Dakota Dawn (5 page)

Nora did not want to hear about the wagon, either.

“He’s a hard worker, that Carl. Einer, because he was so sick, had let the farm run down. But by the next year, Carl had painted the barns and even the house. I said Carl is a hard worker. Well, his Anna was, too. It was a shame they didn’t get more acquainted with the community. But they worked from dawn to dark.”

Ingeborg opened the creaky oven door and removed the top sheet, placing it off to the cool side of the range while she moved the bottom sheet to the upper rack.

“Oh, Ma, those look so good.” Mary and her three shadows lined up by the table, ogling the cookies as her mother lifted the fragrant goodies from the pan to the table.

“Wait until they cool a bit.” Ingeborg pushed away an inquisitive finger. “My, they do smell good, don’t they?” She sniffed appreciatively.

Nora agreed. The apple-cinnamon aroma filled the room. She dug a finger into the dough and, after putting the dab in her mouth, sucked her finger clean. She looked up, guilt evidenced in the heat coating her cheeks when she saw Ingeborg watching her. “I know, I’m setting a bad example for the children as my ma always said, but . . .”

“No buts, child. I usually can’t resist myself. But here, why don’t you try this instead?” She picked up a hot cookie and brought it over, along with the empty pan. “You eat this and I’ll finish.” She turned back to the table. “Go ahead, children. Just be careful you don’t burn yourselves.” The three did not need a second invitation.

“Thank you,” they chorused and joined James back on the quilt.

“No! No! He’s too little.” Nora flew across the room to scoop the baby up, safe from the cookie Kaaren was going to shove into his mouth.

The little girl burst into tears that turned into wails. “Ma-a-a. I want my ma.”

Realizing he did not know who the strange person was who had snatched him up, little James joined Kaaren, puckering up and letting loose with a wall-shaking howl.

Mary and Knute stared from one to the other, forgotten cookies clutched in their hands.

Ingeborg dropped the spoon of cookie dough and, in the process of spinning around to help Nora, bumped the cradle with her toe.

With both the noise and motion, Peder yowled almost before he awakened.

“There, there.” Nora tried to quiet the screaming baby in her arms with one hand and comfort the little girl with the other.

“Whatever is going on in here?” Reverend Moen stepped through the door. “I could hear the noise clear out to the street.”

Ingeborg gathered James from Nora and hid her laughing face in the baby’s chubby neck. James quieted immediately.

Mary patted Kaaren on the back, trying to comfort her but to no avail.

Nora looked from the little girl to the baby yelling in the cradle. Whom should she go to first? When Reverend Moen squatted down in front of the two little girls, Nora picked up the screaming infant. She put him up to her shoulder, joggling him and crooning comfort at the same time.

“What’s for supper?” John asked after calming Kaaren and picking her up. Together, they leaned over the fresh cookies on the table.

Nora and Ingeborg stared at each other—supper was not ready. Ingeborg threw her hands into the air and laughed. “Chicken and dumplings but, even with two cooks, it’ll be a while.”

“I can fix the dumplings since I can’t take care of this one’s needs.” Nora continued swaying with the still-snuffling baby.

“Good.” Ingeborg turned to her husband. “And, if you’ll take care of your young son here, we can proceed. Mary, why don’t you and Kaaren set the table?”

“Oh, the cookies.” Nora reached for a pot holder as she handed Ingeborg the baby. The smell of burning chased the cookie fragrance from the room. All the cookies on the back corner of the pan had changed from light brown to smoky black.

“I’m so sorry to burn—” Nora felt her cheeks flame again.

“Oh, well. The birds needed something to eat, too,” Mary said over her shoulder as she led Kaaren and Knute from the room.

Ingeborg chuckled. Nora bit her lip. John grinned from one woman to the other, his eyebrow arched above his right eye. Laughter filled the room and bounced off the darkened windows.

Just like home
, Nora thought.
Oh, how I’ve missed the laughter.

Ingeborg settled herself in the rocker and started to nurse the baby. She flipped the baby’s quilt over her shoulder and set the chair rocking.

John pulled out a chair and, after sitting down and bouncing James on his knee, reached across the table for another cookie. “How good to come home to such a happy place.” He took a bite of cookie and closed his eyes in bliss. “Now, if only I had a cup of coffee to wash this down.” He looked his young son in the eye, as if asking his opinion. “Wouldn’t that be about right?”

Nora leaped to grab a cup and fill it to the brim. If she wanted to hire out as a housekeeper or helper, she had better begin to anticipate what a man arriving home would want.

“I hope that is hot enough.” She placed it in front of him. She watched him with anxious eyes as he sipped then nodded. “Good. Now I start the dumplings.”

On her way back across the kitchen she stopped to check the fire and added more coal. After moving the cooking pot to the hotter part of the stove, she raised the cover and gave the contents a stir with the wooden spoon that rested in a saucer on the warming oven.

While she mixed and stirred the dumplings, Nora listened to the conversation between the pastor and his wife. Thanks to Ingeborg’s delightful descriptions, she recognized many of the people John talked about. The conclusion of both doctor and pastor: No one was available to nurse this new baby. Also, they had not talked to people about hiring Nora.

“Maybe tomorrow, after the funerals, I’ll have a better idea for you,” Reverend Moen told Nora. “In the meantime, we are grateful to have you here.”

“Especially since all I seem to be doing is feeding babies.” Ingeborg lifted baby Peder to her shoulder and patted his back.

Nora took her bowl to the stove and, after raising the lid of the steaming kettle, plopped the spoonfuls of dough onto the bubbling chicken. “There now.” She resisted the habit to taste her cooking and set the kettle farther back on the range so it would simmer.

That evening, after a dinner lightened with laughter, the family remained gathered around the table for the father to read from the Bible and lead family prayers. Nora relaxed against the back of her chair, caught up in the rhythm and beauty of the Beatitudes.

“Blessed are they . . .” The words rolled off Reverend Moen’s tongue and brought a lump to Nora’s throat. It was so easy to picture herself back home and pretend this was her father reading. “Blessed” was one of her mother’s favorite words.

Nora opened her eyes to lock herself into the present. These people—this family—were indeed the merciful. To take her in as they had and make her feel so much a part of them. “Thank you” hardly seemed sufficient for all the gratitude she felt.

When he prayed for Carl Detschman, she joined her thoughts and prayers with his. And for little Peder, sleeping so soundly and blissfully in the cradle at their feet. Kaaren nodded on Nora’s lap, as did Grace on Ingeborg’s. But, when the “Amen” came, all the little ones joined right in.

“I’m going to take Peder to bed with me so we can keep him warm enough. Nora, I’m sorry to ask this, but will there be room for Kaaren with you and Mary? Grace is still using the crib and I dislike making a pallet on the floor in case she throws off her covers.”

Nora hugged the little one on her lap even closer. “No, that will be just fine.”

“Come on, Kaaren, you get to sleep with me.” Mary bounced to the floor and, grabbing the little girl’s hand, dragged her up the stairs.

“Me, too,” Grace wailed, trying to scramble down from her father’s lap.

“All right, all right.” Ingeborg threw her hands over her head. “You go on up with the others.” After Grace trudged partway up the stairs, Ingeborg whispered, “We’ll bring her down to her crib after they all fall asleep.” She gave Knute an extra hug and sent him up after the others to his room across the hall. “I’ll be up in a bit for prayers.”

Nora rose to her feet and began clearing the table. “Maybe I should have Mary teach me English,” she said as she stacked the plates. “She switches between English and Norwegian like she’s speaking one language. I know the Bible says not to envy, but I wish I knew two languages like that.” She carried the dishes to the sink.

“Ja, and Kaaren speaks some German since her mother and father speak both languages. These little ones learn quickly.” Ingeborg dipped water from the reservoir to fill her dishpan. “Tomorrow, we’ll all begin teaching Nora English. You’ll help, too, won’t you, John?”

Reverend Moen looked up from his Bible and the papers beside it. “I’ll be happy to, after the two funerals.” He rubbed his forehead with the fingers of one hand. “So many we are losing. And this isn’t even what you’d call a bad year.”

“Did you talk with Carl again today?” Ingeborg crossed the room to rub her husband’s neck and shoulders.

“No. I asked Einer, who works down at the feedstore, if he could go out and let Carl’s neighbors know he needed help.” He leaned his head forward. “That feels so good.”

Nora took Ingeborg’s place at the sink and continued with the dishes. She bit her tongue against asking if she should go out and help Carl. When he came for the children, that would be the right time.

After they had shuffled all the sleeping children into the right beds, Nora studied the faces of the two girls sleeping together. Kaaren’s hair was darker, more like honey than towhead white like Mary’s. Freckles dotted Kaaren’s turned-up nose, and the trace of a tear still lingered on one pale cheek.

Poor little lamb,
Nora thought as she lifted the covers and slipped into the bed. So young to be left without a mother. No wonder she cried herself to sleep. Nora snuggled down into the feather bed and tucked the quilt around her shoulders so no cold air could sneak in.

How long would it take her to earn passage home to Norway? Could she be there by Midsummer’s Eve? At home she shared the bed with her sister Clara, not two little girls who looked enough alike to be sisters.

“Dear Lord,” she whispered, “please let Carl Detschman hire me so I can go home soon.” But her last thoughts were not of home. Instead, a tall, blond farmer walked through her dreams and the land he strode was flat.

By noon the next day, Nora had a headache. “You’re trying too hard.” Ingeborg patted the younger woman’s shoulder as she walked by. “You can’t learn to speak an entire new language in one day. Even with all of us helping you.”

“But I feel like . . . like as soon as I have a word locked in my head, it takes off like a lamb running from the barn up the hill after its mother.” Nora rubbed her aching head.

“Well, the table is set and dinner is all ready, so why don’t you sit down with a cup of coffee and close your eyes a few minutes? Both babies are sleeping and I’ll read a story to the others in the parlor.” Ingeborg suited actions to her words and left Nora sitting in the rocker in front of the stove.

Nora tipped her head forward, stretching the muscles as far as she could, then leaned it back against the rocker. With one foot she set the chair in motion. The hum of the fire and the creaking-rocker song were as soothing as a cold compress on her forehead.

The fragrance of bread, fresh from the oven, and the stew simmering on the stove, mingled with the bite of the lye soap with which they had washed diapers. Strung on a line behind the stove to dry, the diapers added their own peculiar odor.

The cat meowed at her feet then leaped up in her lap and arched its back against the palm of her hand before circling three times to find its comfort spot. As Nora stroked its back, the cat’s rumbling purr added harmony in bass to the kitchen quartet.

The drumbeat of her headache left her temples and escaped up the chimney pipe.

After several minutes of comfort, she heard boots scraping snow off on the step, then a fist knocking on the door. Nora swept the cat to the floor and rose to answer the summons.

Up close like this, Nora realized how tall Carl Detschman really stood. Even with the difference of the porch and house floors, he towered over her by nearly a head. Tongue-tied because she could not speak his language, Nora just stepped back and motioned him to enter.

At his “Guten tag, “Nora bobbed her head. She was amazed. It sounded so much like Norwegian. Would they really be able to communicate?

“Come in, come in.” Ingeborg and the children joined them at the door.

“Pa!” Kaaren threw herself into her father’s waiting arms. She locked both arms around his neck as if defying anyone to try to remove her.

Carl Detschman stood and took off his hat but refused to venture farther into the room. He pointed to his snowy boots and shook his head. “Is Reverend Moen here?”

“Any minute now,” Ingeborg shooshed the other children back. “He had another funeral this morning and then a call to make. How may I help you?”

“I . . . that is, Anna . . .”

“Ma? I want my ma!” Kaaren placed her hands on both sides of her father’s face and turned him to look at her. “Please, Pa.”

Nora did not need to speak English to understand what the little girl was saying—the look on Carl Detschman’s face said it all.

“Can you keep her . . . them . . . until after the funeral?” Carl asked after shushing his daughter.

“Of course. We’ll talk more then. But why don’t you come in and sit down to wait for Reverend Moen? What will you—”

“I can’t.” He drew himself straight, hugged his daughter, whispered in her ear, and handed her to Ingeborg. “I just can’t.” He turned and yanked open the door, the cold draft sending the women’s skirts back against their legs.

The look on his face imprinted itself on Nora’s mind.
Lost and angry. What a heavy burden
, she thought.

“Why didn’t they have both funerals this morning?” Nora asked after they had settled the children again. Kaaren sniffed back tears once in awhile—and hiccupped.

“Because Carl and Anna are German,” Ingeborg snapped, “and some people in this town are hateful.” She hid her mouth with the back of her fist. “Forgive me, I didn’t—I shouldn’t even think such things. But, much as Reverend Moen preaches to love thy neighbor, some people think that doesn’t include anyone who isn’t Norwegian.” She shook her head. “Sometimes, being the pastor’s wife isn’t easy, let alone being the pastor.”

“So, will anyone come to mourn with him?”

“Ja, a few.”

“Why don’t you go and I’ll stay here with the children? Just being with you is a comfort, and I know he needs that.”

“Ja, that is a good idea. Thank you.” Ingeborg used the edge of her apron to wipe something from the corner of her eye. “I should have fed Peder by then, and I won’t be gone long if James wakes up. Now I know how difficult it would be to feed twins.”

Everyone ate dinner with serious faces and little talking.

“Mary, you help Miss Johanson with the dishes,” Ingeborg reminded her daughter as they all rose from the table. “We won’t be gone very long and I’m depending on you to show what a helper you can be.”

“Yes, Ma.”

“We’ll bring Carl back for coffee and maybe others who attend the funeral. So would you please set out the coffee and cookies?” Ingeborg pressed a forefinger against her lips. “I have some
søtsuppe
in the pie safe also. You could bring that in and thaw it out over the stove. That, warmed, will taste good.”

“Oh, I haven’t had that for so long.” Nora continued to clear the table. “My mother uses all kinds of fruit in hers.”

“And we have cream to pour on top.” Ingeborg lifted her black wool coat from the wooden coat tree and pinned on her black veiled hat while standing in front of the minor. “Now, you children be good for Miss Johanson.” She bent and kissed each one, including Kaaren. Then, waving her fingers, she went out the door.

When Kaaren started to fill up with tears again, Nora lifted the little girl in her arms and spun her around. Laughing together, they all trooped into the kitchen. She handed each of the children a dish towel and as she washed each dish and cup, she handed them one at a time, to each child. Mary led the game of naming every item in English with Nora repeating the word each time. After the dishes were done, they continued the game by naming things around the room. When Nora forgot the word for table, they chorused it together; when she remembered stove and oven, they cheered.

After setting the table again and finishing the preparations for company, Nora sank down into the chair and, lifting Grace to one knee and Kaaren to the other, gathered Mary and Knute as close as she could.
Oye
was eye and
toyebiyn
, eyebrow. The game continued just like teaching a baby he had a nose and mouth.

They were all laughing over nothing when the door opened with a blast of cold air.

“But you must have some help,” Reverend Moen was saying as they stamped snow off their feet and entered the house. “You can’t take care of all your livestock and the children, too. How will you manage?”

“I don’t know. I . . .”

“Here, now. See how nicely Nora has prepared things for us. Let’s just sit down to eat and talk things over.” Ingeborg helped the younger man off with his coat and hung it up with her own. “You can’t go off without something warm in your belly.”

Nora flew to set the coffeepot on the table and dish up the
søtsuppe
. Mary carried the cream pitcher and set it in front of her father.

“Pa!” Kaaren attached herself like a limpet to her father’s leg.

“Is no one else coming?” Nora asked Ingeborg in a voice only they could hear.

Ingeborg shook her head. “It was getting late and they needed to get home before dark.”

Nora finished the comment in her mind.
Or so they said,
whoever “they” were.

“Why don’t you leave the children here for a few more days,” Reverend Moen suggested after everyone was served. “Peder is getting stronger, but we haven’t found a wet nurse for him, yet. And Kaaren is doing fine here. What do you say, son?”

Carl glanced over at Ingeborg as if asking her permission.

“Ja,” she said with a nod. “I feel that is best, too.”

“I appreciate what you are doing, but I—”

“No buts, then. It is settled.” John clapped a hand on Carl’s shoulder.

Nora refilled the coffee cups and wished she knew for sure what they were saying. In a moment of silence, she took all of her courage in hand and announced, “I could go out to help Mr. Detschman with the house and the children. If we get Peder to take a bottle, there wouldn’t be any problem.” She stopped to look at the Moens’ faces, took a deep breath and continued. “You said there wasn’t anyone else and . . . and this way I could earn my passage money back home . . . to Norway . . . that is . . . if Mr. Detschman can afford . . . ah . . .” This time she could not pick up the words again.

“Certainly not!” Reverend Moen shook his head. “Why he couldn’t—you couldn’t—”

“What he means to say is that you’re not married,” Ingeborg interposed softly, “and if you, as an unmarried woman, went out to work for Carl, your reputation would be ruined. No one would ever marry you.”

“But . . . but . . .”

“Thank you, Miss Johanson.” Carl answered after Reverend Moen translated the conversation for him. “But they are correct.”

Nora tried to remember the good reasons she had thought of earlier but, in the face of their unified disapproval, she fell silent. She had thought things might be different here in the new country, but the old customs still held sway.

“I just thought this might be a way out of a difficult situation for both of us.” She raised her chin and sat up even straighter. “I need work and you need a worker.” She thought she saw a ghost of a smile soften his mouth and eyes, but she must have been mistaken—when she looked again, the glacier had taken over his eyes and voice.

“I thank you for all your kindnesses. I’ll return on Sunday for church and to pick up the children, if that will be all right.” Carl whispered in his daughter’s ear and set Kaaren down on her feet. When she clung to him, he gently disengaged her fingers. “I’ll see you on Sunday and then we’ll go home,” he promised.

“Thank you again, Miss Johanson.” He nodded in her direction and, after shaking hands and thanking the others, he shrugged into his wool coat and bent over to plant a kiss on his daughter’s wet cheek. “You be a big girl now.”

“Pa!” The forlorn child leaned her head against the door after it closed after him. “Ma-a-a. I want Ma.”

Ingeborg scooped the whimpering child up into her arms. “Your ma has gone to live with Jesus in heaven, little one.” She kissed away the tears and crooned soft words until Kaaren quit crying.

He never even looked at the baby,
Nora thought, as she and Mary cleared the table.
And I still think mine was a good idea.

Up in her room that night, before falling to sleep, Nora carefully penned a letter to her family. When she told them about Hans’s passing away, she did not mention the lies. She described the trip and the Moens. And said she would be looking for work.

She fell asleep thinking of eyes the blue of a glacier ice cave, shimmering in the sun. But the eyes were so sad as to bring tears to her own.

Saturday, the entire house had to be cleaned and the food prepared for Sunday. Nora and Ingeborg worked with a rhythm that showed how close they had become. The naming game continued with new words thrown in to make sentences.

“This is a table,” Nora said as she waxed the shiny surface. Kaaren and Mary clapped their hands. “This is a chair.” Big smiles. “This is a . . .”

“Rug,” the girls chimed. “This is a rug.”

“And it needs to be shaken. Take it out on the back porch,” Ingeborg told her daughter. The two little girls picked up the corners and carried the woven rag rug out the back.

Nora raised her hands in the air and shrugged.

Late in the afternoon, Ingeborg sat nursing baby Peder and Nora had the children gathered around her, telling them a story of trolls. Even Kaaren laughed at the funny faces and voices Nora used for each character. When the story was finished, Nora hugged each of them and set the two littlest girls off her lap.

“You will make a wonderful mother,” Ingeborg said after the children trooped off to play. “You are so good with the little ones. And what a help you’ve been to me. I’m spoiled already.”

“Thank you. You make me feel like one of the family.”

They rocked in companionable silence. Little Peder burped once into the stillness and continued his soft nursing noises.

“What will happen to Carl?” Nora finally asked, softly. “How will he manage?” She knew she should refer to the man as Mr. Detschman, but he could only be Carl in her mind.

“I don’t know.” Ingeborg leaned her head against the back of the rocker and stared up at the ceiling. “He has family in Minnesota, but he doesn’t think any of them can help. His sister is still too young to come out here and the others all have families of their own.”

“What about a bottle for Peder?”

“We’ll start him on that tonight. I wanted to give him as much breast milk as possible.” She lifted the baby to her shoulder and rubbed his back. “Since he’s so much stronger now, I think he’ll be all right.”

“Then I can feed him.” Nora looked across the dimming light to her friend in the other chair.

“That you can. He’ll have two bottle-feedings before we go to bed and then I’ll nurse him in the middle of the night.” She chuckled softly. “God certainly knew what He was doing when He created mothers and babies. This one is such a love.” She trailed a finger across the baby’s closed fist. Her sigh seemed to come from deep within her heart. “I love babies so.” She kissed the baby’s cheek and looked up. “Here, you hold him for a while and I’ll get the supper going.”

Nora accepted the bundled infant and settled him into her arms, like Ingeborg had done in her arms. She watched the baby’s eyelids flutter and the perfect little mouth pucker and relax. “He is so beautiful.” How could one do anything but whisper in the face of such a miracle?

Several hours later, she felt the same awe but only more so when she got the baby to take a bottle. While he fussed at first, he finally sucked on the nipple and settled down to feed. Nora felt like she had climbed the highest mountain near the farm at home.

Sometime later, in the middle of the darkest night, Nora awoke to the sniffling and tears of Kaaren, crying for her mother. Nora gathered the sobbing child into her arms. With hands of love, she brushed the straggles of hair from Kaaren’s face and wiped away the tears.