Dakota Dusk (7 page)

“You got something stronger than that lemonade?” One of the sweating hammer wielders asked.

“Now, you know better than that.” The woman grinned, changing her face from plain to pretty. Auburn highlights glinted from hair imprisoned in a coil of braids at the back of her head. Springy tendrils of hair framed her heart-shaped face in spite of her determined efforts to tuck them back into their prison.

As if feeling his gaze, she turned and stared straight at him. With one hand she brushed back a lock of hair before going on to the next man to offer him a drink.

He watched the way she moved about the yard, her long-legged stride, free of feminine artifice. Funny, he hadn’t noticed something like the way she moved, since, well, since . . . He clamped a lid on the memories of his other life. Nothing mattered now but the next job . . . the next town . . . the next meal. And maybe working here for a few hours would at least give him that.

He kept his eye on the man in charge, following him around the corner of the building before getting his attention. “Ah, sir.”

The man waved at a man nailing boards in place on a wall frame and then strode over to answer another’s question.

Jude paused by a man busily sawing boards laid across the sawhorses. “Who is the man in charge here?” he asked.

“Ah, that’d be Lars Larson, the man getting a drink from the schoolmarm.”

“Thanks.” Jude tipped his hat and, stepping across a couple of beams, made his way around the building. So that’s who she was, the schoolmarm. “Mr. Larson.” He walked closer. “Mr. Larson.”

Lars Larson turned from a laughing comment exchanged with the tall woman Jude had noticed before. “Ja?” At the sight of a stranger, he offered his hand. “I’m Lars Larson. What can I do for you?”

“I wondered if maybe you could use another hand.” Jude concentrated on keeping his gaze from swinging to the woman. He forced himself to look Mr. Larson in the eye instead.

“You know how to use a hammer?”

Jude nodded, his mouth set in a firm line.

“I can’t pay you. This is a community project. The school burnt in a prairie fire a few weeks ago.” Mr. Larson studied the man in front of him. “But there’ll be plenty of food, if’n that appeals to you.”

Jude nodded. “That’ll be fine.”

“You go on and join that crew on the front wall.”

Jude tipped his hat to Mr. Larson and then to the woman standing off to the side with a slight smile on her face. “Ma’am.” He turned and pulled on his gloves while crossing the schoolyard.

As he reached the men raising the wall, he drew his hammer from its place in his belt in the back on the right side.

“Who is he?” Rebekka stared after the man. She turned to Mr. Larson, who shrugged.

“Just a drifter, I imagine. At least he’ll get a good feed for his labors.” Mr. Larson took another sip from the dipper and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Thank you, Miss Stenesrude. That lemonade tastes mighty fine.”

He didn’t even say his name and I heard everything they said.
Rebekka allowed her thoughts to drift as she continued around the building with the lemonade bucket. Again she saw and felt the shock of his gaze. Did she know him from somewhere else? She tried to think. No, she’d remember someone with a gaze so summer-sky blue. Eyes so blue they seemed to pierce like shards of ice on a winter day. Now why did she think of winter? Today when the sun was so hot that she’d had to wipe her face with a handkerchief twice already.

She returned to the washtub to refill her bucket and she felt it again. How could the gaze from a man she’d never even met before send shivers up and down her spine?

Rebekka handed her half-full bucket to her oldest pupil, reminding her to stay out of the way of the men while they worked, and then she went over to help the women setting up the tables for dinner. From the looks of the groaning boards, no one would go hungry. In fact, there’d be plenty left for supper, too. That way those that didn’t have animals to care for could work through until dark.

“Who was that man talking with you and Lars?” Mrs. Sampson paused in the act of cutting her pies.

“I have no idea.” Rebekka felt the urge to look over her shoulder again. If she did, she was sure she would see him watching her. “He didn’t give his name, just said he knew how to use a hammer.”

“Well, he wasn’t just blowing smoke. I been watching him. You mark my words, he’s used that hammer plenty. Has an air of mystery about him, wouldn’t you say? Or maybe it’s sadness.”

“I wouldn’t say at all. I don’t know the man and probably never will.” Rebekka turned to her friend. “You sure have strange ideas. He’s just a drifter.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure.”

Just then someone came up to ask Rebekka a question, so she had no more time to pursue the discussion. But something niggled at her just the same. Who was he?

At the stroke of noon Rebekka rang the triangle, calling everyone to eat. The Reverend Haugen came down off the ladder where he’d been nailing on the upper plate and, after wiping his face on a bright red kerchief, bowed his head. “We thank Thee, O Lord, for the gifts Thou hast given us, for the food the women have prepared, for the progress on our building, and for the protection Thee offers us all. Hear our prayer and now give us strength to continue through the day before us.” At the universal “Amen,” he raised his hands. “Let’s eat.”

The men formed two lines and moved down the length of the laden tables, loading their plates as they went. Another row of tables had benches on each side ready for the men to slide first one foot and then the other under the table and sit down. As soon as the men had filled their plates, the women and children did the same.

Rebekka had switched from carrying lemonade to carrying coffee and made her way down the table with a huge pot. At her “Coffee?” the seated men held up the mug from on the table in front of them.

“There’s more lemonade, too,” she said as she poured coffee and offered praises for jobs well done.

“Coffee?” she said again, stopping just before the stranger. He turned without a word and held up his cup.

Rebekka felt her hand shake as she poured the dark brew. When the cup was full, she raised her gaze to see the man studying her over the rim of the cup. He lifted the steaming mug and, after one swallow, turned and set the cup down. Without a word, smile, thank you, or by your leave, he resumed eating.

Rebekka paused as if giving him a chance to remedy his bad manners. But when he continued to fork potato salad into his mouth without another glance, she stepped to the next man at the table.

“Coffee?” Now her voice shook, too. She cleared her throat and took a tighter grip on the pot holders with which she held the pot. Of all the . . .

She stayed away from him after that—far away—and did the slow burn. What an ingrate. Had his mother not taught him common decency? No manners? Everyone was taught to at least say “Thank you.” Weren’t they?

Obviously not. She stopped after her last round with the water bucket and gazed up at the new schoolhouse.

As the sun was setting, the men on the roof were nailing the last rafter in place.

“That’s it for tonight,” Mr. Larson called. “We’ll start again at first light. Reverend Haugen has agreed to lead the worship service tomorrow right here so those who want can attend without much of a loss of time. We can use the good Lord’s blessing.” He waved toward the tables, set now with plates of sandwiches and the leftovers from dinner. “Now, come and help yourselves. These women would be mighty hurt if anyone left here hungry.”

Rebekka kneaded the aching muscles of her lower back with her fists. If she had to carry one more coffeepot she was sure her shoulders would come loose from their sockets. She could hear others groaning, too, but everyone laughed off the pains and dug into the food.

Jude pounded in the last nail and, after sticking his hammer back into its usual place, he climbed down the ladder. He pulled off his gloves and tucked them into his back pocket, then crossed to where the men were washing their hands and faces in a row of buckets of water lined up on a bench.

He tipped his hat back and, sloshing water up in cupped hands, he washed his face first, then hands, and finally his arms up to his rolled-back sleeves. He could feel someone watching him but, when he turned around, no one seemed to be paying him any attention. Then why that creepy crawly sensation up his spine? He lifted his hat and ran damp fingers through the waves trapped beneath the hatband. The slash of silver that began at his upper temple on the left side caught a glint from the setting sun.

The glint caught Rebekka’s gaze, in spite of her efforts to not look at the man. What was wrong with her? She’d never in her life paid so much attention to one man, and a drifter at that.

After the crowd finished eating, they slowly left the school grounds and headed for their homes. Lars Larson sat down beside Jude on the bench and leaned his elbows on the table. “You sure got a way with that hammer of yours. Been building long?”

Jude shook his head. “Nope, just the last year or so.”

“You from these parts?”

“No.” Jude cut and levered another bite of pie into his mouth.

“You plannin’ on coming back tomorrow?”

“If nobody minds.”

“You got a place to stay?” Mr. Larson leaned on his elbows.

“Down by the river’ll do.”

“You’re welcome to my barn. You can put your horse out in the pasture and leave him there long as you want.” Mr. Larson swiveled around like he was getting ready to leave. “What’d you say your name was?”

“Jude Weinlander. And I appreciate the offer.” Jude accepted a cup of coffee from the woman pouring and thanked her. Then he turned back to Mr. Larson. “Just where is your barn?”

Mr. Larson pointed out his house on the knoll on the other side of Willowford and pushed himself to his feet. “See you in the morning then and thanks for your work on the school today.”

Jude nodded. He watched as the man gathered his family into a wagon and drove off. He slapped at a mosquito buzzing around his head and sipped his coffee. This was a good town, he could tell already. The townsfolk made even drifters feel welcome, at least this one who could nail up a wall with the best of them.

He turned and studied the bare bones of the new school. Siding covered most of two walls, the rafters were ready for the nailers, and two men had been splitting cedar shakes to finish the roof. Tomorrow would make a big difference if as many people turned out as today. He inhaled air redolent of freshly sawed wood. Even the ache in his back only added to the contentment. He started to reach in his pocket for a cigar but remembered he didn’t even have a nickel to buy one. He’d have to find a paying job pretty soon.

Bedded down on soft hay that night, he thought back again to the day. Glints of auburn off a tall woman’s hair and a laugh that floated like music on the air brought a smile to a face that had found little reason to smile in a long while.

Stretched out on her bed after helping Mrs. Sampson boil potatoes and eggs for salad again the next day, Rebekka thought over the day. She’d never realized how friendly and caring the people of Willowford were. All those who pitched in to raise the new school building and not a cross word heard all day. She deliberately kept her mind away from the stranger with the black hat and the slash of silver in his hair. He didn’t look old enough to be going gray already.

She rolled over and thumped her pillow. Who was he? Where had he come from? She could ask Mr. Larson tomorrow. Sure, just go up and say, “Mr. Larson, I saw you talking with that stranger. Tell me his life history.” Even the thought of such outrageous actions sent the heat flaming up her neck.

If she waited long enough, Mrs. Sampson would find out plenty. If she had the patience to wait. A mighty big word, “if.” Would he be back tomorrow?

“You think he’ll be back today?” Rebekka asked.

“Who’ll be back?” Mrs. Sampson removed a pot of baked beans from the oven.

“You know. The stranger,” said Rebekka while carefully spreading frosting on the chocolate layer cake in front of her. She leaned over to make sure frosting covered every spot; that way she didn’t have to look up at Mrs. Sampson or Mrs. Knutson. She wondered if they noticed the flush she could feel creeping up her neck.

“Need more eggs for that potato salad?” asked Mrs. Sampson, crossing over to taste the mixture in the bowl.

“No, I don’t think so.” Mrs. Knutson pushed her friend’s fingers away from the food. “And yes to you, Rebekka. I heard him tell Lars that he’ll be back.”

“Oh.”

“Why?” Both women stared at Rebekka as she scraped the bowl for the last bits of frosting.

“I . . . ummm . . . well, it would be a shame to lose a good carpenter like him.”

“How do you know that?”

“What?”

“That he’s a good carpenter.” Mrs. Sampson flashed a grin at her longtime boarder.

“Anyone could see that.” Rebekka flipped new curls into the top of the cake.

“Anyone who was watching, that is.” The two widows turned to focus totally on Rebekka.

Rebekka wished she had never started this discussion. She kept her gaze on the cake, but her flaming cheeks refused to cool.
One would think you’re interested,
she chided herself.
You know better than that. He, whoever he is, is just a drifter, a man passing through. Be grateful he helped on the school and let it go at that.

She mentally shrugged off the thoughts and, with a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth, asked, “Either of you catch his name?”

The three of them were still laughing as they loaded the wagon to bring the food over to the schoolyard.

They arrived just in time for the church service. Reverend Haugen stood in front of the impromptu altar and raised his hands for silence. People found places to sit on the benches, the remaining stacks of lumber, or the ground. A hush fell, broken only by a bird’s song.

“This is the day that the Lord hath made,” Reverend Haugen began the service.

“Let us rejoice and be glad in it,” the scattered congregation responded.

“Let us pray.” The Reverend bowed his head and waited for the rustling to cease. “Lord God, bless us this day as we worship Thee and bless the fruits of our labors. Open our hearts to hear Thy word. Amen.” He raised his head and looked over the people gathered. “Today we’ll sing the songs we know best since we chose not to bring the hymnals. Let’s start with ‘Beautiful Savior.’” As his rich baritone rang out the opening notes, everyone joined in.

Rebekka felt the sun warm on her back while a playful breeze tickled the strands of hair that refused to be bound into the coil at her neck. As she sang the familiar words, she let her gaze roam around the gathering. Her pupils, their families, the townsfolk, some who came to church regularly, and some who didn’t. She kept her eyebrows from rising when she recognized the saloon owner and exchanged a wink with Mrs. Sampson when they both noticed two of the older youths making calf eyes at each other.

I wish we could worship outside like this every Sunday,
Rebekka thought,
at least as long as the weather is nice. Seems to me people feel closer somehow. Maybe it’s because we’re all working together on something truly important.

As the Reverend read, Rebekka forced herself to concentrate. “From 1 John, chapter four, ‘Beloved, let us love one another: for love is of God . . .’”

Here, today, her thoughts continued with a mind of their own.
It is easy to love one another.
A black cloud of remembrance dulled her joy. Well, maybe not everyone.

When they raised their voices in the final hymn, she allowed herself a glance around the group again. Now, why was it that the sun seemed to shine brighter when she saw the stranger, leaning against the corner of the schoolhouse?

And why was her neck warm when she caught a grinning Mrs. Sampson watching her?

By the end of the day, the building looked complete—from the outside. A roof, windows glinting in the dying sun, and the door hung above three steps, all there but the bell hanging in the tower.

“Looks pretty good, if I do say so myself.” Lars Larson joined her in staring up at the men coming down from nailing the cap along the roof’s peak. “Sure is farther along than I thought possible.”

“Just goes to show what a determined group of people can do when they set their minds to it. When do you plan to rehang the bell?” Rebekka turned to watch two children playing tag under the ladders. When their mothers called them away, she looked up at Mr. Larson.

“Soons we’re done with supper. Thought we’d use that as a good way to finish the day.”

“Wonderful.”

“Excuse me, Miss Stenesrude, I need to talk to Jude before he gets away,” Mr. Larson said as he left her side to stride across the yard to where the man in black, as Rebekka called him in her mind, was leaving the yard.

“At least now I know part of his name,” Rebekka said to no one in particular.

“Here, how about pouring coffee?” Mrs. Sampson handed her the heavy pot. “And it’s Weinlander.”

Rebekka took the pot and scurried off. There it was, that blush that crept up her neck. She’d never flushed so much in her whole life as these last two days. What in the world was wrong with her?

“Weinlander, wait up.”

Jude turned at the calling of his name, and he watched as Lars Larson caught up with him.

“You’re staying for supper, aren’t you? That’s the least we can do after all your fine work. I think you’re a good part of the reason we got so much done.”

“Ja, I’ll stay. I was just going over to look at the creek. Pity you had to cut down all the trees along it.” Jude tipped his hat back.

“It was that or lose the town. You know, with that fire and all, there’s lots of building needs doing before the snow flies. Might you be interested in staying on and working for me?” Mr. Larson caught his suspenders with his thumbs. “I know how good you are. You could run one crew and me another.”

Jude lifted his hat and ran his fingers through his hair before using both hands to place his hat back in place. He looked off to the horizon on the other side of town. When he nodded and said, “Guess I could,” Mr. Larson let out his breath as if he’d been holding it. “Guess I could.”

“You could probably get a room at Mrs. Sampson’s boardinghouse. I heard she has a vacancy.”

“Well, I better—”

“If it’s a case of money, I could give you an advance, and since you’re working for me, I know she’ll let you pay the rest later. The food’s good there, too.”

Jude thought of the beans and no coffee he’d subsisted on for the past week. One morning he’d even borrowed a cup of milk from a cow in the barn where he’d slept. When he’d gone to look at the creek, he’d been hoping to see fish. Fried fish had sounded mighty tasty. And how long had it been since he’d slept in a real bed?

He looked back to the waiting man. “All right. But if you don’t mind, I’d as soon sleep in your hay barn till it gets colder.”

Mr. Larson grabbed his new employee’s hand and shook it. “Good. That’s Mrs. Sampson over there, the lady with the white hair and white apron who’s been overseeing the food serving. Just tell her I sent you.” Before Jude could walk off, Mr. Larson put a hand on Jude’s arm and dropped his voice, “I’ll just pay the room for now.”

Jude nodded his thanks. He’d pretty much used up his store of words in the last two days. Everyone had been so nice to him. If they only knew who he really was. The thought caused the two slashes between his eyebrows to deepen. If they only knew, they’d never speak to him again. They’d just run him out of town.

He joined the last of the laborers at the wash bench and, after sluicing down, took a seat on the benches by the laden tables. While some folks had left to attend their evening chores, many more laughed and joked around the tables. Jude listened to the jokes as the two young men beside him flirted with all the young women bringing refills of potato salad, fried chicken, sliced ham, and baked beans down the row.

Mrs. Sampson brought him a piece of apple pie and sat down beside him. “Lars told me you need a room?” She spoke in a low voice, only for his ears. “By the way, I’m Widow Sampson with the boardinghouse.”

“Glad to meet you.” Jude picked up his fork. “You make this pie?”

She shook her head. “That chocolate cake is my doing. Yesterday I noticed you seem a mite partial to apple pie, so I snagged you a piece before it was all gone.”

“Thank you. I’m sure the chocolate cake is good, too,” Jude said as he cut off a bite of pie and lifted it to his mouth.

“I have a proposition for you. I need some things done around my place that you could fix if you had a mind to. You could work off some of the board if you’d be so inclined.”

Jude turned and looked at the cheery woman beside him. “But you don’t know me.”

“I know what I see.”

Jude wanted to ask her what it was she saw but instead took another bite of pie.

“Well?”

“I’d be so inclined,” he nodded. “And thank you.”

“It’s the big white house off Main Street on Sampson Street.”

Jude turned and looked at her. “Sampson Street?”

“Mr. Sampson was well liked by the founding fathers.” The twinkle in her eyes invited him to smile back.

Jude scooped up the last bite of pie as he said, “I have a horse.”

“I know. I have a fenced pasture behind the house and a shed that could be called a small barn. You can get feed and hay at the Every after you get back on your feet.”

Jude swung one leg over the bench so he could face her. “Why are you doing this?”

Without flinching and looking away, Widow Sampson met his gaze and said, “I don’t really know. It just seems what I am supposed to do.” The two stared at each other, both measuring and weighing the person in front of them. “Is there anything else I should know about you?”

“Not that I can think of,” Jude answered without batting an eye. Inside his head he finished,
If you only knew.

“Then we’ll see you back at the house when you’ve finished here. You can bring your horse tonight or pick him up tomorrow.”

Mrs. Sampson rose to her feet. “Stay here. I think I see a piece of chocolate cake with your name on it.”

They sure got chummy fast,
Rebekka thought as she carefully avoided looking at Jude and Mrs. Sampson. She absolutely refused to let herself amble over to see what was happening.

“All right, folks, let’s gather ‘round. The pulley is installed for the bell. All you children, Miss Stenesrude, come over here. It’ll be your job to pull the rope that will raise the bell.” Lars Larson waved his arms to encourage the children to make a line by the rope lying on the ground.

“Miss Stenesrude, you take the end. John, Elizabeth, you bigger kids, start right here.” Mr. Larson handed them the heavy rope. “You little ones, line up on both sides. Now, when I count to three, you’ll all pull together, understand?”

Children came from every corner, laughing and giggling as they grabbed the rope.

Rebekka looked up on the roof where two men sat on the edge of the tower, ready to secure the bell when it reached its new home. One waved at her.

“We’re ready when you are,” he called.

“Mith Thtenthrude, can I be by you?” Emily Gordon pleaded with her round blue eyes.

Rebekka stepped back and shared her rope with the little one. “Of course. Now you be ready to pull.”

“One,” Mr. Larson’s voice rang out. Silence fell. “Two.” Giggles erupted along the rope line.

“Stop shoving me!” a small boy demanded.

“Get off my foot!” yelled someone else.

“Three! Now, pull steady, don’t jerk. You want the bell to rise nice and easy.” Mr. Larson walked along with his pulling team as the rope stretched from the tower clear to the ground and along the caterpillar of pullers.

“Good, good!” A man inside of the building who was guiding the bell called. “Easy now.”

The line of children snaked back, each one carefully pulling on his section of rope. Rebekka watched as the older ones looked out for the younger and they all worked together to raise the bell.

“There it is!” The cry rang out as the top of the bell cleared the ledge. The two men waved. The line stopped.

“Ith almotht up,” the lisper beamed up at Rebekka.

“Sure is. You did a good job.” Rebekka leaned down and laid a fingertip on the little one’s button nose.

“Don’t drop your rope,” the charmer cautioned.

Rebekka nodded solemnly. “I won’t.” She raised her gaze to the bell tower as one of the men called out.

“Easy now. Only an inch at a time.”

The children stared up at him, waiting for the signal and then barely moving back. The bell inched upward.

“That’s it.” The two men secured the bell and raised their hands for the cheer. “Okay now, on three. Pull the rope for the bell to ring. One, two, three!”

The children pulled; the bell rang out, the
bong, bong
sounding joyous and richer for the cleaning. They pulled again and the bell sang for them all.

“Yeth,” the little one said, clapping her hands and turning to Rebekka, who lifted the child into her arms. Together they and all the crowd clapped and cheered.

Reverend Haugen walked up the schoolhouse steps and turned to face the gathered people. “A fitting end to a wonderful day. Let us bow our heads and thank the Lord for watching over us.” He waited for the rustlings to cease and bowed his head. “Dear Lord, we dedicate this building to Thee. Be with our children who learn here and the teacher that teaches them. We thank Thee for keeping us all safe and in Thy care. Now, please give us safe travel and good rest. Amen.”

Rebekka shook hands and wished everyone good night, thanking them for their efforts. As the last wagon was loaded and left, she and Widow Sampson folded tablecloths and picked up the stray napkins.

“What a day,” Rebekka said as she rubbed the small of her back with her fists. “Mr. Larson said we would be able to open school next Monday. They’ll be finishing the inside of the building this week.” She turned to catch a secret smile that Widow Sampson tried to hide. “All right. What’s that for?”