Dakota December and Dakota Destiny (9 page)

A smile touched the corners of Gudrun’s mouth. “Why not? There is plenty of room and you have certainly made yourself useful. I can see you helping Mrs. Hanson more as she suffers from the lumbago at times. And I believe I know of a man here in town who will come courting as soon as you give the word.”

Johanna could feel the blood leave her face. Suddenly she felt lightheaded. “That can never be.” Even she could hear the stark despair in the simple words. She shook her head and studied the recent needle prick on the side of her thumb.

“Johanna, I know there are things from your past you want, you need, to keep to yourself. Once I heard Reverend Moen say that a sorrow shared is cut in half. Let me help you with your burden.”

“I can’t.” Johanna shook her head again, slowly as if it were too heavy to move. “I simply cannot.”

“They’re finished.” Johanna set the last of the flatirons back on the stove.

Clara traced the cross embroidered in gold thread on the set of white cloths. “I was beginning to wonder if we’d make it before Easter. I know Gudrun hoped to present them in time for the Easter services.” She looked over at Johanna. “What a lot of stitches.” She raised a much-punctured finger in the air. “And I have the holes to prove it.”

Johanna looked at her own hands. She’d taken to putting goose grease on them at night to keep them soft. But her hands this winter were a far cry from usual. Without cows to milk and floors to scrub, her hands had the look and softness of one no longer used to heavy labor. Hardening them up again would take some doing.

“Let’s call Gudrun so she can see them before we pack them all up again. I’ll put the coffeepot on and you go get her.”

“What about Mrs. Hanson?”

“She went to the store and then planned to stop and visit with one of the church ladies.” She glanced out the window. “I hope she gets back before the snow starts again. I was hoping this was the real thaw and not just a teaser.”

“It’s too early for that.”

“I know, but I want to get out in the garden and bring cut flowers into the house. You should see that front entry when I have a big bouquet of lilacs or roses on the table, reflecting in the mirror. When I was in Norway, I never dreamed of flowers like the ones that grow here. And when I don’t have to do all the spading and weeding, it makes them even more pleasurable.” She rattled the grate and added several pieces of split wood to the coals. “Wait until you see our garden out in the back. Dag said I could add more roses this year and I’m looking for a yellow one. I love roses, don’t you?”

Johanna nodded. The only roses she’d ever had were the wild ones she cut by the road and they never lasted long in the house. Best they be left to grow into hips for making tea in the winter. “I’ll go call Gudrun.”

How do I tell her I will not be here to see the rose’s bloom, to smell the lilacs? Perhaps there will be lilacs where I am going?

She took in a deep breath and let it all out on a puff. If only she knew where she was going. Probably as far west as the wagon and the horse would go. When they stopped, she would too, and hope to heaven there was a place for her to work or land to homestead. She’d heard there were still sections to homestead in parts of South Dakota or on the western edge of North Dakota.

She tapped on the office door.

“Come in.”

Johanna pushed the door open to see Mrs. Norgaard down on the floor on her hands and knees, helping Henry build a tower out of the odd-shaped pieces of wood that Caleb had carefully cut and sanded. When he gave the boy the box, Henry’s eyes lit up like the forge in full spate.

“Well, I never.”

Gudrun leaned back against the chair and straightened her skirts. “You caught us in the act, didn’t she, Henry?” Like everyone, she included Henry in her talking as if he carried on a conversation like all the others.

Henry’s smile wreathed his face when he pointed to the intricate edifice they had constructed, including even the chair leg in their plans.

Johanna knelt down and peered inside. “That is a mighty fine building.”

“It is a church. We just ran out of lumber for the steeple, didn’t we, son?” Gudrun staggered to her feet with a groan and a dusting of hands. “Been too long since I’ve been down on the floor for anything.” She reached over to give Henry a hand. “Come along, I’m sure you and Sam will be able to put away a cookie or two.” The dog wagged his tail from his place in front of the crackling fireplace.

Barely able to contain her laughter Johanna followed behind the three as they marched out the door. No one outside this family would believe her if she announced Mrs. Norgaard had been building with blocks. But then, she’d never tell. This would be another of the memories she was storing up for the dry spell ahead.

“Wait until you hear the news.” Mrs. Hanson came through the back door like she’d been blown in by a blizzard. “Oh, my land.” Her voice softened when she caught sight of the paraments for the altar spread around her kitchen. “If that ain’t the purtiest. Wait ‘til the reverend sees this.” She fingered the gold fringe tied so carefully on the ends of the pieces. “If that ain’t to beat all.” Dabbing at a tear that had gathered at the corner of her eye, she looked up to catch Gudrun’s smile. “This will do you proud, that’s for sure.”

Johanna and Clara opened the box they’d been saving for just such a time as this. With tissue paper between each piece, they laid them all in the box, color by color, ending with the purple since that would be used first. When they closed the reinforced carton, Mrs. Hanson took a string and tied it around both ways several times.

“Just in case. Be a shame to get anything so fine, dirty, even by accident.” She clasped her hands over her heart. “I know God will be glad to see His house fancied up with these for Easter.”

“I think He’s more concerned about the state of our hearts, but we won’t argue the point.” Gudrun took a place at the table. “Now, I heard there were cookies for a starving boy and perhaps even his old friend. What do you say, Henry?”

They were sitting around the table enjoying the cookies and coffee when Mrs. Hanson slapped her hands on the table. “Oh, in all the excitement, I forgot to tell you my news. Miss Sharon is getting married and moving to Montana and wants to sell her shop. All I could think was what a perfect place that would be for you, Johanna.”

“Me? But I have no money to buy a business.” Johanna coughed on a cookie crumb that stuck in her throat. “What an outlandish idea.”

“I think it is a fine idea.” Gudrun set her cup back down precisely in the groove of the saucer. “I know this must be an answer to our prayers.”

“Whose prayers?” Johanna’s voice squeaked on the last word.

“Mine and Clara’s. And I know you’ve been praying for help too but you haven’t shared what you wish with the rest of us. Johanna, we only want what is best for you, but I must confess my selfishness in wanting you to remain in Soldahl.”

“And mine.” Mrs. Hanson beamed from one to the other. “I just knew this was the most perfect thing. Not that Miss Sharon won’t be missed, but you will be able to stay here.”

“I don’t have any money to buy a business.”
Even if I could stay here,
she thought desperately.

“That can be worked out, I’m sure.” Gudrun turned back to Mrs. Hanson. “Did you find out when she is planning on leaving?”

“Of course. She hopes to be gone by Easter. If she hasn’t found a buyer by then, she will just pack it up and take the merchandise with her. She said the bank owns the building anyway, but then I ’spect you know that already.”

Gudrun nodded. “The bank holds the note. Ernest Hopstead gave her the loan on my say-so, what, seven years ago, and since then she’s renewed the loan to buy more supplies. I hate to see her walk away from her investment like that without recompense.”

“Well, she has stars in her eyes for sure. She thought she was long past marrying age and here that drummer just whisked her off her feet. She said he’s saved up enough to start a horse and cattle ranch with his brother in Montana.”

Johanna listened to the conversation eddying around her. Was this her chance? Had God really heard her prayers and was now answering?

She remembered the night of the blizzard that blew them to Sheriff Stenesrude’s doorstep. Seemed she’d been praying nonstop since long before the wagon got caught in the drift. And once they mounted that old nag, she’d pounded the gates of heaven for sure. She hadn’t dared take a better horse . . . She stopped the memories before her friends could read anything on her face.

“I would love to be able to stay in Soldahl but I just don’t think it is possible.” She watched Henry’s shoulders slump.
I know, son, if there were only a way.

Looking up, she caught Gudrun’s stare over the tops of her glasses, a look that penetrated to the bone. The desire to tell the truth welled up and could only be capped with a supreme act of determination, the same determination that had kept them on the horse when the wind tried to blow them clear to Texas.

“Well, we will have to discuss this later.” Gudrun laid a hand on Henry’s shoulder and smiled down into his upturned face. “Henry, would you be so good as to fetch my shawl? I left it on the back of the chair in my office.” When the boy slid from his chair and darted out of the room, she turned back to the others. “I believe this is better discussed without him present. Now, Johanna, I know how happy you are here, it is evident in your face and bearing, besides in the wonderful stitching you do. I believe your owning that business would make a fine addition to the life of Soldahl and you all know that is something near and dear to my heart. If you feel you can remain here, we will work out some kind of terms for you to purchase that business. Miss Sharon has a nice little home in the back of the shop and there is a fenced yard and pasture beyond that.”

Henry appeared in the doorway without a shawl.

“Oh, I’m sorry, child, I must have left it on the end of my bed.” Henry darted away again and they could hear Sam’s toenails clicking on the newly waxed floor.

“Wouldn’t you at least like to go look at it?” Gudrun asked with a gentle smile.

Oh, if you only knew.
The thought of having a shop like that of her own was a dream come true. Could it really happen? Was she safe here? Soldahl wasn’t really on a road to anywhere. Would he look here? If he were looking. Had God answered another prayer and protected them from his wrath by sending him elsewhere? How long could she go on living this lie? Or was it a lie? She’d never told them she was a widow.
But you let them assume that,
she scolded herself silently. If only that gentle little voice would be quiet.

She drew herself up straight, as if pulling her feet out of mud. “I would indeed like to go look at the shop. If you think it possible for me to make our living there, then it is worth looking into.”

“Thanks be to God.” Mrs. Hanson breathed the prayer on a sigh. Henry trotted into the room and handed Mrs. Norgaard her shawl of soft rose wool.

“Thank you, dear boy. Here, would you please help me put it on?” With his assistance, the shawl rested around her shoulders and somehow her arm found its way around his waist. He leaned against her, one hand smoothing the softness of the wool.

Johanna sighed. What a bundle of conflicting feelings she had stuffed in her heart. But she knew she’d made a wise decision. Henry needed the love and attention he received from these dear people like the spring soil needed rain and sun. Even if they were forced to flee again, he would always have this time to remember. As would she.

“When do you suppose we could go look at it, the shop, I mean?”

“The weather is somewhat inclement for me today.” Gudrun glanced out the window. “But I see no reason why you and Clara could not go. Mrs. Hanson and I will keep the children here until you return. Please ask Miss Sharon to make an inventory of the supplies she has in stock and an estimation of what she would like for those materials. I will ask Ernest at the bank what he values the building at and the amount of the loan remaining.”

A wail could be heard from the nursery upstairs.

“There is Angel. I will go feed her and then change into something warmer.”

“I will be ready by then too.” Clara leaped to her feet. “This is so wonderful.”

“I will have a couple of notes written for you to deliver.” Gudrun rose to her feet also. “Henry, I do believe Mrs. Hanson needs some wood carried in from the porch to her woodbox. What do you think?”

Johanna left the kitchen as Henry hit the door to the porch running. “You better put a coat on,” she threw over her shoulder, knowing that Mrs. Hanson would never let the boy go outside without one. They all took such good care of him and made him feel important by asking him to help. How blessed they were.

A peaceful quiet filled the nursery as she settled Angel against her. The baby rooted around, making snorting noises that turned to the song of suckling. Her deep blue eyes fastened on those of her mother and a gently curled fist found its way to the curve of her mother’s body.

Johanna felt the clutch in her throat that came so often in this moment. The rocking chair creaked its song, with the brush of her foot against the rug as a counterpoint. The creak and swish lulled both her and the babe.

The sound of the front door opening jerked her fully awake. If they were to call on Miss Sharon, she’d best hurry. Rising to her feet, she heard the sound of Caleb’s voice teasing Mrs. Hanson.

Please don’t tell him what we’re thinking of doing.
The thought caught her by surprise. “Why ever not?” she whispered to Angel as she laid the baby back in her cradle. But deep inside, she knew the answer. Perhaps she could live in Soldahl, but she could never allow her feelings for the sheriff to be known.

“Oh, my.”

“What is it? Don’t you like it?” Clara turned to the woman following her into Miss Sharon’s dressmaking shop. A bell over the door announced their arrival.

“Oh, no, I mean, that’s not it at all.” Pausing at the first shelf of materials, Johanna stroked the bolt of emerald green velvet with just the tip of her finger, as if a firmer caress might make it disappear. Matching laces and ribbons vied for attention beside the velvet; to the right lay bolts of fine wool, both gabardine and worsted. Hat frames hung on pegs along the upper wall, while summer dimities, calicos, and ginghams invited her perusal on another wall. The jewel tones of the silks took her breath away.

“May I help you?” A woman brushed aside the curtain covering the door to what Johanna supposed was the workroom and the living quarters. With light brown hair coiled in a no-nonsense bun, lively brown eyes, and a slightly red nose that twitched mischievously, Miss Sharon reminded one of a friendly field mouse. “Why, Mrs. Weinlander, how nice to see you.”

“Thank you, Miss Sharon. I’d like you to meet my friend, Mrs. Carlson.”

The mouse twittered. “Oh, you’re the mother of the darling baby who played Jesus at the pageant how is she and you I hear you are a wonder with a needle and thread we have so much in common won’t you come sit down so we can visit or is there something that you need here in the shop?”

Johanna felt like she needed to gasp for air. Did the woman never stop to breathe? Which of those questions should she answer first?

“Oh, excuse me, I know I get a bit carried away at times. How is it I can help you?”

“We’ve come to talk with you about your shop.” Clara included Johanna with a glance. “Mrs. Hanson said you are looking to sell.”

Miss Sharon gestured for them to follow her. “That I am, so let’s sit where we can talk comfortably, then I will show you around.”

Johanna looked at Clara to get a wink in return.

“She takes a bit of getting used to,” Clara whispered as she led the way behind the shop owner.

“Uff da.”
Johanna spoke for Clara’s ears alone.

A broad cutting table and a sewing machine proclaimed the room they entered to be the workroom. Miss Sharon beckoned them through another curtained doorway, into a cheery kitchen and parlor all rolled into one. A red and white checked cloth covered the square oak table and matching cushions the seats of the ladder-backed chairs. Curtains of the same bright fabric at the windows made even this gray day bright. Braided rugs on the floor, a tabby cat snoozing in front of the cast-iron stove, and a teakettle whispering on the back burner all said “home” to Johanna.

“I’ve the teapot hot if you would like to join me for a cup of tea. I’ve been so busy I haven’t taken time for a setdown all day.”

“You have new orders then?” Clara took one of the chairs at the table.

“Landsakes, all of a sudden everyone wants new Easter dresses and they didn’t say anything until I announced that I was leaving.” Miss Sharon bustled about her kitchen, measuring tea leaves into a china pot and setting out cups. “I thought to make me a new dress for the wedding but George, have you met George Drummond, he’s my fiance.” She said the word with obvious delight. “He says he don’t want me to spend more time here than necessary. He’s ready to leave for Montana, the sooner the better. I thought to having a close-out sale but if I can sell the shop and my business together, someone else will be all set. I’ve made a good living here and the people of Soldahl much appreciate someone knowing style and fine sewing. Even though Mrs. Jacobson over at the Mercantile carries ready-made now and you can order from the Sears and Roebuck catalogue, when the women want something special, they come to me.”

“I heard you had to hire a helper.” Clara accepted the cup of tea with a smile. “Thank you, this is such a treat.”

“I did, and I was hoping she might take over here but at the suggestion of that, she ran like a scared rabbit. Guess she was afraid I was going to head out at night and leave her with all the work or something.” She lifted her cup and sniffed the aroma. “Nothing like a nice cup of tea on an afternoon, I always say. Coffee is for morning and tea for afternoon.” She pushed ajar across the table. “Here’s honey if you like a dollop of sweetness.”

Johanna sipped her tea, wishing she could be in the other rooms, going through all the drawers from the smallest that might hold buttons to the large bins for fabric bolts. She wanted to touch each bolt of fabric and run her fingers over the feather boa draped over the dressmaker’s form in the corner.

The bell tinkled out in the shop.

“I’ll be right back. Probably someone to pick up their order.” Miss Sharon bounced to her feet and out the door.

“Oh, the look on your face.” Clara leaned forward so she could talk softly.

“Am I so obvious?” Johanna shook her head. “She is amazing.”

“That she is and in a hurry to leave for Montana. You could finish all those dresses as well as she can.”

Johanna sighed and shook her head. “Clara, I know you have a heart of gold but I cannot afford a place like this, all the lovely materials and such. And the banker here, he doesn’t know me from Eve to give me a loan and . . .”

“Just you leave those worries up to Gudrun. She still owns that bank and . . .”

“Gudrun owns the bank?”

“Ja, didn’t you know? When her husband died, she kept the controlling ownership and the manager, Mr. Hopstead, owns the rest. She thought that way he would be more inclined to manage it well. Not that he wouldn’t anyway, you understand, but he’d been Horace’s second in command and it just seemed fitting.”

Johanna sank against the back of the chair. “No wonder she knows so much of what goes on around here.”

“She knows a lot more than she ever lets on or shares with the rest of us. When someone confides in Gudrun Norgaard, you know your secret is safe with her. Your business will never be discussed over the back fences like some others I know.” Clara bobbed her head for emphasis.

“There now, where were we?” Miss Sharon set the curtains to flapping on her way back in.

“I think we would like you to show us around a bit more, there are bedrooms upstairs, is that right?”

“And a bit of a barn out back. I used to keep a horse but finally decided I didn’t need one. Everyone comes to me if they need sewing done.” She crossed to a door to the back. “Here, I’ll show you the pantry first.”

Dusk shadowed the land by the time the two women walked up the street to the Norgaard mansion. A gas lamp outside the front door welcomed them home and the smell of supper cooking greeted their entry. Henry threw himself against his mother’s skirts.

“Here, let me take off my coat first.” Johanna patted his shoulder and cupped his cheeks in her hands. “What’s this I see, I think someone had a cup of cocoa.” He tried to lick the evidence off, the tip of his tongue doing its best. Johanna took his hand after hanging up her outer things. “Come, let’s go wash you up and then I think I hear Angel crying. Has she been good? Have you?”

He nodded and tugged on her hand. In the kitchen Mrs. Norgaard sat in the rocking chair by the newly blackened stove and held the baby flat on her back resting on her knees between the woman’s two arms. Angel appeared to be hanging on every word the old woman whispered and sang.

Johanna stopped in the doorway to better appreciate the scene until Angel tightened her face and whimpered. Her mother knew that whimper would soon turn to a squall if not interrupted quickly. “Here, I will take her. Thank you for watching her.”

“So long it has been since these old arms held such a beautiful infant as Angel.” Gudrun handed up the baby with a sigh. “It seems like a lifetime ago since my Harold was that size, if he ever were.”

Johanna paused. For some reason she’d thought Mrs. Norgaard had never had children.

“Yes, he died of the influenza the year he was three and the good Lord never saw fit to bless us with another.” A shadow hovered in her faded blue eyes. “I still sometimes wonder why.”

“That’s so’s you’d have time for all the other children you’ve helped and the families who bless you every night for one good thing or another. You treat the whole town of Soldahl as your family—and half the countryside.” Mrs. Hanson leaned over to check the chicken she had roasting in the oven. Her face flamed red from the heat of the open door.

“Ja, that is true.” Clara joined them, a sheaf of papers in one hand. “Here are the papers you wanted from Miss Sharon. She said she knew a buyer would want them so she had them all ready.” Clara handed them to Gudrun with a smile. “I think you’ll be pleased. I know we were quite taken with the shop, weren’t we, Johanna?”

Angel’s fussing was escalating with each passing minute. Though her mother tried soothing her, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, Angel would have none of it.

“I need to go feed her, then we can talk.” She fled up the stairs to the nursery and settled into the rocking chair. Once the baby was happily nursing, she let her mind roam back to what she had seen. The well-stocked shop, the house just big enough for her and her children, a fenced backyard for them to play in, even a tree where she could hang a swing. There was a pasture for the horse and a cow, if she should want one. Miss Sharon had talked about the garden plot buried under the snow and the lilacs bordering the fence.

The desire to make a home in this place filled her, and her heart ached with longing. Never in her entire life had she felt such peace as within the walls of this house and she knew she could carry that feeling over to Miss Sharon’s shop. Couldn’t she? Could she leave her other life behind forever, could she close the door on the senseless brutality? To those who asked, couldn’t she say she was a widow? Perhaps Mr. Carlson died in the blizzard or of an illness, an accident? So often she’d wished him dead.

Was it so wrong to want a new life? To provide a safe home for her children?

She stroked Angel’s rounded cheek. “Oh, child, you have no idea what your life could have been. Do I dare stop here? Will we be safe? Can I—we—live a lie?”

She ignored the voice of her conscience whispering in her ear and, after rocking Angel to sleep, she lay the baby in the cradle and made her way back down the stairs. She could hear people talking in the parlor so she turned in through the double doors and paused.

Caleb and Dag were leaning against the fireplace mantel, deep in a discussion over something upon which they did not agree. They were enjoying every moment of the argument. Caleb pounded one fist in the palm of the other hand for emphasis. Dag threw back his head, laughing and shaking his head at the same time.

Sitting close together on the horsehair sofa, Mrs. Norgaard and Clara had their heads together over some papers in the lamplight.

Mrs. Hanson nodded to Johanna as she brought in a tray with cups of coffee. “Supper will be ready in a few minutes but I thought you might like these for starters.” She set the tray down on the coffee table and picked up a plate of melted cheese on tiny squares of toasted bread and began passing it around.

Caleb saw Johanna when he turned to accept one of the appetizers. The smile that broke over his face made her heart leap in response. As he crossed the room to her, she had to smile back, it was only polite after all, and besides, her face refused to do anything else.

“How is our Angel today?” Such a simple question and he asked it every time they met.

“Sleeping now but she’ll be awake again after supper.” Perhaps he really did come only to see the children.

“Good, good.”

When had he taken her hand? How could the warmth of one man’s hand signify peace and another’s spell only hate? Or rage. She shivered at the thought.

“Can I get you a shawl or something? Surely there is a draft here, come over by the fire.”

When she tried to withdraw her hand, he tugged it instead and led her toward the fire. “No, no, I am fine.”

Dag obligingly moved over. “Here, I am sorry for hogging the warmth. You’d think I’d get my fill of fire with the forge and all but on a cold night like tonight, nothing feels better than a crackling fireplace, even though the furnace heats the house.”

Johanna took the place they offered her, right in the middle. The two tall and broad-shouldered men made her feel tiny—and safe. She took the coffee cup Caleb handed her and sipped, closing her eyes in bliss. With the fire warming her back and the coffee her insides, she still felt his undeniable warmth even though they were not close enough to be touching. At the mention of Miss Sharon, Johanna rejoined the conversation.

“The shop appears to be financially stable, with sufficient inventory and fairly low overhead,” Mrs. Norgaard was saying. “I’d be sorry for Soldahl to lose a business such as this. Our women need nice things without having to go to Fargo or Grand Forks.”

“What’s wrong with the Sears and Roebuck Catalogue?” Caleb pointed to his shirt. “Seems good enough to me, I wear their clothes all the time.”

“So do a lot of other people and not only clothes but household goods and even farm machinery. They are providing a fine service, but . . .” Gudrun looked over her glasses. “If we all bought from the catalogue, we wouldn’t need any businesses in Soldahl. All we’d have would be a post office, a train station, and a grain elevator.” Her tart reply made the men chuckle.

“And a bank?” Caleb winked at Johanna.

The teasing and laughter between these good friends still seemed strange to her. There had been so little levity in her life. She had yet to join in; she could never think of anything to say.

“Now the saloon, that is what really draws the farmers and the ranchers in. We couldn’t do without a saloon.”

“I suppose you’d like for Johanna to open one of those?” Eyes flashed behind the glasses.

“No, no, just stating a fact.” Caleb raised his hands in mock surrender. “You are right, the dressmaking shop is important to the well-being of the residents of Soldahl and the surrounding countryside.”

“Quit your funnin’ and come and eat.” Mrs. Hanson ordered from the doorway. “Henry and I be waiting for you.”