If Only for a Season

by Bertha Connally Abraham

Chapter Six

Cheyenne

 

I began the grueling task of packing, deciding what should or should not go. Somehow, I found myself up to the challenge. The movers came and immediately turned the house upside down. It reminded me of the war zones my Vietnam veteran friends had described. With everything gone, the house stood empty, devoid of all life. Its eerie silence made me feel as though I had fallen into a well, surrounded by darkness, alone, hearing only a hollow echo. As young kids, they didn’t remember much about moving to Suellen, but they were excited about the move this time. They saw it as an adventure. They would get to ride for the first time in a big airplane with giant wings reaching up to kiss the sky. They spent every waking hour talking about the plane.

“How does it stay in the air?” Nate asked.

“Will it fall from the sky?” asked Kellee. Dannie didn’t want to sound like his baby sister and little brother, so he stayed quiet. He had become their big brother and so could not be bothered by such silly questions.   

We arrived at the airport on time but not unusually early. Before 9/11, nobody rushed to the airport. With kids and baggage in tow, we checked in. Finally, we settled down to wait for the boarding call.  Suellen set the standards for great weather, so the beautiful, sunny August day, although a little humid, stole the show. The warmer-than-normal weather had continued into late August, bidding us farewell as we boarded our plane. With our new home under construction for another three weeks, we left prepared to tackle whatever challenge awaited us, although the challenge came sooner than any of us had expected.

We arrived in Cheyenne with the sun shining brightly on a wonderfully warm day in late August. People at the airport, the cab driver, and even the motel staff commented on how nice and uncommon the weather was for this time of year. Wow! I thought to myself. What great weather! It was nothing like I had read about. Cheyenne, according to my research, could be snowy and cold. But today was different. We checked into the motel and tried to relax before feeding time at the Mirabeau zoo.  It would not be long before one of our little pets made sure we knew the time to eat had arrived.

 Several hours later, one of the kids looked out of the window to see snowflakes falling from the sky. We ran to the window, staring at the beauty of it all, amazed. At first, the snowflakes fell slowly and deliberately, as if they wanted us to count each one of them as they fell. Then, they began picking up the pace, falling faster and more anxiously. Within hours, we had moved across the country from warm, sunny weather to a winter wonderland, almost completely unprepared. Today, Mother Nature did not stop to ask for our advice.  The kids begged to go outside. Adam found his jacket packed in one of our many pieces of luggage. He grabbed it and bravely walked across the street to get some soup and sandwiches for dinner.  

We folded ourselves into the days and nights that came and went. The kids fell in love with the weather. We had never lived in a cold climate before, but they didn’t mind the snow. All day, they ran in and out of the motel room, shouting and cheering. And all day long, I yelled, “Dannie, put your hat back on!” or “Nate, keep your gloves on!” or “Kellee, where did you leave your scarf?”

I enrolled the boys in school, which began in a few days. Adam left early in the mornings and returned late in the evenings. He never missed our evening dinner together, even if he had to return to the office later. I’d begin my morning by dropping off the kids at school, in the community that we would eventually call home. I loved this small and comfortable neighborhood. I loved the steady routine of the simple life. It gave me the same cozy feeling as sitting by the fireplace did on a winter day, wrapped snuggly in a warm blanket.

Only fifteen houses made up our community. Our house was less than three weeks away from being finished.  We started getting on each other’s nerves, crammed into two tiny, adjoining motel rooms. Each afternoon, I would fasten Kellee into her car seat and drive a few short blocks north and then left onto the freeway, heading toward our new home. I would pick the kids up at the bus stop, turn around, and head back to the motel. I let them enjoy a snack before they started their homework. After finishing homework, they could play inside or outside, depending on the weather, but hot or cold, they always preferred outside. Some days, our new neighbors would invite us for snacks and conversation. The kids would have a great time, and I would enjoy my future neighbors’ company. Then, we would head back to our cramped quarters. My new friends had tried many times to get us to stay with them, or to at least leave the kids.

“B. J.,” they said, “just think of all the time you’ll save by not going back and forth each day!”

But I would not hear of it. Now, I was beginning to sound like my mother. I knew what they offered had nothing to do with charity, but I still could not accept it.

“We’ll be fine,” I said.  Later in the evening, when Adam came in from work, we loaded up again and went out to eat. On lazy days, when no one wanted to go out, we had sandwiches and soup in the room. Sandwiches, minestrone, and clam chowder became the staples on those cold winter nights. It was the same routine every day for nearly two weeks.

The week we were scheduled to move, a terrible storm stalled over the Atlantic Ocean. A news reporter said that the year’s hurricane season had been calm—only two tropical storms and two named hurricanes, not one causing significant damage. But this storm looked pretty severe. In this part of the country, the weather could change quickly. The phone rang. 

“B. J., it’s Lee,” the voice said. Lee and I met one day after I dropped the kids at the bus stop. She had arrived a few minutes before we got there. She introduced her kids, Alan and Mia, and she and I began to chat as our kids boarded the bus. There was something about Lee that I liked right away.

 ”Have you watched the weather lately, B.J.?” Lee continued. To most people who knew me, I was “B. J.”, and not my given name, Beatrice Johanna. I hated that name, but my mother loved it. When I asked her once why she had decided on that particular name, she replied, pointing at a stack of newspapers that she had been cutting patterns from.

“Well, just a few weeks fore you was born, I look through some of them old newspapers over yonder in the corner, when I sees the name Beatrice Johanna. When I say them words out loud, they sounded important. I know then, that’s what I was gonna call you.”

“What if I had been a boy, then what?” I asked.

“I was gonna call you Bennie.”

When I asked her why, she pretended not to hear me, her head bent low as she kept cutting out her pattern. Tears began to fill her eyes. “Pays attention,” she said sharply. I knew this ended our conversation.

“Sure, I watch the news regularly,” I told Lee. “Right before Kellee and I walk out the door.”

“Well, there’s a bad snow storm coming in this afternoon. Perhaps you should let the kids stay at my house.”

 She repeated herself. I told her thanks, and that I’d call her if things got too bad. I thought the weather seemed fine when Kellee and I left the house. Sure, it was snowing, but it looked and felt the same—just another day, same as the days before it.  And by now we had grown accustomed to these snowy days. They had become more of a nuisance than anything else.

We started out on our usual route. But within minutes, the weather changed.  The snow blew as if trying to form some kind of weird pattern, like something out of a science fiction movie. It blew from left to right, and then it began to twirl around and spin, repeating the weird pattern over and over again.  I could hardly see, so I crawled at a snail’s pace until I reached my exit. I exited slowly and carefully onto a narrow road that led into the neighborhood. I started up the hill to the bus stop, but I could not gain traction. Anxiety consumed me; I didn’t even notice the other cars parked at the bottom of the hill. I just kept seeing the image of my children stranded at the bus stop in the storm. I knew my neighbors would not leave them there, but my instincts told me that my children would worry.

Not being able to move up any further, I backed the car down slowly until it reached the foot of the hill, where all the other stranded cars were parked by a gas station. The snow fell faster and harder, pounding against our bodies.  I decided to try to get to my kids. I closed my eyes and talked to God, asking Him to keep us safe.  Then I started to walk up the sloped hill, holding Kellee tightly in my arms, wrapping her inside of my coat. The freezing, wet, cold snow cracked my lips till they bled. Little drops of blood dotted the fallen white snow. The falling ice chiseled our faces, as if cutting stone. Kellee cried out from the pain, and I held her closer.

I told her to be brave, that it’s all an adventure. I asked her if she remembered my favorite poem. On those cold winter nights when Adam traveled, the kids would all climb into our bed, and I would recite my favorite poem until they drifted off to sleep.  She shook her head as if to say yes, so I began to recite a poem I learned in the sixth grade, what seemed like a hundred years ago-- Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost.

 

“Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch the woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer.

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound’s the sweep

Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep.

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.”

 

Just as I finished the last line, a truck pulled up next to us. The driver leaned over and asked if we wanted a ride. Inside sat a scrawny, thin and fragile looking teenage boy.  He had sandy blond hair that hung almost to his shoulders, with grayish-green eyes. It was as if God had instantly answered my prayer, and so I whispered, “Thank you.” The truck sat on big tires that lifted it high above the ground. With Kellee tucked inside my coat, I jumped in. Anyone watching might have concluded that they witnessed our abduction at gunpoint. For the entire ride, the driver did not say a word, even when I nervously talked about the weather’s abrupt change. He eventually dropped us at the bus stop. I opened the door of the truck and got out. I thanked him what seemed like a hundred times; I was so grateful. I headed up the street in the direction of Lynette’s house, which sat facing the entrance of our community. I don’t know why he dropped me off at the bus stop. Nobody was waiting there. Why didn’t I ask him to drop me at Lynette’s house? Maybe he knew my starting point and knew from there, I could find my way. But now my arms had grown tired from holding Kellee so tightly. Still, I kept walking. The truck headed back out and up the same narrow and treacherous icy road. When we arrived at Lynette’s, we joined the kids as they sat warm and cozy, perched by the fireplace. Lee had dropped them off at Lynette’s at the kids’ insistence. She knew I wouldn’t mind.

After I finished telling Lynette and the rest about our ordeal in the snowstorm, I asked her about the young man driving the truck. I wanted to find out who he was, so I could find a way to repay his kindness.

“I don’t know him at all,” she said, puzzled. Later I discovered that none of my neighbors had ever seen him before. Even now, I still think of him as my guardian angel sent to protect us that day.  

 Later, Adam called. “Be safe, take care of the kids, and stay put until this thing blows over,” he said.

“You don’t have to worry. I’m not about to go back out there. Kellee and I have had more than enough adventure for one day,” I replied. He had already arrived at the motel and said that he planned to stay. We waited out the storm for six hours. After it settled down, we slowly ventured back to our motel.

No one had ever warned us, as we prepared to move to this cold climate, that I should put a blanket in my car in case of a snowstorm. I definitely could have used the advice before Kellee and I started out, unaware of the frozen perils we would encounter. But, looking back, I learned a lesson that day that I would never forget. It’s something that I repeat to myself often-- “Always anticipate the unexpected.”

 

 

If Only for a Season

by Bertha Connally Abraham

Adam and BJ do the unthinkable growing up in the south in the sixties. They enter into an agreement that translate into an arranged marriage, one of convenience. Who would ever imagine an arranged marriage between two young black teens during this turbulent season?  They make a conscious decision to become husband and wife based initially on a verbal contract between the two of them and then enlisted the approval of their parents. Out of a desire to escape a life of poverty Adam and BJ conceive this idea. With the permission and blessings of their parents the marriage becomes a reality.   

They foster powerful and nurturing relationships while wandering from one place to another meshing their lives with the lives of people they encounter on this incredible adventure.  BJ believes that she and Adam descend from a nomadic tribe somewhere in the deep corners of Africa because of their desire to always roam in search of new places and new friends. With this belief so rigidly fixed in her mind BJ accepts each challenge as they arise and develop the courage and strength to triumph over them.  Some storms arrive with punishing gale force winds while others noisy rush in fizzling out unnoticed.  What Adam and BJ learn and take away from these adventures shape and mold them into the unique human beings predestined of God. 

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