Dakota Dawn (8 page)

The dog, barking outside, drew her to the window in time to see a horse and sleigh pulling to a stop in front of the door. Who could be calling?

Nora looked around the room. Dishes were still on the table; diapers were simmering on the stove; there was nothing in the house to serve with the coffee; her hair was not combed; the children were sick. She looked down at her dirty apron. What would they think of her?

While she took off her apron with one hand, Nora tried, with the other hand, to tuck some loose strands of hair up into her braids. She had finished neither when the knock sounded on the door. Reaching out with a trembling hand, Nora turned the glass knob.

“Oh, Ingeborg, I—a-a-achooo.” The sneeze blew so hard it plugged her ears. She reached to get her handkerchief from her apron pocket, but the apron was dangling over the back of a chair.
“Cub ind.”
She tried to smile but instead, at the sight of a smiling, friendly face, Nora collapsed into tears. She shut the door, groped in the pocket of the apron, then, in desperation, held the entire apron to her face.

“Oh, my dear, my dear. You look done in. How long have you been sick? How are the children?” All the while she murmured soothing sounds, Ingeborg patted Nora’s heaving shoulders.

Kaaren stood, wide-eyed, in the center of the tumbled room.

“Here, now. You sit down in this chair and I’ll get you a cup of coffee.” Ingeborg pushed Nora down onto the chair. On her way to the cupboard, she removed her hat. With two cups of coffee in hand, she sat down in the chair next to Nora. “Now, tell me all that’s happened.” As Nora talked, Ingeborg removed her heavy wool coat and beckoned for Kaaren to come sit on her lap.

Nora poured out her miseries—the baby’s eating every two hours, the colds, and, because of the coughing, her fear of the fever.

“And what about Carl?” Ingeborg smoothed the strands of hair off Nora’s flushed, hot face.

“Him? I never see him. Only at mealtime. He never says anything. Only scolds me when Kaaren does not speak English.”

“Me say ‘
Uff da.
’” Kaaren nodded solemnly.

“Oh, you sweetie.” Ingeborg hugged the child and kissed her cheek. “I could eat you up.”

Kaaren smiled until a cough choked her.

“Well, I know what you need.” Ingeborg stroked Nora’s arm. “Bed. You wash your face and go crawl into bed. I can stay until late afternoon. I think some rest without worrying is what Dr. Harmon would order.”

“Are you sure?” Nora croaked around the lump in her throat.

“I’m sure.” Ingeborg slid Kaaren to the floor and then stood up. She took Nora’s hand and pulled her upright. “Go, now.”

“Peder . . . ?”

“I can see where you have things. We’ll do fine. Now, go.” Nora did not need to be told a third time. She poured water from the reservoir into a basin, washed her face and hands, and stumbled into the bedroom. She took time to put on her nightgown and then crawled under the covers.

“Thank you, Lord,” she mumbled before sleep claimed her.

The next thing Nora heard was a woman’s voice singing. She blinked her eyes, wondering where she was. And who was that singing? She lifted her head and looked around the now-familiar room. What was she doing in bed at this time of day? She lay back down, her eyelids too heavy to hold open.

Next, she heard a baby crying. “Peder, I’m coming.” She sat up and pushed back the covers. This time she felt awake. This time she remembered that Ingeborg had come to visit—and she was sleeping away their precious minutes together.

“Just in time for a cup of fresh coffee.” Ingeborg greeted Nora’s entrance into the kitchen with a wide smile. “You sit right here,” she pointed to the rocker, “and we can talk some before I have to leave.”

“Kaaren and Peder?”

“Both sleeping. You’re right about that little one. He does not eat much at a time but he wants his bottle every two hours.” She handed Nora the steaming cup. “Maybe it’s the cow’s milk that does not agree with him. Carl says he cries a lot.”

“How would he know?” Nora felt ashamed as soon as she had said the words.

“Tell me, dear, how are things between you and Carl?”

At the kind words, Nora swallowed back the tears that threatened to flow. She rubbed a finger around the rim of her cup. “He won’t even look at little Peder. He hardly talks to Kaaren but then, when could he? He’s never in the house. I do not know where he keeps himself all the time. Has a lot to do down at the barn, I suppose.”

She leaned back in her rocking chair and, with a push, started the soothing rhythm. “Ingeborg, what am I to do?”

“Well, one thing I know. The only thing worse than a stubborn Norwegian is a hardheaded German. Right now, I’d say the man is grieving for his young wife and angry at God for taking her.” Ingeborg sighed. “I think death is harder for our men than for us. They feel helpless, like they failed. And what can anyone do?”

“Ummm.”

“Give him time and love.”

Nora stopped the rocking with a thump. “Love? Remember the agreement? I’m going back to Norway as soon as I can.”

“Now, now. I’m talking about the kind of love God asks us to give any suffering being. You have an abundance of that kind of love. I’ve seen it in all you do.”

“Oh.” Nora again pushed with her toe.

“Can you do that?” The question came softly.

Nora aimed a halfhearted smile at her friend. “It would be easier if he were around more.”

“True. But perhaps that will change.” Ingeborg pulled herself to her feet. “Well, supper is in the oven and the bread will have to go in pretty soon. I hung some of the diapers outside so they can freeze overnight.”

“How can I ever thank you enough?”

Ingeborg took both their cups to the sink. “Just get better. Everything else will work out in God’s good time.”

The dog barking and a jingle from a harness announced a visitor.

“That must be my John now. He wanted to visit some of the members that live out in the country and that’s why I could come today.”

“How ashamed I am. I never even asked how you came to be here.”

Ingeborg smiled and patted Nora’s cheek. “Let’s just give God the thanks that He brought me here for you.”

After Reverend Moen and Ingeborg left, the special glow that Nora felt around her heart remained. What a good friend she had. The special feeling stayed through the suppertime and after feeding Peder. Carl even played with Kaaren before Nora put the little one to bed. When she came out of the bedroom, he was sitting at the table, reading in the lamplight.

He cleared his throat. “Nora.” His voice broke. He cleared his throat again. “Would it be possible that I teach you English? Here . . . in the evening? When you get to feeling better?”

The break came a week later. Nora felt like she had been given a priceless gift. Peder slept for four straight hours in the afternoon and again that night. And he smiled at her when she bathed him. This little round face with the button nose that was usually screwed up in either anger or pain, now opened its mouth and let the sides flutter upwards.

Nora lost her heart. She felt it wing from her chest and join with the baby’s. She dried him, between each precious little finger and toe, all the while murmuring love words and praising him when the smile came again, broader this time.

Nora wanted to tell someone. Kaaren? No, she was asleep in a much-needed nap. Carl? He should be the person to rejoice in his son’s first smile. But he was out working on the farm someplace—who knew where—and, to this day he had never even peeked into the baby’s cradle. He never asked about the mite or even said the baby’s name.

She would have to settle for writing to her mother as soon as Peder fell back asleep. Her mother would understand the joy Nora felt. It was as if this little life were her very own. Her son. Her Peder.

Nora put a hand to her heart. A pain stabbed at the thought. No, she was only the housekeeper and, in only a few months, she would be returning to Norway. Another would see Peder crawl and take his first step. Carl would marry again and his new wife would take over the care of this home and this family.

The words she said to herself made so much sense. After all, they were the truth and the plan Carl had proposed. Why then did they hurt so much?

That night, when Nora and Carl sat down at the table for the English lesson, Nora found it difficult to concentrate.

First, Carl laid their earlier lessons on the table and they reviewed them. Then, she wrote something in Norwegian and, after making sure he understood what she wanted, Carl wrote the English word beside it. Then, he read it to her. She read the words and they repeated them until she said them correctly.

After the lesson, Nora gathered her courage. “Peder smiled at me today,” she said slowly as she wrote the words in Norwegian.

Carl took the paper, read the words, and wrote them in English. After he said them in English, he waited for Nora’s response. There was no smile, no change in inflection. Nothing.

Uff da,
Nora thought. What an impossible man. She repeated the words aloud, but now they were just words—the magic she had felt with Peder’s first baby smile was missing.

Why?
Nora wanted to scream at him.
What is the matter with you?
But, instead she watched his hand. The hairs on the back of his hand glinted white in the golden glow of the lamp. They were strong hands with long fingers and hard calluses. How would they feel . . . ?

“Nora.” The tone snapped impatience.

“Ah, ja?”

“The lesson? If you do not want to continue, just tell me. I have other things I could be doing.”

She lifted her gaze to his.

Eyes stern, he repeated his words. “Peder smiled at me today.”

“Ja, and his father might try the same,” Nora said in Norwegian as she shoved back her chair and rose to her feet. She finished in English. “Good night, Mr. Detschman.”

As she swept into the bedroom, she thought she heard a chuckle behind her, but she refused to turn and see. No, she shook her head; it must have been the wind.

The next morning, after waking only once during the night to feed the baby, Nora felt more like herself than she had for weeks. She had diapers washed and hung out before breakfast. There was a johnnycake baking in the oven, and Kaaren was giggling at Nora’s funny faces.

When Carl walked in the door with a basket of eggs in one hand and a jug of milk in the other, Nora greeted him with a sunny smile. “Good morning, Carl. Would you care for your coffee now?” She spoke in English.

He brushed past her to set the eggs and milk in the sink and grunted.

No “Thank you.” No “Congratulations.” Not even a smile. Nora knew just how Kaaren felt whenever she stamped her foot. Only now she would prefer having a certain large, booted foot underneath her stamping. His grunt must have meant yes.

When she wrote to her mother that morning, Nora had a hard time thinking of anything good to say about her employer. She corrected her thoughts—“her husband.” What a joke!

So, instead, she told them of March in North Dakota, of the Moens, about Peder’s smiles, and Kaaren’s antics. She did not write about the weeks of walking the floor and wiping runny noses; of no one to talk to; of the ache in her heart for Norway and home; of a little girl who cried at night for the mother that would never return. Of Carl . . . she said nothing.

A few days later, Nora woke to the sound of dripping water. She slipped out of bed, picked up her wrapper, and, while shoving her arms into the sleeves, went to stand at the window. Dawn had just cracked the dark gray of the eastern sky, tinting the clouds with a promise of gold. The icicles, hanging in dagger points from the roof, now dripped onto the snowbanks below.

Nora cupped her hands around her elbows. She could see the cottonwood trees bending before a wind, a warm wind—if her ears really heard dripping water. The chinook had arrived. Carl had told her about the warm wind that came unannounced from nowhere and melted the snow away. Spring was coming to North Dakota.

That morning, she hurried about her chores. Maybe for a change she could wrap up Peder and take the children for a walk down to the barn. She was so tired of staying cooped up in the house.

“Today, I’ll be free,” she sang to Peder as she fed him. After all, they were all healthy again. And the fresh air would do them good.

“I’ll be going to Soldahl today,” Carl announced at the breakfast table. “If you have your letter ready, I will mail it for you.”

Nora nodded. She held her breath. Maybe he would ask her and the children to go with him. She watched as he ate his mush with rapid bites. The toast disappeared the same way. Nothing was said about their going.

“Carl, I . . .” Her words stumbled to a halt. She should not have to ask.

“Ja?”

“Ahh, nothing.” She handed him her letter. “Thank you.”

She and Kaaren waved in the window, but he never even turned his head. With a fluid motion, he stepped up into the wagon-turned-sleigh and flicked the reins. The harness jingled into the distance.

“Silly goose,” Nora told herself. “What difference does it make if he is here or gone to town? You do not see him anyway.” But the heavy feeling hung over her shoulders like the wooden yoke she used to carry two buckets of water to the garden.

While washing the dishes, she stared out the window. The sun still shone, the warm wind tickled the trees—nothing had changed. When she put the last cup away, the thought hit her.
You wanted Carl to show you around his farm.
She nearly dropped the cup.

“Who needs him!” She hung the dish towel over the line behind the stove. “Come along, Kaaren. We’re going down to the barn.”

“See cows?” Kaaren scrambled to her feet. “Horse?” She ran to pull her coat off the rack. “Pa’s barn?”

“Ja, little one. Pa’s barn. You must wait for me. We have to get Peder ready, too.”

By the time they were all dressed and out the door, Nora could hardly keep from running down the carefully shoveled path. She wanted to fling herself into the snow and teach Kaaren how to make snow angels. Brownie, the cocoa-and-white fluffy dog, picked up on her exuberance and bounded over the snow, his tongue lolling. His sharp barks made Kaaren laugh, then made Nora laugh, then set a big black crow cawing from the top of the windmill.

“Bird.” Kaaren pointed toward the sky.

“Ja, this is a bird.” Nora agreed. “A—what is it called in English?”
Oh well
, she shifted Peder into her other arm and guided Kaaren before her.
On to the barn.

Nora inhaled deeply when they stepped through the door into the barn’s dim interior. She stood for a moment, letting the aromas wash over her. Cow and hay, grain and horses, manure, leather, all the odors so familiar, be they American or Norwegian.

One of the red-and-white shorthorn cows turned her head in her stanchion and lowed at the newcomers. Nora counted four milking cows. Walking farther, she saw the horse stalls. Overhead, a cat meowed and peered down through the open hayloft door.

The animals and barn showed Carl’s good care. The manure had been forked out, hay was in the mangers, and the aisles were swept clean. Even with their dense winter coats, the cows showed evidence of having been brushed and curried. Harnesses hung in perfect order on pegs in the wall. Nothing was out of place.

Nora put the bundled baby down onto a pile of hay and, taking Kaaren by the hand, walked up to the first cow. “So-o, boss,” she murmured to reassure the cow who turned friendly eyes their way.

She reached through the boards of the stanchion and scratched the cow under the chin.

“See, Kaaren, this is how cows like to be petted.” She took the little girl’s hand and together they rubbed the cow’s silky throat. The cow stretched her nose way out, the better to enjoy the caress. Squatting in the straw, cheek to cheek with her charge, Kaaren and Nora giggled together as the cow closed her friendly brown eyes in appreciation.

A bay gelding nickered when they came to his stall. He turned his head, pulling against the rope tied to his halter.

Nora looked around and saw the wooden grain bins against one wall. Together, she and Kaaren lifted a slanted lid to see the golden oats half filling the bin. Nora pulled her mittens off and scooped out a handful of the grain. “For the horse.” Grain clenched in her fist, she motioned Kaaren to stand still while she eased her way past the horse’s huge body to reach his head.

The horse lipped the grain from her hand and whiskered her palm, begging for more. Nora smoothed his forelock and rubbed under the halter behind his black-fringed ears. “Oh, you beautiful thing, you. You must be lonely with your friends gone. I wonder what your name is.” All the while she talked, she rubbed and stroked. When she inhaled, the smell of horse reminded her again of home. Some things stayed the same, everywhere.

Sure now that the animal was gentle, she went back out and, taking Kaaren in her arms, brought her up to pat the horse, too. Her big hand guided the little one.

“Pa’s horse.” Kaaren giggled when the animal blew in her face. She wrapped her arm around the back of Nora’s neck and leaned against her, cheek to cheek.

Peder began to whimper on his hay nest, so Nora gave the horse one last pat and left the stall. Down the aisle she found another stall, this one with two white hogs. She lifted Kaaren up to see over the wall.

“Pa’s pigs,” Kaaren announced.

By the time Nora picked Peder up again, he had switched from whimper to demand. “Hush, now. We’ll go feed you, but you must be patient.” They left the barn and dropped the bar into place behind them.

The windmill squeaked and turned in the wind above the low building that must be the well house. Off to the side of the barn other buildings waited to be explored, but Nora walked quickly between the snowbanks. Peder had been so good he deserved to eat right away.

Under the onslaught of the chinook, the snow quickly melted. Nora watched the calendar as Easter approached. One day after serving fried pork chops for dinner, she made a decision.

“Carl.”

He stopped drinking his coffee and looked at her over the rim of his coffee cup.

“Is Easter soon?”

He nodded.

“We go to church?” Nora hated to stumble over her words, but she knew he wanted her to speak English whenever she could.

He pushed his chair back and set the cup carefully down on the table. Jaw tight, he grabbed his coat and strode out the door.

“That must mean ‘No.’” She stared after him. At least he could have answered. She had said the words right—hadn’t she?

In spite of the thundercloud that seemed to have taken up permanent residence on Carl’s forehead, Nora went ahead with her spring housecleaning. Her home must be shiny clean for the risen Christ. Laundry danced on the clothesline, rugs took their beating without a murmur, windows sparkled and welcomed their clean curtains.

On Saturday, while Carl was in town, she poured water into the washtub in front of the stove and, after giving Kaaren a bath, took one herself. She left the tub of water for Carl to use and disappeared into the bedroom with the children.

The next morning, the tub was gone. Nora wished Carl had rinsed away that stern look when he had washed his hair.

“Christ is risen, He is risen indeed.” Nora whispered the words to the sun on Easter morning. “Thank You, Father, for loving us and sending Your Son to die. And rise again. He is risen.”

When she thought of missing church, the organ, and the hymns, the joy of Easter dimmed. So, Nora refused to let the thoughts of what she was missing bother her.

Instead, in her mind, she repeated the words over and over,
Jesus Christ is risen today.
Even Carl’s scowl when Kaaren spilled her milk failed to drown out Nora’s inner chorus.

That evening after supper, Nora and Kaaren sat at the table reading a schoolbook Carl had brought back from town. Nora read the English slowly, but Kaaren did not mind. She pointed a chubby finger at the pictures, naming each object. When she got bored, she slid to the floor and ambled off to the bedroom. A few minutes later, she came back, dragging her doll. She pulled on Nora’s skirt. “Ma.”

Nora felt her stomach fall clear to her knees. She focused hard on her book, hoping and praying that Carl had not heard. She scooped Kaaren up onto her lap. But the deed was done. She did not have to turn to see his face—his thudding footsteps on the stairs told her what he was thinking.

Kaaren put her tiny palm on top of the book, now closed, on the table. “Ma’s book.”

“Auntie Nora’s book.” She covered the small hand with her own.

Kaaren shook her head. She peered up at Nora with eyes the blue of a summer lake. “Ma’s book.”

With a shaking hand, Nora pressed the dear little head to her chest. What would she do about this latest folly? Did Carl think she taught Kaaren to say that? Didn’t he know that she would never do such a thing? She leaned her cheek on the top of Kaaren’s head. But then, what did Carl really know of her at all?