A Time to Bloom (Leah's Garden #2)(20)

“Lark.” Del caught her arm, panting. “It’s no use. There’re too many.”

“Fire.” Lark whirled on her sister. “We need to light more fires, around the grain fields.”

“We used all the buckets on the garden.”

“Then we’ll just make piles of manure and straw all around, set them alight.” Lark charged toward the barn, heedless of her sister calling her back.

The grasshoppers hopped haphazardly through the barn, giving the chickens a feast as they scurried one way and then the other, gobbling the beasts as best they could. Lark snatched the wheelbarrow and pitched manure into it.

“Lark, we can’t.” Del appeared at her shoulder and grabbed the pitchfork handle.

“Yes, we can.” Lark yanked it back.

“The fields are too dry. We could start a prairie fire.”

Lilac shut the barn door behind her. “Jesse says we’ve done all we can do.”

Del grasped the pitchfork again, surprisingly strong. Sweat slicked Lark’s hands, and the handle slipped from her grasp. Balling her fists, she fell to her knees in the dirty straw.

“God, please.” She pounded her fists on her knees. “Not our harvest. Please.”

Her sisters sank down beside her. Silence hung, but for the awful whirring roar outside.

Then slowly, almost imperceptibly, it lessened, overridden by the rising wind that often came toward evening. Lark lifted her head.

Lilac jumped to her feet and pushed the barn door open. “I think they’re leaving.” Relief wafted into her voice as the wind lifted her dark curls, her sunbonnet hanging forgotten down her back. “Jesse’s coming.”

He appeared in the barn doorway and wiped his brow with his sleeve. “Wind is ch-chasing them off, I think. Th-they got part of the garden, but I think we s-saved some.”

Lark pushed to her feet and headed for the door, legs wooden. She braced herself against the doorframe for a moment, then headed out, flanked by her sisters, to survey the land. Forsythia stepped out of the soddy, her children huddled about her, a few stray grasshoppers jumping away from their feet, skittish now that their horde had passed.

Lark scanned the land, their homestead tilled with blood, sweat, and tears. Those same tears rose to clog her throat.

Part of the wheat field still stood, though it was ragged about the edges. But a cry tore from Lilac, and Del reached to draw her close.

Their garden—Leah’s Garden—was spotted with green, perhaps protected by the smoke, but much of it was stripped down to the ground.

———

They spent most of the next two days trying to assess damage and salvage as much as they could. Neighbors and friends stopped by—the Caldwells, Armsteads, Webers, Youngs—to bring news and see how the Nielsen sisters were faring. The grasshopper cloud had touched down with the scattered havoc of a cyclone, with some families’ crops devastated and others untouched.

“You ladies should be grateful,” Mr. Young observed from his gig. “You only got the tail end of it before that wind blew them out.” Of course, his farm had been spared entirely.

Lark was kneeling in the garden bed, sorting through damaged cabbages to see which ones could be saved, when Del found her.

“I guess they didn’t have time to eat through all these, since they’re so dense.” Del turned a ragged green head. “How much do you think we can replant?”

“Beans grow fast, so we can get another crop of those for sure.” Lark blew out a breath. “Same with all the greens, and the root vegetables were mostly spared. It’s the tomatoes, cucumbers, and melons that need the months of warm growing season, and I don’t think there’s time for those. And the flowers . . .”

Both sisters looked toward the decimated flower beds, the saplings stripped of their leaves as if fall had come early.

Del reached out to squeeze Lark’s hand. “At least Anders will bring more.”

“Yes.” But they were still set back most of a year in building their business, their dream. Neither of them needed to say that out loud.

“I’ve been thinking.” Del withdrew her hand and began piling the usable cabbages into her apron. “I should ask the town for a raise.”

Lark raised a brow. “A higher salary? You think you could get it?”

“I remember hearing about teacher pay rates back when I took my certificate exam. Salton was definitely on the low end in what they offered. I said nothing—after all, I was inexperienced then.”

“But you’re not now.” Lark narrowed her eyes. “You think it’s worth asking?”

“Well, they’re not giving me my schoolhouse.” Del rose, her apron sagging with cabbage weight. “And I’ll be teaching far more students this year than last. So I aim to try. The worst they can say is no.” She smiled, lifting her chin.

Lark felt a slow smile respond on her own face. “That’s my sister.”

She watched Del head back into the house, then scanned the garden around her, the stripped flowers and withering vines. Her heart sank again.

They sure could use a raise for Del. Otherwise, their dream of a boardinghouse—not to mention enough food for the winter—might shrivel as fast as their beloved garden.



For RJ, the days by train passed in a blur of rocking motion and sooty breezes, of keeping Captain calm and the dogs entertained—for Scamp, as the puppy was soon christened, indeed found himself banished to the cattle car by the second day. RJ welcomed the distraction, as it turned out—too many hours sitting gave one too much time to think, and Captain only had so much advice to give. He was even grateful for the need to get out of the car at stops to allow Barker and the pup to relieve themselves, holding the rope while Scamp chased his tail in circles.