Blessing in Disguise

by Lauraine Snelling

  “I speak fair German. Learned it at my grandmother’s knee. Perhaps I can help a bit. The languages are similar.”

  “Please sit down. Supper will be ready shortly.” Kane indicated the chairs around the roaring fireplace. He seated Augusta in one and pointed to the nearest for the army officer and the other chairs for the two enlisted men who’d been standing by the door.

  “Frau Moyer, sprechen sie Deutsche?”

  Augusta gave him a strange look. “Jeg kan snakke Norsk, ein bischen Deutsche.” She held thumb and forefinger half an inch apart to show “a little” and shook her head. “But my name is Miss Bjorklund, not Frau Moyer. You are mistaken.” At his look of utter confusion, she repeated her comments more slowly.

  “But Moyer here said you are married to him—have been for a month.” He kept his German slow and precise.

  Augusta’s heart flew into high speed. “Nei!” She shook her head, her eyebrows flat together over eyes that snapped with indignation. “I was on my way from Valdres, Norway, to Blessing, North Dakota, to my mor’s boardinghouse and must have got on the wrong train in St. Paul. Mr. Moyer said he would take me to Blessing.” Father in heaven, help me, please. Please let this not be happening. She shot a look of consternation in Kane’s direction.

  He looked totally confused, like a child watching a game he’d never seen before and trying to understand it without instructions. He shrugged when he looked in her face. “I . . . I don’t understand.” He looked to the major. “Please, what is she saying?”

  “She says she is not married to you, that you agreed to take her to Blessing.”

  “Blessing?”

  “The town in North Dakota where her mother lives. She says she got on the wrong train, and when she got to Ipswich, you said you would take her to Blessing.”

  Kane groaned as the memory of their meeting flashed before his eyes. “But we are married. A justice of the peace performed the ceremony in Ipswich. Ask her about the paper she signed.”

  “But I thought that was for citizenship,” Augusta answered the major, shaking her head again. By this time her head felt as if it were about to fall off from all the shaking. “I can’t be married. I don’t even know this man. I didn’t have any more money, or I would have purchased a ticket back to St. Paul.” She didn’t think she could feel any more stupid if she tried.

  Again the major translated what he understood, and now it was Kane’s turn to shake his head.

  Augusta was dumbfounded. She was married? Scenes flitted through her mind. The way he’d greeted her the morning she found him in her bed, the gentle way he helped care for her when she was sick. She could feel the heat climb her neck like a forest fire going up a tree. He’d seen her in her nightdress. If she’d been the type to faint, she knew right now would have been a most opportune time.

  “Supper’s ready,” Morning Dove called from the kitchen.

  “Excuse me, I . . . ah . . . I . . .” Augusta turned and fled to her room. After bathing her face in cool water from the pitcher, she smoothed back her hair, tucking a couple of errant strands back in the bun. No need to pinch her cheeks for color, that was for certain sure. She held the cool cloth to them again, then patted down her neck. If only she could hide under the covers and never come out again.

  Kane—Mr. Moyer—thinks he is married to me. What am I to do? Lord, what am I to do?

  Would marriage to him be such a terrible thing? The thought made her stop her patting hand. After all, you’ve thought how you might like a man like him. The heat returned full force. She sank down on the edge of the bed and stared at her hands. She should be out there helping Morning Dove serve the meal.

  Instead, she laid her hands along her temples as if to stem the thoughts chasing pell-mell through her mind. “I am married. I am legally the wife of Elkanah Moyer. Mrs. Elkanah Moyer,” she said aloud. Oh, Mor, I’ve made such a mess of things. What am I to do? She looked around the room, recognizing the special things he had done in this room. “He had prepared for his bride. And he got me instead.” Another thought crossed her mind, strong enough to bring her to her feet and make her stride out the door with enough force to carry her to the kitchen table.

  “What happened to the woman you planned to marry?”

  Major John Grunswold translated, and Kane shrugged.

  “I don’t know, but you were at the train station where she was supposed to be, and I thought you were her.”

  She could tell he was getting a bit testy about the whole thing, not that she blamed him one bit.

  The men stood behind their chairs while she chewed on her lip. When a man clearing his throat caught her attention, she felt the heat again. They were all waiting for her to sit. The whole creek outside wouldn’t be enough to cool her face, or her whole self if she jumped right in. The thought carried great appeal.

  “Excuse me, gentlemen, please be seated. I . . . I have something to check in the—er, the . . . the outside.” Her feet barely touched the floor out through the pantry and to the back stoop. The cold air helped. Helped to cool her face, but nothing could help her mixed-up situation. This was more than a mix-up. This was a catastrophe.

  Except he is a fine man, and this ranch is—was . . . Her thoughts were so jumbled she couldn’t even finish this one. Instead, she opened the back door and, sucking in a final breath of cold air, returned to the kitchen, where all the others were now seated and passing around the bowls and platters of food. She slid into her place, keeping her gaze locked on her plate and the passing dishes. Since she didn’t understand what they were talking about anyway, she let her mind gnaw on her own situation.

  How could she stay here any longer? Yet how could she leave? Of course she could stay. She was married, after all. There was no impropriety. Except in her mind. The paper might say she was married, but she surely didn’t feel like it. Or act like it.

  Oh, for a fan.

  When she sneaked a peek at Kane, he was studying her the way he studied the horses when he chose which ones to keep and which to sell. She went back to watching the gravy congeal on her plate.

  “You aren’t eating.”

  Kane’s voice held what? A question? Reproach? Could it be caring? She looked up. He pointed to her plate. She shook her head and forked a bit of meat to her mouth. The more she chewed, the larger the bite seemed. Commanding her jaw to keep working, she drew circles in the gravy with her fork tines. And refused to look up again.

  I have to leave. She knew that for certain by the time Morning Dove refilled the coffee cups. But how? And when?

  “Augusta?” Kane motioned toward the chairs in front of the fireplace after the enlisted men left them for their tents. “I have some things to show you.”

  Augusta glanced down the hall to her room, back to the sink where Morning Dove was preparing to wash dishes, and over to the fire. Kane stood beside her as if he would take her arm and drag her in there if she moved another way.

  “He says he has things to show you.” Major Grunswold stopped at her other side.

  Flanked by the two men, Augusta thought she knew what being a prisoner led off to jail felt like.

  Once she was seated, Kane left the room and returned in a few minutes with several papers in his hand. “This is our marriage certificate.” He handed her the paper, and Grunswold translated for him. “And my letter to Norway asking for a mail-order bride.”

  Her hands shook as she accepted the second sheet. No wonder he’d been prepared for a wife.

  “This is the letter from Norway accepting my offer. I somehow misplaced this on the trip home and found it again last week.” Again Major Grunswold translated as Kane handed her the paper.

  Augusta studied the signature. “But this is not my name. This says Miss Asta Borsland.”

  “But they sound amazingly alike,” the major said, first in German, then in English. He looked up to Kane. “Fine kettle of fish we have here. What do you suppose happened to”—he studied the signature more closely—“to Miss Borsland
?”

  “I don’t know.” Kane shrugged and shook his head again. “But she wasn’t on the train for which I sent her the ticket. Maybe she changed her mind.” He gathered the papers together. “I truly thought this woman here was my intended bride when she got off the train. To be quite honest, I am perfectly happy with the arrangement the way it is. I have a wife now, and that was what I wanted.”

  Augusta looked to the major for translation. “But . . . but my mor . . . I mean, I . . .” She stopped. She’d come to recognize that squaring of the jaw that said Kane was digging in his heels. “Excuse me, gentlemen, I have much to think about.” She rose and tipped her head briefly to each in turn. As she strode from the room, she could hear them begin to discuss things again. Most likely they were talking about her. So be it.

  By the time the rooster crowed in the morning, she hadn’t slept a wink. Round and round her mind spun the problem, dipping and swirling like swallows on the wing. No matter how hard she prayed, spending several hours of the long night on her knees at the side of her bed, or how fiercely she listened, God seemed far away and silent as only He could be. What was she to do?

  She knew what she looked like without glancing in the mirror. Lack of sleep always gave her raccoon eyes. She brushed her hair and donned a clean apron over her dark wool skirt. With the cold breath of winter blowing around the hills on some mornings, her wool felt mighty good. But she didn’t have the heavy petticoats and long woolen stockings she would need for winter. They were in her trunk—most likely in Blessing, where she should be. I always come back to that.

  “Good morning.” Morning Dove shot her glances from the corner of her dark eyes.

  “Good morning,” Augusta replied. But in her mind, it was anything but that.

  The two women worked together in their usual way, preparing the meal of steak, potatoes, eggs, biscuits, and plenty of hot coffee. The ranch hands and the enlisted men came in first and then the major and Kane.

  “Guten Morgen.” The major nodded at Augusta and greeted Morning Dove in English.

  “God dag.” Augusta peeked at Kane, but he was looking the other way. Within moments she could feel his gaze on her. She didn’t need to look.

  After the blessing, the men fell to and the women ferried platters of food from the stove to the table. Afterward, Kane and the major repaired to the desk on the far wall of the sitting room, and the others went outside. When Augusta and Morning Dove sat down to eat, they could hear the men loading the squealing pigs in the high-sided wagons. The cattle and horses were waiting in the corrals.

  “They go.” Morning Dove motioned to the noise outside.

  Go is what I should do, but how? Augusta nodded and cut another bite of steak.

  “If there is anything I can do to help you,” the major said when they returned to the kitchen.

  “Mange takk.” Augusta knew there was nothing he could do. She bobbed her head and managed a smile.

  “Good-bye, then.” Grunswold tipped his hat, and he and Kane left by the back door.

  “We wash clothes.” Morning Dove indicated her apron.

  Augusta wished she had something else to wear so she could wash all of her garments, but other than asking to borrow something of Morning Dove’s, that was an impossibility. She helped carry water to heat in the boilers and reservoir. One of the hands brought in extra wood, and soon the kitchen windows were dripping from the steam. They boiled the white things first, rinsed them in cooler water, then Augusta took them outside to hang on the line. The wind snapped the sheets in her face and bit any exposed skin. Though the sun shone, it had indeed lost its warmth.

  Together they wrung out the men’s pants and hung them before noon, when it was time to eat the beans that had been baking in the oven and the molasses bread Augusta had stirred up.

  By the time all the clothes were washed and dried, her hands burned from both the soap and the cold wind. Back home she would have had goose grease to rub into her aching hands, but here no one had shot any of the geese that flew overhead by the thousands. What a pity. Fresh goose would taste mighty good.

  That night after supper Kane motioned her to come sit by the fire. When they were both seated, he drew a paper from his pocket and held it out to her. She glanced down the two columns of words. “Deutsche?” She pointed at the left-hand column.

  He nodded. “And English.” He smiled at her, the first time they’d exchanged a direct look since the major announced his news. “So we can learn to talk.” His hands fluttered between them.

  She nodded. They would use the similarities between German and Norwegian to help her learn more English, a good plan. Talk she understood. Some of the German words she wasn’t sure of, but she repeated those she did, and when he gave the English, she said that too. Then smiling, she pointed to a German word and gave the Norwegian.

  “Ah.” He nodded and repeated, stumbling badly over the Norwegian. Within minutes they were smiling over their efforts, then chuckling, and finally laughing out loud.

  Augusta looked up from the paper and caught her breath. The look in his eyes—so warm, so deep she felt she could tumble into them and float like on the deepest of feather beds. His fingers touched hers at the edge of the paper, burning as if she’d stuck her hand in the fire.

  She snatched her fingers back and, paper in hand, fled from the room. “Good night,” she threw over her shoulder.

  “We’ll be gone for a day or two,” Kane announced in the morning, “rounding up the remaining cattle and bringing them in from the farthest pastures.” He looked directly at Augusta. He could tell she hadn’t slept well again. Was the thought of being married to him so terrible to her? Last night before the fire, he was sure they were making progress, and here she looked as though she’d lost her best friend again.

  Couldn’t she at least be his friend or, more appropriately, let him be her friend? Though he knew in his deepest heart that they were destined to be far more than just friends.

  While he’d thought in the beginning just having a wife would be enough, now that had changed. He wanted her to love him as he had grown to love her. After that, the real marriage could begin.

  Maybe she would miss him while he was away.

  After the men were all packed and saddled, Kane made a last trip to the front porch, where Augusta and Morning Dove stood ready to wave them off.

  “We’ll talk when I get back,” he said, handing Augusta the paper with both English and German words on it. “Maybe you could learn these while I am gone?” He tapped the paper with one finger.

  Augusta glanced from the paper to the earnest, nay, pleading look in his eyes. She nodded. “Ja, I will . . .” Her English came to a stuttering halt.

  “Learn?” He nodded, encouraging her to go on.

  She bobbed her head. “Learn. Ja, I will learn.” Now it was her turn to tap the paper with a fingertip.

  Oh, to take her in his arms and give her a real good-bye, the kind that would keep her thinking of him until he returned. Instead, he doffed his hat, kissed her on the cheek, and leaped down the stairs like a boy just released from school. He looked back to see a half smile and waved his hat, hoping to make her really smile.

  Instead, he was left with the haunting sadness he saw in her eyes. Those blue eyes that could sparkle like wavelets under the sun or cloud over to gray. This time, all he saw in spite of the smile was sadness.

  He sighed as he mounted his horse. Was staying with him really causing her such grief?

  Last night he’d been sure she cared at least a little. Now he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure of anything.

  “Let’s travel, boys.” So we can get home again before . . . before what? He didn’t know.

  Chapter 30

  Blessing

  October 2

  “Hjelmer says he found someone who has seen Augusta.”

  “Where?” Bridget wanted to snatch the telegram from Thorliff ’s hand, but the words meant nothing to her, since she couldn’t read English well a
t all.

  “I don’t know.” Thorliff looked at his grandmother, shaking his head. “He says she’s married.”

  “Oh, Lord in heaven, what has happened to my girl?” Bridget kneaded her apron between hands growing more gnarled all the time with the heavy work of the boardinghouse. “Read the whole thing again. Surely it says where it is from.”

  Thorliff studied the telegram. “Ipswich, South Dakota. That’s where the message originated. He says, ‘Found someone who knows of Augusta stop She is married stop More when I know stop.’ ” Thorliff handed Bridget the paper. “That’s all.”

  Bridget sank down in a nearby chair. “Ja, well, if she is married, she surely won’t be coming here, but why didn’t she write and tell me?” Her heart clenched in sorrow. She rubbed her chest with one hand and pleated her apron with the other. What had happened? Would she ever see her remaining daughter again?

  “Are you all right, Bestemor?” Thorliff laid a hand on her shoulder.

  She looked up at this tall grandson of hers. He had his father’s eyes and chin, and his hair was darkening as he grew older, just as Roald’s had. If he continued to grow as he had been, he would have the stature of his father also. While Roald had a good head on his shoulders, this son of his teetered on the brink of brilliant, at least according to Pastor Solberg.

  “Bestemor?” Thorliff leaned closer, looking deep into her eyes, concern evident in his every gesture.

  “Ah, not to worry. Just getting lost in my thoughts there for a moment.” Bridget patted his hand and heaved herself to her feet. “Don’t let an old woman’s wanderings worry you, son. The news was just a bit of a shock, that’s all.” She pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen, calling over her shoulders as she went, “Cookies are hot out of the oven, Thorliff. You want to take some home with you?”

  The grin he gave her made her add, “Now, you make sure some of them get as far as Andrew and Astrid, you hear?” She pinched his rosy cheek and chuckled as she filled one of Metiz’ low baskets, covered it with a clean white cloth, and handed him the handle. “You have Jack here, ja?”