Dakota Dawn (6 page)

“I . . . uh . . . want . . . my . . . ma. Why doesn’t she come?”

Nora murmured responses in her own language, wishing she could say the things in her heart to this grieving child. Ingeborg had told her that her mother had gone to be with Jesus. That she was not coming back. But how could such a little one understand that?

Softly, so she would not wake Mary, Nora began to sing. “Jesus loves me . . .” As the words and love in the song crept into that silent night, she felt the child relax against her shoulder. Jerky, leftover sobs that racked the small body tore at Nora’s heart. “Yes, Jesus loves me . . .” She finished the song on a whisper and removed her arm from under Kaaren’s neck.

“Heavenly Father, comfort this family,” she prayed. “Bring back the love they’ve lost and, if You want me to care for them, please find a way. Amen.”

Forgotten were the tears of the night as the two girls bounced up to greet the sun sparkling around the feathery frost patterns on the windowpane. They ran, giggling, down the stairs, leaving Nora to stretch and twist her body from one side to the other in the softness of the deep feather ticking. When she heard a baby crying, she leaped from the bed, put on her wrapper, and made her way downstairs.

Ingeborg was jostling James on her hip while warming a bottle for Peder, who was crying in Mary’s arms in the rocker.

“And a good morning to you, too,” Nora said with a laugh while relieving Mary of her squalling bundle.

“Good. Now I can take care of this one,” Ingeborg sank gratefully into the other rocker. “He thinks his mother should drop everything the minute he cries. What a spoiled little boy.”

Nora tested the warmth of the bottled milk on one of her wrists and then sat down to begin the feeding. Peder fussed a bit, not quite willing to take the bottle. “Come now. We did this beautifully last night. Ingeborg isn’t going to be here to feed you anymore.”

Peder looked up at her as if he understood every word she had said. When she prodded his closed lips with the nipple again, he took it and began to suck like she might take it away before he could fill himself.

Nora chuckled. What a precious baby. And smart, too, she could already tell.

“Mary, you set the table. We’ll have mush as soon as I finish here, so put the cinnamon and cream on the table.”

“Where’s Pa?” Mary asked as she handed the bowls, one at a time, to Grace and Kaaren.

“Starting the furnace at the church. Then he’s planning to work more on his sermon. I told him it was too cold over there and that he should come home to finish.”

“And?” Nora set the chair rocking.

“And he’s over there in the cold because he says he can’t work with all the noise around here.” Inge’s glance around the kitchen included the chattering children as all four went about their chores, Mary firmly telling each one what to do. The teakettle sang merrily on the stove and, up until a few minutes ago, there had been two babies crying. “I just don’t understand why he thinks this is noisy.” Her eyebrows nearly met her hairline.

Nora laughed along with her friend. “This is the way homes are supposed to be. Someday, I want one just like this.” She put the baby up to her shoulder and patted his back. “Just like this.”

“With two babies at a time?”

“Well . . . maybe one by one.”

The clock bonged eight times.

“We must hurry if we don’t want to be late to Sunday school. Here, Mary, you take James while I finish making the breakfast. The table looks lovely.”

While Ingeborg was giving out assignments, Reverend Moen let in a blast of cold air as he came through the door. “What a beautiful day we have,” he said as he hung up his coat and hat. “Why it’s ten degrees above zero and getting warmer. Pretty soon, the chinook will come sighing across the plains and, before you know it, spring will be here.”

He rubbed his hands together, warming them above the stove. “Wait until you see spring here on the prairie, Nora. It is like no other season.”

Nora, like a good guest, kept her doubts to herself. What could possibly be beautiful about this flat country? Now, spring in Norway—that was sight and sound to behold. The cracking thunder as the rivers broke loose from their winter dungeon and the logs cascaded down with the ice floes. The birds returning in flocks to darken the sky and the masses of green bursting forth from the soil as the sun shone longer each day.

The ache of homesickness caught her by surprise. To stem any tears that threatened to overflow, she swallowed the lump in her throat and rolled her eyes upward. Better remember that Old Man Winter still held her beloved homeland in his icy grip.

“I . . . I’ll take Peder with me while I go get ready. Unless you need me for something else first?”

“No, no. You go on.” Ingeborg shooshed her away with fluttering hands. She went back to stirring the mush that was thickening under her watchful eye.

“I’ll hurry.” With the baby in one arm and the pitcher of warm water from the reservoir in the other, Nora went up the stairs. She propped the infant against the pillows and continued talking with him as she washed her face and hands. Before she was half done, he had fallen asleep.

With Reverend Moen encouraging haste, they finished eating and cleaning up in time to be bundled up and out the door, arriving at the church as the first of the other families were hitching their horses to the rails.

It felt like home to Nora and yet she felt strange and out of place. This was the first time in her life she had worshipped in a church other than the one at home. While people were speaking Norwegian around her, none of them were her relatives. At home her aunts and uncles and cousins, besides brothers and sisters, made up half of the congregation.

Nora smiled as each person was introduced. But she kept waiting for one man, Carl Detschman, to appear. He had said he would join them for church but he still had not arrived as the organist played the opening songs.

They had settled in the front pew. Nora rocked the baby in her arms, Kaaren was beside her, and Mary next. Ingeborg was shushing Grace and Knute. What a pew-full they made.

Nora did not realize until the closing hymn how much she had been waiting for a tall, broad-shouldered farmer to join their group. She kept hoping he had sat in the back and, when they turned to leave, she thought she saw that familiar blond head leaving before anyone else. He had said he would join them for church. If it was him, why did he leave so quickly?

Peder had slept through the service, much to Nora’s relief, but, when they stood for the benediction, he began whimpering. By the time she could get out the door, he had progressed into the demanding stage.

“I’ll take him home and feed him,” Nora whispered to Ingeborg as she passed the Moens in the greeting line at the front door. At the top of the three wooden stairs, Nora stopped for a moment to look again for Carl Detschman. Was that Carl driving his sleigh down the street?

“Don’t be silly,” she scolded herself on the short walk back to the parsonage. “It doesn’t matter one whit to you if the man came to church or not. Once he picks up his children, you probably won’t even see him again. Ingeborg said he was unpopular—an outcast—because of his German heritage. So just put a smile on your face and enjoy the day. You won’t have to worry about whether this darling bundle of baby eats or not. It’s his father’s problem.”

So, then, why did her bottom lip feel like it wanted to quiver? And what was that stupid lump in her throat? How could she let these babies go without someone there to take care of them?

She hurried through the door of the parsonage and slammed it shut behind her. In the time it took her to warm the bottle and settle down to feed the crying infant, the remainder of the family arrived home. They were chattering and laughing about their chores when a knock sounded at the door.

“Welcome, Carl.” Reverend Moen ushered the visitor in. “I was happy to see you come to the service. Let me take your coat and hat.”

“Thank you.”

Kaaren made her usual beeline for her father’s legs.

“Dinner is almost ready,” Ingeborg said while bending down to remove the roast from the oven. “You’re just in time.”

Nora clutched little Peder tighter.
How have I gotten so attached to these two children in such a short time?

“Miss Johanson, Reverend, Missus, can we talk for a few minutes? Right away?” Carl ducked his chin, then squared his shoulders. “Please?”

Ingeborg wiped her hands on the dish towel she had slung over her shoulder. “Of course. Mary, you take the children into the other room to play. Nora, Peder can go back in the cradle now.”

Nora shook her head. She could not lay the baby down, not when he was to be taken away from her so soon. “I . . . I’ll just rock him. He was fussing a moment ago.”

“No—I mean, please, could you join us?” Carl motioned to a chair at the table.

Nora stood and, after laying Peder in the cradle as asked, walked to the table and sank down on one of the oak chairs. With the tip of her finger, she smoothed a spot on the table. Something strange was happening here.

“Miss Johanson, Nora, would you marry me?”

Nora felt her chin drop—clear to her chest.

“I know this is sudden, but let me tell you what I am thinking. As the Moens said, you cannot come live at my farm without marriage. It would not be proper. But, if we were married, your living there and caring for my children would be all right. I will advertise for a housekeeper in the Fargo and Grand Forks papers and, when we find one, then we will have the marriage annulled and I will pay for your passage to return to Norway.”

He waited while Ingeborg finished translating.

I can go home to Norway
was Nora’s first thought.
I would have a place to work
was her second, and
I won’t have to give up these babies
was the third.
At least not for a time,
she amended. She closed her eyes, the better to think.
But marriage! An annulment?

Her gaze flew to Reverend Moen’s face. “Will this work?”

John rubbed his nose with the index finger of his right hand. “A marriage can be annulled only if it is not consummated.”

Nora felt her cheeks flame at the thought. Surely Mr. Detschman understood that . . . that they would not share a bed.

“You and the children will share the big bedroom downstairs, where it is warm. I will fix a bed for me upstairs.” Carl ducked his chin and stammered over the last words. “I mean, this marriage would be because . . . to . . . ah . . . save your reputation.” His voice deepened to a growl. “That is all I have to offer.”

Nora nodded that she understood. And what he was offering was enough for her. Since Hans had lied and died, she wanted nothing to do with North Dakota farmers. She would dream of returning home. This seemed to be a sensible solution.

“What do you think, Ingeborg?” Nora risked looking at her friend.

“I don’t know.” She looked from her husband to the man still standing, his hand now resting on the back of a chair. “You and the children can stay here for as long as you need.”

When Carl understood her response, he shook his head. “I cannot lay such a burden upon you. You have already been good to me beyond duty.”

“Let us eat our dinner and think about this plan of yours,” Reverend Moen said. “You have not proposed an easy thing.”

Nora let the conversation at dinner flow around her like a river around a big rock. It wasn’t that she did not understand half of it, she just needed the time to think.

What would her mother say?
Surely I would be home almost before they could send a reply. All I need tell them is that I am caring for two small children for a farmer here who lost his wife. An annulment is like the marriage had never been.

And I can go home soon. Back to the mountains, with green forests and white rushing rivers. Back to my family . . . Clara and Einer; Gunhilde and Thorliff. And little Sophie—she won’t be all grown-up before I see her again.
She pictured each of them in her mind.

Halfway through the meal, Peder began his waking whimpers. By the time Nora had a bottle warmed, he had progressed to red-faced demand.

Nora picked him up and whisked him off for a diaper change. Then, she took her place in the rocker and silenced him with the nipple. As the baby sucked, she let her mind roam back across the ocean again. But it refused to stay in Norway.

Instead, she thought of the baby in her arms. If she did not stay, who would care for him? And little Kaaren. She was still waking at night, calling for her mother. Would her father be able to care for her . . . and do all his farming, too? Spring planting would come and then how would he manage?

Her mind flitted to the man himself. He was so stern. Was this his usual way or was it due to his great sorrow? His children needed some love and light in their lives.

Of course, he could leave them with the Moens, like Ingeborg had suggested, but what if Nora went to work somewhere else? How could Ingeborg handle her home and all the children by herself?

After letting her thoughts race like a fox after rabbits, she tipped her head back.
Father God, what would You have me to do?
Her thoughts quit their scampering. She had prayed earlier for Him to work something out, hadn’t she? Was this it?

When Peder finished eating, she rose and walked back to the table. “Ja, I will do this.” She nodded as she spoke. “Carl Detschman, I will marry you.”

“Today?”

She stared at him. Had she understood? She looked to Ingeborg for confirmation.

“I don’t see what the rush is,” Reverend Moen said, shaking his head. “Next week—”

“No. If we are going to do this, we will do this now.” Carl kept his gaze on Nora’s face.

Nora took a deep breath and let it out, along with all her hesitations. “Now.”

“Let me warm up the church first.” Reverend Moen rose to his feet and reached for his coat.

“No!” Nora cried, then repeated more softly, “No, we’ll be married in the parlor, not the church. Since this wedding doesn’t count anyway, I do not want the ceremony to be performed in the church.”

“If you are certain.” John hung his coat back up.

Nora nodded. She kept her gaze on the part in Kaaren’s hair. She could not look up at Carl, not right now.

Although the ceremony was spoken in Norwegian, Nora heard the words with only the top part of her mind. The rest of her floated in a fog. She gave the proper answers when the Reverend Moen asked her to, but she never looked above the Bible clasped in his hands.

“I have no ring,” Carl said, as he held Nora’s hand. “But if you like, I will buy one the next time I come into town.”

“No. That is not necessary.” Why was there a lump in her throat? After all, this ceremony meant nothing. They really were not married—were they?

Carl and Reverend Moen loaded Nora’s trunk into the wagon while the women gathered up all the children’s things. Nora repacked her carpetbag and carried it downstairs to the front door.

“I can’t believe this is happening.” Ingeborg took Nora’s cold hands in hers and held them together. “If you need anything, remember your big sister is always here to help you.”

Nora tried to smile around the quiver in her chin—Ingeborg was anything but big. Leaving here was almost as hard as leaving home.

The women wrapped Peder in his blankets and then an extra quilt before following the men out the door. Carl had spread hay in the back of the wagon and, with extra quilts, made a nest for his family. Nora placed her hand in his and, using the runners for a step, joined Kaaren in the box. Ingeborg handed Peder in to her.

Carl swung up on the high board seat and unwound the reins from the whipstock. “Thank you, for everything.” He tipped his hat to the Moens, who stood by the side, arms around each other.

“Come and visit when you can.” He clucked to the team. With a flick of the reins, the horses started forward, the iron sled runners creaking in the snow.

The good-byes rang on the clear air. Nora waved from her shelter. Kaaren waved one last time, then snuggled down into the warm nest of quilts. She leaned her head against Nora’s arm and, tipping up her face, smiled broader than Nora had yet seen.

The smile sent angels of joy dancing in Nora’s heart. Surely she had made the right choice. She smiled back, then tucked the quilts more closely about them with her free hand. With the sun on its downward slide, the temperature was already dropping. She edged the long scarf draped around her neck up and over the hat she had pinned so securely in place. Hats like hers may be fashionable, but they were not worth anything in a snowstorm.

Carl hunkered down in his seat, offering little of himself to the wind. He flicked the reins again, bringing the team up to a smart trot. The way the sun was sinking, they would barely be home just before dark. He had not planned on spending so much time at the Moens’.

Oh Anna,
he cried in the confines of his heart,
have I done the right thing? Little Kaaren needs you so desperately and so do I. The house is empty without you. I’d rather sleep in the barn where at least there is some noise with the animals.

He covered his nose with the red scarf wrapped around his neck. “Come on, boys. Let’s get home.” The harness jingled soprano while the hooves thudded bass. The runner creaked in counterpoint, but the symphony was lost on the man hunkered on the driver’s seat. He wandered in a frozen, desolate land where music and laughter were outlawed.

How would he talk with this woman he was bringing home? Granted, he had learned some Norwegian since coming to Soldahl, and Norwegian and German had some similarities, but she had to learn English—he would insist. His daughter would grow up speaking English—no people would laugh behind her back. He remembered the cruelty of children, especially at school.

He shivered against the cold. But the cold within him was deeper than any weather could bring.

Nora, snuggled down in the bed of the wagon now turned sleigh, was nearly asleep when a halt jerked her upright. A dog leaped and barked beside them. They were stopped in front of a square, two-storied house, the kind that dotted the prairie like toys tossed out by a giant hand. A snowdrift reached like a dragging scarf clear up to one second-story window. She craned her neck around the rumps of the steaming horses to see the red hip-roofed barn, silo, and other outbuildings. A tingle ran up her spine. Mr. Detschman owned a fine farm.

Kaaren stirred from her sound sleep. “Are we home, Pa?”

“Yes, little one, we are.” He leaned over the edge of the box and lifted his daughter out. “Here.” He handed her a parcel. “Bring this into the house.”

When Nora held out the quilt-wrapped baby to him, he took her arm instead and steadied her as she clambered down to the shoveled walk to the house, the infant clutched to her chest. She would have liked to have taken a few moments to look around, but dusk was on them, tinting the snow the bluish gray of eventide. She hurried up the path to open the door for Kaaren.

When she glanced back, Carl was throwing robes over the horses.
He must plan on unloading my trunk right now,
she thought.
I should go back and help.

Peder squirmed in her arms. No, the baby came first. And it would not be long before the entire world would know that it was feeding time. Maybe the water in the stove’s reservoir would still be warm enough to heat the bottle.

“Ma! Ma?” Kaaren yelled into the stillness of the empty house as soon as the door opened. “Ma, where are you?” She ran from room to room, calling, until she collapsed against the bed in the room off the kitchen. “Ma-a-a-a. I want my ma.”

Nora felt like joining in the little girl’s tears. How could she help this precious little one? And the baby who needed her, too—right now, if his uttering’s were to be quieted.

Where in heaven’s name was their father?

She followed Kaaren into the bedroom and laid Peder in his quilts in the middle of the bed, unwrapping him only enough to allow him to breathe easily. Then, she scooped Kaaren up in her arms, holding her tightly while she cried. While she could not speak the language, words loaded with love and comfort could be felt by anyone. Could she be the mother they needed?

When Kaaren’s sobs turned to sniffles, Nora set the child on the bed and, taking her hand, patted Peder’s chest. “You do that,” she said, depending on sign language. “Be good to your brother. Good, good.” She nodded and smiled her approval as Kaaren gently continued the patting. “Keep on, more.” Nora backed from the room, all the while smiling and nodding, and headed for the stove.

The reservoir water was still plenty warm, so Nora searched through the lower cupboards to find a small pan. She filled it half full with water, then went back into the bedroom for one of the baby’s bottles of milk she had brought from Ingeborg’s.

Nora could tell Peder was tired of being patted. His whimper had turned to a howl, so she picked him up. While rocking him in her one arm, she set the bottle into the warm water with the other hand.

“I do not know how all those women managed with just one arm for so many years,” she muttered as she continued to lift the stove lid, add coal, replace the lid, open the damper, and comfort the hungry baby. “Your supper will be ready soon. Shhhhh.” She swayed with the soothing rhythm that had been passed down through the centuries from woman to woman.

Kaaren wandered into the kitchen and hid her face in Nora’s skirt, clinging to the fabric as if that, too, might be taken from her. Nora patted the little girl’s hair with her free hand.

Where was their father?

With the baby finally nursing contentedly in her arm, Nora relaxed in the rocking chair. Kaaren stuck to her side like a barnacle on a rock.
I suppose I should make supper,
Nora thought as she rocked,
but what? You would think Carl would be here to show me where things are. That would be the decent thing to do.

She looked around the room.
We could eat eggs if he has chickens. Is there any bread? Even toast and hot milk would be enough, at least for Kaaren and me.
She studied the white painted cupboards, the sink with a bucket below to catch the water. A red, long-handled pump was bolted to the outer edge. How wonderful, to have water piped into the house.

Lace curtains with red tiebacks brightened every window, both the smaller one above the sink and the double-sashed one on the other side of the round oak table. As in all homes, the large, black, cast-iron stove took up much of the space.

If the remainder of the house is as comfortable as the kitchen,
Nora thought,
I’ll love working here. And soon, I’ll be able to take the ship back to Norway.

With the baby fed, burped, changed, and put to bed in the cradle by the bed in the other room, Nora picked up the kerosene lamp she had lit, took Kaaren by the hand, and went exploring. The parlor, with both doors closed, was freezing, as was Kaaren’s small bedroom in the back of the house. The little girl picked up a rag doll, hugging it to her.

“Come along. Let’s go back to the kitchen where it is warm.”

To keep from wasting the heat, Nora closed all the doors behind them. Back in the kitchen, she found a door in the stair wall with a well-stocked pantry on one side and stairs down to the cellar on the other.