An early snowstorm took our prairie life by surprise. We were like gophers, not willing to stick our heads out into the suffocating snow and cold. Drifts formed against the cabin buffeted by howling winds. When I looked through the frosted window of my bedroom, the morning sky took on a pewter gray. I slipped back under the covers and burrowed into my husband, Jake's side.

The fire roared to life, thanks to Skye's early morning feeding. The door to our room was open enough for me to see her movements and thaw our room. The smell of coffee on the woodstove made me want to make a run for it. She cracked some brown eggs on the skillet and then mixed a batter for hotcakes. She had even sliced some ham to fry. From the corner of my eye, I could see she had my son in his highchair with a warm bowl of oats.

We loved these days with enough goods in the storehouse. It was a day when you could be lazy and make the world go away. I studied Jake's sleep. Those faint lines in his forehead, his unruly eyebrows, and sandpaper like stubbles of his chin. I took my finger and traced the scar along his temple. Now and then he'd wrestle with the war in his dreams. He'd sweat and mumble under his breath. It was like he was in the thick of battle again, led balls whizzing overhead. I wished I could take away those dreams, but Skye told me, it was just the poison of his past finding an exit.

I ran my fingers through his knotted hair. He stirred. I rubbed my soft face on the stubbles of his chin. I combed his dark hair with my fingers. He groaned awake. "What you doin' sweet. You know we're snowed in. No chores for today." He rolled over.

"Keep me warm," I Said, as we spooned under the covers.

"I'll do more than keep you warm." He rolled me over on top of him.

"Mind your manners, Jake McCord. The doors half open."

"Only thing on my list for today is you," He said, then kissed me.

"You regret living here, when you could have lived on the ranch?"

"I reckon, I'm the one who traded up. Hard work makes a man more than half what he is."

Jake rolled from the bed in his long Johns and followed his nose. He hopped on each leg to get his pants on. He fell back on the bed to put his wool socks on. He warmed his arms with his hands. "We need more wood from our stack by the root cellar."

I climbed from the bed and held him before he could get to the door. I whispered in Jake's ear. "We should fix Skye up with one of your father's ranch hands. Why not Redhawk? Everybody should have someone."

Jake looked at me with a sheepish grin. "Redhawk seems to be a loner. Former scouts are a funny breed. They get the wanderlust."

"I think he'd be a good fit."

Skye turned toward us with a smudge of smoke and the coffee spitting on the wood stove. "I got two good ears. I could hear ya even if I were six foot under."

Jake chimed in. "We were ruminating over the available men that would line up to meet you."

Mr. Greeley came bounding through the door. The wind howled behind him and the cold air rushed through us, rattling our bones.

Jake shouted. "Greeley, get a hold of that door."

"I'm trying, sir. But the winds got other ideas."

Greeley forced the door closed, stomped his boots, and brushed the snow off his wool coat and scarf. He found a square nail to hang his coat and kicked off his boots. "I smell coffee and fried ham."


My little boy looked at Mr. Greeley and laughed at the snowy man. He pounded the table with his spoon. "Snowman!" He'd learned a new word.

Jake looked at me and smiled. "Those children books must a been rubbin' off on him."

Mr. Greeley stomped over and made contorted faces. It didn't scare him none. The boy giggled and laughed all the more with a smudge of oats on his face.

Jake took the coffee pot and poured Mr. Greeley a steaming cup of coffee and then himself one. "Mr. Greeley, if you don't mind I'd like us to fetch some wood."

Mr. Greeley sipped his coffee. "I fear we will need another two cords before we can make it through winter. When this storm passes, I could take a team of horses down by the river where there's enough cotton wood left."

Jake sipped his coffee, took a bite of ham. He rubbed Josh's blonde hair until he messed it up.

In return, Josh flipped oatmeal on Jake. We all had a hearty laugh.

He smiled and blurted. "Da, Da."

We all froze in our tracks. Then Jake swallowed a lump in his throat. My heart jumped inside. Josh took to those words for the first time. Jake had earned the right to be called father. I leaked some tears. Jake tried to console me. "I'm sorry, Jane."

"Don't fret none, my husband would not have held it against you. No sad tears here, Jake. He needs a father image. And there' no finer man this side of the Missouri."

My boy seemed to sense he was the center of our attention. He rambled on. "Da, Da, Da, Da."

Our house was filled with laughter, despite the storm, we felt insulated from all the danger that lurked. We all had each other in the storms of life. We were like one big family.

Mr. Greeley took a bite of ham and sipped his coffee. "I best get some more wood for the box."

Jake set down his coffee. He headed toward the door with Mr. Greeley where he found his coat and boots.

The pair bundled themselves, as if they were prepared for a war with nature. Standing back, we braced ourselves for the unruly winds of the prairie.

The door opened and the wind rushed through us, threatening to put out the fire inside. The men slammed the door shut.

I helped Skye with the dishes and then cleaned up Josh to let him run around the main room and burn off some of the fire inside him.

The door flung open! I thought it were the ghostly wind. But it was worse. Greeley filled the door with a crazed look in his eyes. "It's Jake! He fell by the wood pile in the snow."

I ran through the door and plunged into the snow. I found his body squirming in the snow in fetal position, unable to control his shakes.

Mr. Greeley shouted. "We got to get him inside. Help me."

Greeley grabbed his shoulders. I had hold of his legs. "What's wrong with him?"

"Ma'am. Your husband's having a seizure. I've seen this before during the war. It's likely because of the head wound he suffered months back."

After we laid him in bed under the covers and Mr. Greeley gave him a piece of cloth to bite down on where he writhed until the seizure subsided.

I crumbled by his bedside. Mr. Greeley helped me find my knees. I prayed over him. But this time, I got mad at God. Through the bitter tears I reminded the Lord, "You promised not to give us more than we can handle. I'd say, I've had my fair share, Lord."

When the rage left me, I returned to begging God. Mr. Greeley and the rest knew it best leave me alone for a spell.