“Hjelmer Bjorklund, quit acting so silly.”
“I’m acting silly?” He rolled over on his back and crossed his arms over his chest, jerking the covers around in the process.
She sighed again. Whatever did I do to deserve this? “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you came home.” She didn’t add that they were butchering chickens so she would have some to sell in the store and so she would have one to roast for a special dinner for him tomorrow.
He grunted.
She waited.
He let out a sigh that missed being a huff by only a hair. “I had so much to tell you, and you weren’t here.”
She gritted her teeth and forcibly relaxed her jaw. “I know.” Rolling over, she settled her arm across his chest and squeezed gently. “I’ve missed you.” She could almost hear him thinking funny way to show it, but she ignored that and stroked his arm. She could feel him relax, and he settled deeper into the feather bed.
Why is it so hard for him to say “I’m sorry”? She waited.
He turned on his side facing her and cupped his hands around her cheeks. “Thank you.” He kissed her, first her nose and then her lips. When he released her mouth, they both sighed.
“I was the rear end of Jack the mule, huh?” he whispered.
“Ja.” She kissed the palm of his hand, her gentle chuckle bringing one from him. “So you finally found Augusta and dragged her home?”
“Ja, and she hardly said a word the whole way.” He shook his head and tucked her under his arm next to his side. “I don’t think there’s a chance this side of heaven that I will ever understand a woman.”
Penny chuckled and drew a circle on his bare chest. “You think it might be different in heaven?”
His low growl made her laugh. And when laughter leads to loving, all kinds of miracles can happen.
Her last thought before sleep claimed her was that Tante Agnes and God’s Word were indeed right. If for no other reason, one slept better with the anger gone.
Augusta woke up crying. After drying her eyes and blowing her nose, she lay looking at the moon reflections through the curtains. The same moon shone on Kane. Was he seeing it too? Some time passed before she slept again, but when she woke at the first rooster crow, her pillow was soaked.
Wasn’t she out of tears yet? She turned the pillow over and let her scratchy eyes drift shut again. She’d get up in a few minutes. Weariness far worse than that of hard physical labor dragged her down and down. If this was to be home, how could she get her heart to reside here?
Chapter 34
Blessing
October 8
“Noon!” Augusta’s feet were in hurry motion before they hit the floor.
“Sorry, Miss Bjorklund, I didn’t mean to waken you, but your mor was getting worried and asked me to check on you.” Ilse stood just inside the doorway twisting her hands.
“No, no. I had no intention of sleeping like this.” Augusta glanced out the window to see people hurrying by holding hats on their heads with one hand, the other fighting the wind that tried to tear the coats from their backs.
“Can I get you anything? Hot water? Coffee?”
How good it was to hear Norwegian spoken, even though Augusta knew she should request English. Somehow she had to learn English, more than her rudimentary phrases, and fast. “Both would be wonderful, but I can’t let you serve me like this.”
“Why not? That is what I do.” A look of pride came over her pale face. “I am in charge of the rooms and our guests. The others take care of the meals.”
“All right, then. Hot water would be so good. Surely I can be of help downstairs if I hurry.”
When the young woman left the room, Augusta swiftly made her bed and began brushing her hair in front of the mirror. Mor must think me gone lazy like a cat in the sun since I came to America.
A tap on the door brought Ilse back with a pitcher of hot water and one of cold.
“Mange takk, er, thank you.”
Ilse took the hint. “You are welcome.” Her smile brought color and life to her face. “Mrs. Bjorklund says to tell you the coffee is hot.” She closed the door gently after backing out of the room.
Augusta turned back to the mirror and frowned at the sight of her own puffy face and eyes red from all the crying. Whatever had come over her? Kane, that’s what, or rather, who. Even the thought of him brought the sting of tears to the back of her eyes. She dunked the washcloth in the hot water she’d poured in the basin and held the steaming cloth to her eyes. “Uff da.” Will there be no end to it? The cold cloth followed, dunked and wrung several times in the hopes of banishing the red.
One thing for certain sure, she did not want to talk about or think about Mr. Elkanah Moyer.
Once downstairs, her mother shooed her to a rocking chair out of the way of the bustling help and handed her a cup of coffee along with a plate of freshly sliced bread slathered with sour cream and chokecherry jelly.
“Now eat.” Bridget stood in front of her daughter, waiting for her to take the first bite. When that happened, she nodded with a gentle smile. “Good. No wonder you were sad. You haven’t eaten decent for days.”
Augusta refrained from asking how Bridget knew that, but the bread and cream tasted heavenly. And her nose told her there was plenty of other good food for the asking. The cheerful bustle flowed on its prescribed course, as everyone knew what to do and went about their assigned tasks with laughter and teasing comments.
With coffee cup in hand, Augusta wandered to the dining room door and peeked into the other room. Four men sat at one table, and a man and woman shared a table over by the window. Her gaze continued on, then flicked back to the couple. Asta Borsland! With that man. Whatever in the world? Who? The questions nearly spilled out her mouth, but she clamped her lips shut on them until she caught her mother by the stove.
“How did that woman meet a man so fast?” She tried to keep from hissing but didn’t quite make it.
“At supper last night. They hit it right off. ’Course I was kind of hoping you’d meet him, since he’s so nice and all, but this could solve a problem or two.” Bridget checked the chickens she already had roasting for dinner.
“But, Mor . . .” Augusta shook her head.
“I offered her work here for room and board until she can decide what she wants to do.”
“And?” Augusta could feel her stomach churn. Not that Miss Borsland didn’t have a good reason for being angry at her. After all, when it came right down to it, she had stolen the woman’s intended husband.
Augusta hated putting it quite like that, but honest she was, no matter how painful.
“She said she’d be glad to. I told her she starts tomorrow. She can help Eulah with the washing.” Bridget smiled up at her daughter. “I was hoping you would help me with the sewing. I need more quilts for the winter. Just wait until you hem sheets on that sewing machine.”
“But I don’t know how to use it.”
“You will catch on in no time.” Bridget handed her a pitcher of milk. “Here, set this on the table, will you?”
When the guests were served and all the help sat down to eat, Augusta joined them at the table.
“So,” Goodie asked Bridget, “when will the wedding be? You got your daughter here now, so there can be no more excuses.”
Bridget gave a bit of a headshake and glanced at Augusta, who was busy chewing.
Goodie flinched. “Sorry,” she whispered.
But Augusta heard her. “All right, what is this about a wedding? I can tell you are trying to keep a secret.”
One person looked to the next and the look passed on around the table, finally ending up with Bridget, who continued to eat as if nothing untoward were happening. But the twitching of a muscle at the right side of her mouth gave her away.
“Mor.”
Bridget ducked her head as if to take another bite.
“Mor!” Augusta put a bit more force behind her words. Someone else snickered. Eulah got up
to pour the coffee, her broad smile and wink making sure Augusta didn’t give up.
“Henry asked me to marry him, and I said yes but not until you were found.” The words sped from her lips.
Augusta pondered the muttered words and watched the red creep up her mother’s neck. Married? Her mother was going to be married? The thought caught her like a punch in the middle. She stared at the woman with white hair and cheeks flaming bright enough to need dousing by snow. But she is too old. As soon as the thought came, she banished it. Why shouldn’t her mother find happiness again? Because she is married to my far.
So? Not anymore. He died. Another memory flooded her mind and brought tears burning the back of her eyes. I am not crying anymore! She rolled her eyes, took a sip of coffee and a deep breath.
“So who is this man who is good enough to think of marrying my mor?”
The flash of smile from Goodie and the pat on the shoulder from Eulah told her that they approved of her response. The tension around the table relaxed as everyone, including Bridget, took a deep breath and let it out on a sigh.
“Mor?”
“You will meet Henry today when the train comes in. He is a conductor on the railroad and—” Bridget stopped and frowned at her daughter. “If he’d been on that line that day, you wouldn’t have gotten out of that station on the wrong train, let me tell you.”
And I wouldn’t have met Kane. Augusta sighed and blinked a couple of extra times. After another deep breath, she forced a smile to lips that wanted to quiver. “So when is the wedding?”
“I think this Saturday. This is Henry’s last run for the railroad. When he knew we had found you, he told them he was quitting.” Bridget blushed clear to her hairline. “He wants to help me here.”
Augusta ignored the pain that thinking of her mother with a man other than her father brought to her heart region. She knelt by her mother’s chair. “I look forward to meeting this Henry. For if you love him, he must be a fine man.”
“Ah, my Augusta, even with all those around me”—she indicated the others with a sweep of her hand—“and with you and Hjelmer . . .” She paused and cupped her daughter’s face in gnarled hands that had not lost their gentleness. “I . . . I have lost much, but God has blessed me with more. Can I do less than take this gift and thank our Father for it—for Henry—for bringing you, whom I thought was gone too, back to me?” She thumbed away the moisture gathering at the edges of Augusta’s eyes. “Rejoice with me, Gussie, and stand beside me at the church. Nothing would make me happier. Haakan is standing up for Henry.”
Augusta nodded. “Ja, I will stand up for you.”
“You’re like a wildcat with a mangled foot, snapping at everyone.” Lone Pine leveled a look at Kane that would have felled a lesser man.
Kane grunted and slammed the posthole digger deeper into the hole. The ringing of metal striking rock vibrated up his arm. With no longer suppressed fury, he flung the posthole digger to the side, then hefting a sturdy post, slammed it into the hole.
“Hold it.” He kicked dirt back in the hole, tamping it with a heavy iron rod.
Lone Pine held the post straight, he, too, using his foot to scoop the fresh dirt back in the hole. “Mighty shallow.”
“We’ll brace it.”
By the time they had another hundred feet of posts planted and the wire strung, the sun had oranged the sky, then flamed in red, purple, and magenta, all underpinned with gold. The cloud layers faded from fire back to mauve, lavender, and finally gray. The wind picked up, and one of the team whinnied at a sound neither of the men could hear.
“I imagine Morning Dove has supper ready.” Lone Pine picked up the remaining roll of barbed wire and set it back in the wagon.
Kane didn’t even bother to grunt this time, just threw in the tools and climbed to the seat. He had the horses in motion before Lone Pine got seated.
The jingle of harness and the clip-clop of trotting horse hooves lulled him into remembering. Something he’d sworn not to do. Augusta, where are you? Are you happy in Blessing? The sound of her laugh made him almost turn to see if she was riding in the back of the wagon. She hadn’t laughed that much. Why was it so clear in his ear?
“You could go get her, you know.” Lone Pine broke the silence.
Kane spun around, his jerk on the reins stopping the horses in midstride. “Who in thunder asked for your opinion?”
The team snorted and stamped. Guilt bit into him for the way he had just misused his animals, something he would have torn the hide off one of his hands for.
He clucked the horses forward again and tucked himself back into the shell that kept the pain in and others out. She could have stayed. You are married to her. Go get her. If she doesn’t want to be here, I don’t want her to be. Liar. Thoughts hammered through his mind like twin woodpeckers drilling a tree. But while the woodpeckers would be fed from their efforts, his yammering thoughts took him nowhere but around in a futile circle.
“ ‘Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God and this company to unite this man and this woman in holy matrimony.’ ” Reverend John Solberg looked up from his service book to smile at the man and woman standing before him. “ ‘Marriage is a godly estate, ordained by God . . . ’ ”
Augusta had a hard time keeping her mind on the ceremony. So different this was than the one she stood up for so long, no, so short a time ago. Such a travesty. She’d had no idea what she was agreeing to. Citizenship—hah! Where had her mind gone? She should have known better.
But Kane . . . Kane knew. She had fought the tears that woke her this Saturday morning, as they had every day, and threatened to overwhelm her now. You will not cry and ruin your mother’s wedding. You will not! She sniffed, and when she heard other sniffs from the gathered congregation, she knew they would think it only normal. Women always cried at weddings.
She forced her attention back to the service.
“Henry Aarsgard, do you take this woman to be your wedded wife?”
“I do.”
That’s what I said—I do. And Kane did too. Do you suppose he really meant it?
“And you, Bridget Bjorklund, do you take this man to be your wedded husband?”
The service continued, and by the end, Augusta wasn’t sure if she’d heard any more or not. Her thoughts refused to stay in Blessing. They returned instead to a ranch in the sandhills of South Dakota, seeking the man who had kept her heart.
She made it through the big party afterward, meeting all the people she’d read of so often, helping to serve the food, and answering questions about those at home in Norway. No one asked about a ranch in South Dakota. No one asked about the man who was legally her husband.
And no one called her Mrs. Moyer.
Chapter 35
Blessing
Late October
“I have a favor to ask.” Augusta clamped her hands on a chairback.
“Of course. What is it?” Bridget turned from setting the platter of fried sausages on the table for all the boardinghouse workers.
“I have to learn to speak English, so will everyone please speak only English?” Augusta wished she could at least have asked in English.
“Ja, we can do that.” Goodie spoke slowly with gestures and smiled when Augusta answered.
“Good.” While she’d been picking up some of the language and asking questions, Augusta knew she needed to make a more concentrated effort. She also knew that speaking only in English would be good for her on the one hand and frustrating to everyone else on the other. “Thank you.”
She glanced over to see the look of consternation on Asta’s face. While Asta had proved to be a good worker, Augusta still stayed as far from her as possible. Besides, Asta’s new man was taking up all her spare time when he was in town.
Concentrating on learning English kept Augusta’s mind occupied at least some of the time.
Each morning for the next few weeks she told herself that she would feel better this day. Each night she s
colded herself for hanging on to what was not to be.
One day Penny pulled her sister-in-law over to the long mirror she’d fastened to the wall in the sewing section of her general store and said, “Augusta Bjorklund, look at you. How long since you’ve eaten a decent meal?”
Augusta sighed. “I just don’t feel hungry.” She held the wool skirt she’d been sewing on Penny’s machine up to her waist. She’d have to take deeper seams, that was all. To distract the other woman’s attention, she patted the Singer sewing machine. “This is some machine, let me tell you.”
“Forget that. Now we will talk about you.” The bell above the door tinkled with an arriving customer. “Oh! Wouldn’t you know it.” Penny called out, “Be there in a minute,” then turned back to Augusta. “You stay right here until I return, hear me?”
Augusta nodded, but as soon as Penny’s back was turned, she gathered up her things and beat a hasty retreat out the back door. She didn’t need any more advice from well-meaning friends. She thought back to the day before. Ingeborg had asked if she were sick, she looked so pale. Awful, bad dreams from the night before had caused the blue blotches under her eyes.
Kane had been calling to her. She was stuck in a swamp, sinking and screaming, but he couldn’t hear her. She could still smell the swamp.
The Ranch
“Women are just too much trouble!”
Lone Pine looked at his boss and shook his head.
Kane stood looking out the sitting room window as rain pelted the ground, already splashing mud puddles, though the thirsty ground was sucking the moisture in as fast as possible.
“Coffee ready.”
Lone Pine cocked an eyebrow at Kane and glanced at his wife.
“Not all women.” They left the papers they’d been working on and headed for the table, the smell of fresh apple pie drawing them if the coffee hadn’t.
“So you go get her.” Morning Dove plunked a pie-filled plate in front of him.
“Now, why in thunderation would I do that?” Kane paused in the act of cutting a bite of pie.
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