Streams of Mercy (13 page)

“Hmm. Melissa be ten and her best friend, Linnea, be twelve. Do ye think they could handle putting the wee ones to bed?”

“I suppose they could. . . .”

“Or. Mayhap Linnea’s friend Rachel could also take part in this. At fourteen she’s utterly convinced she’s fully grown. I know. She be me pupil.”

Anji laughed out loud. “What a great idea! I’ll ask Lissa.”

And therein lay the conniving. For Devlin knew before Melissa even picked up the phone to call Linnea that Linnea’s friend Rachel would be amenable to the idea—he had already bribed Rachel with a silver dollar if she would help out. When Rachel exclaimed, “You’re sweet on Mrs. Moen, aren’t you!” he adjured her to keep silence, and she’d eagerly agreed. Such duplicity always comes to light eventually, but for a while, at least, Rachel would be his willing co-conspirator. And the prospect of more silver dollars in the offing didn’t hurt either.

And so, thanks be to conniving, here they strolled, just the two of them.

Anji tilted her head up. “The moonlight is nearly bright enough to make out colors. These nights are so beautiful.”

Impulsively, he scooped her hand into his. “Aye, beautiful indeed. And I enjoy the company of one who appreciates beauty as I do.” He should release her hand. He did not. Neither did she pull it away. That simple, insignificant thing pleased him more than he could have imagined.

She looked at him. “How many languages do you speak?”

“English, Latin, and Gaelic. I read Greek—not modern Greek, the old Greek of the New Testament—but I do not speak it.”

“Oh, of course. From seminary. And you grew up with Gaelic, I assume.”

“Ye assume correctly. Gaelic is still common, particularly in the west of Ireland. Miriam Knutson also speaks Gaelic and Latin and, I believe, Italian. Speaking with her is the only Gaelic I’ve used for a decade. It is not easy to find Gaelic locally.”

She laughed again. “I was thinking you might like some lessons in Norwegian, but I don’t want to clutter up your mind too much.”

He tilted his head slightly and said casually, “Hmm. Norwegian should be most handy around here—indeed, all across the northern plains.” On the inside his heart was jumping up and down gleefully and clapping. What a brilliant opportunity to spend more time with this splendid lady! Brilliant! And it was all her idea. He was not pushing himself on her.

“I would be very happy to help you learn some.”

“Ye’re right. I should have at least a passing knowledge of Norwegian. Aye, I should like that.” And his heart nearly turned inside out for joy. Was this what falling in love was like?

“You have a way with children, I was noticing. They love you.”

“And yerself the same. Ye grew up with younger children ’round about to mind, I should think.”

“I did. Did you?”

He smiled. “Thirteen in our family, not counting adults, and meself the next to eldest.”

Again that tinkling laugh. “That’ll do it.”

Quickly, Devlin! Come up with another
topic of conversation. Keep this going
. And he could not. What a dolt! As a courting swain he was a complete loss.

And so they strolled along in silence, and that was almost as good. A few days ago, wind and frost as cold as death threatened to freeze every person in place who ventured out into it. Tonight, a remarkably warm breeze was pushing the clouds north.

“If this keeps up, the last remnants of snow will melt quickly,” he said.

“Yes, and bring behind it even more mud,” she replied. “True Dakota spring mud. Black and gooey to the extreme. There is nothing like it.”

“I certainly be in a rush to see the snow leave. A harsh winter it’s been.”

“Yes, but not as bad as some years.”

“Indeed. Ye would know. Ye grew up in this town.”

She nodded. “And it wasn’t half the size it is now. They’ve come such a long way.”

Yes, and I built some of it.
Devlin thought back briefly to his arrival. He made his living then as a carpenter and woodworker, working on housing for the influx of workmen and their families. Most of the work was ordinary, mundane. Putting up walls, framing doors and windows, installing stringers and siding, shingling roofs. Pleasant work. And fairly frequently, he could use his woodcarving skills. He almost got to carve gargoyles for the new post office, but Thorliff stopped him. Thorliff was afraid the town was not quite ready for gargoyles. So now the post office roof drained into drab, pedestrian tin flumes. Gutters.

“Do you ever do any hunting?” She was looking up at him again.

“In me youth, I went fowling with me uncle, but not much more than that. I have no hunting firearms. No firearms at all, actually.” He smiled down at her. “What do ye wish hunted? I be fairly good with a club.”

“I was just wondering. Benny says that Manny is a good hunter. Benny kind of idolizes Manny; Manny got him up riding on a horse, and he helps Benny when he needs it. He’s a gentle boy.”

“Manny is indeed. And he’s developing into a fine woodworker. He says Haakan Bjorklund got him started and taught him how to keep his knife sharp.”

She nodded, smiling. “I sometimes think Ingeborg takes in every stray in the county.”

Silence closed in around them except for the squish of their footsteps. And then she said something that thrilled him. “I’m enjoying this pleasant walk home with you.”

Lass, you could not possibly have said anything more wonderful.

They were approaching her house now, and that would be the end of this lovely evening. Was it too soon to offer a good-night kiss? How he wished he knew! At least he could kiss her knuckles. He was still holding her hand.

He was going to say something—he didn’t know what exactly—when a distant noise made him stop to listen more carefully.

She must have heard it too. She was frowning. “What was that? It sounded like a clunk. The trash can lid. Maybe the children are throwing away garbage.”

“Perhaps we best go see.” He let go of her hand and walked smartly toward her house. The clunk happened again, and a child’s voice yelped! A door slammed! Devlin broke into a run, heading around the house to the back, and Anji right beside him.

Dogs! Half a dozen at least, all sizes. And they were not friendly dogs. They wheeled and crouched to look at him, snarling, teeth bared as he came around the house. He snatched up the snow shovel beside the back door.

Which was the alpha? There! The lead dog was that nondescript gray one. She turned broadside to him, a bitch, probably the mama of at least some of them. Growling, she held her ground for a moment, but as he came directly at her with the shovel, singling her out, she turned and ran. He skidded to a halt and spun around a hundred eighty degrees. Sure enough, a male, probably one of her pups, was slinking in behind him. He swung. The shovel knocked the dog ten feet. The others ran off at full tilt and disappeared beyond the house. The dog he’d swatted found his feet and followed his pack mates, running three-legged.

“Lissa!” Anji barged in through her back door. “Lissa!”

“Ma! There’s a pack of wild dogs out there!”

Devlin jogged up onto the back stoop and went in, but he did not let go of the snow shovel. He slammed the door behind him.

Lissa was sobbing as she spoke, her words tumbling over one another. “I heard the garbage can and thought it was a raccoon, so I got the broom to chase it off. But when I opened the door, it was dogs! Nasty dogs! They started toward me, and I slammed the door.”

Rachel and Linnea were standing beside her, frightened nearly to tears.

Anji wrapped her arms around Lissa. “It’s all right now. You’re safe. It’s all right.”

Devlin dropped down on one knee beside Lissa. “Ye did exactly right. And yer ma be correct. Ye’re safe now.”

Anji looked to be near tears too. “We’ve never had wild dogs up in the town, Thomas. What if the little children had been out there?”

He stood up. “The children at school have been talking about a pack of dogs—feral dogs—down by the river. I would guess these be the same. And if they’re typical of loose packs, they
hunt by night. The children should be safe enough by day, but ye might keep the wee bairns inside after dark. At least until we settle the business.”

She nodded. “Would they attack farm animals? Dogs?”

“Aye, possibly. Is yer chicken coop sturdy?”

She smiled. “The chicken thieves around here are weasels and raccoons, and sometimes coyotes. So yes, it’s sturdy.”

“We ought to go home now,” Rachel said timidly. “Uh, Mrs. Moen, can we borrow your broom?”

“Better’n that, ye may borrow her escort. I shall see ye safely home.” He turned to Anji. “I shall return yer snow shovel tomorrow before church, though I doubt ye’ll be needing it.”

“Thank you, Thomas.” Her beautiful blue eyes locked with his. “In spite of the dogs, it was a lovely evening.”

“’Twas me great delight as well. Good evening, lady.” Without really thinking about it, he took her hand in his and politely pecked her knuckles. He turned to Rachel and Linnea. “Ready, ladies?”

They grabbed their coats off the pegs and slipped into them quickly.

It was proper for the gentleman to open the door and stand aside to let the ladies precede him, but tonight Devlin would take some extra measures. He went out, stepped off the front porch, and stood for a moment listening and watching. He turned, the snow shovel across his shoulders, and smiled. “Shall we be off?”

They came down off the porch and walked beside him. Very close beside him.

Linnea wagged her head. “I was so scared when we heard the rubbish can clatter. But Lissa just grabbed up her broom and slammed out. I don’t think Lissa is ever afraid of anything.”

Rachel was still pressed very close. “Maybe she’s brave because she’s done so many things we haven’t. Her pa died. That
was really hard, she said, and then she sailed all the way here from Norway. She took the train too. I don’t mean she sailed
all
the way.”

“Mr. Devlin, you sailed across the ocean too.” Linnea pressed just as close.

“I did. But I could not afford the fare, so I had to work my way across as a seaman. Most of the time I was down in the boiler room shoveling coal and tidying up. As I think on it, it may well be easier to cross the ocean with a job ye must do than having to simply sit idle for days on end.”

Rachel nodded sagely. “I think I’d agree. We complain about chores around the house and washing dishes, but just having to sit idle would be worse.”

Devlin chuckled. “I wager that will not stop ye from complaining when next ye’re assigned duties.”

Rachel giggled. “Of course not.” She sobered. “I feel so sorry for Mrs. Moen. And Lissa. Lissa was telling us what her grandmother is like—the one in Norway. Very cold and formal, she says. And critical. And that’s sad too. Lissa doesn’t have anyone, you know, like Manny and Emmy have Mrs. Bjorklund, someone to lean on when you need someone. And Mrs. Moen doesn’t really have anyone either. Lissa says the Baards are all right but not real close.” She looked up at Devlin. “That’s why I’m kind of hoping you and Mrs. Moen might, you know, warm up to each other.”

“Thank ye, lass.”

And, lass, ye’ll never know how fervently I hope the same.

C
HAPTER 11

P
lease, Clara, just ring the bell, and I will come when you need help.”

Clara sat on the edge of her cot, staring at her hands clenched together as if to keep them from flying apart, or perhaps praying desperately.

“If you understand me, please nod.”

Shadowed by the veil of hair, Clara nodded.

Ingeborg placed her hands around Clara’s, warm and comforting, then tightened slightly when Clara tried to draw away. This time, she did not jerk and freeze but heaved a sigh as she relaxed her hands. “Good. Very good.” She wanted so to wrap her arms around this poor waif of a girl and rock her, let the healing flow through her arms and into the emaciated body and soul.
Thank you, Lord God, we are making progress.

“Now, let’s walk together around the house. You are gaining strength, and I think you will enjoy being in the kitchen with Freda and me.” She tucked Clara’s arm within her bent elbow, and they started off, stopping to look out the windows, Ingeborg explaining what they saw. The barn, the chicken house,
the machine sheds, the cheese house, the deaf school, and the Knutson farm. Even though Ingeborg had explained everything before, she wasn’t positive how much of the information Clara was absorbing, so she took care to repeat the information every couple of days.

“As I mentioned before, one of the things taught at that school is sign language so that deaf people can talk with their hands. Since I know you can hear but not speak, I am thinking you could learn to talk with us using sign language. Emmy and Inga—you’ve met our girls—” She waited for a nod. “Actually they are my grandchildren. Emmy and Manny live here, as you know, and Inga and the others live with their parents, my children. Next Sunday I am hoping they can all come for dinner after church.” She could feel Clara pull back. “Now don’t you go worrying. We can choose not to do that if it frightens you too much.” They had arrived back at the kitchen table, and Ingeborg motioned to a chair. “You sit there, and I’ll get the coffee heated up. Freda is out at the cheese house making sure all is ready for when we start making cheese again. Have you ever made cheese?”

A slight nod.

“In Norway?” Nod. “In America?”

Clara went rigid, as she did at any mention of America. She still collapsed in on herself at any mention of the place she had lived. Her gaze darted around the room like a wild animal trapped in a pen.

Ingeborg finished what she was doing. “Would you rather have coffee?” A nod. “Or tea?” A shrug. “Do you mean you don’t like tea or have not had tea?” Puzzlement was easy to recognize. “All right. I will make tea the way the children like to drink it, and if you don’t like it, that is not a problem. While that is heating, I’m going to cut some bread and cheese to go with our coffee or
tea.” She glanced up at the clock. “The children will be here in half an hour or so. When they come in the door, I want you to stay right there. Remember, Manny is a kind boy, and he would like to be able to help you too.”