Spring for Susannah (25 page)
The Sheyenne River sparkled like hidden treasure deep in the prairie. Beneath budding cottonwoods, Worthington had grown by two partially completed frame buildings and several shanties. The Western Hotel tent had been taken down, but a thin line of smoke issued from Donald McFadgen's cabin. The Roses' pack of dogs and children heralded their arrival at the store. To Susannah's relief, a wagonload of newcomers kept the proprietors busy. Jesse lifted her to the ground.
“Mason.” Abner Reece clamped his hand on her husband's shoulder. Where had he come from? And was he wearing exactly the same clothes as when he intercepted her on the train? Her nose confirmed that possibility. He spit toward the hitching post, wiping his mouth on his encrusted sleeve. “Hear your wife knows animal doctoring. Wonder if she'd look at my cow.” He jabbed a tobacco-stained thumb over his shoulder at the shorthorn apathetically chewing her cud beside the store.
“Fine with me, Abner. But you'll have to ask her.” With a wink to Susannah, he disappeared inside.
Staying upwind, she followed the big farmer across the rutted yard. The cow blinked her listless eyes at their approach. Dried mud and manure covered her legs and belly. A length of twine circled her neck, dragging the ground. Had she found the energy to walk from his claim or had the big man carried her?
“How long have you been homesteading, Mr. Reece?”
“Made it through my first winter. Wish I could say the same for the cow. I's afraid I'd have to shoot her and eat her.”
“Not much here to eat,” Susannah said, feeling ribs under the matted hide. “What kind of work did you do back in the States?”
“I's a longshoreman, loading and unloading ships in Boston. Can you help this cow?”
So the neglect was due to lack of knowledge rather than intent to harm. Examining the animal's mouth, Susannah launched into a lecture on bovine care and feeding, especially feeding. Mr. Reece listened, asked questions, and in response to her carefully worded request, summarized the plan she outlined for him.
“Thank you kindly for your advice, ma'am.” Mr. Reece walked her back to the store. “I'd like to pay you.”
Taking money for common knowledge, information every farmer knew, didn't seem right. “How about if you help us with our barn raising? We don't have lumber yet, butâ”
He nodded. “Have Jesse come get me when he's ready. He knows where I'm holed up.”
Susannah smiled. Mr. Reece's brawn would be an asset to any building project.
He cleared his throat and took a step toward her. “My offer is still open. If it don't work out with Jesseâ”
“Thank you, Mr. Reece. It's working out fine with Mr. Mason.”
Add this conversation to the list of things that would never happen in
Detroit,
she thought. She hurried up the steps into the store.
Just inside the door, Ivar met her with an opened letter. “Must be bad news. After Jesse read it, he dropped it on the floor and ran out. Didn't say a word. Never known him not to talk.” Ivar steered her to the bench on the loading dock. “Let us know if we can help.”
Susannah scanned the first page, a friendly letter from Ellen. No bad news. She set it aside to savor later.
Reverend Mason's handwriting graced the second page. The execution of the Underhill estate required a lengthy investigation including numerous trips back to Detroit and letters to lawyers and banking officials. Apparently the malefactor who had attacked Susannah had left the state, present whereabouts unknown. His replacement could find no record of a mortgage on the Underhill property.
A search through her father's papers and an audit of his books showed no outstanding debts. The Reverend had visited the largest, most prosperous of her father's accounts and obtained much of the money still owed for veterinary services. The house and its furnishings had been sold to a young veterinary surgeon setting up practice. Delighted to have her father's library, instruments, and client list, he'd paid handsomely for it all. Personal items were in storage, ready for shipment at her request.
Subtracting his expenses, the Reverend had transferred the proceeds to her. He enclosed a slip of paper with “Susannah Underhill Mason” written in flowing Spencerian script. The amount read one thousand nine hundred seventy-seven dollars and two cents.
Susannah sank back against the bench. Nearly two thousand dollars! They could build a house and barn and have money left over for a team, a buggy, treesâ Marta touched her hand, breaking the spell. “Is bad?”
Susannah shook her head. “It's good.”
Ivar's eyebrows met over his nose. If Jesse was pulling a joke on her, Ivar was not in on it.
“You're sure it was this letter that upset Jesse? Maybe he didn't like me talking to Mr. Reece for so long.”
“No. He seemed proud you could help Abner. Said you could turn him into a farmer and gentleman at the same time.”
The essence of Jesse: unpredictability. Folding the pages into the envelope, Susannah stood. “Where did he go?”
“West, up the tracks, but I'm not sure where he is now. Do you want me to go with you?”
“Could you wait for him here, please, in case he comes back from a different direction?” Moving as fast as her skirts allowed, Susannah hurried across the loading dock and down the steps to the tracks. Mr. Reece and his cow were gone. Her feet slipped on the muddy roadbed. Susannah stepped over the rail and walked on the ties. Their irregular placement slowed her pace even more.
What was wrong? The way he watched his money, Jesse should be dancing a jig, swinging her in the air. For him to be speechless about anything was inconceivable. What could send him off by himself? Another memory of the War? Something in the letter?
Susannah tightened her grip on the envelope. Perspiration stuck the paper to her palm. Where was he? Yellow-green shoots of prairie grass rippled in the breeze, too short to hide a man. Ahead of her by ten or fifteen minutes, he might have left the tracks and disappeared into the undergrowth along the river. She watched the grading for footprints. Jake could find him, but he had been left guarding the homestead. The Roses had dogs, but their pack seemed more bark than brain. The eastbound train was due any moment. If she didn't find Jesse soon, she'd have to go back and wait at the store with Mr. and Mrs. Rose. Susannah rubbed her stomach as her dyspepsia reared its ugly head.
He's Yours, Lord. You know where he is
.
The midday sun glinted off a straw hat under a trestle.
“Jesse!” She slid down the embankment. He did not look up. Red blotches marked his face, visible even in the shade of his hat. “Jesse, what's wrong? Are you ill?” She knelt before him in the damp grass.
He pitched a cinder into the creek. “Go ahead and take the next train,” he said in a flat voice. “I'll ship your trunks to you tomorrow. Just want to say thank you for giving me these eight months. Wish you the best, whether you finish medical school or . . . marry that new vet who's taken over your father's practice.”
She leaned close, trying to get him to look at her. “Is there something here besides winter that makes people take leave of their senses? What are you talking about?”
“This.” He flicked the letter. “Now you can follow your dreams, make your own choices, do what you want with your life. Leave behind my crazy notions of farming out here.” He uprooted a stalk of rough-edged cordgrass and scowled at the dirt clinging to its roots. “It's not your dream. You don't even like it here. Who can blame you? Folks getting off the
Mayflower
had it easier than this. You deserve a better life than I can provide.”
He wrapped the grass stalk around his fingers and pulled until it snapped. “Nothing to keep you here. That marriage certificate probably isn't worth the paper Matt wrote it on. I'll just toss it in the stove. Go ahead and keep the ring for all the grief I've caused you this year.”
“You think I'd leave you?”
He nodded, examining the broken grass strands in his hands. “Please make it quick. I can'tâ” He pressed his fist to his mouth and swallowed hard.
“Oh, Jesse,” she whispered. “Maybe I don't dream of feeding a hundred people from one farm, but I do dream of feeding a house full of children. Children with their father's ear for music and heart to serve God.”
She held up the envelope. “You know what this is? It's the means to accomplish our dreamsâ
our
dreams, Jesse Mason. A house for those children to grow up in, the barn and animals and machinery you need to really make the farm operate.”
His jaw clenched. His chest rose and fell unevenly under his going-to-town shirt. How could he ever thinkâ Well, of course. She hadn't told him. She'd been so busy worrying over the right words to say, she'd forgotten the most important ones. “I made a commitment before God, Jesse. You're my husband. I wouldn't leave you. I love you.”
At last he looked up. “What did you say?”
“I love you.”
He pushed his ear forward. The corner of his mouth lifted. “Having a little trouble with my hearing.”
Heart soaring, she yelled, “I love you!”
“Well, why didn't you say so?” He reached out for her and she fell into his arms. He flopped onto the grassy slope, holding her on top of him and kissing her hard. Rolling her onto her back, he unfastened her basque.
“Jesse!” Susannah gasped. “We can't! Ivar and Marta are waiting at the store. They're worried about you.”
“Until tonight, then.” He kissed the hollow of her neck.
“Besides,” she said, pulling him up to the tracks and redoing her buttons, “we need to order lumber for the house and barn. Do you remember how much you figured? Perhaps we could ask Ivar to look after the homestead next week so we could take the train into Fargo and buy some horses. Oh, and I told Mr. Reece he could help with the barn raising in exchange for the advice I gave him about his cow. I hope that's all right.”
He stopped to kiss her once more. “Everything's all right.”
Jesus, keep teaching me about love.
I
var's and Marta' s expressions changed from worried to puzzled as Jesse and Susannah approached. Behind her hand, Marta said a word to her husband.
Ivar spit out a Norwegian expletive and threw his hat at Jesse. “We worry sick about you, and you're out rolling in the hay.”
Blushing, Susannah picked a stalk of grass from the ruffled trim of her overskirt. Jesse dusted off his friend's hat and returned it to his head. “Could you feed our stock while we go to Fargo, old man?”
“Who are you calling old? And what you want with Fargo? First you race off like a troop of trolls is after you, then come back like they crowned you king. You better tell me what's going on.”
“Susannah's come into some money, so I thought we'd take a shopping trip. Train should be along pretty soon.”
“Today?” Susannah asked. “Dressed like this? We need to pack a bag since the return train doesn't come back until morning. Shouldn't we finish planting?”
“You look fine. It's not like we're going to Chicago. We'll only be there overnight. If you need something, we'll buy it.” He turned to the Norwegian man. “Bring you something from town?”
Ivar squinted over Jesse's shoulder. “There's the train now. I'll half Rose keep your oxen and wagon here. Tell me where your calves are picketed.”
“Northeast field. Take any eggs you find. Thanks!” Jesse dashed inside, yelling, “Mrs. Rose, two round-trip tickets to Fargo, please.”
Susannah frowned. “Why isn't there a passenger car on this run?”
Jesse helped her into the caboose. Above them, a scowling conductor slumped in the cupola. He wore a Northern Pacific jacket over grease-stained trousers. “You could ask that fellow.”
“No, thank you.” Through clouds of coal smoke, Susannah waved to the Volds, then let the forward motion of the engine push her back into the seat.
Jesse rubbed his finger over the furrow in her brow. “God's blessed us with love and money. Nothing to worry about.”
Entirely too persistent and perceptive, this husband of hers. She might as well tell him. Not talking only increased his persistence. “Will we still have friends?”
“Ah.” Jesse watched the miles roll by. “Ivar married and started a family, but we're still friends. Tell you what, let's buy them a present. Maybe something for Sara.” He handed her a pencil from his pocket. “Start a list. Put âpresent' first. Then lumber for the house and barn, windows, doors, nails, roofing felt, shingles, paint. What color do you like?”
“Talk slower so I can write this down. How about red? So we can find our way home in winter.”
“You look beautiful in red. A new red dress.”
“A dress? Too extravagant. I can make my own clothes.”
“All right then, a sewing machine and piece goods. How many yards do you need for a dress?”