Prairie Passages

By Gerry Werven

Courage, compassion, and hope are the themes of eight short stories. A six-year-old girl learns what a martyr is. A farm boy is changed by the Korean War. A son questions his father’s death on November 22, 1963. A teenager encounters Indigenous people in the 1850s. A man spends a weekend with his dying father. A young mother challenges her dad’s judgement. A family makes sports history. An impoverished boy returns something of value to a mother in mourning. These are stories about ordinary people who lived on the Northern Plains and faced hardship with dignity, humor, and selflessness. They did not allow themselves to become victims and they are much more than just survivors.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9781663254184

Gerry Werven

Gerry Werven lives in Rochester, MN.

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Copyright © 2023 Gerry Werven.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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ISBN: 978-1-6632-5417-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6632-5418-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023920090

iUniverse rev. date:  10/30/2023

Contents

A Good Day at Rosa Lake

Cranberry, Pennsylvania

The Man, His Sons, and His Daughter

Andrew Martineau

Angels on the Hill

The Drive Home

Dynasty

Sour Crème and Raisin Pie

For my parents

A Good Day at Rosa Lake

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Three boys rolled out of the bed they shared, put on their long-sleeved denim shirts and bib overalls, and went downstairs. Ten-year-old Maurice, who was known to his family as Sonnyboy, walked into the kitchen, pulled a chair out from the table, and was about to sit down.

Milking first, said his mother, Mae.

Sonnyboy opened the screen door and stepped outside. He stood on the slanted wooden step with his hands in his front pockets and looked across the brown yard of the rented farm where his family lived. The sun was coming up over a small cluster of oak trees that grew in the middle of a pasture behind the chicken coop. It was already warm.

Nineteen months younger than his brother, Donald had gone straight to the outhouse, but he was beaten there by seven-year-old Lawrence. Hurry up, Donald said, pounding on the door.

Lawrence came out buckling one of the straps of his overalls.

You don’t have to take them off to pee, said Donald.

I know, said Lawrence.

Lawrence walked to the barn. His father Marthin was under a cow, milking.

Where the other two? asked Marthin.

Coming, Papa.

Sonnyboy and Donald stepped into the barn, wiping the sleep from their eyes.

Finish here, Marthin said, looking at Sonnyboy. He turned to Donald. You can start on Brownie.

What should I do? asked Lawrence.

You pet Brownie’s nose, said Marthin.

Marthin left the barn and went into the house.

Lawrence stood behind Sonnyboy. Do you want me to empty that pail?

No, said Sonnyboy. You’ll spill it like yesterday.

That was an accident, said Lawrence. My shoe was untied.

It’s still untied, said Sonnyboy, continuing to milk.

Lawrence knelt to tie his shoe. The string in this one isn’t even, he said.

Then take it out and redo it, said Sonnyboy.

Lawrence pulled on the short end of the string that served as his shoelace. The string snapped. Heck with it, he said, standing.

After the cows had been milked, the boys went in for breakfast. Marthin sat at the table drinking coffee while Mae flipped pancakes at the cook stove. Two blonde-haired girls, ages five and three, stood on each side of Mae, holding on to her apron.

Are you going to ask about the money he owes you? asked Mae.

Yes, said Marthin, picking up his youngest daughter.

I need flour and other things, said Mae.

Marthin put his daughter on his lap. He gave her a drink of skim milk from a cup which was too big for her mouth. Milk ran down both sides of her chin. A car honked its horn. Marthin put his daughter down. He stood, brought his chair to the screen door, where he had left his boots, put them on, and went outside. Mae lifted the bottom of the flour sack that covered the kitchen window. Marthin was standing with his back to the house talking to a man sitting in the car. He then walked around the front of the car and got inside. The car left the farm.

Mama, can I have another pancake? asked Lawrence.

That is all I have, said Mae. Now all of you go and feed the chickens.

The boys went back to the barn and put feed in three pails. They walked around the yard and scattered the feed while chickens pecked at the ground.

Let’s go to the lake, said Donald. If we stay here, Mama will find more chores for us.

The boys tossed the empty pails in the barn and walked to a spring runoff called Rosa Lake near the farm. It had been little more than a treeless bowl the previous two years. A heavy snowfall that winter and a wet spring had restored the water level and ducks had returned to nest.

Lawrence stood in the mud and threw clumps of dirt into the water.

I wish I had a gun, said Donald, squinting his left eye and taking aim at a bird with a stick. Maybe we could find another one?

Doubt it, said Sonnyboy.

We’d still have the .22 if he wouldn’t have said anything to Mama, said Donald.

It was broke, said Lawrence. You couldn’t hit anything anyway.

The boys followed a path around the lake that led to a house that had burnt down the previous summer. There, they had found the gun, a pocketknife, bottle cap openers, and coins under the charred boards and ashes. They kicked the loose dirt with their shoes in areas that looked promising. They had been there half an hour when Lawrence yelled, I found a nickel! Let’s go to Simkin’s!

It’s not worth walking all the way there, said Donald, and it’s getting hot.

Can we go, Sonnyboy?

You can come with us, Sonnyboy said to Donald, or go back home and help Mama with the babies.

The boys went to the railroad track, which ran a half mile from the farm. From there, it was two miles to Simkin’s General Store. They walked between the rails, stopping every few feet to pick up a stone to throw into the brush that grew along the north side of the track.

Any deer in there? asked Lawrence.

Lots, said Sonnyboy.

Last year, Sonnyboy and I saw a dead one over there, said Donald, pointing.

I wonder where it is? asked Lawrence.

Wolves probably dragged it into the bush, said Sonnyboy.

They could drag a man as big as Papa, said Donald.

Lawrence did not say anything.

They were halfway to Simkin’s when a Great Northern blew its whistle behind them.

Train! yelled Lawrence, jumping off the track.

It’s not even close to us, said Donald, laughing.

A train had come within feet of striking a cutter the boys were in the previous Christmas Eve. There had been accidents on the track before.

Donald and Sonnyboy joined Lawrence on the embankment as the train approached.

How many do you think will be on today? asked Donald.

Ten, said Sonnyboy.

Sonnyboy and Donald counted the men riding on top of the cars.

After the last car passed, Donald asked, How many you get?

Twenty, said Sonnyboy.

How about you?

Twenty, Donald said.

Where are they going? asked Lawrence.

Grand Forks, maybe Fargo,