A Prairie Rose

Chapter 5

The days passed quickly- unless I thought about the hunger. I tried to distract myself with my chores- the washing and mending and sweeping and grinding coffee beans and boiling water and setting up a clothes line, both outside and in, so I was prepared for any weather. But it seemed the harder I worked, the hungrier I was by sunset.

And we were running out of food. Fast. 

First it was the molasses- there was no more to scrape from the very bottom of the bucket. Then the potato powder. And now we were nearing the very last bits of our cornmeal, and even the hardtack was running low. Soon I would have to make more- and then we would be out of flour, as well.

"Pa, maybe you can go hunting?" I asked in desperation one day- there was only a few servings of cornmeal left. 

Pa didn't look at me. "Nothing to hunt."

I struggled to not be upset with Pa. I knew that Ma dying had hurt him- but it had hurt me, too. We still needed to eat. And I knew perfectly well that there was plenty to hunt, if he tried. Even when I was outside for a short period to wash and hang clothes, I saw plenty of rabbits and squirrels darting about.

"Well, what about those men you were going to help?" I tried. "You head over there soon, right? To help with the roof and the barn? I fed them- maybe they'll send you home with something, too, Pa?"

Pa grunted- a sure sign that he was just about done with this conversation. "Why would I do that? We have a house now. We don't need anything else from them. If you see them about, you tell them I'm awfully sick. That's why I haven't come by to help them. I'm just too ill. You hear?"

For some reason, I felt nauseous. "Pa..."

He turned to glare at me. "Do you understand?"

I turned away from his sharp gaze. My voice was hardly a whisper when I answered. "Yes, Sir."

For a few minutes, I tinkered about with the dishes, fixing their already-pristine placement. My stomach rumbled. "Well, maybe I could find work for myself, Pa. I could-"

A loud bang made me jump, and I swung around in time to see Pa's tin cup falling over from the force of his fist slamming against the table. Coffee spilled all over the dirt floor of our cabin. "That is enough, Rose! You think you're too good for the work you do here?"

The blood had drained from my face. "No, Pa-"

"Who will do the cooking?" Pa raged, slamming his fist again. And, again, I jumped. "Who will do the mending? The washing? Who will bring in water, and grind coffee beans? I have never met such a selfish, disrespectful, child."

Tears bloomed in my eyes. I knew I should stop talking. And yet I didn't. And my voice was louder now- I was near shouting. "But Pa, we're running out of food! We'll die, Pa, we'll die just like Ma!"

Faster than I had ever seen him move, Pa was suddenly on his feet. His open-hand came out of nowhere, connecting with my cheek with a fierceness that threw my body sideways, and I fell hard to the ground.

My hands came up to grip my burning cheek, and tears fell heavily from my eyes. Though I did my best to stay quiet, for I knew crying was a shameful thing that angered him, a loud sob escaped me.  

Pa stood over me, and for a few moments, I feared he may strike me again. Sobs continued to escape me, the burning in my cheek seeming to grow instead of fade, as it usually did. This blow had been harder than before. 

And then Pa grabbed me by the front of my dress, pulling me up to face him, forcing me on to my toes as I dangled helplessly. 

"You stop that crying, girl," Pa demanded. "Now!"