Sophie's Dilemma (17 page)

Sophie fought off the urge to cry. She leaned closer. ‘‘I know . . . but I am glad we are together. Now and forever.’’ The kiss they shared drove the worry from her mind—at least for the moment.

Then, on the seventh of November, Hamre came home, face somber. ‘‘The
Sea Lily
is ready. We leave in the morning.’’

Sophie stared at her husband. Backlit by the lamp, his face shadowed, he might well have been a stranger. Perhaps he truly was. They’d had so much fun since making up. ‘‘I-I guess I hoped you might stay with me.’’

‘‘How can you think that? For the past two months I’ve been telling you all the things we were doing.’’

‘‘You could fish the sound. Other boats do.’’ No matter how hard she’d tried to prepare herself for this moment, even to denying that he would leave, she couldn’t keep the bite out of her voice.

‘‘Sophie, we’ve been over this before.’’

‘‘I don’t want you to leave. What will I do here all alone?’’

‘‘Why, the same things you do now, I suppose.’’ He shook his head and left off watching her, turning instead to drag his canvas bag out of the armoire. ‘‘Did you finish knitting that pair of socks?’’

Sophie closed her eyes. What would she do now? Count the hours for Hamre to return?
I’m not ready for you to leave
. The unfinished stocking lay in the basket beside her chair. While she’d finished his scarf, she’d left the remainder of the second sock unfinished, always hoping he wasn’t going anyway. ‘‘No.’’ The word snapped across the room. She clamped her arms across her chest.

‘‘Sophie, quit acting like a spoiled child.’’

‘‘If I’m such a spoiled child . . .’’ She glared at his back, then bit back the other words she’d been about to fling at him.

‘‘You could make friends with the other wives. They manage to keep busy.’’

‘‘They have homes and children. That makes a difference.’’

‘‘True, and perhaps when I get back, we will build a house.’’

‘‘How can we do that when all your money goes into saving for a boat?’’ She knew she was being snide but couldn’t seem to stop.

‘‘Sophie, I . . .’’

She could feel her face tightening at the now-familiar tone of his voice. If he thought she was being unreasonable now . . .

‘‘You could go back to Blessing.’’

‘‘I don’t want to go back to Blessing. I want to stay here with my husband.’’
Who is being so unreasonable I could spit!

‘‘Then you could—’’ ‘‘I could! What if I don’t want to? You won’t even be here for Thanksgiving, let alone Christmas.’’
And I don’t have your present ready
to send with you
. Guilt chewed at her heart.
Sophie, grow up
.

‘‘We will have Christmas when I return. Perhaps I will bring you something from Alaska.’’

‘‘I don’t want something from Alaska.’’ Her voice broke on the last word. ‘‘I want you here.’’

She watched as he returned to the chest and pulled out the last drawer, the one with his heavy sweaters, and carried both the gray and the navy ones back to the broadening bag. ‘‘I don’t know why you brought me out here when you were going to be gone for four months or more.’’

He stopped with his hand in the canvas bag. ‘‘If I remember right, you were the one who insisted. I was willing to wait the year your father wanted, but you refused to wait.’’ His voice grew tighter and quieter with each word. The ice in his eyes froze her to her chair.

One thing she’d learned in these last several weeks was that while other men might yell when they were angry, Hamre grew more quiet, and the words he did say were like steel. She peeled her hands free of the chair arms, rose, and stalked behind the screen so he wouldn’t see her crying. He’d made it clear several days earlier, after their big fight, what he thought of her tears when she wanted something and he’d said no. How could she tell him she’d been planning to buy his Christmas present?
I have to have some money
.
I don’t want him to leave
. She unclenched her hands and forced herself to dip the washcloth in the tepid water and hold the wet cloth to her eyes.
If he can do the silent
treatment, so can I
.

She struggled with the buttons up the back of her dress, finally yanking the dress up so she could reach the back. Here she needed help to even undress. She yanked harder and heard a button ping against the washbasin. Fine. Now she’d have to sew a button back on, and it was all his fault. She ripped again and heard another clack. Two buttons.
All you have to do is ask for his help
. The little voice spoke softly from somewhere amidst the raging waves in her mind.

She thought of the times he’d helped her unbutton her gown and things had progressed from there. And now he would be gone. At least farmers were home most of the time. She thought of her mother those years when Lars went off with the threshing crew.
But then Mor had all
of us. And family and friends all around. Here I am in a strange city with
no family, no friends, and I’m supposed to be content within these four
walls?

Laughter, the hysterical kind, dueled with rage and fueled by sorrow, threatened to erupt. She stepped out of her dress and flipped it over the screen to be hung up later. She could hear him moving from the chest of drawers to the seaman’s bag, his boot heels clicking across the wooden floor. The urge to run and throw herself into his arms made her even more furious. Traitorous body. She untied her woolen petticoat and flipped it over the screen, then her under petticoat and camisole. As the tears flowed harder in spite of her efforts, she sniffed them back, pulled her flannel nightdress over her head, and stepped out of her drawers. One of the hairpins caught in her hair as she tried to undo the roll she’d fashioned so elaborately just this morning. She jerked on it, and pain shot through her scalp.

I can’t even undo my hair right
. She shook her head, and one of the other pins flipped to the floor. When she finally got the rest of the pins out, along with several long strands of hair, she rubbed the tender spot and dropped the pins into the porcelain dish she’d bought just for that purpose. Another one of those things he’d scolded her for wasting money on. As she had learned his anger, she’d also learned the hard way that he resented any penny not saved for his stupid boat. He didn’t care that she needed a few things. After all, everything she needed had not come in the trunk her mother sent.
Think back, Sophie. How long
has it been since he told you that you are beautiful?

Leaving her dressing area looking like a blizzard had blown through, she stomped across the floor and ripped back the covers, climbing into bed without giving Hamre a glance. The flannel sheets even felt cold, much like her feet and her shaking hands. The burning was inside. She buried her face in the pillow so he wouldn’t hear her tears.

Stupid stubborn Norwegian.

She fell asleep with the salt of tears on her tongue.

And woke to a sunny morning—alone.

When she pushed her hair back from her face, she vaguely remembered him kissing her and whispering good-bye.
What have I done?

Two days later the tears of regret and sorrow still hovered and brimmed over at the slightest nudge of memory and dreams. She’d had to leave the supper table when someone mentioned a fishing boat. Mrs. Soderstrum came up to check on her and brought back tea and toast when she said she was too sick to come down. Sick at heart for certain, but her entire body felt the ravages. Surely she would run out of tears soon. The pounding in her head that followed the tears forced her to lie without moving, eyes closed, because even the dim light of a rainy day coming in the window made the beat pick up like a zealous child beating a washtub with a wooden stick.

A gentle knock at the door made her groan.

Mrs. Soderstrum pushed open the door and poked her head in.

‘‘Ah, Sophie, dear, I have brought you a tray. You must eat, you know.’’

‘‘No, thank you. I cannot.’’ She covered her eyes with the palm of one hand.

Mrs. Soderstrum set the tray on the nightstand and laid a cool hand against Sophie’s cheek. ‘‘You aren’t running a fever.’’

‘‘No. It’s just this terrible pain in my head. If I move, the whole room goes into a spin.’’ Even talking was more than she could manage without additional pain.

‘‘Oh dear. Perhaps we should call the doctor.’’

‘‘No. Surely it will go away.’’ Even her voice sounded strange. Was she making sense?

‘‘I brought you some peppermint tea. That is supposedly good for the headache. Here. Sniff this. Perhaps it will help.’’

Sophie inhaled the warm peppermint steam. She thought of trying to sit up to drink some, but the slight movement of her head convinced her that was not a good idea. She inhaled again without moving this time. ‘‘Nice.’’

‘‘I know what I shall do. I will go down and make a compress of peppermint and bring it up for your forehead.’’ As she bustled out, she called over her shoulder, ‘‘We’ll get you back on your feet. Never fear.’’

The silence after the door click felt like a balm. If only the pounding would stop.

Sophie dozed, and dark shapes cavorting and dancing with the pain lanced her eyelids.

Another tap at the door and Mrs. Soderstrum entered with another tray. ‘‘I brought you some laudanum too. That’s the only thing I know that can truly kill the pain, but you are going to have to swallow when I spoon it into your mouth.’’ She laid a towel across Sophie’s chest and up to her neck.

The clink of spoon to bottle sounded loud, but then every sound seemed magnified out of proportion.

‘‘Open.’’

Slowly Sophie opened her mouth and swallowed obediently. Her eyebrows wrinkled at the vile taste, hardly covered by the sweetness of honey.

‘‘I know. It is bad, but you should feel some effects quickly. In the meantime we’ll go with the cloth on your forehead.’’

A warm, wet peppermint-infused cloth lay on her head, the fumes entering through both nose and pores.

‘‘There now. Is that better?’’

The voice seemed to come from a far distance. Sophie thought about an answer, her mind checking out the symptoms. Pounding still there, but slightly abated? Did her teeth hurt as much? ‘‘I-I think so.’’ She pushed the words out without use of jaw or lips.

‘‘Good. I’ll come back in a bit. You just rest.’’

As if I had any other choice
.

The door snicked again and she could hear only her own heart thundering in her ears. The vile taste of the medicine lingered on her tongue as she searched for any trace of the honey. A longing for the cool stroke of her mother’s fingers brought the incessant tears back to trickle out her eyes and down into her hair and dampen the pillow slip.
Mor, I need you. Grace, oh, Grace, if only I could see your face and hear
your voice. Lord God, help me, please. . . .

When Sophie awoke, she lay still, afraid to move but already realizing a sense of freedom. The thudding was gone. She blinked, and it didn’t hurt. Slowly, carefully, she turned her head to see that the angle of the light had slanted the shadow toward the evening side. No pain, only a sense of feeling displaced inside, as though the strength had been drained from each muscle and bone, so tired she could do nothing but fall back into a sleep so deep she didn’t hear or sense anything.

The tray on her table the next morning showed that Mrs. Soder-strum had been in, the blanket in the chair by the bed mute testimony to her landlady’s nocturnal watch.

When Hamre gets home . . .
She stopped the thought and bit down on her lip. Hamre would not be coming home for a long time. And his last conversation with his wife had been bitter. What a memory for him on those lonely nights at sea. Was his whispered ‘‘I love you’’ only a dream?

When her eyes burned, she sniffed and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, catching sight of her fringe, the ends of which came past her eyebrows. She needed to trim them or comb the hair back. She eased herself up against the pillows and surveyed the room. Had Hamre left nothing behind? She picked up his pillow and held it against her face, his masculine scent faint but easily identified. Breathing in the scent with her eyes closed, she could picture him coming across the room, love lighting his eyes.