Robin Lee Hatcher - [Coming to America 02] (22 page)

Her gasp was nearly inaudible.

“Inga, I was angry and bitter when I came to the parsonage looking for help last December. It seemed nothin’ in my life would go right or had ever gone right. I felt like I’d been forced to live my brother’s life. Oh, sure, I knew I was fond of the girls, but I didn’t cope good with ’em. Leastwise, I never felt like I did.” Again, he added, “Until you.”

It was hard, finding the words. His whole future—
their
whole future—rested on his ability to say the right thing.

He turned toward her, leaning his shoulder on the fence, staring at her shadowed profile. “When I asked you to marry me, it’s true all I thought I wanted was somebody to look after the kids. It’s true I didn’t plan on stayin’ when they were grown. But it’s not true any longer.”

“You hate this farm.”

“I used to.”

“You hate the cows.”

He chuckled. “Guess that’s still true.”

“What about traveling the world? Your dreams—”

He drew her back into his embrace. “You gave me new dreams.”

“But—”

“What I’m trying to say is, I love you. I don’t want to go anywhere without you.” He sealed the words with a kiss.

Inga’s emotions tilted crazily, swinging from joy to terror. She’d never heard anything more wonderful than Dirk’s profession of love. Still, she couldn’t escape the fear that she was being punished for wanting more than she was meant to have.

Dirk released her mouth but kept his face close to her own. She could feel his warm breath on her skin as he said, “I want us to make this a real marriage.”

Inga wanted it too, only—

“Till death do us part,” he added.

“Nej!”
she cried, pulling away from him. That was it! That was how she would be punished. By Dirk’s own words, he’d foretold the future. Unless she acted quickly, that’s what would happen. Death would separate them.

Holding her skirts out of the way, she ran toward the house, failing to hear him calling her name above the fearful beating of her heart.

Dirk pursued her. He would have followed her right up the stairs and into their bedroom, except he saw the alarmed expression on Martha’s face when he entered the kitchen. So he pretended nothing was wrong, telling his niece her Aunt Inga was tired and had gone to bed. Then he suggested the children do the same. It took a while. He’d learned in recent weeks that bedtime was never uneventful, not with an inquisitive six-year-old and a willful four-year-old who often decided they weren’t sleepy yet.

It was Inga who had shown him the importance of spending time with these children. It was Inga’s influence that had taught him to treasure little moments, like reading a bedtime story or tucking the blankets snugly beneath Suzanne’s and Martha’s chins. He’d even learned to look forward to this time of the day.

But tonight, he wanted the ritual over so he could be with Inga. Most of all, he needed to understand what was causing her to run from him.

And he needed her to understand he had no intention of letting her run away. Not ever.

Inga stood at the window, staring at the star-studded heavens. If only she could pray…

Tears of frustration and fear ran down her cheeks. All her life she had wanted to be different than what she was. Others
had looked at her and thought she was the perfect daughter for a minister, kind and thoughtful. Pappa had thought her the most intelligent of his daughters. Her sisters had said she was levelheaded. But she had known she was plain and ordinary. She’d pretended to be satisfied with what she was. She’d pretended to be content with what others expected her to be.

But God had known her heart. God had known she was filled with envy. She’d wanted to be like others. She’d wanted to have what others had. Look what had happened because she hadn’t been satisfied with the life God gave her. See what had happened because she had a rebellious spirit, a greedy heart, stubborn pride.

“Inga…”

With a gasp, she whirled toward the door. She hadn’t heard Dirk enter.

Take anything I have,
she had prayed that day.
Anything.

“Inga, can’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

Do not take his life,
she had pleaded.
Take me instead. Take anything I have…I will never ask for anything else if only you will spare his life.

He crossed the space that separated them. “Inga?”

“You must not love me, Dirk,” she whispered. “It is my fault. My fault.”

“What is your fault?” He cupped her chin, lifted her face toward him.

“The baby.”

“It was an accident. You fell down the stairs.”

She began to sob. “You…do not…understand.”

“Don’t cry.” He kissed one tear-moistened cheek, then the other. “I can’t bear to have you cry. I love you. Do you hear me? I love you. It doesn’t matter if we can’t have children. We’ve got Martha and Suzanne. We’ll be a family, the four of us. It’s enough. I love you.”

“You must not say that.” She hiccuped over another sob. “Something terrible will happen.”

He drew her close, pressed her cheek against his collarbone, rested his chin on her head. “I don’t understand,” he said as he stroked one hand up and down her spine.

How could he? How could he possibly understand?

Let him love you,
a small voice said.

“Inga…” He cupped her face between his hands, tilted her head back, brushed his lips across hers. “Whatever is wrong, we can face it together. No matter what.”

“I should go home.”

“You
are
home, Inga.”

She looked at him, repeating, “You do not understand.” Tears glittered in her eyes. “I do not belong here.”

“Of course you belong.” He tightened his arms around her. “I love you.”

“You should not.”

“Why shouldn’t I? I’m your husband.”

She bit her lower lip, and Dirk knew she was fighting for control of her tears.

“Inga, I promise you, things will be different now. Maybe I didn’t say it right earlier. Maybe you think I’m still just looking for somebody to take care of the girls. But that’s not true.” He lowered his voice. “When I was drownin’, my last thought was of you. That was the moment I knew I loved you and didn’t want to be without you.”

She lost control over her tears. They streaked down her cheeks, and in her eyes, he saw the devastation of her soul.

“What can I say to make it better?” he asked, his voice breaking. “To make you believe me.”

“I cannot believe, Dirk. I want to but I cannot.”

“Why?”

She pulled from his embrace, and once again gazed out the window. “If I do not leave, something much worse will happen.”

“Something worse?” Frustration burned in his chest. “What’re you talking about? You keep saying that, but I don’t understand.”

“I was never satisfied with what God made me. I did not want to be the sensible elder daughter, the one who was always with her pappa, out doing good works. I wanted to be pretty and sought after and…and desirable.”

“You are!”

She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Usually it did not matter. Usually I was happy. I liked helping Pappa, and I loved listening to God’s voice when he spoke to my heart. But there was always that seed of dissatisfaction with who I was and what my future would be.” She clenched her hands together. “When I…I married you, I stopped asking for guidance. I only wanted what I wanted. That’s all I cared about.”

“That’s not true,” he argued. “I saw how much you cared for Ma and the girls. And for me, too.”

She looked into his eyes. “I told God to take anything of mine as long as he saved your life. It’s my fault our child will never be born.”

It took him a moment to understand the import of her words. When he did, he leaned closer. “You can’t think that’s how he answered your prayer?”

“I was not supposed to want so much. I was envious. I should have been content with what I was, with what I had.”

He grabbed both of her hands, pulled her toward him. “Look at me, Inga.” When she did, he continued, “I’ve never been a religious man. I was angry and bitter ’cause life didn’t go the way I thought it should. I figured God didn’t care much about me. But I was wrong. He cared. You showed me that. In
a thousand different ways, you showed me that. I may not know much, but I know the Almighty doesn’t take unborn babies because of a wife’s desperate prayers for her husband. God doesn’t punish us for wantin’ things either. I don’t believe it, and neither should you.”

“If I do not leave, something worse will happen. I can feel it.”

Dirk wrapped her in his arms, held her close against him, wondered what he could say to reach her. He should have realized her sorrow went deeper than mourning the loss of a baby. He thought of that scarlet quilt and knew it stood for much more than a miscarriage. It represented all the guilt she was carrying on her narrow shoulders.

She choked on a sob, then whispered, “I cannot pray.”

“Then I’ll pray for you, Inga.” Gently, he guided her toward the bed. “You’ll see. It’s gonna be all right.” With patient hands, he disrobed her, then slipped her nightgown over her head. “You’ll see,” he continued to croon as he helped her into bed, tucking the covers around her. “You’ll see.”

God, help me, ’cause I don’t know what to do.

R
everend Linberg steepled his fingers beneath his chin and closed his eyes. “I didn’t know it was so bad with her. She seemed too quiet when I was last out to the farm, but I thought time would take care of it.” He shook his head slowly, then nodded. “To be honest, Gunda tried to tell me. I guess I didn’t listen.”

Dirk sank onto the chair opposite Olaf. “I couldn’t think of anything else to do except bring her here. Every day I feel her pulling a little more away from reality. She seems so fragile. She kept saying she wanted to come back to the parsonage.” Despair washed over him. “Maybe she’s right. Maybe this is where she ought to be. For a while. Until she’s better.”

Olaf shook his head slowly. “Oh, Inga. My sweet girl.”

“I was planning a trip to Des Moines, once the doctor gave his okay for her to travel. I thought it might cheer her up. I think she’d even come to like the idea. But then, a couple days ago, she just seemed to…” He let his words trail off unfinished.

Silence filled the room, made it seem small and closed in. Hot. Stuffy. Airless.

Dirk bolted out of his chair and strode to the window. He opened it and took a deep breath of fresh air. Then, chagrined, he turned to face Inga’s father again. “I love her, Reverend, but
she’s getting worse instead of better, and nothing I say seems to help.”

“Where is she now?”

It was Bernadotte who answered from the doorway. “She’s upstairs. In her old room.”

“You heard?” the pastor asked his wife.

“
Ja,
I heard. I think you should go to her, Olaf. It is always you she’s listened to best.”

With a nod, Inga’s father rose from his chair and left the room, an unusual weariness in his step, an uncustomary sag in his shoulders.

Dirk leaned against the windowsill, raking the fingers of both hands through his hair while staring at the floor. “I feel so helpless.”

“
Fa,
it is often so. To be human is to feel helpless at times.” Bernadotte crossed her husband’s study and stood beside his desk. “But when we are helpless in ourselves, then we remember to look to the one whose help we need. When we are yoked with Christ, he will carry our burdens.”

He met his mother-in-law’s gaze. “That sounds like something Inga used to say.”

“Ja.”
She smiled sadly.

“It’s like she’s there with me, but not really there. She’s doing her chores, taking care of the girls. She cooks our meals and cleans the house and sews on her quilts. She does all that, but she’s not really there.” He paused, then asked, “Does that make sense?”

Again she replied,
“Ja.”

The curtains were drawn, and the room was shadowed. Inga sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the things around her without seeing them. She was tired. It was a weariness of
the soul. She understood that, but she felt too far away—removed, remote—to try to change. It was as if she were watching herself from a great distance.

The door opened, and her pappa entered. She met his gaze, tried to smile at him.

“Dotter.”

“Pappa.”

He sat beside her on the bed and took hold of her hand. “Your husband tells me you wish to come back to the parsonage.”

“I must come home, Pappa.”

“Why?”

Why?
The question repeated again and again in her mind, but she couldn’t find the answer. She knew there was one. She knew that not to go home meant something horrible would happen, but she couldn’t remember the reason. It seemed so long ago since she could grab hold of a thought and hang on to it.

“Inga, it is hard to lose a baby. I know. Your mamma lost three. Do you remember?”

Did she remember? She wasn’t sure. She couldn’t think clearly.

“You must not give up hope. God is merciful. He will meet you at the place of your need if you will but ask.”

Where was that place? She didn’t know.

“Inga, tell me what is troubling you.”

“I must come home.”

Olaf’s grasp tightened. “Look at me.”

It took a great deal of effort, but she managed to do as he’d commanded.

“Dirk has told me what you fear. How is it this has happened? How is it you can believe God waits in heaven for his
children to err so he can smite them with disaster? You have served him, Inga. You know better. He is a God of love. He loves and cares for you.”

Tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision. “I must come home.”

He sighed. “Your place is with your husband.”

“Please.”

“Has Dirk been unkind to you,
dotter?
Has he ever mistreated you? Is there something you are not telling me?”

“I must come home.” She let the tears fall. Hot tears, streaking her cheeks, burning her throat. “Please, Pappa, I must come home.”

He placed his arm around her shoulders and hugged her to him. “All right, Inga. Do not cry. We will find a way through this valley. I promise you.”

Astrid Linberg returned with Dirk to the farm, but while she was able to watch over the children, she could do nothing to stop the loneliness that filled every corner of the house now that Inga was gone.

“Will Aunt Inga come home soon?” Martha had asked upon Dirk’s return from Uppsala.

But he hadn’t had an answer then, nor did he have one now.

As he worked on a broken section of the fence near the barn, he kept remembering the distant look in Inga’s eyes when he’d bid her good-bye this morning at the parsonage. He wondered if he’d done the right thing, leaving her there. He’d never had a chance to prove he loved her. He’d never known for sure if she might love him, too. He felt lost without her, but he hadn’t known what else to do. She’d been retreating, one moment at a time, into some safe harbor within herself.

Sunset and Robber raised their heads, looking toward the road. Sunset nickered softly.

Maybe she’s returned!
Dirk thought.

He lowered the rail he’d been about to hammer into place and turned with hopeful expectation to see who was coming up the drive. Disappointment followed. It wasn’t the pastor’s carriage. The black surrey carried strangers—a man and a woman—up the drive. Dirk stepped away from the fence and watched as the driver pulled the horse to a halt.

“Good day to you,” the man said. “This is the Bridger farm, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is.”

The man glanced at the woman beside him. “We’re here, Allison. I told you I remembered the way.” He disembarked from the buggy and approached Dirk, hand outstretched. “I’m Harvey Trent. You must be John’s brother.”

He nodded. “Dirk Bridger.” He accepted the proffered hand.

With a quick glance, Dirk made note of the man’s appearance. Harvey Trent was of average height with a full head of stone gray hair. He looked to be in his early forties. Judging by his fine attire, he was not a farmer by profession.

“It is a pleasure to meet you at last,” Harvey said. “I’m sorry we were unable to advise you of our exact day of arrival, but travel can be unpredictable.”

Dirk frowned.

Harvey saw the look on his face. He glanced over his shoulder, then forward again. “You were expecting us, weren’t you? Hattie wrote and said any time in April would be fine.”

“Ma died in December.”

The man drew back. His voice lowered. “I am sorry, Mr. Bridger. Hattie was an admirable woman. My wife and I took
a great liking to her on our last visit. Margaret was expecting Suzanne at the time.”

Dirk didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know who this guy was or what sort of game he was playing. Or even if it was a game.

“Mr. Bridger, do you know who we are?” Harvey asked, apparently reading his mind.

“No, afraid not.”

“My wife is Margaret’s cousin, Allison. We wrote to your mother late last year that we were returning to America this spring and wanted to come for a visit. We’ve never met Suzanne, and Martha was just a toddler when we were here last.” He paused, looking slightly flustered. “Your mother said nothing about being ill in her reply. We had no idea.”

“Harvey,” his wife called from the surrey, “is something wrong?”

Across time, the memory returned to Dirk, his ma’s voice whispering in his mind.
Only family Margaret had in the world, other’n us, after her folks died. Nice lady, Allison Trent…Margaret’s cousin…She and Mr. Trent will be comin’ to see the girls…

Tarnation! He didn’t need houseguests on top of everything else. But what was he to do? His ma had invited them. They were family to the girls and had come to see them. He didn’t seem to have much choice.

“Why don’t you bring your wife into the house, Mr. Trent, and we’ll get acquainted? There oughta be coffee on the stove or I reckon I could make tea for your wife if that’s what she’d prefer.”

Harvey nodded. “Thank you. Coffee will be fine.” He returned to the surrey and helped his wife to the ground.

She was a handsome woman, probably in her mid-thirties, short of stature and plump, though not unattractively so. She
had dark red hair which was swept up on her head and capped with a bright blue bonnet that matched her traveling dress. Even from where Dirk stood, he could see Allison Trent’s resemblance to Margaret.

Speaking softly to her, Harvey took Allison’s arm and escorted her across the yard to Dirk. Once there, he performed the introductions. “My dear, this is John’s brother, Dirk Bridger. Mr. Bridger, may I present my wife, Allison Trent.”

“This is a pleasure, Mr. Bridger.” Her voice was soft, and even more than her husband’s, it spoke of privilege and culture. “I am dreadfully sorry to learn of your mother’s untimely death. Please accept our sincerest condolences.”

“Thanks.” He motioned with his head. “Come inside.”

He took the couple into the living room, then left them there while he went after the coffee. When he returned, he found Harvey standing near the window, staring out at the fields and pastures. Allison was seated on the sofa, running a hand over one of Inga’s quilts.

She must have heard the rattle of the tray as Dirk entered the room. Looking up, she said, “This is exquisite, Mr. Bridger. Wherever did you find such a quilt?”

“My wife made it.”

“Your wife? I got the impression from Margaret’s letters, and your mother’s too, that you were not married.”

He felt a heaviness in his chest. “Inga and I wed at the end of last year.”

“Oh, I see,” she said, but there was a question in her eyes.

“My wife’s been ill. She’s staying with her parents in town.”

Allison studied him, her expression thoughtful. After a moment, she glanced at her husband. “Harvey, do come join us, dear.” She took it upon herself to do the pouring. When each of them was holding a cup, she said, “We have been wanting to
come for another visit for a long time. You are aware we’ve been in Europe four and a half years?”

“I seem to recall Ma saying something about it.”

“Diplomatic service,” Harvey interjected. “But we have returned to our home in Pennsylvania. It’s good to be back in our own country again.”

Allison rested her cup on her knee, holding it with both hands. “We shall always regret not seeing Margaret and John before they died. Margaret and I were as close as sisters, I suppose because neither of us had brothers or sisters of our own.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I took her death very hard. I loved her dearly.”

Dirk understood what she was feeling. He’d loved his older brother, too. He’d never come to see John and Margaret after they moved to Iowa and started this farm, and for that he would always be sorry.

“Mr. Bridger?”

He looked up, saw the sadness in her green eyes.

“May we see the children now?”

“Sure. I’ll get them. They’re upstairs.”

Dirk left the Trents in the living room and went to the stairway. He opened his mouth to holler for the girls, then decided against it, climbing the stairs instead. Before he reached their bedroom, he heard Astrid reading aloud, and he felt a sting of longing for his wife. Astrid sounded so much like Inga.

When he stepped into the open doorway, all three looked up.

“Someone downstairs t’see you two,” he said to his nieces.

“Aunt Inga’s come back?” Martha asked excitedly, jumping to her feet and smiling for the first time today.

He remembered feeling the same way not more than fifteen minutes ago when the Trents had arrived. Then, in his mind, he heard Inga say,
Nej, I have not returned.

When would she be back? How long before she returned from that hiding place within herself to the people who loved and needed her most? And what if she never returned?

His throat ached as he answered the girl, “No, it’s not Aunt Inga.” He held out his hands. “It’s your ma’s cousins, Mr. and Mrs. Trent. Come on now. They’re eager to meet you.”

He recognized Martha’s obvious disappointment because it mirrored his own. Fortunately, Suzanne was more curious about their visitors and had already forgotten her sister’s question. The littlest one hurried to take his left hand. Martha came a little more slowly to take his right. Then the three of them descended the stairs together.

When they stepped through the doorway into the living room, Allison rose from the sofa. “Oh my,” she said softly. “They’re the image of Margaret.”

Martha’s grip tightened on Dirk’s hand as the older woman approached them.

“You must be Martha.” Allison leaned forward. “I am your mother’s cousin, Mrs. Trent.” She shifted. “And you are Suzanne. What a darling you are.”

Suzanne was rarely shy, but this time she tucked herself behind her uncle, never letting go of his hand.

Allison cast a glance over her shoulder at her husband, and Harvey responded to it by crossing the room to stand at her side.

“Hello, young ladies,” he said to the girls, bowing at the waist and giving them a wink.

“Hello,” Martha muttered, unimpressed.

Suzanne remained silent, moving farther behind her uncle.

“Why don’t we all sit down?” Dirk suggested.

“A wonderful suggestion.” Allison held out her hand to Martha. “Come and sit with me. I have stories to share about your mother when she was a little girl, not much older than you.”