The Moonlight Oasis

Chapter 1 The Nielsen Family Homestead No matter how many winters she would spend in Wisconsin, Abby Nielsen would never get used to the brutal chill. It seeped in through the leaky walls of the old farmhouse she had never seen until she was an a young mother. She swung her feet over the side of the bed and knocked Whitman, Hughes, and Ginsberg to the floor, disrupting her only bedmates of the last sixteen years. The backs of her knees kissed the cold iron frame and sent an unwelcome shiver up her spine. Thankful for falling asleep with her socks on, she stepped into yesterday’s stained jeans and pulled up. Jeans weren’t meant for washing anyhow, she thought amusedly. Her eyes fell on a photograph from when she thought clean clothes actually meant something, but she shook off the memory with another shiver. Maybe this would be the year she’d finally clear out and line the bedroom fireplace’s chimney. “Sophia?” she croaked. Her voice refused to cooperate with the cold this morning. Clearing her throat, she called again. “Sophia, time to get up!” She heard a moan and roll-over through the thin walls. A few more minutes couldn’t hurt anyone anyhow. It’s hard to miss the bus when your mom is the one driving it. Her thick twice-darned wool socks muffled the sound of her steps on the bare yellow pine floor. The bemoaning floor may have made a lesser woman feel shame, but Abby couldn’t be bothered with wondering if excess weight was the reason for the creak. Her only thought was to get the ladder out and shim the offending board from the first floor this weekend. Besides, a few pounds in the winter meant the cold couldn’t get to her bones as easily. She stopped at Sophia’s door and knocked. “Let’s go peanut butter, time to hit it.” Another groan, then the sound of feet hitting the floor. The entire house was filled with protest, from the roots to the rafters.  “You want ski breakfast this morning?” Abby asked the door.  “No Mom, it’s making me fat.”  “You’re out of your mind. Yogurt it is then.” Abby padded down the steps, hearing each creak of the wideplank steps. The black paint was wearing thin, and the wood began to show through where feet had fallen for over a hundred years. Passing sepia-toned snapshots of family she had barely known, she stepped into the kitchen and pulled down a bagged loaf of homemade bread. Outside the kitchen window, the snow was just barely sparkling in the darkness. After popping a few slices in the toaster, pouring a glass of chocolate milk for the stove and opening Sophia’s yogurt, she pulled on her big heavy boots and grabbed a cup of rock salt.  Last night’s sprinkling was just enough that she’d need to ensure her footing to the barn.  These days, the barn held a different kind of horsepower than when her grandmother ran things. Grandma Betty had always taken in older horses as a favor to those who couldn’t afford them; Appaloosa, Thouroughbred, even a nineteen-hand Clydesdale named Omar after her favorite film star. And that was in addition to the alpaca, the pigs, and of course, the remnants of a once-giant herd of Holsteins for great-grandpa Matt’s dairy business. The big red barn was now home to 362 horsepower, not counting the two rusty John Deeres. Those horses powered a new model Bluebird Vision, and Abby was responsible for scooping nearly sixty kids each day for a long haul to three different schools in the district. It was still farm country out here, even though the suburbs were encroaching. She was sure that Sophia detested the early departure, but luckily her school load was such that an early bus ride meant more reading time. Straight A’s all but guaranteed Sophia a spot at the top of her class. Abby primed and started up the Bluebird, then slipped and slid her way back to the house. Darkness was still on the horizon, to be expected in the dead of a Midwestern winter.  Sophia had put a log on the kitchen fire, stoking last night’s bank into a nice healthy glow. She peeled the top off her yogurt and sat at the kitchen table with an older dog-eared book. Abby peered over her daughter’s thin shoulder, eyebrows raised.  “Pride and Prejuidice again, huh? Didn’t get enough of the Bennett sisters and their meddling mother yet?” Sophia nodded, not taking her eyes from the page.  The toast popped up and Abby caught it in mid-air. The move used to delight Sophia, even as recently as last year. But turning sixteen meant being mortified with most things, especially a mother’s antics. It would stand that mortification could only increase with a seventeenth birthday just around the corner. Suppressing her sigh, Abby poured her hot chocolate into a mug and spread peanut butter on her toast before sitting opposed her daughter at the well-worn kitchen table. “You sure you don’t want even a half a slice?” Sophia looked up. “Mom, peanut butter makes you fat. Hot chocolate makes you fat. And I don’t want to get fat.” “Sophia, honey, you’re barely a hundred pounds soaking wet. Besides, you need to fuel up. And it’s your favorite, chunky peanut butter…” Abby wagged the toast in her general direction. “Mom, oh my God, please.” Her mouth may have said no, but Sophia’s big round eyes betrayed her mouth. Abby remembered when she would beg for “ski breakfast”, or peanut butter toast dipped into hot chocolate.  “Ok, more for me then.” Abby dipped her toast into the creamy hot chocolate and took a big bite. “Mmmmm, that’s good toast.” Sophia looked down at her book, then back at her mom. She reached across the table for half a slice while Abby slid the steaming mug of chocolate over towards her daughter, filling a need that was bigger than morning hunger. Abby knew her days with Sophia sharing her breakfast were numbered. She understood that in about a year and a half, she’d be saying goodbye to her girl, whether it was dropping her at a dorm or sending her out to see the world. Sophia made no secret about her desire to get out of their little “s**t town”, and had saved nearly every penny she’d ever earned to fly to Europe or pay for her education. Abby had saved hard too - she knew that whatever Sophia wanted to do could be afforded. But it wasn’t the money that scared her - it was the freedom. Abby shook off her memories that threatened to come rolling in with the chill. “Alright peanut butter, whaddya say? Probably time to hit the icy trail.” Abby scooped up her keys, her lunch box, and her copy of North and South - A Cold Spring. Maybe reading Elizabeth Bishop’s familiar words over lunch would remind her that warmer weather wasn’t impossible, just currently unimaginable.  The two women, one very young and one still young, bundled up against the harsh Wisconsin wind and walked quickly to the barn.