Dakota Dawn (3 page)

Nora felt like a glacier pressed upon her shoulders. “Oh, my dear, I am so sorry.” Ingeborg guided the younger woman into a chair. “Such terrible news and right off when you first arrive like this.” She pulled up a stool and perched immediately in front of her guest so as to hold Nora’s shaking hands.

Nora heard the men talking by the door as from a great distance. She forced herself to concentrate on the caring woman before her. What had she said? Anything that needed an answer? Hans had died. He was dead. Shouldn’t she be weeping? But the sorrow was more like that of losing a dear friend, not the love of one’s life. She was sad. Of course. But it did not seem to touch her—not inside where heart and love dwelled.

Instead, the thoughts that set her body shaking raced one on top of the other.
Whatever will I do now? Wherever will I go? Who will take care of Hans’s farm? Could I live there?
She pulled herself back from looking over the precipice of her future and focused on the tender smile of the woman in front of her.

“I . . . I’m sorry, I seemed to have wandered off somewhere.” Nora leaned back in the chair and drew in a deep breath. She felt the shudder start at her toes and work its way up until even her teeth rattled.

“Are you cold? Can I get you a blanket? The coffee will be ready shortly.” Ingeborg rubbed Nora’s icy hands.

Nora heard the door close and Reverend Moen approach. She studied her hands, warmly clasped in Ingeborg’s as if to keep the outer world at bay. Her own hands, so large with long fingers and so smooth due to the long weeks of idleness. Ingeborg’s hands, small and reddened from the work of her house. Maybe she could help the Moens for a time.

But Hans’s cows and the horses. Who was taking care of them since he had passed away? He had said he had no near neighbors.

She reached to unbutton her coat. Here she was, dripping all over the spotless kitchen. What kind of visitor did things like that?

“I’m sorry for dripping snow on your floor. What you must think of me.”

“No, no. You mustn’t worry. You’ve had a great shock. Here, let me take that.” Ingeborg pulled herself to her feet and reached for Nora’s dark, wool coat. “Let me hang this over a chair by the stove so it can dry. Your scarf and mittens, too.”

Nora felt like a small child obeying her mother. How comforting. She went through the motions but her mind insisted on darting around like a cornered animal. Hans—her friend of so many years—was gone. When she thought of their growing up together, she felt the tears beginning in the back of her throat. What about his parents? At the thought of their dear faces, the tears overflowed.

She covered her face with her hands, trying to stifle the sobs that shook her shoulders. Oh, the dreams that died along with a loved one. The happinesses that now would never be.

She felt a hand smoothing her hair, heard a gentle voice murmuring condolences. Words that ran together with no meaning, save that of love. She rested in their comfort.

When Nora leaned her weary head against the back of the chair, Ingeborg took a steaming cup of coffee from her husband and handed it to the young woman. “Drink this, it will help. I don’t know if you use sugar, but I sweetened it to lick the shock.”

Nora nodded her thanks and wrapped her hands around the mug.

She sipped carefully. The aroma seeped into her pores, as the warmth cupped between both her hands and now sliding down her throat overcame the shivers.

“Did you know Hans well?” She looked from one Moen to the other.

Reverend Moen nodded. “We knew him, but we were not what you might call friends. He attended our church a few times when he had first arrived. This is a small community, so everyone knows everyone else.”

“Did he talk much about his farm . . . our farm? You see, I’m concerned about the cows and horses, that someone is caring for them.” Nora caught one of those looks passing from husband to wife again. An uncomfortable silence thrummed between the three of them. Nora took her courage in hand. “Is something else wrong?”

Reverend Moen inhaled deeply. “You asked about
his
farm?”

Nora nodded. “Hans wrote in his letters about the two-storied house and big barn, three milk cows, and a team of gray horses he’d already purchased. He said that last year he built a windmill so I wouldn’t even have to pump water. He said . . .” Her voice trailed off. She had been babbling like a brook in the spring. She rubbed the smooth edge of the cup in her hand.

“Ach, you poor child.” Ingeborg patted Nora’s knee.

“Please, tell me.” Nora whispered her plea.

Reverend Moen drew up a straight-backed kitchen chair and folded his lean frame down onto it. He shook his head. “I am so sorry to be the bearer of bad news tonight but . . . well . . .” He drew in another deep breath. “Hans Larson worked as a farmhand for the Elmer Peterson family, south of town. He lived in their bunkhouse with the other hired hands.” He shook his head. “Hans didn’t even own the horse he rode.”

This is too much. I cannot bear all this.
Nora’s thoughts weighed her down. She wished she could sink through the leather seat of the rocker and down into the floor. “Are you . . . you sure? My Hans Larson was tall, yellow hair, and a smile that broke your heart. He—” She forced her mind to think of something different about him. “He had a scar from a burn on the back of his right hand, from when we were children.”

Reverend Moen nodded. “Yes, that’s whom I am talking about. The same Hans Larson, from Bergen, Norway. He arrived about three years ago.”

The crushing iceberg settled on her again. Nora bit the inside of her lip to keep it from quivering. No Hans. No farm. “Well, then, at least there are no animals suffering from neglect.” She attempted a smile in the minister’s direction but failed miserably.

Instead, she studied the muted colors in the braided rug at her feet. Anything was better than looking at the faces of the two sympathetic Moens. How could she have been such a fool?

“You mustn’t blame yourself . . . I mean . . . how could you have known anything else clear back in Norway? You trusted his letter, like you should have.” Ingeborg leaned forward from her perch on the stool. “Besides, he was such a charming young man.”

That he was,
thought Nora. His charm was one reason she had fallen in love with him. Or had she fallen in love with love, with the adventure of coming to the New World? She drank some more of the sweet coffee; its warmth seemed to melt that glacier she felt resting on her. After draining the coffee mug, she glanced around for a place to set it down.

Ingeborg took the empty cup. “Would you like some more?” Nora shook her head.

“Then, if you’d like, I will show you to your bed. I’m afraid you must share it with our seven-year-old Mary. She’ll be surprised when she wakes up in the morning, but Mary loves company.”

Nora felt the words flowing over her like a healing draft. She did not have to make any decisions tonight. Maybe tomorrow she would be able to think better. Maybe tomorrow God would work a miracle and take this all away. Maybe tomorrow she would awaken from this terrible dream and be back with her beloved family.

“Good night, then.” She nodded to the man adjusting the damper in the great black iron stove. “And, thank you.”

“I’ve already taken your bag upstairs.” He clattered the round lid of the stove back into place. “Sleep well. Things always have a way of looking brighter in the morning, even when times seem the darkest.”

“Mange takk,”
Nora followed Ingeborg up the steep stairs. Halfway up she paused to rest. She had not realized how exhausted she was. Each step seemed like a mountain, with her feet so weighted she could barely lift them. She stepped with her right foot, then her left, each dragging the other until she reached the upper hall. Soft light from Ingeborg’s candle beckoned from the room on the left.

“If you sit in that rocking chair, I can help you with your boots.” Ingeborg turned from arranging the sleeping child in the bed. “Have you a nightgown in your bag?”

Nora nodded as she sank down into the chair. Waves of weary sadness washed over her. She felt like she had been pounded by waves down in the fjord on a stormy day and was being pulled out to sea. Ingeborg’s voice came from far away. She felt herself sinking.

“Now, let’s just get you in bed before you fall asleep in the chair.” A gentle hand tugged her upright. Nora did as the voice commanded. She stood, stepped, turned, and sank into the feather bed that rose up to greet her. She heard her mother’s voice,
“Now mind your manners,”
but Nora could not force the required
“Mange takk”
past the sleep that clogged her throat and eyes.

“God bless you, my dear. I’ll leave the candle here in case you need it.” Ingeborg smoothed the hair back from Nora’s forehead just like she had done to her daughter. The feather-light touch was the last sensation Nora felt; she was at home, in her mother’s care.

Light, bright as though from a thousand flashing diamonds, filled her eyes. She blinked against the brightness, then slowly opened her eyelids. To the left, sun streaming through the frosted window-pane made her blink again. She turned her head to the right.

A solemn stare from bright blue eyes met her own. In a blur of spinning braids and a voice to wake the deaf, the child fled out the door.

“Ma, she’s awake!” echoed in the hall.

Nora stretched her hands over her head and pointed her toes to the end of the mattress. Oh, how good it felt as she rotated her shoulders.

The night before came crashing back. Hans was dead. Hans had lied. What was she to do now? She felt like pulling the covers over her head to blot out the sun and the new day. Instead, she lifted her head and looked around the room. Covered by colorful patchwork quilts, she had not noticed the cold through the night. A small rocker held a rag doll, which kept company with the grownup one. By the bed, a pitcher and matching bowl painted with pink roses sat on top of a dark oak commode. More pink roses climbed trellises up the wallpapered walls . . . the same pink roses she had dreamed of for her new home.

“Enough of that,” she ordered herself when she could feel a lump beginning in her throat. “As Ma always says, ‘The good Lord has His eye on the sparrow and us as well.’” She threw back the covers and planted her feet firmly on the braided rug of many colors. “This is the day that the Lord hath made. I will rejoice and be glad in it.”

She bit back the quiver in her chin. She had said that verse every morning since her confirmation, but today it was difficult to say. So she said it again—more firmly. “This is the day that the Lord hath made.” She heard footsteps coming up the stairs. “I will rejoice and be glad in it.”

Ingeborg tapped on the door before entering. “What a marvelous way to start the day.” Cheeks red from the heat of the cooking stove made her blue eyes sparkle even more. “You must have been sleeping hard since Mary came down without waking you.”

“Oh, I did . . . sleep well, that is.”

Ingeborg poured hot water into the pitcher on the stand. “Now you can wash and, when you’re ready, there’s breakfast waiting.”

“Ma . . .” A young voice floated up the stairwell.

“That’s Knute. He’s five. You’ve met Mary . . .”

Nora nodded.

“Ma-a-a.”

“Goodness. With these four of mine there’s always something.” She turned in a swirl of skirts but paused at the door. “You come down when you’re ready now.”

Nora pressed a hand to her chest and shook her head. She felt like a whirlwind had just blown through the room. She crossed the room and closed the door. Now, she would finally have a real washing.

In spite of the heating grate in the floor, she shivered in the cold room as she hurried through her bathing. Wishing for clean clothes, she thought of her trunk still at the station. But that would come later. She pulled on her clothes and the long black wool stockings. While warmer, she no longer felt so clean. She shook out her shirtwaist and black wool skirt before buttoning them in place.

With her hair brushed and rebraided, she felt more like a young woman who had boarded the train for a new country. Actually, she was feeling better than she had felt for days. In spite of her difficulties, she hummed under her breath while she made the bed and wiped the water from the oak stand.

As she made her way down the stairs, she could hear young voices. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her of how long it had been since her last meal.

She turned to the right and stopped at the entry to the kitchen. Two children sat at the oval oak table in front of the window, reading their lessons. They looked up when they heard her tread. Nora smiled at them both and then at the picture Ingeborg made. The baby was nestled in her arms while a chubby little girl played with the cat at her mother’s feet.

An ache began somewhere in the middle of Nora’s heart. This was what she had dreamed of . . . and now that dream was shattered. She resecured the smile on her face and buried the ache under the ashes of her yesterday. As Ma and the Good Book said, “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.”

And this was definitely morning—she glanced at the grandfather clock by the door—but not morning for much longer.

“I’m sorry to be such a lazybones, I . . .”

“Not at all.” Ingeborg shook her head. “You needed the rest. Now, I know you must be starved.” When she started to get up, Nora laid a hand on the woman’s shoulder.

“No, you stay there with the baby. Just tell me where things are and I will fix my own. The coffee smells wonderful.” She reached into the glass-faced cupboard for a cup. A loaf of bread sat on the counter, next to a crock of jam.

“Thank you, my dear. Everything is right in front of you. We’ll be having soup for dinner in about an hour or when Reverend Moen returns. He had some calls to make.”

While Nora sliced the homemade bread, Ingeborg introduced her children. “Mary is the oldest at seven, Knute is five, Grace is three, and James here is five months.” She dropped a kiss on the rosy cheek of the baby asleep in her arms. The gentle rocking of the chair creaked its own song, in counterpoint with the kettle singing on the stove.