Dakota Dream (3 page)

“I’ll take those.” Clara nodded at the egg basket. “After we see the cows.”

Nora shook her head and started up the path.

Hand in hand, Clara and Kaaren meandered from the watering trough where the cows stood head to swishing tail, to the pen where the big black-and-white sow came to beg for bits of grass, to the corral where the work team dozed in the sun.

“Your pa is a good farmer,” Clara said, admiring the tight fences and healthy-looking livestock.

“Pa’s gone to town.” The finger went back into the little girl’s mouth. Kaaren switched from English to German to Norwegian, depending on whatever word she wanted.

“Let’s run.” Clara tugged on her hand. Together, the two of them dashed up the path, through the gate, and bounded up the porch steps, Clara lifting her by-now-giggling-charge up the three stairs. She swung the little girl up in her arms and whirled her around before hugging her close and kissing her rosy cheek. “You’re good enough to eat.” Clara nibbled on the squirming little girl’s neck.

Laughing and giggling they entered the house and removed their coats. When Clara picked Kaaren up so she could hang up her wrap, the little girl wrapped one arm around her aunt’s neck after placing her coat on the hook.

“I see you’ve made friends.” Nora set a plate of cookies on the table. “Wash your hands while I pour the coffee.” She shifted the baby in her arm to the other side. He grinned and waved a chubby hand when Clara chucked him under his double chin.

With each holding a child on her lap, the two sisters dunked their cookies in their coffee and smiled at each other across the checkered red-and-white oilcloth table cover.

“I wasn’t sure this would ever happen.” Nora’s look encompassed the entire scene.

“I know.” Clara held her coffee cup steady while Kaaren dunked her cookie, too. “If it hadn’t been for that letter, who knows how long it would’ve been?”

“Surely Carl will know who it is when he comes back. He went in to talk with Reverend Moen about having our wedding on Sunday right after services.”

“How will you get ready?”

“There’s not so much.” A pink tinge brightened her cheeks. “Oh, Clara, he—my Carl—he is such a good man. God is surely good to me.”

“And to him. Look how you have cared for his children and—”

“But he had much sadness.”

A silence fell and Clara reached out to cover her sister’s hand with her own. “But now there will be much happiness. And I am here to make sure this marriage is done right. This time you will wear your
bunad
and sit for a portrait so we can send one home to Mor and Far.”

“And maybe soon we will celebrate a wedding for you.”

Clara shook her head. “When we find my mystery man. You don’t suppose something has happened to him—”

“Like with my Hans, you mean?”

Clara nodded. “To come so far like you did and your man had just died.” She shuddered, as if a goose had just walked across her grave. “I don’t know how you—” She shuddered again.

“As Mor says, ‘We will give God the glory,’ ja?”

“Ja, that we will.” She rested her chin on the head of the little one against her breast.
And maybe one day, I’ll have lambs like these.
Clara kept the thought in her heart. She had to find her man first.

When Carl returned from town, he shook his head over the picture. “No, I don’t know this man, but maybe Reverend Moen will. He knows everyone for six townships.”

“Or perhaps Ingeborg will?” Nora finished putting the last of the supper on the table. “Let’s eat and you can tell all about your trip at the same time.”

After bowing their heads for grace, Nora dished up the plates, set them in front of her family and then she sat down.

Carl turned to her, a twinkle in his eyes. “Reverend Moen said he’d be delighted to remarry us on Sunday since the first one didn’t seem to take.”

“Carl.” Nora blushed and pushed at his arm. “You know that’s not the reason.”

He covered her hand with his. “So you say. And Ingeborg invited us all for dinner afterward.”

“Did you ask her what we could bring?”

Carl nodded. “And she said, ‘Just yourselves.’ This is to be her wedding gift to us.” He took a bite of the pork chop smothered in applesauce on his plate. “Oh.” He waved his fork for emphasis. “She said you are not to worry about a thing. New brides have too much on their minds already.”

Clara watched the byplay between Carl and Nora. The tint creeping up her sister’s neck was most becoming. How pleasant it was to watch someone with the love light shining so brightly in their own eyes, they needn’t light the lamps. She felt a lump lodge in her throat.

“Auntie Clara.”

“Ja, what is it?” She bent over to listen more closely to the whisper.

“Are you going to stay forever?” Kaaren stared up with eyes dark in the lamplight.

Clara felt the lump melt and begin to burn behind her eyelids. This little girl had already lost more than any child should when her mother died. “I don’t know how long forever is, but I plan on being around a long, long time.” Her whisper seemed to be just what Kaaren needed to hear as the smile that brightened her face more than matched those exchanged by the two other adults at the table

Kaaren’s pigtails bobbed, she nodded so emphatically. “Good.”

How long is long, Lord?
Clara prayed that night after helping tuck Kaaren into bed and cleaning up the kitchen. Nora had set cooked cornmeal into loaf pans to fry for breakfast and started yeast rising for bread baking. How different it was watching her sister do the things their mother had always done.
Am I ready, Father?
Her prayer continued.
I know Your hand has been leading me, but now . . . what has happened?
She shoved the niggling worries down and slammed a door on them. God wouldn’t have brought her all the way to America without a purpose in mind. Would He?

But doubting was a sin . . . wasn’t it? He did bring her . . . didn’t He?

The thought of the man with curly hair flashed across her mind. Along with her mother’s admonition, “Handsome is as handsome does.” Clara had never understood what that meant.

The man was certainly handsome wherever he was. Whoever he was. What should she do with the doubts? “Father, forgive me. Help me believe . . . and trust.”

“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, I now pronounce you man and wife.” Reverend Moen closed his prayer book and nodded at the two standing before him. “Carl, you may kiss your bride.” In an undertone, only for the ears of those four closest, he added, “Again.”

Clara bit back a giggle. She could tell Carl and Nora had some ribbing in store for them since they had asked to be married a second time. But the teasing was such fun with the Moens.

The organ struck up the recessional. Clara handed her sister the white leather Bible with a small spray of gold and rust chrysanthemums on the top. Nora, clad in her black
skyjørt
, red vest, and white
forkle
, looked the perfect Norwegian bride even if she wasn’t wearing the formal bridal headdress.

Clara reached up to kiss her sister’s cheek. “God bless.” She needed to wipe her eyes, but her handkerchief lay in her bag, wherever that was. How come she always cried at weddings? It wasn’t as if this were a sad occasion. She turned and followed Carl and Nora down the aisle.

Some members of the congregation had elected to remain to help wish the newlyweds God’s blessing. Clara found herself searching the faces for a certain curly haired man, but she hadn’t found him by the time they all exited the sanctuary.

She hugged her sister again. “Oh, if only Mor and Far could have been here.” Clara felt herself choke up again on the words. She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.

“I know,” Nora whispered back, “but at least you were here.”

The pastor’s wife, Ingeborg Moen, a baby in each arm and the other children clustered about her like chicks with a hen, herded her brood to the door.

“Here, let me take Peder.” Clara reached out for the sleeping baby. She took the quilt-wrapped bundle carefully in her arms and, at the babe’s whimper, slipped into the swaying motion common to women everywhere. She watched as Carl and Nora greeted the people around them.

“Such a wonderful story and with a happy ending,” Ingeborg sighed at Clara’s elbow. “Your sister is a fine woman. She has made Carl laugh again.”

“She never told us much about those early months.” Clara patted Peder’s back when he began squirming. “We had to read between the lines, more what she didn’t say than what she did.”

“It wasn’t easy. Peder was colicky, Carl wanted her to speak only English, and who was there to teach her and Kaaren, poor mite, who missed her mother so bad. I tell you, those two earned their happiness.”

Peder ignored the comforting sway and added his opinion to the discussion. As with all babies, his idea of communication after the first subtle whimpers that had been ignored was a full-throated howl.

“Shush, shush.” Clara jiggled harder.

The baby yelled—louder.

Clara looked around the room for the baby’s mother. “They’ve gone into the office to sign the marriage certificate. Come.” Ingeborg nodded to the outer door. “Let’s take these two young ones home and feed them. And I have a marvelous idea.” She picked up the conversation again after they’d corralled the older children running around outside and started down the street.

“Why don’t you and the children stay with John and me tonight? Carl and Nora deserve to have a night alone, don’t you think?”

“Why . . . why, I’m sure that is a fine idea, but do you have room?”

“Oh, there’s always room for one more.”

“Ja, but this is three and one of us isn’t always the best company.” She glanced at the baby whimpering in her arms.

“Did Nora tell you that I helped nurse Peder there for a few days?” Clara shook her head. “So that baby and I were pretty close for a time. We’d love to have him back, and you can see how much Kaaren loves to be with Mary. You can have the same bed Nora used when she first came.”

“If Carl and Nora agree, who am I to argue?” Clara now knew what it must be like to be pushed along like a leaf on a spring freshet. How could you turn down a person who made everything look as if you were doing her a favor? And besides, who wouldn’t want to be alone the first night? She felt a warmth creep up her neck. At least that’s what folks said about newlyweds.

Clara didn’t have time to think about the picture she had tucked away in her bag until after she and Ingeborg had kissed the children good night and listened to their prayers.

“What a wonderful day.” She sank into one of the rocking chairs in front of the gleaming black-and-silver cookstove.

“Ja, I know those two will be truly happy. And did you see the blush on your sister’s neck when we told her about you and the children staying here?” Ingeborg set the chair on its creaking song with the toe of her foot. “Oh, to be so young again and beginning a life together.”

Clara felt a tug in the region of her heart. She’d already pinpointed those twinges she’d identified as jealousy. Where was the man who had sent for her?

“I have something to show you.” She leaned over and picked up her bag from the floor by the chair. She’d brought it back into the kitchen with her after kissing Kaaren one last time. Surely Ingeborg would know who this curly haired dream man was.

With trembling fingers she opened the mouth of the black leather bag and pulled out the picture. “Here.” She extended her hand across the space and handed the picture to Ingeborg. Why did her breath catch in her throat and her stomach feel like cream being tossed in a churn?

Ingeborg smiled her comforting smile and glanced down at the picture. “Ja, he is a fine looking man.” She looked over at Clara with a question in her eyes. “Who is he?”

The churning in her midsection clumped together and fell to her toes. “I thought maybe you would know. This is the man who bought my ticket to America. He thinks he is getting a Norwegian wife, but I’ve been waiting. He never appears.”

“Oh, my.” Ingeborg patted Clara’s hand where it strangled the wooden arm of the rocker. She studied the portrait again, all the while shaking her head. “Oh, my dear, I wish I had good news for you.” She paused. “But maybe John knows this man. I’ll go ask him.”

Clara leaned her head against the back of the rocker and let her eyes close after Ingeborg left the room. The memory of her mother’s voice calmed her rampaging thoughts. Prayer was Mor’s answer to anything and everything.
But Mor
, she wanted to plead,
it’s been four days and I haven’t heard from him.
Like the kiss of butterfly wings, her mother’s voice reminded,
Pray for him.

“That’s not so easy,” Clara muttered. “I don’t know his name or anything about him.” She could feel a smile tickle the sides of her mouth. But oh, he was beautiful.

She opened her eyes when she heard Ingeborg in the doorway. What was the look she caught on the woman’s face? It had been so fleeting. Was it—no—she didn’t get a chance to think about it again.

“John thinks the man looks familiar but . . . ahh . . . he isn’t . . . he can’t say he knows him either.” She stuttered in an uncharacteristic fashion.

Doubts crowded into Clara’s mind again. “Is there something wrong? Something you’re not telling me?” She leaned forward in the chair, her hands clamped together in her lap. “Ingeborg, what is it?”

“Nothing, nothing at all. We . . . uh, John and I, we’ll ask around.” She turned to move the coffeepot over the hotter part of the stove. “John said he’ll be in for a cup of coffee in a minute and then you can tell him the entire story.” She crossed to the cupboard and took down the coffee cups.

Clara commanded that her hands unclench themselves while she took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. There was something they weren’t telling her. There was. She could sense it.

But later when the three of them had taken their places at the table and munched crisp molasses cookies with their coffee, the feeling left. She told the entire story from the moment she first saw the water-stained and smudged envelope until the present.

“And you haven’t seen anyone that looks like this man since you arrived?” Reverend Moen leaned forward in his chair.

“No. And not heard one word. It’s as if he fell off the face of the earth.” Clara took a sip of now-cool coffee to quell the dryness in her throat. “Each day I think now this will be the time he comes forward but—” She raised her hands, palms up in a gesture of resignation. She looked from the pastor to his wife. “He doesn’t come.”

Reverend Moen rubbed the bridge of his nose with one long finger. He nodded and looked up at her. “We shall see. We shall see.”

That night in bed, Clara listened to the sounds of the house creaking and settling for the night. So far the only men she’d met in this new country had been Carl, Reverend Moen, and that blacksmith who carted her out to the Detschman farm. And none of them looked anything like the man in her picture.

A week later, when the weather dropped below freezing and hovered there even during the day, Carl announced they would begin butchering the next morning. All the young hogs were fattened and ready.

“Dag will be bringing out his scalding tank and helping me dip and scrape. I thought we’d give a side to the Moens.” He glanced at Clara sitting at the other end of the table. “You ever raised pigs and butchered them?”

“Of course. Far and the boys did most of the work, but I can grind sausage with the best of them. And headcheese.” She nodded her head. “Mor taught us how to season it just right.” She looked at Nora for confirmation.

“And the hams.” Nora joined her sister in the memory. “But where will we get the hickory for flavor?”

“Don’t you worry.” Carl patted his wife’s shoulder as he rose to go back outside. “We know how to smoke the bacon here in North Dakota, too. You just get all the knives sharpened and the pans ready.”

“Selling the meat will surely help buy feed for the winter.” Nora cleared the table after he left. “Those grasshoppers ate nearly everything. Clara, I’ve never seen anything like it. So many they blotted out the sun. Only the root crops lived through it. Thank the good Lord the rains came and the grass grew again so the cows could pasture. And the hay was already in the barn.”

Clara shuddered. Insects had never been her favorite friends. “Does that happen often?”

“I hope not.”

Clara was still brushing her hair the next morning by lamplight when she heard the dog barking and horse harnesses jingling. She could see her breath in the room, the night had turned so cold. As Carl had said, perfect butchering weather. A twinge of sorrow for the animals about to lose their lives crossed her mind. But at least here she hadn’t cared for them for months and played with the babies when they were tiny.

She braided her hair in back and coiled it in a bun at the nape of her neck. Wearing her worst dress covered with a huge apron, she felt ready for the day.

“You remember Dag Weinlander,” Carl said when he brought the men in for coffee before beginning. “And this is Will, his helper.” Carl introduced two other men. Clara nodded to each, secretly studying each face in case it matched her picture. She didn’t bother to look too carefully at the blacksmith. It was obvious he hadn’t washed since their first meeting. She wrinkled her nose and tended to pull away when she refilled his coffee cup.

“Mange takk.”
Dag’s deep voice surprised her.

“Ja.” She responded automatically. The man could speak. She flinched inwardly. She could just hear her mother scolding her for thinking unkind thoughts about another of God’s children. As she passed around the table with the coffeepot, she glanced up to catch him watching her. He ducked his head when he caught her eye.

The same thing happened at dinner. This time Clara could feel the heat rise on her neck. She shrugged off the feeling and headed back to the stove for another bowl of chicken and dumplings. She must be imagining things. But his voice stayed with her, even if the only exchange had been the polite “Thank you” and “You’re welcome.”

By the time she’d served the fresh fried liver for supper, Clara didn’t care if she never saw a pig again. Or smelled the odors of blood and fresh meat. She and Nora had washed all the intestines to ready them for sausage casings and set both the shoulder and hindquarters to soak in brine before they could be smoked. They would have to grind the fat and begin rendering it out for lard the next day. And steam the krub, sausage made of ground potatoes and the fresh blood. They’d serve that for dinner as a special treat.

“Come, little one,” Clara lifted Kaaren onto her lap when she and Nora collapsed into the twin rocking chairs. Nora held the bottle for the nearly sleeping baby Peder. “You’ve been such a good girl today,” Clara said as she snuggled the nightgown-clad child close.

“Pa made me a ball.”

“Ja. That old pig bladder has a new use now.” Clara looked to her sister, glad she didn’t have to remind Nora of all the fun they’d had with pig bladders after butchering time. Her return smile said it all.

Kaaren leaned her head against Clara’s shoulder. A yawn started with Kaaren and traveled from mouth to mouth to mouth. The little girl giggled as she yawned again. “Mr. Weinlander is a nice man.”

Clara stopped rocking and stared down at the little one in her lap with eyes drooping shut. Where had that come from?

“He throwed my ball.” The words spaced out as sleep overcame her.

What kind of a man is he?
Clara thought as she snuggled down in the flannel sheets in her bed a few minutes later. She didn’t have time to dwell on it or even say brief prayers before sleep closed her eyes like it had Kaaren’s.

“Clara, I can’t tell you how grateful I am for all your help,” Nora murmured two nights later after they’d collapsed into the rockers again. The children were already in bed and the two sisters were enjoying a last cup of coffee and the quiet of a sleeping house.

“Ja, it’s been good.” Clara lifted the cup to her lips and inhaled the rich aroma. “How come it was easier at home?”

“More of us and we had Mor to run things.” Nora shrugged her shoulders up to her ears and rotated her neck from side to side. “And there were no little ones to help us the last few years.”

“That is true.” Clara pushed herself to her feet and went to open the oven door. She pulled a pan of browning ground lard forward and, with a large spoon, began skimming the melted fat off and pouring it into the bread pans. When she’d dipped all she could, she picked off a piece of the crispy remainder and popped it into her mouth. “We should make cornbread with some of these cracklings tomorrow.”