Years (45 page)

She thought of Theodore and wondered what they’d say if she told them about him. Would they understand if she said that beneath his gruff exterior lay a man with deep vulnerabilities? That his greatest wish was to know how to read? That he defended his family, down to the last niece, with a quick, noble ferocity? That he could tease one moment and share a hymnal the next? That he grew heavyhearted when it was time to turn his horses loose for the winter?

But the fact remained that she had fallen in love with a thirty-four-year-old illiterate wheat farmer who wore bib overalls, still lived with his mother, and had a son nearly Linnea’s age. How could she possibly make a man like that compare favorably to an enterprising twenty-one-year-old college student with brains, ambition, good looks, and charisma enough to charm the molars out of a mother’s head?

Linnea was very much afraid she couldn’t, and so she said nothing of Theodore Westgaard.

They opened gifts, and true to her word, Linnea chose John’s first. She was truly touched by the hand-carved likeness of a cat with its paws curled beneath it, like the one she often saw sitting on his step. From Frances she received a homemade pin cushion fashioned from a puff of steel wool inside a piece of strawberry-colored velvet. Nissa’s gift was a beautiful hand-crocheted shawl of white wool shot with tiny threads of silver; Kristian’s — she gasped — the most beautiful pair of mittens she’d ever seen in her life. They were made of mink, and when she slipped one on she realized she’d never felt anything as warm. The girls leaned over to have their cheeks stroked, and her mother tried one on, rubbed it on her neck, and cooed with delight.

“What a beautiful gift,” Judith said, passing the mitten back. “How old did you say Kristian is?”

Linnea felt slightly uncomfortable and wondered if her cheeks were pink. “Seventeen.”

Selmer and Judith Brandonberg exchanged meaningful glances. “Very thoughtful for a boy of seventeen,” Judith added.

Linnea met her mother’s eyes squarely, hoping to dispel the erroneous impression. “Kristian traps down on the creek
bottom. That’s how he got the mink.”

“How resourceful.” Her mother smiled, then pointed. “You have another gift left, dear. Who is it from?”

“Theodore.” She had intentionally saved it for last. It was weighty, wrapped in the same brown paper as that in which the children’s treats had been bagged. Caressingly, she ran a hand over it.

“Ah, yes, Kristian’s father.” Her mother’s words brought Linnea from her reverie. She realized she’d been daydreaming while her whole family looked on. “Well, go ahead, open it!” demanded Pudge impatiently.

Removing the wrapping, Linnea remembered the teasing brown eyes of a Santa Claus as she’d sat on his lap, and the feeling of her lips against a firm rosy cheek above a scratchy white beard. And the whispered words, “Don’t open it here.” She wished, suddenly, that she were in a weather-beaten house on the snow-swept prairie at this moment.

It was a book of Tennyson’s poems, beautifully bound in brown and gilt, with engravings of angelic beings in wispy gowns whose bare feet trailed in drifting roses.

On the endleaf, in ink, he had meticulously printed, “Merry Christmas, 1917. To Linnea Brandonberg from Theodore West-gaard. Some day I will know how to read all these too.”

Linnea carefully hid her secret pleasure as she showed her family the beautiful book. “I’m teaching Theodore to read and write, but I didn’t think he knew how to spell my name yet, Kristian must have helped him with the inscription.” Her mother reached for the book, brushed her fingertips over the expensive gilt lettering on its cover, read the inscription, looked up at her daughter’s wistful expression, and murmured, “How nice, dear.”

Several times during Christmas dinner Judith glanced over to find Linnea staring into her plate with a faraway look in her eyes. It wasn’t the first time she’d noticed it. There was an unusual reticence about Linnea since she’d been home, an occasional withdrawal totally unlike her.

Later that night, she asked Selmer, “Have you noticed anything different about Linnea since she’s been home?”

“Different?”

“She’s so... I don’t know. Subdued. She just doesn’t seem to be her old bubbly self.”

“She’s growing up, Judith. That was bound to happen, wasn’t
it? A young woman with adult responsibilities, off in the world away from her mother and father.” He lifted his wife’s chin and kissed her nose. “She can’t stay our little girl forever, you know.”

“No, I suppose not.” Judith turned away and began undressing for bed. “Did she... well, did she say anything at the store today?”

“Say anything about what?”

“Not about what. About whom.”

“About whom? Whom did you expect her to say something about?”

“That’s the puzzling part. I’m not sure whether it’s Kristian or... or his father.”

“His father!” Selmer’s fingers stopped freeing his shirt buttons.

“Well, did you see her face when she opened that book from him?”

“Judith, surely you’re wrong.”

“Let’s hope so. Why, the man must be nearly forty years old!”

Selmer became visibly upset.

“Has she said anything to you?”

“No, but do you think she would, considering the man has a son almost as old as she is and she... she lives in his house?”

Selmer forced himself to calm down and took his wife by the arms. “Maybe we’re wrong. She has a good head on her shoulders, and besides, she’s always confided in you before. And I haven’t told you the good news. Adrian Mitchell asked my permission to pay a call on her sometime this week.”

“He did?” Judith brightened. “Did he really?”

“How do you feel about throwing an extra carrot in the soup for our daughter’s dinner guest?”

“Oh, Selmer, really?” Her eyes lit up like Christmas candles as she clasped his hands tightly. “Can you imagine the two of them together? He’d be absolutely perfect for her.”

“But we have to be careful not to push too hard,” he scolded gently. “You know how single-minded that girl can be when she thinks she’s being coerced. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to have him over maybe a couple times before she has to go back, then this summer when she comes home to stay — who knows?”

Judith spun away and began pacing, one hand on her waist,
the other squeezing her lower lip. “Let’s see... I’ll fix something splendid — stuffed pork chops maybe, and mother’s hazelnut torte. We’ll use all the best china and... ”

Judith was still matchmaking when Selmer drifted off to sleep.

Adrian came on Wednesday, thoughtfully bringing his hostess a round tin of parfait mints to serve with after-dinner coffee. He sat and visited in the front parlor with the whole family until after ten
P.M.,
then wished Linnea a polite good night when Judith insisted she see him to the door.

He came again on Thursday, around seven
P.M.,
visited with the family for half an hour, then suggested that he and Linnea go for a walk.

“Oh, I don’t—”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Judith cut in. “Goodness, dear, all you’ve done since you’ve been home is sit here cooped up with us old folks.”

“Linnea?” Adrian asked quietly, and she was too kind to embarrass him by saying no.

They walked around the bandstand in the city park and talked about their families, their jobs, his school, her school, and what they’d received for Christmas. She slipped once, and he took her elbow and walked her back home through the softly falling snow, then turned her to face him on the front porch and gave her a soft kiss on the mouth.

She pulled back. “Don’t, Adrian... please.”

“And how else should I state my case?” he asked pleasantly, still holding her arms.

“You’re a charming man and I... I like you... but... ” Discomfited, she fell silent.

“But?” He tipped his head.

“But there’s someone else back in Alamo.”

“Ah.” They were quiet a while. She studied his chest while he studied her face, then asked, “Is it serious?”

“I think so.”

“Are you promised to him?”

She shook her head.

“Well, in that case, would there be any harm in your coming to a party with me on New Year’s Eve?”

She looked up. “But I told you—”

“Yes, there’s someone back in Alamo. And I’ll respect that, but I’d like your company just the same. And I’ll bet you don’t have any other plans, do you?” He tipped her chin up with one finger. “Do you?”

Good heavens, there was no justice in the world when one man could be so handsome.

“No.”

“It’s just some of my friends who are all about our age. We’re going to go ice-skating, then go back to one of the girl’s houses for something to eat. I’ll have you home by one o’clock. What do you say?”

It sounded fun, and it had been so long since she’d been with people her age. And if she didn’t go with him, she’d probably usher the new year in by lying in her bed wishing she’d said yes.

“No kissing at midnight?” she insisted.

He raised a palm, Boy Scout fashion. “Promise.”

“And no laughing if I take a few spills on the ice?”

He laughed, flashing his dazzling white teeth. “Promise.”

“All right. It’s a date.”

He brought her violets. Violets for a skating party! Where he managed to find them in the middle of winter in Fargo, North Dakota, remained a mystery, but they were the first flowers Linnea had ever received from a man, and as she accepted them she thought of Theodore and had a flash of guilt.

Adrian had borrowed his father’s automobile for the evening, and getting into it with him redoubled her guilt, but as the night progressed, she found herself forgetting about Theodore and having a wonderful time.

They skated on the river, warmed themselves with hot apple cider, returned to the home of a girl named Virginia Colson and played parlor games, danced, and toasted the new year with a light champagne punch. But — true to his word — Adrian remained the consummate gentleman all night long.

When he took her home she tried to make a quick getaway, but he walked her to the porch, captured both of her hands, leaned one shoulder against the porch wall, and studied her with disconcerting thoroughness. “You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever met, you know that?”

She dropped her gaze to his chest. “Adrian, I really should go in.”

“And you’re all the things that your father said you’d be. I’d seen your picture, of course — he’s so proud of you. But when you came into the store that day and I saw you in person for the first time, I thought right off the bat, that girl’s for me.” He paused, squeezed her hands, and said more softly, “Come here, Linnea.”

Startled, she lifted her head. “Adrian, you promised.”

“I promised no kisses at the stroke of midnight. It’s now quarter to one.”

He slowly eased his shoulder away from the porch wall while it struck her afresh how nature had played favorites with him. He was almost unfairly handsome. And she had never met a man who smelled better, nor one more polite, charming, or winning. Her parents were smitten with him. They were going to be outraged when she told them about Theodore. Suppose... just suppose she kissed Adrian back and discovered it was as shattering as it had been with Theodore? All her worries would be over...

His lips were soft and silky as they opened over hers. When his tongue slipped inside her mouth, hers hesitantly answered. When he wrapped her tightly in his arms, she let herself wilt against him. When his hands caressed her back, hers caressed his shoulders. But instead of her mind filling with skyrockets, she found herself analyzing the smell of his hair pomade and the starch his mother put in his collars. She let him have as long as he liked... waiting... waiting...

But nothing happened.

Nothing.

When Adrian lifted his head, his hands slipped discreetly to the sides of her breasts and he breathed on her lips, plucking at them gently — once, twice. “Linnea, darling girl,” he whispered, “summer can’t come fast enough.”

But she knew that even in summer there would be no acceleration of her feelings for Adrian. If it were going to happen, it already would have.

Later, in bed, the guilt struck. She’d never kissed any man up until a couple months ago, and now she’d kissed four. She suspected all four really knew what they were doing, and wondered if kissing four men qualified her as a loose woman. She supposed it did, and that Theodore was too honorable to deserve a loose woman.

Yet her reaction to each had been decidedly different.

She shuddered at the thought of Rusty Bonner, so practiced in his approach. Rusty’d probably left a trail of bastard babies from the Rio Grande to the Canadian border! How naive she’d been. It was rather embarrassing to recall it now.

And Bill — every time she met up with him she thought of how he’d forced his knee between her legs, and got angry all over again.

And of course there was Adrian, perfect, flawless Adrian. She almost wished she’d felt that keen fire in her blood when he’d kissed her; it would have simplified everything. After all, he was the most logical choice.

Love, however, paid little heed to logic. And she loved Theodore. Only his kiss had the power to shake her to the soles of her feet, to make her feel right, and eager, as though their love had been destined. It mattered little his age, his illiteracy, his simple upbringing, the clothing he wore, or the fact that he’d been married before and had a son who was nearly Linnea’s age.

What mattered was that he was honorable, and good, and at the thought of going home to him tomorrow her heart soared and her blood pounded.

In the morning she was packing to go when her mother came to the bedroom doorway, crossed her arms, and leaned against the door frame. The girls had gone off skating and the house was quiet.

“Linnea, I’ve been waiting for you to tell me about it ever since you’ve been home, but I guess if I don’t ask, you won’t say anything.”

Linnea turned with a stack of freshly laundered underwear in her hands. “Tell you about what?”

“What’s bothering you.”

For a moment she considered a denial, then sank to the edge of the bed, staring morosely at the clothing on her lap. “How do you know when you’re in love, Mother?” she asked plaintively.