Wild Heart on the Prairie (A Prairie Heritage, Book 2) (24 page)

Abigael and her sons were leaving. The Thoresens and other
neighbors helped them prepare for their journey back to Illinois. Abigael was taking
little beyond their personal belongings; she sold their stock and gave away
their household effects.

Amalie and Abigael embraced for a long moment. “I will miss
you,” Amalie sobbed. “I will never forget how you and your Henrik welcomed us
when we first came here, how you helped us when we were in such need.”

“I thank you for your friendship,” Abigael choked on her
words. “Please . . .”

Amalie knew the assurances Abigael needed to hear. “You will
not worry, dear one. We will tend Henrik’s grave as one of our own.”

Jan and Søren drove Abigael and her boys into RiverBend to
the train. When it arrived, Mr. Bailey helped them aboard. Jan, Søren, and the
Baileys waved goodbye to Abigael and her sons as the train eased away from the
station.

Later as Jan looked across the creek it grieved his heart to
see their small house abandoned. “The bank will sell it for us,” Abigael had
told him.

Jan turned away.
I cannot believe I once coveted Henrik’s
homestead
.

Norvald was the first to tell Jan. “A new minister and his
wife have come to RiverBend! He intends to start a church there.” He grinned.
“You know none of us
Svenska
are preachers, so we asked him to come and
bring the word next Sunday.”

“
Gud
!” Jan agreed. “That is
gud
. I, too, am
hungry for a real man of God’s word.”

Jan thought for a moment about another minister who had
tried to plant a church in RiverBend. The man had not been prepared for the
hardships he encountered and had become discouraged. He left after less than a
year. “Does this new minister know that another tried to start a church in town
three years ago?”

“
Ja
, he does. This minister, I think, is made of
better stuff than the last one.”

Jan tapped his chin. “If he
is
a good man and teaches
the whole of God’s
Skriften
, I will pray and get behind his efforts. We
need an established church in town,
ja
? Our community needs it. And I do
not wish to see another church fail here.”

“I agree with you, Jan. I will pray also. If the Lord leads
us to support the new minister, I will stop holding meetings in my barn and
encourage our friends to pray about joining, too.”

With Ivan translating English to Swedish, the young minister—Jacob
Medford—preached in Norvald and Inge’s barn that Sunday.

He is very young
, Jan smiled to himself,
but, oh!
I can feel his love for God
.
This is a man I can have real fellowship
with.

Ah. He is a newlywed, too
, Jan noted,
and his wife
is even younger than he is
. Tall, slender, with a sweet expression, the
minister’s wife shone with love and admiration as she listened to her husband
teach on Philippians 1:3-6.

I
thank my God
upon every remembrance of you,

Always
in every prayer of mine for you all
making request with joy,

For
your fellowship in the gospel
from the first day until now;

Being
confident of this very thing,
that he which hath begun a good work in you
will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ.

Jan felt his heart expand to receive the word.
Ah, Lord!
I need this, ja?
He and Norvald exchanged approving glances, and Jan noted
that Søren and Amalie were fully engrossed in the message.

After the meal, the men of the church invited Jacob Medford
to visit privately with them. “We would know more about you,” Norvald
explained, “and more of what you believe and teach.”

The young man smiled. “I would like that, too.”

He spoke of himself, his walk with God, and the call he felt
to pastor. For an hour or longer the men of the church asked him questions. Jan
was impressed that the minister, inexperienced as he was, was humble but not
insecure.

Norvald looked about the circle and received nods. “We would
have you come and preach again, Mr. Medford,” he said. “Are you willing to fill
our pulpit while we pray about God’s direction for our church?”

“I would be honored,” Jacob answered. “I will seek the Lord
for his direction, too. I should tell you this, though: It is in my heart to
establish a church open to the whole community. If we find it is not the Lord’s
will that I remain with you, I pray our fellowship will remain unbroken and as
sweet as it has been so far.”

Ah, Lord
, Jan marveled.
This is a good man you
have brought us. As young as he is, he is already a mature man of yours.

Over the next month Jacob and Vera Medford became fixtures
in the Swedish church. As news of his preaching filtered through the little
town and surrounding neighborhood, others came to worship in the Bruntrüllsen
barn, including a few members of the German church.

They greeted Jan with unexpected warmth. Jan was touched
that these families still thought highly of him after his conflicts with
Adolphe Veicht.

On a Sunday in mid-November, Søren nudged his father. “Look,
Pappa
!”

There, just inside the doorway of the barn, stood Rikkert
and Duna Kappel and their family.

Jan rushed to greet them. “My friends! I am so happy to see
you.” Jan shook Rikkert’s hand and then—spontaneously—they embraced.

Rikkert, still holding Jan’s forearms, studied him closely.
“I have missed our fellowship, yours and mine, Jan Thoresen.”

“As have I,” Jan returned, his heart full. “So. Will you
come and worship with us?”

The following Sunday the church formally invited Jacob
Medford to pastor the church. Jacob, his expression solemn but filled with joy,
spoke of his vision for a church open to all the community. As he talked, Matthias
Comer, a farmer living close to town, stood up.

“I wish to give one acre of my land to the church for a
meeting place,” he declared. “The land I give is not far from the town. We can
build a meeting place there,
ja
?”

A roar of approval was his answer.

~~**~~

And
I will restore to you the years
that the locust hath eaten,
. . . And ye shall eat in plenty, and be satisfied,
and praise the name of the Lord your God,
that hath dealt wondrously with you:
and my people shall never be ashamed.
(Joel 2:25a, 26)

Søren wiped his sun-bronzed face on his sleeve. He was in
the cornfield west of their house and barn, turning row after row of dark soil.
The ox harnessed to the plow plodded on patiently and Søren followed behind,
keeping the plow’s blade buried in the earth and the furrows straight and
evenly spaced.

As he raised his face from his sleeve, movement across the
creek caught his eye. Where the road wound from behind a low bluff, a horse and
buggy emerged and climbed to the top of the rise. Was someone coming to visit?

Søren saw the driver gesture to the Andersons’ abandoned house
nestled in the hollow between the bluff and the briskly running creek bordering
the Thoresen land.

The driver pointed to the Andersons’ fields that spread out atop
the bluff behind the house. Then he gestured toward the Thoresen farm. After a
minute more the buggy turned onto the track that ran down to the house in the
hollow.

Søren was intrigued and didn’t realize, for many steps, that
he had allowed the ox to wander. Blast! He would have to turn the ox and go
back to where his plowing went awry.

By the time he had managed to plow over the crooked row, the
driver and his passenger—a woman—had stepped from the buggy and were examining the
house and outbuildings.

Must be that bank fellow, Morton
, Søren figured.
He’s
supposed to be selling the property for Abigael
.

Søren placed his attention back on his work and plowed
steadily for another hour. The next time he looked across the creek, the driver
of the buggy and his passenger were sitting beneath one of the trees near the
creek.

“Looked like they were having a picnic,” Søren reported at
supper a few hours later.

Jan shrugged his shoulders. “Just so. Mr. Morton took a lady
friend on a drive, not a prospective buyer for the Andersons’ farm. A woman
without a man would not buy the land,
ja
? That would be foolish.”

Søren nodded. “
Ja
, you are right.”

The following morning involved the typical happy chaos of hurried
chores, eating, dressing, and driving to the church house near town. Amalie and
the children were, as usual, excited and anxious to arrive early and spend time
with friends before the service.

Søren drove Amalie in their new buggy pulled by the bays;
Jan drove the rest of the children in a wagon. Jan loved the drive on Sunday.
He and the children, excepting Sigrün, would sing all the way to and from church.
Anyone could start a song; as soon as they did, the rest of them would join in
and finish it.

As they pulled into the churchyard, Jan raised his hand to
greet his friends. He, too, looked forward to good conversations and the
exchange of news. He waved to Norvald, Rikkert, and then Brian McKennie.

Fiona McKennie and her daughter Meg were engaged in an
animated dialogue with someone Jan didn’t recognize—a woman, and certainly not a
woman from around here! Her clothing, what he could see of it, was stylish and
expensive-looking.

Søren noticed her also. “
Pappa
, that is the woman! The
woman who was at the Andersons’ place with Mr. Morton,” he said, sidling up to
Jan.

Jan nodded. He was mildly curious, but did not get a good
look at the woman’s face before Norvald approached with a grin and a hearty
handshake.

Brian McKennie left his fields toward the end of the week—in
the middle of planting season, no less!—to pay a visit to Jan and Søren. “Th’
woman who was visitin’ our church Sunday, Mrs. Brownlee is bein’ her name, has
bought the Andersons’ homestead!”

He pointed across the fields to the little house. “An’ is already
livin’ there, she is, as ye can be seein’.”

Jan stared with astonishment down his fields and across the
creek. A thread of smoke issued from the stovepipe poking out of the roof.
How
is it I did not notice this?
he asked himself. chagrined.

“She came on th’ train all by her ownself last week an’ was
stayin’ at th’ boardin’ house,” Brian continued with raised brows. “Our Meg
made her acquaintance and brung her t’ Sunday supper.”

“What? She traveled alone? She is
there
”—Jan jerked
his chin toward the Anderson homestead—“
alone?
” he demanded.

“Aye. She thinks t’ be makin’ a home there.” Brian nodded
sagely. “My Fiona and I are that worried about her, we are.”

Jan’s thoughts were in a snarl. He could not fathom why any
woman—and one as unprepared for country life as this one certainly seemed to be—would
choose
to live alone on a homestead.

And in the Andersons’ house! Jan shuddered. Henrik had been
hard-pressed to keep their clapboard house together before his accident. In the
year after Henrik died, the condition of the dwelling had only declined.

Yes, Jan and Søren had helped Abigael and her
sønns
work
their fields and lent a hand with chores many a time, but the house had now been
sitting empty for more than a year. It was in a sorry state!

What could that woman be thinking?
Abruptly he
realized he was angry—angry and resentful.

“’Tis for God this woman be searchin’” Brian softly added. “Fiona
and I are agreed on it; Mrs. Brownlee be hungerin’ for truth. We pray God she
be findin’ him here.”

Brian’s words, repeated by Søren, found their way into Jan’s
annoyed thoughts.
She is hungry for God? Could she not find God where she
came from?
His frown deepened.

Brian eyed Jan’s furrowed brow. “Th’ reason I’m visitin’ would
be Mrs. Brownlee wishin’ t’ hire carpenters. Sure, an’ ye both know th’ house
is fallin’ apart?”

“Hire?” Søren’s eyes gleamed. “She wants to hire carpenters
for cash money?” Opportunities to work for cash were rare.

“Aye. Not t’ be passin’ tales, boot Mrs. Brownlee is looking
t’ be good for it.”

He explained that Mrs. Brownlee was anxious to have the work
commence as soon as possible. Brian shuffled his feet and grinned. “Ye are bein’
th’ best carpenter near, Jan—and I was th’ tellin’ of it.”

Jan rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. He had been
relieved when Abigael and her sons moved back East! The responsibility of
ensuring that Henrik’s family survived had been heavy, what with farming
Thoresen land and caring for his own family.

He caught himself shaking his head and, irritated, wondered again,
What could that woman be thinking?

“
Pappa
, we have most of the early crops in,” Søren
urged him. “We can finish tomorrow. I would call it a blessing to make a few
dollars of my own.”

Jan thought a few minutes. What Søren said was so—the timing
was good. And his
sønn
deserved the opportunity to earn some money.

“
Ja
,” he said at last. “Tell her we come Saturday,
eh?”

Søren let out a whoop and thumped his father on the arm.

~~**~~

Saturday morning Søren leapt from his bed and hustled to
finish his morning chores. Amalie frowned and clucked over him as he wolfed
down his breakfast.

In the same breath she reminded him, “Don’t forget, Søren, I
want you to tell me everything about our neighbor when you come home this
afternoon, eh? Just think! Another woman nearby! Thank the good Lord!”

Søren promised and pushed away from the table the instant
Jan finished their morning devotions. “I’ll get the tools ready,
Pappa
.”

“I would like to meet the new lady,
Onkel
,” Uli said
eagerly. “Could I come with you some time? I could help the lady!”

Jan touched Uli’s cheek with affection.
Such a comfort she
is to me, Lord!
“We don’t even know her yet, little one. But I’m sure
you’ll meet her soon enough, eh?”

He sighed inwardly. Since Brian had visited, Jan had
wrestled with his attitude about their foolish new neighbor until finally—as
was usual—he had cast the care of the situation on the Lord.

You must not borrow trouble, eh, Jan Thoresen?
he reminded
himself.

He and Søren cut through their fields and crossed the creek
where it was closest to the Andersons’ old house. Søren carried the large tool
caddy; Jan toted a saw across his left shoulder and the lunch pail in his right
hand.

As they sloshed up the slope from the creek, the door to the
house swung open and the woman stepped out. Søren, a shy smile plastered on his
face, introduced himself and then his father. Jan shook the woman’s hand and greeted
her but remained mostly silent as she and Søren discussed what she wished done.

So this is Fru Brünlee
, Jan thought. Keeping his face
carefully neutral, he studied her.

What he saw was a woman in her thirties whose clothes hung
upon her slender frame as though she had been ill. Her hair, a dusty
ash-blonde, was coiled and neatly pinned at the back of her head, framing a
face that, too, was unnaturally slender and wan.

Ah, Lord! It is worse than I imagined. This woman is so
thin she will likely blow away in the first strong wind! She has no understanding
of what living on the prairie will require of her.

Her hands, he’d observed when exchanging greetings, were
soft, smooth, and gentle—not the hands of a woman acquainted with work.

But . . . something decidedly firm played in
the set of her mouth. And her eyes were not blue, as he had first believed. They
were gray—
and staring right back at him
.

Jan flinched but managed to return her scrutiny with detachment.
After all,
he
had been caught studying
her
.

Mrs. Brownlee showed them around. Jan and Søren knocked on
walls and doors, took measurements, and discussed the materials they would require.

They had finished their inspection and
Jan and Søren were discussing the inadequacy of
the front door and its frame when Mrs. Brownlee coughed politely, requesting
their attention.
She flushed as, from behind her back, she withdrew a
few sheets of paper covered in pencil drawings.

“Excuse me. I, ah, I
know it’s important to make everything weatherproof, and I want that of course.
But while you’re working on the basics, I would like, that is, I have some
ideas I would like incorporated. Right here . . . on these
papers?”

Jan understood few of
her words but he was interested in the drawings she laid on the table before
them.

She had drawn a rectangle
representing the house and had sketched in windows on the east and south walls
and added an interior wall to divide the house into two areas. On the north wall
where the stove sat, she had indicated cupboards and shelves. Off to the side
she had drawn their details.

Engaged, Jan studied the
outline of a covered porch that ran the front length and down the south side of
the house. Jan pointed to the sketch, ready to give credit where it was due.

“She has done a fair job
of this, eh?” he asked Søren. “We can improve on her cupboards and shelves, I
think, but she has certainly given this some thought.”

He and Søren discussed
the windows and the interior wall, the roof, and then the porch. Jan rubbed his
chin. “I would feel better if we do all of the necessary work first. Who knows
when a storm will come? And does she know we can only spare about two weeks
right now? This porch is nice but not necessary. Maybe we can build it by the
end of summer, but not right away.”

“
Ja
, I agree,”
Søren answered. Mrs. Brownlee watched their conversation with a keen eye. “But
I think she will be disappointed,
Pappa
,” he finished.

At last Søren told her, “These
windows must be ordered. Mr. Bailey’s company doesn’t stock them this size, and
he only keeps a few on hand anyway. If you are intent on this . . .
veranda? My father says it should be built last, after the roof is replaced,
the interior work done, doors rebuilt, and windows installed.

“We may not be able to
get to the decorative part until late summer if we are to complete the essential
repairs between plantings, that is, in the next two weeks.”

“I see,” Mrs. Brownlee
replied, blinking.

Søren was right
, Jan thought.
She is disappointed
.

She must have realized
he was watching her, however, for she smiled brightly and, straightening her
shoulders, added, “Well then, we will get the essentials done and not worry
about the porch until later. But I would like it as soon as is convenient.”

He and Søren got to work. They pulled off the front door and
door frame. While Jan was measuring for a new frame and door, Søren busied
himself nailing down loose boards.

That morning Jan built a solid, sturdy door and was
engrossed in framing it in when he noticed what
Fru Brünlee
was doing. The
woman, clearly unaccustomed to using tools, was hacking ineffectively at the
weeds growing around the yard.

Out of the corner of his eye Jan noted her clumsy attempts
to widen the swath of cleared ground in front of the house.
At least she has
the sense to wear gloves
, Jan grumbled as he turned his attention back to
the doorjambs.
But as she is unaccustomed to such labor, I have no doubt she
will lose her ambition inside of an hour
.

At midmorning, Jan and Søren
had drawn up a list of lumber and materials they needed and called for
Fru
Brünlee
to come and approve it. The woman, grimy and clearly uncomfortable,
assured them that they could order or purchase whatever was on the list.

“All the arrangements
are made with Mr. Bailey and Mr. Schmidt—you may pick up whatever you need.”

Mr. Thoresen spoke
rapidly to Søren in Norwegian, who agreed. “My father suggests one of us take our
wagon to town to get the lumber, so I will leave right away. There are several
things to be done here in the meantime; my father will stay and work on them.”

“That’s fine.” She hurried
away to the pump and Jan saw her wash her hands in the cold water. Søren strode
across the creek and toward their barn to hitch a wagon.

Leaving the finished
door until Søren returned to help him mount it, Jan turned his attention to
making repairs to the small barn and to the outhouse.

Surprising him, Mrs.
Brownlee continued chopping and raking weeds.
I thought she would have given
up by now,
he scoffed.

Jan noted the many times
she went to the pump to bathe her face and hands. Then he saw that she was
unsteady on her feet. He also recognized the determined set of her jaw. Sighing,
he left his repairs and waited between her and the pile of weeds she was
building.

Apparently, she hadn’t
realized he was there because she turned and walked right into him. She stood blinking,
plainly exhausted.

Jan took the rake from
her hand. “Too much,” he said mildly. “Sit, please.”

She sighed and stumbled
to the pump to again rinse her hands and face and then, with weary footsteps, dragged
herself into the house.

Jan did not see or hear
the woman until Søren returned with the wagon of lumber. By then Jan had
finished clearing the area around the house and set the piles of weeds to burn.
He and Søren started unloading the wagon.

“Have you eaten lunch
yet?”
Fru Brünlee
was squinting in the sunlight, wiping sleep from her
face.

Ah! She has slept,
Jan surmised, feeling his earlier misgivings
justified.
No one on a farm sleeps during the day! Just as I thought . . .
she will soon find she has no business out here on the prairie.

Søren laughed. “No, but
I’m sure hungry enough to. We brought ours in that pail, and I’m just getting
back as you can see, so we’re about ready now.”

“Would you like some
coffee with it?”

Jan understood
coffee
well enough! “
Ja!
Dat’s gud.”

Jan and Søren finished
unloading and then settled in the shade of one of the trees. Jan heard Søren’s
stomach growl and grinned at him. Søren grinned back and unpacked their lunch
pail.

As they waited for their
neighbor to bring the coffee, Jan stared across the creek, seeing their farm
with new eyes. He liked what he saw: well-maintained buildings; fields plowed
in orderly rows; cows grazing in the distant pasture.

At last
Fru Brünlee
returned with hot coffee and her lunch. Jan blessed the food in Riksmaal and she
echoed Søren’s “amen.”

Jan and Søren tucked
napkins into their shirt collars and attacked their lunch with abandon. Jan had
polished off a thick, open-faced sandwich and pickles, carrots, and turnip
slices and was eyeing a slice of pie when he noticed what Mrs. Brownlee had
prepared for her own lunch: a single slice of bread and bit of cheese!

Jan was amused and said
to Søren, “Look what this woman is eating after all the work she did this
morning. It is no wonder she is so thin—no one has ever fed her properly!” He chuckled
and bit deep into his pie. Søren nodded and grinned as he inhaled a second
sandwich.

“What did he say?”
Fru
Brünlee
asked, smiling with them.

“Oh! He said that the
reason you are so thin is that no one has ever fed you properly,” Søren
replied, not appreciating that passing on his father’s comment was, perhaps, less
than prudent.

A red swath spread up the
woman’s neck to her cheeks. Jan’s eyebrows shot up and he glared at Søren. Søren
apologized immediately.

“Mrs. Brownlee, I’m
sorry—what I said—what
he
said wasn’t meant to be rude. Our women eat
quite a bit. Why, Sigrün eats nearly as much as I do when we are harvesting. I
truly apologize if we’ve offended you.” Søren glanced at his father who was
still glaring at him.

She nodded and, after a
moment, she offered, “It’s true, I’m not used to working hard—or even being
around men who work hard and eat as well, I mean as
much
, as you do. I’m
sure my appetite will get better as I work out-of-doors.”

She paused and bit her
lip. “You see, I was sick a bit ago and haven’t gotten my weight back yet. But
I will.”

As Søren translated, Jan
nodded his understanding. He cut a small wedge from the wrapped cheese and
offered it to her.

“
Gjetost
,” he told
her. “Gud, gud for you.”

“Goat’s cheese,” Søren
explained. “A specialty from Norway. It’s very nutritious. We have five goats in
addition to our cows.”

She sniffed it dubiously.
Then Jan noticed her do that thing again—that straightening of her shoulders—before
she cautiously nibbled the dark brown cheese. She took another bite and then finished
the piece.

“I like it. Thank you.”

Jan gestured to Søren. “Ask
her if she has any milk here.”

“She wants to know if
she could buy some from us.”

Jan nodded. “Yes, tell
her we will work something out.”

Now into a serious
lecture, Jan directed, “Tell her if she has been ill she should be careful and
not overdo it by working outside too long
like she did today
! That is, until
she rebuilds her strength.”

Søren hesitated before
repeating his father’s advice to their new neighbor.

Jan frowned and added, “Tell
her, too, that she is too pale! She should work outside sometimes without a
hat. After all, sunshine is good for us! It will give her some color. She is as
pale as milk. Of course, not too much at a time. And tell her to eat more, eh,
Sønn
?”

Jan watched and listened
to the conversation between Søren and
Fru Brünlee
. Søren chuckled
several times and—was he
apologizing
? Apologizing for what Jan had asked
him to tell her?

But apparently
Fru
Brünlee
thanked Søren for his advice. She ate everything on her plate, so
Jan added more,
just a little more
—a second piece of gjetost, several
pickles, and some cookies—and watched until she swallowed the last bite.

Jan nodded in approval. “Come,”
he said to Søren. “I want to get started inside. Henrik and Abigael’s house has
become as drafty as a barn.”