Rattlesnake Courage!

By Jeanne W. Pittman

The oiled-paper windows of the cabin were barely light when Clarinda awoke. Back in their beautiful New York home she would have snuggled deeper into the warm featherbed and slept on until Mother came to gently tease her awake. Then she would have run happily downstairs for a breakfast of ham, eggs, and hot biscuits with butter and honey. Never would her stomach have growled with hunger as it did now.

But that was a year ago, before there were so many things to be afraid of. Everything was different now. Hot tears pushed at her eyelids.

“You must be braver than that, Clarinda,” her father would say if he could see her now. “You can’t let your fears control you. Courage is what it takes.”

But that was the problem. She had no courage.

Beside her, Elizabeth and Baby Sarah stirred in their sleep. Pushing the quilts aside, Clarinda leaned over and peered under the bed, listening carefully. She heard nothing, not even her brother Jeremiah behind his corner curtain.

With the warmth of spring, rattlesnakes had suddenly appeared throughout the settlement. Sister Andersen had even found one on her table. Clarinda shuddered at the thought. She feared snakes more than wolves or Indians. When she was certain that nothing slithered beneath her bed, she stepped onto the hardpacked dirt floor. Shaking her clothes to get rid of any creepy-crawly things, she dressed, moved quietly to the fireplace, and stirred up the fire.

She was measuring the last of their cornmeal into the kettle when a loud rattling sound made her scream and jump aside.

“If I’d really been a snake,” laughed Jeremiah, tossing Sarah’s gourd rattle at her, “you’d be bit for sure, jumping like that.”

Clarinda ducked her head in shame as she felt a hot flush spreading across her face.

“Did you hear the wolves last night?” Jeremiah teased. “Sounded like they were right outside the door.”

When she didn’t answer he bent and kissed the top of her head. “You’ve got to find some courage somewhere, Clarinda,” he said gently. “It eats your insides to be so full of fear.”

“You want some breakfast?” Her voice was calm, but inside she ached with crying that hadn’t come out yet.

“No, thanks, it’s my turn at guard duty,” Jeremiah answered. “Besides,” he added, looking into the boiling kettle, “there’s not enough.”

“I’m not hungry. I’ll go without,” protested his sister.

Jeremiah shook his head. “We all did too much of that this winter. But don’t you fret. Pa’ll be back with supplies any day now. In the meantime, I’ll wash off some more roots and eat them.”

Clarinda followed him as he shouldered his rifle and unlatched the door. “Courage, little sister,” he urged. “The Lord will protect us.”

She sighed as she relatched the door securely behind him. In her heart she knew the Lord would protect them, but her mind couldn’t seem to shake loose the fears. It isn’t fair. Why does Jeremiah have all the courage while I have none? she wondered. Isn’t there some way that courage can be shared?

Bending, she rearranged the coarse rope stretched across the doorway. She had heard that snakes wouldn’t crawl over a scratchy rope. “It had better work,” she murmured.

The rest of the morning Clarinda was too busy to worry about her fears. She dressed and fed Sarah and Elizabeth, scoured the kettle and bowls with rushes from the lake, swept the dirt floor, cleaned the hearth, chopped more roots for a watery stew, and three times replaced the rope that Elizabeth kept dragging away from the door. She even became brave enough to open the door for some fresh air while she shook the bed quilts.

Clarinda’s family had left a beautiful home and struggled across the plains for this—a cold dirt-floored cabin. They had nearly starved to death during the long winter. Her mother, like so many others, had died from the hardships. Now, there was fear of Indians—and snakes!

Clarinda shivered. “Are you afraid?” Elizabeth asked.

“Of course, I’m afraid! Who wouldn’t be?” Clarinda grumbled.

“Heavenly Father loves me. I’m not afraid,” said Elizabeth softly.

Clarinda flung herself on the bed. Even her little sister had more courage than she did. When she finally stopped crying, Elizabeth was gone and Sarah was crawling toward the open doorway.

Frantic with fear, Clarinda grabbed Sarah, put her on a quilt in the corner of the cabin to play with her gourd rattle, and dashed outside. “Elizabeth!” Her throat felt so pinched she could hardly call out. “Please come play with me. I’m lonely.” Earnestly she prayed, “Heavenly Father, please let me find her before the Indians or the snakes do.”

Even before she said amen, Elizabeth’s head appeared around the corner of the cabin. “Here I am. I was hiding!” she giggled.

Clarinda was too thankful to scold her. “Come keep Sarah and me company, and I’ll fix you some lunch.”

Inside, Clarinda carefully latched the door and replaced the rope. Sarah still gurgled happily on her quilt. The sound of her rattle filled the cabin. But then Clarinda froze—there were two rattling sounds. One was Sarah’s gourd, but the other … she fought back the scream in her throat. Curled on the floor in front of Sarah was a huge rattlesnake.

She shoved Elizabeth across the room, away from the snake.

“Elizabeth, climb onto Jeremiah’s bed quickly!”

Even as she spoke, Clarinda moved quietly to the hearth and grabbed the fire poker. She would have only one chance. If she missed, the snake would strike Sarah.

Silently, she prayed for courage and a good aim as she swung the heavy poker … again and again. At last, she carried the lifeless snake, dangling from the poker, to the doorway and flung it outside, almost in Jeremiah’s face.

“What … ? How … ?” Jeremiah stood in the doorway, pale and shaken.

Clarinda was still trembling, but somehow she didn’t feel quite so afraid anymore. “I found some courage,” she murmured.

Jeremiah put his arm around her shoulder and held her close. “I knew you would, little sister,” he said quietly. “I knew you would.”

Illustrated by Glen Edwards