Sophie's List

Sophie’s List

Deep in the ole forest, where the trees are tall and wide, and their branches touch the sky sits a tiny wood cottage. The crone, Ava, is chopping a fallen, dead, birch tree into logs. She takes a breath, exhaling mist in the early autumn afternoon, she throws her long, silver braid back over her shoulder, raises the long-handled axe over her head, humming a soulful ancient song: she lets the axe fall, cutting deep into the tree with guttural “Hu” she strikes again and again, until the logs roll apart. She gathers up five pieces in her arms, hugging them close to her body, she carries them to the small cottage, pushes the crooked door open with her round hip; she is struggling to get through the tiny door, when her daughter, Sophie, opens it behind her.

“Let me help you mother,” she says taking the top log off the pile with her left hand, baby bouncing on her other hip.

“Looks like you have your hands full,” Ava replies, grinning at the pretty baby, clicking her tongue, and making her laugh. She stacks the logs beside the stone hearth in the center of the one room home, removes her grey woolen shawl, drapes it over one of the log chairs at the small, square table and sits down with a satisfied sigh.

“Will you hold Aylin while I finish cooking the venison stew”? Sophie asks handing the infant to Ava.

“Come to Mhamo, my little one, Oh, sweetie,” she coo’s, kissing the babies rosy, round cheeks.

The baby smiles, exposing her first two bottom teeth: her little emerald eyes wide with joy, as Ava bounces her on her knees.

“This is the last of our meat,” Sophie states, as she stirs the cast iron pot. “I hope father will return soon from the hunt.”

“Of course, he will. He will return when the first snow falls, he always does. Ava replies, still playing with the baby. “He’s a loyal man, a wise man, from the Owl Clan. He protects and provides for his family. Unlike that Wild Wolf man, who stole your heart!”

“I chose to leave him,” Sophie asserts. “That boarding house was no home for the baby, the noise, the fighting, all the drunkards, the sheriffs; it wasn’t safe. They belong here, safe with a loving family.”

“Yes, that town, that life, working and drinking their lives away. It is since the wood mill came to these forests: it's since they began chopping down the trees, and blasting holes in the mountain, taking the coal. There is a growing sadness as the natural world disappears.” Ava declares, waving her arms overhead. “We must remain living the old ways, true to the land. The Great Mother of All.”

Ava places her hands folded on her heart, “She loves us, she cares for all living things; we must also love her, and one another. Love is what keeps the world spinning, expanding, balanced in harmony.” She closes her eyes and breathes deeply, slowly: the love.

Sophie places a bowl of stew in front of Ava, then places one at another seat for herself and takes Aylin onto her lap, spoon feeding the child between her bites. The two women eat, silently, looking across the table at two empty chairs. Waiting, hoping.

The next morning it begins to snow. It snows for two whole days. The snow is higher than the knees, the wind howls fierce. The women and child are cozy by the hearth, boiling the last of the bones with some potatoes, carrots, garlic, and leeks. Just the smell of it waters the mouth and fills the soul.

“I’ll go hunt tonight, the moon is full and bright. We must have some meat, for our bones through the long cold winter.” Ava announces, stretching her arms wide overhead. “It’s a splendid night for hunting!”

After the table is cleared, Sophie goes and lays on a straw mat, covered in a brightly colored quilt. Nursing the baby, she hums softly. Ava grabs her heavy, gray cloak, quietly goes out the door, closing it tight. She stares up at the full moon, breathing as deeply as she can. She begins running down the slope of the yard, arms spread wide, eyes on the moon. She catches the wind and the silver stream of moonlight. She takes flight, soaring above the trees. Dark eyes, in her white plumed face, seeing in all directions. She hoots.

“Hoot, Hoot, hoot”! She calls to her mate, searching; round and round she flies, in a widening spiral, hunting, hungry, hoping. Her eyes detect a slight movement, far off to the right. With the tip of a wing Ava is diving through the trees, in pursuit of a fat rabbit. The rabbit stops. It hides in a bush, heart pounding, motionless. The bush hardly shakes, as the great owl swoops in and has it in her clutches. She beats her expansive wings, arching her downy white chest forward, heart open wide, eyes on the moon; she resumes her flight and returns home gliding softly onto her woman legs and feet at the door with the fat rabbit in hand.

“I said it would be a splendid night to hunt. Should have seen that moon tonight! I got a nice rabbit for the soup; we can make some brown bread and we will eat well for a few days. Caelan will return soon.” Ava pronounces, “He’s a loyal man.”

“Did you see any signs of father on your hunt, smoke from a distant fire”?

“I didn’t go very far, before I caught the first rabbit I saw and swiftly returned.” Ava removes her grey cloak, hangs it on a wall hook and kneels in front of the fire, rubbing her hands together. “All is well, we can all sleep well tonight.”

“Aylin is fast asleep, I'm not tired, I can’t sleep, so many worries on my mind, my heart aches.” Sophie cries, rolling off the mat away from the sleeping baby. She tries to muffle her sadness, but the tears roll down her face. She stands up wiping her eyes and straightening her brown dress, pulls her tawny hair back into a long tail. “Mother, may I go out for a while, and have a look around, and see what I can see”?

Sophie swirls, raising her arms wide, “I would love to see the moon tonight! You said yourself it’s a splendid night!”

“Promise me you will be safe, be smart, never lose sight of the big picture. You are a mother now, it is a sacred duty; to love wholeheartedly, totally, with unbounded love. Children come first, always. Not the desires of our hearts, not the folly of youth, nor our personal aspirations. Mothers and children have an eternal cord that connects them, it cannot be broken for it is made of light.”

“Yes, yes of course Mother. I always feel your guiding light. Twas you, who taught me to fly and keep my eyes open wide!” Sophie giggles, wrapping herself in a long, brown cloak and quickly disappearing out the door into the snowy, moon bright, silver of the night.

She runs into the wind, opening her wings wide, filling her broad, shining chest with the chilly night air. She rises, flapping her wings and heads straight towards the dismal village.

The village is rows of shanties, boarding houses, and the workhouses. Railroad tracks run through the middle of town. On the other side of the tracks are businesses: the dry goods mercantile, sheriff's office and jail, the tavern, and the only restaurant in town to get a hot meal after a long day's work. Dozens of the local men ride the train every day, back and forth, to the wood mills or further down the tracks to the coal mines. They work for coins and spend most of it just to live in town: to go to work. It was supposed to be a good thing, steady work, fair pay, to take better care of their families. They would not go cold and hungry in the winter months. Their wives and parents could find good jobs in the village too.

That’s not the way it is. The men are worked ten to twelve hours a day, every day. They never see their families much, and when they do, they are too exhausted to enjoy it.

Wolf and his friends hurry across the tracks after working six days straight, it’s payday.

It is late, the sun set hours ago. The men line up at the Cashiers Office, turn in their slips, and the clerk hands them coins. They walk next door, to the Tavern. They raise their mugs, hootin and hollerin, lost in the revelry of the bounds of men. The night blows by swiftly. The girls from the laundry and the bakery, disheveled hair and ragged clothes are in the back laughing hysterically, enjoying some ale.

An old man, with a beard down to his waist, picks up his fiddle and strikes up a happy tune. It makes the people tap their feet and kick up their heels. The sweet melody takes them away, far away from the mills, the mines, the work, the pain, and loneliness. They stay too long; they drink too much. Wolf and his best friend stumble out into the frosty night, each with a pretty girl under his arm. His friend and the girl wander down the tracks.

Wolf, hanging on the other girl, manages to cross the tracks, without falling. The snow is deep and heavy on his tired legs. The frigid wind hits his face hard. The ale makes his eyes spin. Something is moving, it's almost invisible, in the falling snow and shadow of the moon: he sees it, he hears it. The great wings, pulsating, he sees those eyes, peering into his soul and he falls, pulling the girl into the snow face down. She shrieks. The magnificent barn owl shrieks and flies off into the dark.

“Damn it, you drunken fool. I'm done with you. I’m going home. Alone”! The girl yells, brushing off the snow with her bare hands; shivering, she trudges off through the snow alone.

Wolf shuffles down the alley. He enters the boarding house and wearily climbs three flights of stairs, feels his way down a dark corridor, counting doors, until her reaches number eight. He wiggles the doorknob, leaning against the door as it opens, he falls, landing on a small cot near the window. He sighs and he begins to cry, as he falls to sleep. He dreams of days when he was free: free to roam and hunt and fish in the old forest. It breaks his heart, every day, working at the wood mill, watching the forest disappear, hearing the screaming saws devouring the trees. It makes him sad; sad and angry. He loves the forest. He loves the woman, and his child.

Tears seep from his eyes, in his sleep. He dreams of her tender voice, whispering. "Return, return to love. Come home my love.” He could feel her soft, feathery wings enfolding him, keeping him warm. He could hear the steadiness of her heartbeats. “Return to love.” She whispered in his ear and flew away before dawn.

He woke early, to the train horn blowing and as he tied on the heavy work boots, he thought to himself, Return to love. That’s what I will do, one more pay cycle. I’ll have enough to buy the rest of the items on Sophie’s list. Sophie and Aylin. How he longed to see them. He puts on his heavy coat and marches through the dirty snow to the morning train with dozens of others.

The engine blows out puffs of black smoke. The whistle screeches twice, warning it is about to leave the station. The whistle makes Wolf’s head throb, the smoke turns his grumbling stomach, he squeezes into a spot to sit and hangs on as the car lurches forward. He looks around at the fore long faces, not seeing his friend in the crowd. Once the train leaves it’s too late to get to work. The mill is several miles out of town, the mines even further. It would take a strong man hours to walk the distance and if he were to arrive late, he might not be allowed to work that day at all.

As the train rumbles along, his stomach reminds him, he has not eaten since yesterday afternoon. What a fool I am. He thinks, I should have spent my coins on a bowl of soup instead of a pint of ale. I hope I have the strength to last until noon time break, then they will give me some bread and water. He closes his eyes and imagines he is in the warm cabin, with the smell of fresh bread baking in the hearth.

He is jarred awake as the train halts at the wood mill. The men file off, heads hanging low. The supervisor counts them as they exit. “Twenty- five,” he says, holding out his hand, stopping Wolf. “That’s all we need here today. Go on to the mines, they need more men.”

“No, but... I always work the mill,” protests Wolf. “This is MY job”!

“Not today” retorts the foreman. “You want to work, today, go on to the mines, they pay five cents more!”

Wolf concedes, shaking his head, returns to a seat, and rides on until the train stops again. He shuffles out, into the line of men waiting at the shack. They are each given a cup of hot, black coffee and a hard biscuit. He holds the coffee in both hands, warming them and wonders as he takes a bite of the rock-hard biscuit, Is this frozen or just stale. Oh well, I'm so hungry right now I could eat a rock just to have something in my belly.

A whistle blows and he follows the line to the Foreman’s shack. He is handed a pick axe, a small, oil lantern and a pair of tattered gloves with some of the fingers torn off. “You best keep a hold of them gloves,” the Foreman says, “You won’t be given another pair, you’ll have to buy them yourself.”

“Yes, Sir, thank you sir,” Wolf mumbles. He takes the last gulp of his coffee, spits out the grounds: pick axe over his shoulder, he goes down into the dark, dank coal mine. With every strike against the rock wall his head pounds, his hands vibrate, his shoulders and back burn with pain; most of all his heart aches. He aches for the warmth of her embrace, the softness of her hair against his bare skin, the scent of her. And those eyes, her eyes, so wide, green with flecks of gold, so deep. All it took was one look into her eyes. He was lost, he was found; in those eyes.

“Hey, watch it, wake up man!” Somebody shouts. “I recognize you; didn’t you work at the mill? What are ya doing down in here? Have you ever worked the mine before? Asks a short, stout red bearded man.

Wolf, drops his pick, turns, and faces the man, wiping his brow, sweating yet freezing at the same time. “Um, what?” He shakes his head, gathering his senses. “Yes, no, the mill. Yes, I usually work the mills, but they were full up today, so here I am. No, I've not worked here before. I’m told it pays five cents more.”

“Five cents more per week” scoffs the man, scratching his red beard. “If ya last that long. Just last week the east mine shaft caved, nobody even knows how many men died in there, nobody even cares, they didn’t even try to rescue them, just moved us all to another shaft. Gotta keep working, costs too much to stop and try to save lives. Gotta keep the train engines a running, keep the chimney's puffing, keep folks from freezing. I could tell you’re a newbie, the way you swing that thing, you’re doing it the hard way, gotta use your legs more, your back less. Watch me.” Red, squats low, legs wide, pick axe overhead. With one smooth move he strikes the wall cracking off a substantial chunk of coal. “That’s how ya do it,” he says proudly. “Anyway, it’s time for noon break, come on.”

Wolf follows Red up the shaft, out into the yard. The men push and shove to huddle around a fire pit as the Foremen deliver more hard biscuits and hot coffee. “You're a miner now, you’re stuck with us, till the weeks end, anyway.” Red informs Wolf.

“That’s fine, answers Wolf, “I’ll stick it out till the end of the week, then I'm going home. Home to my woman and my baby daughter, I have not seen them in months."

“Home”? Red sighs, "I ain’t seen home in years. Came out here for work, for money. My family is hundreds of miles away, so far away, so long ago. I can barely remember their faces. My son must be a man himself by now. He stares into Wolf’s eyes, they feel each other's sorrow, for a moment, and the work whistle blows.

When the train returns the men to town, night has already fallen along with several more inches of snow. “Are ya coming” Red shouts to Wolf, above the grumbling, moaning mass of tired men. “Have an Ale”?

“Aww, not tonight,” Wolf waves and walks into the restaurant instead. He pulls the coins from his pocket and is counting them when a girl approaches. “What do You want”? She asks angrily.

“Just a bowl of corn chowder,” he replies, not even looking up.

“Oh, fine,” the waitress says. “You don’t even remember me, do you? From the other night, when you dumped me in the snow, and to think I ALMOST slept with the likes of you”! And she huffs away, returns with a large bowl of chowder, and slams it on the table.

Embarrassed, Wolf puts his hands over his face, shaking his head. He takes a long whiff of the chowder, saviors the flavors, and enjoys the warmth in his belly. Sophie’s list, what was on that list? Where did I put it? Flour, sugar, and what else? He struggles to remember.

On his return to the boarding house, he stops in the Mercantile and buys a five-pound sack of flour. It begins snowing, again. The wind blows the snow into deep drifts, he covers his face from the biting cold with his collar and tucks the sack of flour underneath his coat as he hurries down the alley. He kicks through a snow drift to open the door, squeezes inside, and pushes the door closed against the driving wind. He feels his way up the stairs and down the dark corridor, into his room, where he lights a small lantern on a corner table, beside the cot. He takes off the heavy, soggy boots and his wet coat. He stands up, runs his hands through his long black hair, looking around he wonders out loud, "The list, where is the list Sophie gave me?" He begins searching, he looks in the drawer of the small table, it’s not there. He pulls out his dirty work pants from a burlap bag, digging through the pockets. "Sophie’s list, here it is." He unfolds it and reads it aloud: “Flour, sugar, butter, salt, potatoes, turnips, onions, lima beans.” He bought the sugar last month, the flour today. He sits on the bed, staring at the list. Months, it’s been months since Aylin was born and Sophie left. And this is all I have, what have I been doing? He wonders. “What am I working for, if not for them. “What am I doing? AHHH!” He cries out. He wants to scream, he wants to howl, he wants to run free, and he wants to be home in the arms of love.

He gets up, early, every morning, and catches the train, goes down into the mines and digs the days away, hacking at the belly of The Mother, stacking the chunks of coal into the rail carts, until the whistle blows, and the train drops him back in town.

The snow falls daily, and the nights blow so hard the trees freeze, covered in ice, their branches creak and moan. Ava and Sophia take turns, flying out at night to hunt, returning with a rabbit, or Quail, or even a squirrel. Sometimes they return empty handed.

“I must go out tonight and search, until I find Calean, something is wrong, I can feel it. He would have returned by now if he could!” Ava exclaims, as she put on her boots and cloak.

“Oh, Mother, I know, I know you must go. I know he’s all right. I believe he’s O.K. Perhaps he just got lost, turned around in the snow storm. Yes, go. I’ll get the wood. I will keep the fire burning.” Sophie gives Ava a big hug. The women look deeply into each other's eyes, and see the worry, the fear, and the hope they share.

Ava runs, spreads her mighty wings and flies against the wind. With long, labored strokes she flies, round and round, in widening circles, up over the hills, swooping down through the trees, and up and around again, all through the night, searching. “Hoot, hoot. Hoot, hoot” she calls, while resting on the tip of a tall Conifer.

“Hoot, hoot.” She hears from down in a ravine. She leaps off the tree top and soars towards the calls. “Hoot, hoot.” She sees him, lying there, half covered in snow, the outline of a man, dark against the snow. She lands, on woman's legs and runs to him.

“Calean, Calean, my love, I’ve found you! I will take you home, can you walk?”

“Ava, my Dear. Oh,” he cries as he tries to stand, but falls back down. My leg, I think it’s broken. I was chasing a buck, I shot him with my bow and the arrow just wounded him, and he ran away. I was chasing him and slid down this ravine. I heard it crack, my leg. I can’t walk!”

Ava assures him and goes to cut some branches with a small hand axe she had tied to her waist belt. She makes a traverse, crossing branches and sticks and tying them together with bits of her long belt. As she helps Calean roll onto it she kisses him wildly. “I’ll get you home. We’ll be home before you know it.”

She stomps through the deep snow, steadying herself up the ravine, back through the forest, all through the night, dragging him, with all her might. Just as the sun rises through the clouds, she sees their cottage, covered in the shimmering snow, smoke rising from the chimney.

She bangs on the door, “Sophie, Sophie, help me, help us inside.”

“Oh Father! Oh, Mother you found him, you saved him”! She squeals, as she helps carry him to the fire side.

“Yes, hurry, make him some hot Mullen tea and bring all the blankets, while I get these wet clothes off him. His leg is broken, I must reset it, tear up some cloth strips and find me a strong, straight stick from the woodpile, quickly”!

Calean, half conscious, sips some of the hot tea as Ava cuts his pants off with a sharp knife. “This is gonna hurt,” she warns and quickly pulls on his shin, realigning it. He screams in agony and passes out. The women gently wrap his wounded leg to the straight stick and burry him in furs and blankets. Sophie stokes the fire, until it roars, brightening the whole house. Aylin is awakened by her grandfather’s scream, and cries crawling over to them.

“Hush, hush, sweet child, it’s alright, Daidéo is home.” Ava whispers, rocking the baby in her arms, smiling, tears running down her wrinkled cheeks.

The sun shines bright and cheery all day. Calean wakes, groaning, to the smell of fresh bread and several small Quail breasts roasting on the fire. Ava brings him a plate, and a cup of tea, and kisses his forehead. Sophie pulls the curtain off the one small window and the home fills with light and laughter.

The Train whistle blows. Another day, deep in the coal mine, Wolf picks away the hours. Every time he strikes the rock wall, he shouts another item on Sophie’s list: “Lima Beans, onions, turnips, potatoes, butter.”

Red looks at him sideways, laughs, and walks deeper into the mine shaft. Wolf hears the beams creak and a loud rumble, as the shaft fills with blinding dirt and the lantern blows out. “Red, Red,” he shouts, as somebody drags him out into the light and air, the entire tunnel collapses in a cloud of dirt. He runs back, trying to remove the rubble, rolling boulders away. The Foreman drags him off. “Forget it, ain’t nobody could have survived that.”

“No, no, we have to try, there’s men inside”! Wolf argues pulling away and returning to the buried entrance, throwing stones, and rolling boulders. “Help me”! He howls. But no one cares.

The train whistle blows, it will depart for town any minute. The sun’s setting, red in the sky. “Let’s go, I said, time to go!” demands the foreman, pushing the men onto the train. “It’s payday, if ya don’t get to the shack before they close, ya don’t get paid!”

The men sway and rock, in silence, as the train rolls on, many of them visibly shaken, some of them visibly weeping. The men file off the train to the cashier's shack. Wolf notices a large mental box full of coins, as the clerk doles out a handful. “Is that all the money you saved on Dead men's wages”? He snarls at the clerk, turning his back and running to the Mercantile, reciting Sophie's list.

“What do you need”? The store clerk asks when he enters. Wolf proudly recites the list, from memory: “Lima beans, onions, turnips, potatoes, butter”!

“All out of turnips, but show me your money, and you can have the rest of it,” says the round, pale man. “Three dollars, forty-five cents,” the clerk holds out his chubby hand.

“And please add that small jar of honey,” Wolf smiles, counting out the coins. “Three and fifty-five"!

The clerk wraps the goods in paper and puts them in a burlap sack. Wolf briskly walks down the alley as the full moon rises into the clear, starry sky. He is panting with excitement, his breath forming puffs of vapor. He speaks to the moon, “A month, a whole month gone by.” He leaps up the stairs, and slinks down the hall, enters the shabby room and rolls up his blankets. He ties the bedroll, his gunny sack, and the bag of food over his shoulder, and to his back. He leaps and bounds down and out into the cold, glittering snow. He runs, and runs, off, down a familiar trail through the ole forest. And he howls at the moon, joyfully.

Late in the night, Wolf knocks on the door. Ava opens it.

“Good evening, is your daughter home? I have everything she asked for. I have everything on Sophie’s list, see, here,” Wolf grins, ear to ear, holding up the full sack.

“Come on in, out of the cold,” Ava says taking the sack, holding it up, turning to Sophie, she lets out a “Hoot”!

Sophie picks up Aylin and swoops beside Wolf. “What happened to you Calean? How long have you been injured? Who’s doing the hunts?” Wolf gasps, seeing Calean lying on a mat, leg wrapped to a stick.

“Sophie and I are fine huntresses” Ava laughs, “We don’t go hungry, she shakes her round belly with her hands.

“I can go out and hunt some big game, tonight. There's a bright moon and several more hours till dawn.” Wolf volunteers.

“And I shall come with you” Sophie adds, hands on her hips. “I can be your eyes, your spotter.”

“That’s a good plan,” says Ava, peeling Aylin from Wolf. “A good plan, on a good night.”

Sophie grabs her cloak and they run out into the moon light. Wolf on all fours, howling. Sophie above “Hoot, hoot”!