Be Brave Bertie

The train was coming for her. The rumbling vibrations surrounded Bertie in the darkness. Her daddy’s weight pressed on her prone form, squeezing the wind from her chest. Her brother Joseph’s small hand encircled her wrist, his fingernails as always, sharp as puppy teeth. 

Why was Daddy holding them down instead of running? The train was close. He had to move. 

Bertie hit her dad, pummeling her small fists against his dingy nightshirt. Nightshirt? 

“Daddy, move!” she squeaked.

He didn’t release her; he leaned in and yelled into her ear, “Cyclone!” 

Bertie focused on breathing. She was home, and it wasn’t a train. It was a tornado. That was worse.

Joseph’s hand slipped.

“I’m scared!”

Her dad leaned in and said their phrase, “Be brave, Bertie.” 

The words he always used to encourage her strength and adventure. It fortified her even when her daddy’s weight crumpled onto her, and then the logs of her home and darkness buried her.

Bertie shuddered. A year had passed, but the memory still flashed in her head every day.

She sat on a split-rail timber fence under the sun’s heat and glared at the dozen neighbors huddled in the shade of a maple tree. Her mom, the interloper Seth, and the pastor stood at the base of the trunk. Bertie swung her boots with force against the fence rail, but the wedding party was too distant to care about her drama.

“We’d like you to attend,” her mother, Ida, had said that morning. She was pretty in her best, light blue calico top and long, dark blue flowing skirt.

Bertie glared.

They stood alone in Uncle Jacob’s dark, musty house. 

It was the only place Bertie, her mom, and baby sister Rose had to live. It was a small, disgusting one-room cabin, always dirty because Uncle Jacob haphazardly spit tobacco everywhere. 

Kneeling next to Bertie, Ida said, “You’re only eight and can’t understand, but I can’t do this alone. Seth is a good man.”  

“I won’t live like a prairie dog. I’ll stay here.” Bertie possessively planted her hand on the table. Her finger sunk into something wet and slimy. She gagged as she wiped it on a nearby towel.

Ida stood, sighed, and dusted the dirt from her skirt. 

“Seth built his house underground for me.” Ida’s eyes and voice softened. “We lost Dad and Joseph, and Seth lost his wife and daughter. We’ll all rest easier sheltered underground.” 

“Not we!” Sweat gathered under Bertie’s cotton dress. 

Ida grabbed her bouquet of wilting sunflowers off the grimy table. “I won’t twist your arm.”

Now, from her vantage point on the fence, Bertie watched as her mom approached Seth and shook her head. Seth’s posture drooped. 

The ceremony was short. There would be no celebration dinner or gifts. Sadness still clung to the town. It filtered through the homes and floated over fields. 

When the neighbors dispersed, Ida, carrying Rose, approached Bertie by the fence. Together, they waited in silence until Seth’s wagon arrived. Everything they had left was stowed in the back. 

Rose giggled when she saw Seth and reached out to him with her pudgy arms. He hugged her and turned to Bertie, a hesitant, hopeful smile on his lips.  

She cut off his attempt by screaming, “You’re just trying to bury me alive like Emma.” 

Seth shrank back, and his face whitened. 

Bertie climbed into the back of the wagon. A new feeling, as annoying as a housefly, danced in her head: regret. Emma had been Seth’s daughter and Bertie’s friend. But now, Emma was in heaven too. Was she up there being mean to Bertie’s dad?

“I’m sorry,” Bertie whispered. 

A few moments later, Seth climbed up, and the wagon lurched forward on its long journey. The sky was darkening when the wagon rolled to a stop. They must be near the underground home.  

Underground. 

Immediately, Bertie’s breath labored. Panic floated near the surface, trying to burst free. She had to run away, but nothing worked.

Seth sat down next to her but didn’t speak. Bertie resisted but eventually glanced at the quiet man next to her. He stared at the sunset for a moment before he spoke.

“Did you know I worked in the mines in Joplin?” 

Bertie shook her head.

“My Dad and I worked together. Then, one day, the mine collapsed. I was about your age. Dad died instantly, and debris trapped me for two days before I was rescued.” He glanced over at her.

A hand smaller than her dad’s but with the same comforting feel of callouses slid over hers. 

“I didn’t know till today we shared that fear, or I would have fixed it.”

“Fix it?” Would he build a new house?

“Bertie dear, your ma and me, we can’t bear losing anyone else. Your ma needs to feel safe. So, I found a way to make it work for both of us.”

He jumped down off the wagon and stood in front of her, his pale blue eyes rimmed in red.

“Just give it a try.”

Bertie leaned back and shook her head violently. “I can’t. I can’t be covered in dirt again.” 

Seth placed his hand on her shoulder.

“I promise you. If you can’t go inside, I’ll make a bed outdoors and watch over you until we figure something out.”

Hope cleared Bertie’s airway so she took a small breath as Seth helped her down from the wagon and turned her to face the house. 

She glanced quickly up at him. Seth’s house was not buried completely. It was built into the side of a softly rolling hill. The back and sides of the house were swallowed up by the dirt, but the front wasn’t buried. The front had windows.

“Think you can try?” he asked.

Bertie glanced at the man offering to be her dad. She slipped her hand into Seth’s. 

“Be brave, Bertie,” she said, taking a small step toward her new home.