Wild Heart on the Prairie (A Prairie Heritage, Book 2) (28 page)

~~**~~

When the harvest ended, Jan had a new concern:
One
Harold Kalbørg
. Jan pursed his lips as he thought on the problem.

At Sally Gardiner’s
wedding, Amalie had shown up at his side and nudged him. He’d looked down and
seen apprehension in his
søster’s
eyes. Then he’d followed her stare—and
seen Sigrün on the dance floor with that young Kalbørg whelp.

Jan had kept a close eye
on Kalbørg that day. No young man would be taking advantage of their Sigrün!
But that evening Harold had approached Jan, his manner respectful and
straightforward.

“Sir, I would like your
permission to call on Sigrün.”

Jan had said nothing at
first. He had simply stared (with menace, he hoped) at Kalbørg, but the young
man would not be deterred. He had waited for Jan’s answer. Patiently.

“What do you have to
recommend yourself?” The words had grated between Jan’s clenched teeth.

“Yes, sir,” Harold had
answered, clearly prepared for the question. “I own my farm, half of my
father’s homestead. Someday—but not soon, I pray
—
I will inherit his half also.
I have $200 in the bank, a house, a barn, two cows, a mule, a wagon, two horses,
and a buggy.” He cleared his throat. “I am a hard worker and a Christian man,
sir.”

At least he is
Swedish
.
At least we can
talk.
Jan hemmed for another moment. “I will consider your request and give
you an answer Sunday.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

That Sunday a somber Amalie had invited Harold Kalbørg home to
dinner. It could not have been a pleasant experience for young Kalbørg, Jan
admitted to himself later.

Jan had been aloof and vigilant
during the meal. Sigrün had eaten little and blushed often. Her three brothers
had stared at Harold and made faces.

And Uli had peered innocently into
Harold’s eyes and asked, “Are you going to marry my sister?”

Jan had been relieved when Søren had taken Harold off to the
barn. Likely Harold had been, too.

Thanksgiving and Christmas passed in a blur. Amalie invited
Fru
Brünlee
for Thanksgiving dinner, but as Amalie reported, their neighbor had
also received invitations from the
McKennies,
Baileys, and Medfords!

Jan’s less-than-tactful
suggestion that Amalie had waited too late to invite
Fru Brünlee
was met
with frigid silence.

In the end, their
neighbor had hosted Thanksgiving dinner for the pastor and his wife.
And invited
half the county for dessert
, Jan noted in wry surprise. The Thoresens
crammed themselves into Mrs. Brownlee’s tiny house along with the pastor and
his wife, the Baileys, and Brian and Fiona’s brood.

After the adults had found places to perch and the children
were sprawled on the floor,
Fru Brünlee
and Mrs. Medford served a
variety of desserts and coffee. Jan couldn’t help notice how pleased and
content his neighbor appeared that evening. He didn’t mean to be studying her,
but she noticed his prying stare.

Jan raised his coffee cup to her in a silent salute, contrite
that he had again been rude. Unexpectedly, his neighbor smiled and raised her
cup in friendly return.

Something warm washed through Jan.
What was that?
He blinked
and took a hurried sip of coffee, scalding his mouth.

When Vera Medford sat down at Mrs. Brownlee’s tiny piano,
Jan forgot everything except the music.
Never have I heard such a thing!
he marveled. Even the children were still, suspended in the beauty of the
moment.

Too soon she finished the piece but began another,
eventually transitioning to gospel songs that had everyone tapping their feet,
clapping their hands, and singing along with gusto.

Then they sang slower, more reverent songs. Jan’s heart was
already overflowing when the pastor’s wife began to play

Amazing
Grace! How sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.

Jan knew the words by rote; he repeated the lines silently:
I
was lost, Lord, but you found me. I was so blind!

“Blessed be your name,” Jan breathed.

Temperatures dropped and
t
hey received their first hard freeze not long after Thanksgiving. Jan,
Søren, and the boys left the house early to start the chores that morning. As
the cold penetrated to his skin, Jan wrapped his arms around his chest and beat
them to warm himself.

I wonder how our neighbor is faring in this freezing
weather.
He found himself worrying throughout the day, wondering again how
she would survive the coming blizzards.

That evening he looked for a window in their house that
would provide a view of the little house across the fields and creek. The
kitchen offered an unobstructed view, but Amalie stared curiously at him as he
peered through the glass.

Jan mumbled something unintelligible and wandered into the
living room to warm his hands at the stove. He glanced at the two living room windows.
A moment later he had pulled the curtain back and put his face to the glass. By
cupping his hands around his eyes, he could see into the darkness.

There! He could make out a tiny light in
Fru Brünlee’s
window, flaring through the frosty air. Smoke floated from the stovepipe. Everything
seemed in order, and he nodded, satisfied.

It snowed that night, turning their fields into a
wonderland. Jan found himself often pulled to the living room window,
just
to check on their neighbor
, he told himself.
Ja, just to be neighborly
.

And yet his feelings were confusing and perhaps
not
merely
neighborly. He pulled himself upright when he questioned where they were
leading him.

You are but an old farmer and she is a rich, young woman,
Jan Thoresen!
he scolded himself.
There is nothing there for you
.
Nothing.

Christmas drew near and so did the end of the school’s first
term. The school recital was rare entertainment for their little community. The
program was scheduled for the Saturday before Christmas Eve, and Amalie’s children
were wild to perform their parts well.

Jan looked around the simple schoolhouse—filled to capacity
with the parents of school children and the children themselves that afternoon.

You are hoping your neighbor will come, is that it?
he accused himself in a scorching tone. And then he saw she
had
come
with the McKennie clan. Jan leaned against a wall where he had a good view of
the platform—and of his neighbor.

Why are you doing this?
his mind shouted.

Because I enjoy watching her
, he answered honestly.
I
enjoy watching her experience new things and . . .
watching
her learn to live again after
 . . . After what? Yes, after
receiving new life in Christ, but also after . . . something else.
Something tragic?

What do you really know about her?
he asked himself. Jan
began to list what he knew of his neighbor and question what he did
not
know
of her.

Ja, she has been married
, he knew,
a widow
. A contrary
thought struck him. Struck him hard.

She has money. What if, instead of a widow as we’ve
assumed, she has fled a disastrous marriage? What if she is married still?

Jan swallowed, trying to moisten his suddenly dry throat.
Could
she be married still?

Why should that bother you, old man?
he sneered.
Nevertheless, he was disquieted.
How do I find out more?
he pondered.
Does
she have children?
If so, where are they? Where is her family—her
parents and siblings?

The recital concluded and Jan could remember nothing of it
except Arnie’s animated rendition of
“The
Charge of the Light Brigade.” It had been well done—if not quite conventional—a
poem immortalizing a recent war Jan had not heard of, in a place Jan did not
know.

The following day was Christmas Eve. Amalie, Sigrün, and Uli
were in a fever to finish the Christmas cooking and baking. Jan spent his free time
in the barn working on secrets that would only be revealed Christmas morning.

They had invited
Fru Brünlee
to join them Christmas
morning, but she had already accepted an invitation from the McKennies. Jan had
to squelch the momentary annoyance—perhaps even resentment—he had felt toward
Brian and Fiona when Amalie told him their neighbor had declined their
invitation.

“Hrmph,” He was using a fine rasp to smooth the wooden train
set he had built for the younger boys.

He growled again as he glanced at the trivet sitting on his
bench. He’d carved the design from solid wood and rubbed it until it glowed in
the lamplight. Sigrün had been delighted when he’d asked her to paint colorful
rosemaaling designs on it.

It was to be a gift from the Thoresen family. But when would
they have an opportunity to give it to her?

“Hrmph!” He still wasn’t feeling altogether charitable
toward the McKennie clan.

That afternoon, Uli peered through the kitchen window toward
their neighbor’s house. “
Onkel
,” she said as he came in the door,
preoccupied and slightly sullen. “Why can we not carol at Mrs. Brownlee’s house
this evening? I would like to be Saint Lucia and wear the crown of candles!”

Jan paused and considered her words.
Why not indeed?
He looked to Amalie.

“Ach! Why did we not think of this sooner?” she complained.

“Can we do it?” was all Jan wanted to know. Uli and the boys
were clamoring for their mother to agree.

“
Ja
, sure we can,” she smiled. “We will just give her
some of
your
candy and cookies, eh?”

The boys were instantly crestfallen but Uli just laughed. “
Mamma!
We have been baking for days! We have plenty.”

“
Ja
, we have plenty,” Amalie laughed with her. “I am
teasing. But Jan, we must take her lutefisk, too, don’t you think?” The house
was soaking in the pungent odor of the traditional Norwegian treat.

Lutefisk! Of course!
Jan smiled.
A perfect gift!

An hour after dark Jan
and Søren hitched the bays to the Thoresens’ sleigh. Amalie and the girls,
their arms full of treats and gifts, climbed in with Søren, who would drive.
Jan and the boys trudged through the snow alongside the sled.

The sleigh bells jingled
merrily across the bridge and through their neighbor’s yard. In front of her
front door they piled out and organized themselves. Amalie placed the crown of
candles on Uli’s head and Jan lit each taper.

Søren had to keep
shushing the boys who were giggling and cutting up. Each of them carried some
small package of cookies or candy; Jan carried the still-warm lutefisk wrapped
in brown paper. His nose crinkled with appreciation.

Then they were ready and
trooped up the front steps to their neighbor’s door. Jan led them in a
traditional carol in Riksmaal and they sang with happy hearts.

When
Fru Brünlee
opened
the door to their singing, she smiled her welcome. She was framed by the light
behind her and for some reason Jan lost his breath. The carol ended well, but
Jan had stopped singing.

“Oh, how lovely!”
Fru
Brünlee
exclaimed.

The children pushed
forward, eager to deliver their packages, and she waved them all inside.
Amalie, Sigrün, and Jan came behind them.

“But what is this?” Rose
demanded of the children. “Explain it to me.”

“I’m Saint
Lucia!” Uli bragged. “See my candles? We’re looking for my new eyes but we
found you instead!”

The boys laughed and hooted
at Uli’s description.

Søren added, “It is Norwegian
tradition to visit one’s neighbors between Saint Lucia’s day—the thirteenth of
December—and Christmas to bring candies and sweets. You are our only close
neighbor so here we are—even if we are nearly late!”

Amalie and
Fru
Brünlee
undid the packages; their neighbor exclaimed over each gift of cookies,
candies, and cakes, and she promptly handed them around. Jan offered her the
lutefisk and laughed as she wrinkled her nose.

“What is it?” She eyed
it with suspicion.

“Lutefisk. Ver special,”
Jan explained. He cut the cord with his pocketknife and unwrapped the package.
The Thoresens sniffed appreciatively.

“Ver special for
Christmas,” Jan explained, but he could not keep his eyes from twinkling. He
could tell she
hated
the smell—and would die before she admitted so.

“Try, please?” The odor
was having an unpleasant effect on
Fru Brünlee
. She forced herself to
try the offered bite. He laughed—until he saw her nauseous expression.

Jan re-wrapped the fish.
“Lutefisk not for ever’one. We take home and eat more, eh?”

“Thank you, anyway.”

Then the children offered
their present.

“I’m sure I didn’t expect
a gift,” she protested.

“Open it! Open it!” they
urged.

Jan could tell she liked
it. She rubbed her fingers over the gleaming wood and gently touched the
painting.

“Sigrün did the
rosemaaling,” Uli said proudly. “And
Onkel
carved the wood.”