The Rebellion of Miss Lucy Ann Lobdell by William Klaber

Author:William Klaber
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: General Fiction
ISBN: 9781608325627
Publisher: Greenleaf Book Group
Published: 2013-06-01T04:00:00+00:00

21

THE SYCAMORES STOOD in the mist like rooted spirits. The path through them seemed enchanted, as though I might come out of the fog and find myself along Basket Creek. But the River Crow didn’t turn into the Basket, and that was easy enough to see. There were no ledges or falls—it just meandered about like a lazy brown snake. I followed its course, and as the mist began to burn off, I came upon a sign rudely nailed to a tree: STARTS HERE, MEEKER COUNTY.

By noon, I could see the houses and barns of Manannah. People were all about, more than I would have thought to see—a celebration perhaps. Charred pork and sweet beans came to mind, but those hopes faded as I drew closer and heard shouting. I came upon a man loading a wagon, a woman with a crying child seated above. “What’s going on?”

“The Sioux have risen!” he cried. “They’re killing everyone!” The man climbed up and took the reins, but he could do nothing as the way was blocked by another wagon. He called on God to damn all.

A lanky fellow with a brimmed hat hurried over and gave no greeting. “You come in from the south?”

“Kandiyohi,” I said, as though it were a town and not a cabin.

“You running from the savages?”

“None that I know about. What’s happening?”

“Not sure,” said the man. “A fellow came in from Henderson last night, scared to death. Said the Sioux were attacking the settlements.”

I shook my head. “I haven’t seen a thing.”

The man said he was glad to hear that, though he didn’t seem less worried. He put out his hand and introduced himself as Otis Whitmore. I told him my name. He asked what brought me to Manannah, and I said I’d come looking for work. Mr. Whitmore scratched his neck. “Well, our hired man left this morning, but we’re not taking on help. Don’t know anyone who would be. Half the town is leaving, and the rest of us are trying to figure out what to do.”

A fine hello this was. I had gotten myself to Manannah, the town where Noah White said I should stake my claim, the town where people were “gettin’ along good,” last he heard. Now it seemed they were taking the place apart. And what should I do? Should I try to save my scalp and keep on going? To St. Cloud? To St. Paul? It wasn’t a happy thought but then neither was being cleft by a hatchet. The best I could do was take a look at those who were fleeing and those who were staying. I did and decided to stay.

An hour later, the settlers who remained gathered under a hickory, maybe seventy or eighty in all. I stood back and watched as, by show of hands, the men elected a commander, a farmer named John Hillsboro, a former captain who had fought in Mexico. Hillsboro accepted the post wearing his blue army coat that no longer covered his belly.

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