Spring for Susannah (22 page)

He sighed and blew chaff in all directions. “All right. I'll agree men have more choices. But women can turn down a suitor who doesn't please them. Women have some say in a marriage partner.”

“I didn't.”

Jesse flinched. Before Susannah could utter an apology, he fixed her with a fierce glare. “You may have noticed, around here we share decisions. You have a good head on your shoulders. I'd be a fool to ignore it.”

“So you
choose
to share decision making.”

He swept culled wheat into a new bag. “What about the power you have from God?”

“The power of prayer?” She'd given up on praying a long time ago. “Lot of good prayer did when my parents died or when your brother was killed.”

“Susannah, look at me.” His hands, dusty from the wheat, closed around hers. “God hears your every thought, whether you dress it up with ‘Thee' and ‘Thou' or not. Yes, we stumble through life not understanding much about what's going on, but afterward—” His eyes moved over her face, searching. “I look forward to the time when He'll tell me why sometimes He says yes, other times no, and most often ‘Balderdash!'”

The image of a bearded patriarch in pristine white robes booming out slang drew a quick smile from Susannah.

He dipped out another measure. “That's how I know Ellen didn't make a mistake sending you out here.”

Susannah nearly fell off the trunk. “What do you mean?”

“I see the doubt in your eyes. You look at me and wonder how Ellen could think of us in the same room, much less married to each other. Was it her usual efficiency, solve two problems with one marriage? No, it's more than that. Mac's right. I prayed for you.”

“No, you didn't pray for me. You prayed for a wife.”

“And you're the answer.”

She dropped her forehead onto her knees so her voice came out muffled. “How can I be? I'm too skinny. I lost your baby. I can't play the violin by ear. I don't debate with you like your family—”

“We're like a two-piece puzzle, Susannah. Different, but fitted together, we're whole.”

A yearning grew within her. She
wanted
to be this man's wife, to be the woman he dreamed of. She wanted to love him. And yet it seemed the more she wanted, the more she feared she was incapable of becoming the right woman. “But if the pieces don't fit—”

“They do.” He kissed the top of her head, then returned to his sorting job.

Jesse hauled in the morning's firewood and closed the door with his foot. “Looking for something?”

“No.” Susannah stared out the window from her spot on the trunk. “I was wondering why you came out here.”

“Thought we talked about that.”

Susannah rubbed her forehead. “Yes, but why
here
? Weren't there any farms in New York, or Michigan, or even Iowa?”

“You're asking why I picked this miles-from-nowhere place.” Jesse poured a cup of coffee and sat beside her. “You read about Lewis and Clark?”

Susannah nodded. “They nearly froze to death in Dakota. Then General Sibley nearly roasted chasing the Sioux through here in 1863.”

“Lewis and Clark found this country full of Indian tribes, herds of buffalo, and a whole slew of other animals. Must be a rich land to support all that life. Fertile soil itching for the plow.”

She frowned. “You have so many skills—carpentry, music, cooking. I still think you'd be a fine pastor or missionary. How can you fulfill the Great Commission out here where there isn't anyone to disciple? Aren't you hiding your light under a bushel?”

“Yeah, Dakota's a long ways from everyone. Haven't seen my family in years. No doubt they're grateful for the peace and quiet.” He gave a little chuckle. “But when I asked what I should do with my life, the answer was always the same: ‘I was hungry and you fed me.'”

“From the parable of the sheep and the goats.”

“Right. Susannah, this land, from Kansas to Canada, from the Mississippi River to the Rocky Mountains, is going to be the breadbasket of the nation, maybe even the world. This farm alone will feed a hundred people.”

“Jesse, you worked the railroad summer before last to keep one person, yourself, from starving.”

He shrugged. “Drought and grasshoppers in the same year. It won't happen again.”

“So you plan to stay. No matter what.”

“Now that you're here, can't see any reason to leave. Imagine it,” he said. “A herd of cattle. A team of horses. Acres spreading in every direction. Wait until spring, sweet Susannah. You'll see what Dakota's all about. The War's over, the territory's open for homesteading, the railroad's through. People will come. Families like ours and the Volds' will show everyone what a great place Dakota is. Since we're the first, we'll have a say in how the territory shapes up, the way the laws are written, and how justice is carried out. Dakota will be a better land because we were here to make it so.”

And with that he squeezed her knee and headed to the stable.

Susannah unbuttoned Jesse's nightshirt and slid her fingers across his chest. “Would you like to—”

Jesse caught her hand. “Well, of course I want to, but I've been thinking we should hold off. When the train starts running again, I want to take you to Fargo to see a doctor. Make sure you're all right.”

“My monthlies are back to normal. I feel fine. What more could a doctor say?”

“I'm not taking any chances with you.” He kissed her forehead, then rolled over toward the wall.

Within minutes his snores resonated across the bed. Susannah lay awake, watching the night drag by the four panes of glass above the footboard.

Another day. The dripping off the roof grew louder and more insistent.

The scrape of Jesse's spoon against his bowl set Susannah's teeth on edge. “Might as well muck out the shed while this warm spell lasts.”

“Could I help?”

He shook his head. “Stay here and keep warm.”

“Do you have any books to read?”

“The Bible.”

After Jesse left, Susannah flipped through the Old Testament without reading. A half dozen medical texts lay in her trunk, a reminder of her failure to cure Mother. What she wouldn't give for a stack of dime novels, even the kind falsely promising adventure and excitement on the western frontier. No good wishing for that. Might as well make the bed.

But it was already made. Should she start dinner? No, too soon. Six steps, turn, six steps, turn. The ceiling sagged. The sod walls inched closer. Smells from every winter meal hung in the air, mixed with sour laundry and a used chamber pot.

She had to get out.

Susannah exchanged her slippers for boots and threw on her greatcoat, scarf, and mittens. She opened the door and bumped into Jesse, carrying yet another load of wood.

“You snore,” she announced without looking at him. “The walls are closing in, you have nothing to read, and you're almost out of cocoa. You're bossy and too cheap to send me back. I'm leaving.”

Susannah stomped past the chickens pecking their feed, past the oxen who stopped chewing to glance up at her, and out of the draw. Each step held for a moment, then broke through the icy surface as she shifted her weight. She raised her arms for balance and slogged through the knee-deep snowpack. Within minutes her face was slick with perspiration and her chest ached.

She tromped along, finding no tracks of humans or animals— nothing that suggested any living being had ever passed through this country.

Which way to the river? Where was she going? The plains were monotonous enough in summer, but the wind-driven snow had obliterated even the faintest landmarks. Sure, people would come, lured by the promise of free land, but they wouldn't live here more than one winter. Dakota would stay empty like Seward's Folly, Alaska.

Her foot slipped and didn't stop. Susannah fell forward, tumbling, sliding. A wall of snow slammed into her face and cut off all air. She windmilled her hands, tried for a breath, and choked on the snow. When her downward motion stopped, she cleared her face, opened her eyes, and found some air.

“Ow.” She flexed her arms and legs. Nothing broken. One mitten missing. She tucked her hand into her sleeve. She had dropped into a drift-filled crevasse.

Susannah tried to stand in the snow-cave, only to sink deeper, dragged down by her heavy skirts. Ice crystals trickled under her collar, melting between her shoulder blades. Her fingers and toes cramped. Waves of shivering racked her body.

“You thought you were trapped in the soddy?” she asked aloud. “Well, now you're freezing to death too.”

She had to find the bottom and dig out. She kicked again, but the side of the tunnel gave way. A huge slab collapsed and pinned her legs. She grunted and pushed with all her might. The corner of sky above her shrank and turned a deeper shade of gray.

Susannah stifled her tears. She was a fool. She had found a good man, only to run away. Away from love, into the arms of death.

Death. She had seen so much death. Her parents, the baby, and now the end of her own worthless life. How could she be so cruel to Jesse? He'd find her body in the spring, if the wolves didn't find her first. And if they found her while she was still alive . . .

She trembled, imagining their yellow eyes and sharp fangs. All winter they howled to each other from the ridge, drawing deep-throated growls from Jake. Jesse had gone after them with the rifle but found only their tracks.

Jesse. He'd been so kind. He didn't deserve this. Perhaps his next wife would have a dowry so he wouldn't have to worry about money. She would fill his house with children, not blood. And have an ear for music.

Another wife?

“No, I want it to be me,” she cried. The pain in her heart hurt worse than the impending frostbite. Icy air scoured her lungs with each gasp. It was so cold. If she just slept a little . . .

“Wake up!” Susannah's movements generated another dousing of snow crystals. “God, I have no right to ask. You saved me from the banker. You saved me from bleeding to death when I lost the baby. For Jesse's sake, could You save me now?”

The patch of clouds darkened for a moment.

It had to be her imagination. He wouldn't come for her, not after the way she had spoken to him.

A thick rope snaked through the hole. Susannah grasped it, but it slid through her stiff fingers. The line jerked up a few feet, then reversed and dropped back down to her. She tried wrapping it around her chest; her frozen fingers couldn't make it knot. The rope wrenched out of her hands and disappeared from the pit.

After a minute or two it reappeared, this time with a loop knotted in it. She shrugged her upper body through the circle. The pressure around her chest increased. She wiggled her legs, an inch, a few more. At last they were free. The rope slackened then tightened, again and again, a rhythm. With one final hard yank, she crashed through the ice to the surface.