It was a day like the day before and the day after. The wind wrapped itself around the sod cabin in gusting moans as the pioneer family within carried out their tasks pretending not to hear. They heard the wind, however. It had been their constant companion on the open plains since their journey from Philadelphia two years before in the spring of 1865.
Now Rachel sat on the bed hand-stitching a quilt while her mother hunched over a sewing machine across the room. The thumping counterpointed the wind outside. Laughter and giggling erupted from Rachel's younger brother and sister playing jacks on the floor. Rachel felt that her parents worked too hard. They rarely had fun or relaxation like they had enjoyed in Philadelphia. Her mother prepared meals on a wood-stoked stove, did the laundry on a washboard, baked flatbread and sewed clothes to trade for goods in town. Rachel remembered her mother singing and telling stories at one time, but that was before she had begun complaining about the wind and the dirt and the mud. Eventually she had stopped complaining, but she had stopped singing, too.
The door swung open and it was Rachel's father. Entering in a puff of dust, he coughed and wiped his forehead. "Mighty hot day out there."
"Well, I've got ale for you and flatbread too," replied his wife.
"I know. I could smell it from outside. Smelled so good I came in early. What else have you all been up to?"
"Rachel's done with her quilt."
Rachel's father turned to look as his older daughter proudly showed off her masterpiece. It was a cheerful blooming of color with stitches outlining the squares.
"That's a mighty fine piece of work," he nodded. "How 'bout us going into town this Saturday. You can show off your quilt, your mother can take her flatbread, and I've got a bushel of onions ready."
The young children whooped excitedly. The 20-mile trip to town in the buckboard was a once-a-month affair to which everyone in the family looked forward.
The town of Wausa, Nebraska was a mix of old and new buildings with wood plank sidewalks. In one of the newer buildings was the general store. Guarding the door was a wooden Indian and next to it hung a bird cage. The family stopped for a moment to look at the yellow bird inside.
When they stepped into the store it was a universe all its own. There was the scent of wood and soap and spice. While her brother and sister explored the store and her parents spoke with the grocer, Rachel wandered back outside to look at the bird.
So bright a yellow it was a miniature piece of the sun in that dusty place. It hopped from perch to perch. Suddenly a shadow passed over the girl and startled, she looked up to see a Sioux Indian brave. Her heart beat faster. But this Indian was as fascinated by the bird as Rachel. He stared intently and then said something she couldn't understand. Seeing her puzzled face he repeated in English, "It listens to the wind."
Before Rachel could think about what he had said, the Indian turned and walked away.
At that moment the little bird lifted its head, swelled its chest, and sang out a joyous trill. Rachel saw her mother's face light up with delight.
Rachel traded her quilt for the canary and never regretted it. Sir Gallant, they called him because he did battle with the wind. The louder the wind the more loudly he sang. Sir Gallant lifted their spirits.
Rachel thought about what the Indian had said. She'd heard the wind but unlike the canary she'd never listened to it. Now when she tried she could hear music in the moaning. She began humming the sounds she heard. "That's a pretty tune," her mother commented one day. Soon she, too, began humming.
One afternoon the younger daughter Mary noticed the canary sitting motionless on his perch. "Is Sir Gallant sick?" she asked in alarm.
"No. It's just a dark day outside," her mother reassured her.
The younger children accepted this explanation but not Rachel. She knew that while Sir Gallant stopped singing from time to time, he had always hopped about his cage. She went to the door and looked outside. It was deathly quiet. She saw the outline of her father with the two oxen in the north field and at the same time she saw black thunderclouds stacked high into the sky.
The Indian's words echoed in her mind. "It listens to the wind."
Rachel thought about Sir Gallant's odd behavior and the angry thunderclouds. Straining to hear, she caught a faint rumbling.
Suddenly Rachel knew. She absolutely knew they were in danger. "Mom," she shouted. "It's a tornado!"
Immediately Mary and Michael began screaming as their mother gathered them up and, along with Sir Gallant, rushed outside to the root cellar. The mother yelled to Rachel to warn her father.
Rachel took off running across the field shouting and waving her arms. "What's wrong?" he yelled.
"Tornado."
"I don't see anything," he said, searching the horizon.
"No! There's no time. Listen!" Rachel was close to hysterical. Finally able to hear the rumbling he jumped to action. Releasing the oxen, he grabbed Rachel's arm and they began to run.
By the time they reached the sod cabin, the tornado was visible, rain drenched their bodies and a thunderous roaring pounded the air.
The tornado lasted only minutes. When the family emerged from their shelter they were relieved to find their sod cabin intact. The loss of crops would make things more difficult, but they felt blessed to be alive. They also felt divine intervention had come in the form of a little yellow bird.
Epilogue
The woman stood in the door of the attic and sighed. Attracted to an old sewing machine with a foot treadle, she opened the top drawer. Amidst the buttons and needles was a tiny bundle of lace neatly tied with ribbon. Curious, she picked it up and unwrapped it. To her surprise she found she was unfolding the burial cloth of a canary, its body long ago dried up but carefully preserved. Holding it in her right hand she stared, perplexed, and quite unconsciously put her left hand over her heart.