seat, and Mollie seemed to bark in agreement.
“I’m sure I don’t know, but don’t worry, girls,” Mother answered. “If there is no other way, your father will lift the car over that wagon.”
Even four-year-old Peggy realized that Mother was joking. They knew she meant Father would think of something to do. In a moment he was back and explaining, “The Indian says there’s a spot a little behind us where there is brush that we can back into. Then he thinks he can drive around us. He’s coming now to guide me.”
In a few moments they were able to drive off the trail into some brush. Then Father turned off the engine and the headlights so the horses would not be so frightened. It was even more scary now, for the girls could hardly see Father. But how big and brave he looked as he reached up and caught the horses’ bridle. Together, with the Indian slapping the reins and shouting his strange words, they managed to coax the horses around the car.
Father cranked the car again and smiled as he quickly jumped in to adjust the levers on the steering wheel. “Seems like a nice man. He’ll probably be one of our neighbors. We’ll be home now in a few shakes of a lamb’s tail.”
It had been an exciting day from beginning to end. It was still dark at four o’clock in the morning when they had tried their best to eat a little of the good breakfast Grandma had made before they left Minneapolis. The “carrier” Father had made for the top of the car had been loaded the night before. Bundles and packages were tied to the spare tire and onto the fenders and running boards. Extra bedding was folded and laid inside on the seats. At last in the morning, after every corner and space inside the car was filled, each one had managed to squeeze into the spot left for him.
Several times on the long trip north, a loud bang had announced a flat tire. This meant stopping by the side of the road while Father jacked the car up, removed the tire and patched the hole, then pumped the tire up again and wrestled it back onto the wheel. During this time, the girls would take turns brushing the mosquitoes away from him with a leafy branch from a bush.
The radiator was frequently thirsty, so they often stopped by lakes and streams and the girls raced one another to fill small pails with water which Father would pour into the steaming radiator.
At noon they had stopped beside big, big Mille Lac Lake to eat a picnic lunch which they spread out upon a large flat rock for a table. It was fun to skip stones across the water and race Mollie up and down the firm sandy beach until it was time to climb back into the flivver and continue their way north.
Now at last they were almost home, home to the little house in the big woods that Father had built for them while they had stayed with Grandmother and Grandfather in Minneapolis until it was ready. Mother’s brother, Uncle Bob, had helped Father, and Uncle Bob was there now, waiting for them to arrive.
“I see it —.I saw it first! There’s the light in the window!” Almost everyone seemed to be shouting at once. Even in the darkness they could see that the house was on a low hill. Oh! — how good that lighted window looked, shining a cheery welcome to the tired travelers.
As Father drove almost up to the door, he squeezed a rubber ball that made a horn squawk — and then blast, “Ahhh — Woooogah!” Mollie was barking and everyone was shouting as they tumbled stiffly out of the car, hurrying to be the first to greet Uncle Bob.
After the darkness outside, the soft mellow light of the kerosene lamp brightly filled the room they stepped into. The table was neatly set with five places, and there was the good smell of stew bubbling on the back of the stove — but where was Uncle Bob?
“Here he is! Sound asleep. Wake up, old fellow.” Father was laughing heartily and thumping him on the back. Yes, there was Uncle Bob, sleeping in a chair before the kitchen stove, his feet warm and cozy, propped up on a stick of firewood on the open oven door.
“Well, well,” he grinned, jumping to his feet and giving each of the girls a big hug and a kiss. “I thought you were never going to get here, so I just decided to take a little catnap to make the time go faster. How was your trip?”
While Father began to tell about the trip, Mother showed the girls where to wash their hands at a kitchen sink with a small pump at one side. She explained that one of the first things Father had done was to put in that pump where he had dug and found good water. Then he had built the kitchen and the house around the pump. Now they wouldn’t have to go outdoors in the winter when it was cold to get water. Most folks in this north country had to go outdoors for their water and carry it in. Mother was pleased by the way Father thought of better ways to do things.
In no time at all the stew was dished up, and they had fresh, creamy milk from their own cows and good homemade bread Mother had brought with her from Minneapolis. As they bowed their heads, Father thanked God for the food and for bringing them safely over the many miles to their new home.
As soon as supper was over, Mother lit another lamp and called the girls, who were busy exploring every corner of their new house. “It’s late already, and everybody’s tired. Come help me make up the beds.” She led the way into the next room. As the girls looked about curiously, they saw it was a long room divided into two bedrooms by a curtain. The farthest room behind the curtain had a big double bed in it, and the girls knew that must be for Mother and Father. In their half of the long room were three cots, one for each of them.
In no time the beds were made and they were each snuggled in for the night. Mother knelt beside their beds and listened while they prayed, then kissed them each good-night.
A soft light still shone into the bedroom from the open doorway into the other room where the grown-ups sat quietly talking about the table. Peggy Jean knew that she wouldn’t be able to sleep, for there were so many exciting new things to think about. How quiet it was without the sound of cars and streetcars and all the bustling city sounds she had been used to hearing.
A gentle breeze blew through the screened window beside her bed, brushing softly across her face. What made it smell so different — so good?
Then from somewhere in the distance, out in the darkness, she heard a long, low, wavering call. It sounded sad and lonely. Was that what a wolf sounded like, she wondered? Would she see one someday? And maybe deer and bears?
But right now she was warm and cozy in bed and that sound was far away. Before she knew it, she was sound asleep.