Robin Lee Hatcher - [Coming to America 02]

by Patterns of Love

  “Look, Aunt Inga.” Martha ran over to her and plopped down on the blanket. “I got a wildflower.”

  “Me, too! Me, too!” Suzanne’s pudgy little legs carried her rapidly to Inga, her hands clutching a small purple flower. When she reached her aunt, she thrust the flower close to Inga’s nose. “Smell.”

  She smiled even as her heart ached. “Lovely, Suzanne. Yours, too, Martha.”

  “Uncle Dirk found ’em on the other side of the tree there,” Martha said as she glanced behind her.

  Inga lifted her gaze to Dirk, standing not far away. He’d been so attentive since her accident. She knew he felt responsible for what had happened. He’d said her fall down the stairs was his fault. But he had no way of knowing it was she who was being punished, she who had been greedy and wanted more, wanted too much.

  Still wanted too much.

  He smiled at her, and it took her breath away, the way it always did, the way it always had. Then he held out another cluster of flowers. “For you,” he said.

  She felt like crying again.

  Dirk knelt on the grass beside the blanket, waiting for her to take the small bouquet from his hands.

  “Thank you,” she whispered as she accepted the flowers.

  His grin broadened as their fingers touched. “You look mighty pretty today. Doesn’t she, Gunda?”

  “Ja, she looks very pretty,” Gunda answered, a note of surprise in her voice.

  Inga blushed as she looked at the flowers in her hands.

  “You know, Gunda, your sister doesn’t think she’s pretty,” he continued. “I guess it’s ’cause she’s different from the rest of her sisters. Different, but just as pretty.”

  “Stop it, Dirk,” Inga ordered softly.

  “Nah, I don’t think I will stop it. I think it’d do you good t’hear how pretty you are on a more regular basis.” He leaned closer. “I think I’ll tell you at least once a day, no matter who else is around.”

  She met his gaze and felt a flash of unabashed happiness. It lasted only an instant before she wondered again when it would be taken from her. Then the fear returned and the moment was gone.

  “Well,” he said as he rose to his feet, “guess I’d best get back to my horse shoein’. You girls have a good time with your visiting.” He glanced toward Gunda. “Give a holler when you’re ready to go, and I’ll help you to your buggy.”

  They were all silent while they watched Dirk walk away.

  Then, with an exaggerated sigh, Astrid said, “You are so blessed, Inga.”

  She felt a shiver run up her spine. “Ja, I am blessed.”

  But for how long? she wondered. How long before something else happens?

  Dirk was thankful for the help his neighbors and the folks from town had given him in recent weeks. Strange, other than Erik Hansen, Dirk hadn’t thought he had any friends in Iowa. Not that long ago he’d thought himself alone against the world. Now he’d discovered he had an abundance of friends.

  Still, he wasn’t sorry to see an end to the casseroles and pies the women of the Prärieblomman Lutheran Church had prepared to keep the Bridgers from starving. He had to admit, as he and the girls sat down to supper that night, he was glad Inga had resumed cooking. Her skills in the kitchen were far superior to anyone else’s.

  “Mmm. Something smells mighty good,” he said as he slid his chair up close to the table. “Doesn’t it, girls?”

  “Sure does,” Martha replied.

  “Uh-huh,” Suzanne echoed.

  Inga demurred. “It is just hasselbackspotatis and an oven omelette. Nothing special.”

  He opened his mouth to tell her everything she did was special but thought better of it. He would just foul up. He wasn’t a man of many words. Never had been. Right now, he wished he were.

  What could he say to tell her how much she had changed him? How did he explain the difference in the way he felt every morning, the new lightness in his heart? It wasn’t so very long ago he’d hated everything about this farm, but now it was different. He was different. It wasn’t that things had suddenly gotten easier for the Bridgers. It wasn’t that he’d suddenly discovered a fondness for cows or early-morning milking or mucking out smelly stalls. It wasn’t that there was any more money or they were any less in debt.

  He guessed it was just love for Inga, pure and simple, that had changed him.

  But words wouldn’t be enough to convince her, even if he could find the right ones. Inga was hurting, down deep inside, and she needed a lot more than hearing that he loved her. He didn’t want her to think he said those words out of guilt. She needed to see the changes in him. She needed to know those changes were real.

  Inga needed to discover all this for herself, and she needed to believe it in her heart.

  He wished his ma were still alive, he thought with a sharp pang. Hattie Bridger had been one of the wisest women he’d known, and he sure could’ve used some advice from her right now. She would’ve been able to tell him how to help things along between him and Inga. She would have known how to reach through Inga’s hurt and pain and fear.

  Hattie Bridger had known all along that Dirk and Inga were supposed to be married. His ma had known he was going to fall in love. That’s what she’d been trying to tell him, right before she died.

  He cleared his throat as Inga set the last of the food dishes on the table, then took her seat opposite him. “You know, I was thinking that maybe we oughta take a trip down to Des Moines, once you’re feelin’ up to it. Just the two of us.”

  “Des Moines? Why?”

  “Well, I’d like to get a look at some of the new farming and milking equipment I’ve been hearin’ about, and maybe you could buy yourself some quilting fabric.” Actually, the idea had just occurred to him, but now that it had, he thought it a good one. “Or maybe you’d like a new dress,” he added.

  She lifted the platter of roasted potatoes, basted in butter and coated with grated cheese and bread crumbs, and held it toward him, her pale blue eyes looking wary and uncertain. “Who would take care of the farm and the milking while we were gone?”

  “I reckon we could impose on the Gerhards again. Sven must feel like the cows are his, and Frida never seems to mind lookin’ after the children.”

  She glanced down at her plate. “We owe them too much already. Besides, there is no money to be spent on a new dress or fabric.”

  “Erik Hansen would help out, too, if I asked him. You let me worry about what we can or can’t afford.”

  “What if something happened to one of the girls while we were away?”

  “We’ll only be gone overnight. What could happen?”

  “Anything.” Her voice was tinged with panic, as if a hundred different calamities had occurred to her. “I do not think we should leave them behind. I do not think we should go. Any of us. We belong here.”

  He reached across the table and grabbed hold of her hand, forcing her to look at him. “Nothing’s gonna happen to Martha and Suzanne. Or to you and me. I swear it to you.”

  “You cannot swear it,” she whispered. “You tempt God to say so.”

  He stared at her for a moment, then firmly replied, “That’s nonsense, and you know it.” He realized he sounded angry.

  Maybe he was angry.

  He released her hand, then picked up his fork and stabbed a bite of omelet. “As soon as Dr. Swenson says it’s okay for you to travel, we’re goin’ to Des Moines. Just the two of us. And that settles it.”

  Watching her husband, Inga remembered something Gunda had said earlier today. You lost something, too, but it must not cause you to stop living. But how did she keep herself from it? she wondered.

  She lowered her gaze to her plate, her appetite forgotten.

  Dirk couldn’t know how much she longed to go with him to Des Moines, to spend all those hours alone with him. She wanted to be happy and carefree. She despised the fearful, timid person she’d become, but she didn’t know how to overcome it.

  “Uncle Dirk?
” Martha asked softly, intruding on the strained silence that had gripped the room.

  “Hmm?”

  “Suzanne and me. We like to stay at Mrs. Gerhard’s. We won’t come to no trouble. We promise.” The child looked at Inga. “Honest we won’t.”

  Inga sighed, her heart tight in her chest. “All right then.” She glanced toward Dirk. “For a couple of days. If Frida and Sven do not mind.”

  He smiled again, and she breathed easier.

  Perhaps nothing untoward would happen. Perhaps it would be all right.

  Twenty-one

  Aunt Inga!”

  At the sound of Martha’s cry, Inga’s heart nearly stopped beating.

  “Come see what Uncle Dirk’s done!”

  Relief flooded her. She drew a deep breath as she set aside the rolling pin. Then she turned toward the back door where Martha was standing.

  The child’s red hair curled in wild abandon around her face. It didn’t look like it had seen a brush in a month of Sundays, even though Inga had braided it that morning. Martha’s cheeks were rosy, and her eyes twinkled with excitement. “Come see! Hurry!”

  “What is it?” Inga wiped her floury hands on her apron as she walked across the kitchen.

  Martha grabbed hold of Inga’s arm and pulled her outside. “You’ll see.”

  The sun glowed warm in a cloudless sky. The air smelled sweet with the green scents of springtime. A litter of kittens scampered near the barn, chasing after shadows, while their mother slept, stretched out in the sunshine.

  Inga felt her spirits lift as she followed Martha across the barnyard and down the drive.

  “Look!” Martha pointed with one outstretched arm.

  Inga saw Dirk then, standing near the maple tree where she and her sisters had sat only a few days before. From the thick lower limb of the tree, Dirk had hung a swing made with sturdy ropes and a wooden seat. He was pushing Suzanne in the swing now, and she was giggling merrily.

  “Wait until you see how high I can go,” Martha said. “Come on.”

  When Dirk saw them approaching, he smiled. Strangely enough, it made her remember the man who’d had no time to play with his nieces, the man who hadn’t even wanted to have Christmas. When had he changed? How had he found the time when there was all the same work to be done every day?

  She followed Martha into the pasture and up to the tree. Dirk’s gaze never left her the entire time. She felt an old familiar pleasure shiver up her spine.

  “Your turn, Mrs. Bridger,” he said, stopping the swing with his hands.

  “Nej, it is for the children.”

  He winked at her. “I don’t think they’d mind. Would you, girls?”

  “No, we don’t mind,” Martha answered for both of them.

  Dirk helped Suzanne to the ground, then pulled the swing backward. “Okay, ma’am. It’s your turn.”

  “Really, Dirk, I have my baking to do and there is a basket of mending still to be…” She let her protest drift into silence. It might be fun, after all, and it was terribly hard to deny him when he looked at her that way.

  His grin broadened. Her heart thumped.

  “All right,” she whispered. “But only for a moment.” She moved into place.

  With his hands on the ropes on either side of her, he drew back on the swing, causing her feet to leave the ground. Then he gave her a push. Her stomach seemed to somersault as she flew forward, and she let out a tiny squeal of surprise. He pushed her again, higher this time.

  There had been a swing behind the parsonage in Jönköping. Inga and her sisters had spent many hours there during the brief summers. Come to think of it, when Thea was about Suzanne’s age, she’d taken a spill and broken her arm.

  Inga’s grip tightened on the ropes, her temporary pleasure evaporating. “Stop!”

  “What?”

  “Stop!” She dragged her feet as the swing arced backward. Dirk’s hands on her waist completed the job, bringing her to a complete halt. Immediately, she pulled away from him and jumped up from the wooden seat.

  “Inga, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I…I have work to do.” Quickly, she walked toward the house.

  He caught up with her before she’d reached the barn, falling into step at her side. “Inga, I’m worried about you.”

  “Worried?” She glanced at him, then away.

  “Yeah, worried.” He stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Let’s talk about it.”

  “About what?” She felt cold.

  “About the day you fell down the stairs. About you and me and Martha and Suzanne. About the way I feel about you. Inga, don’t you know that I’ve come to—”

  She stopped him with her hand over his lips. “Nej! Do not say it!” Her vehemence seemed to stun him.

  He took a step backward. “Do you hate me so much?”

  Tears sprang to her eyes. “I do not hate you, Dirk,” she whispered.

  “Then what? Why?”

  She turned her back to him. “You would not understand.”

  “Try me.”

  She shook her head.

  He swore beneath his breath.

  She spun to face him. “This marriage of ours…It is difficult enough. One day you will go away and I will return to my pappa’s house. That is what we agreed. Let us not make more of it than it is.”

  “Is it really so difficult, Inga? Our marriage, I mean. Aren’t you just a little bit happy with me? Would it be so awful if you and I…if we stayed together, like this, a family? What if I don’t want to go away?”

  Something terrible was going to happen. She could feel it. “Do not do this. Please.”

  “Ah, Inga.” He gathered her in his arms. He kissed her forehead, kissed her eyelids, kissed her lips. “You’re like a breath of heaven.”

  “You should not say such a thing,” she whispered. “It is sacrilege. Besides, you do not know what I really am.”

  “Give me a chance to prove myself. Give us a chance. I can be a better husband than you ever imagined.”

  She hid her face in the curve of his neck, mostly to avoid having him kiss her again. She enjoyed it too much, wanted it too much.

  He rubbed his cheek against her hair. “I’ve missed holdin’ you.”

  She felt the stirring of desire for her husband. It surprised her. She’d thought, now that she couldn’t conceive, that she would no longer want to lie with him as a woman lies with a man. She was certain it was only one more condemning piece of evidence against her, one more reason she didn’t deserve happiness.

  “I want too much,” she whispered.

  “What?” He lifted her chin with his index finger, drawing her gaze to his.

  She hadn’t realized she’d spoken the words aloud and was taken aback by his question.

  “What did you say?” he persisted.

  She gave her head a tiny shake. “Nothing.”

  He pulled her close against him. “You’re a stubborn woman, Inga Bridger.”

  “Ja.”

  “But I can be even more stubborn. You’ll see.”

  Dr. Swenson turned away. “You may get dressed, Mrs. Bridger. I’ll let Mr. Bridger know that I’ve finished my examination. You get dressed, and then we will talk.”

  Inga breathed a sigh of relief as soon as the door closed behind him. It was beyond embarrassing, to be examined so intimately. It didn’t matter that Dr. Swenson was old enough to be her father or that he was a trained physician simply looking after her good health. It was still humiliating.

  She got up from the bed and hurriedly dressed before he could return. She was tidying her hair when a soft rap sounded at the door, then it opened, and the doctor and Dirk entered the bedroom.

  Dirk’s gaze immediately sought hers, the look questioning and hopeful at the same time.

  Dr. Swenson removed his spectacles and cleaned the lenses. “I am pleased with Mrs. Bridger’s progress,” he said to Dirk. “Quite honestly, I am surprised by how quickly she has mended. In someone less strong,
the results would have been much worse.” He looked at Inga now. “You are fortunate, my dear.”

  Fortunate?

  The doctor returned his glasses to the bridge of his nose. “You may resume the remainder of your normal, everyday household chores, but I would like you to lie down every afternoon for at least one hour, and you are not to be on your feet for more than an hour at any one time. Is that understood?”

  Inga nodded.

  “No lifting heavy milk pails or other farm chores.” Dr. Swenson reached for his black leather bag. “But I see no reason why marital relations need be restricted any longer, as long as there is no pain or discomfort.”

  She blushed as her gaze dropped to the floor.

  “We appreciate you coming out, Dr. Swenson, instead of making Inga take that long ride into town. I’m sure glad to hear she’s doin’ so well.” Dirk’s voice seemed to caress her from across the room. “I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

  He’d married her to be his housekeeper. He’d proposed for reasons of convenience, of necessity, not out of love or affection. Yet, something in the way he spoke those words seemed to imply more.

  More. She was still wanting more.

  She hardened herself against the thoughts, against the feelings. With a neutral expression carefully in place, her voice dispassionate, she said, “I will walk out with you, Dr. Swenson.”

  Several hours later, twilight settled over the earth like a comfy blanket. The evening star twinkled a greeting as Dirk stepped out of the barn. A breeze, crisp but not cold, tugged at his clothes and ruffled his hair. It was a beautiful night.

  He thought about asking Inga to take a stroll with him, then discarded the idea. She would only refuse.

  How do I reach her? He’d been thinking the same question over and over again, ever since the doctor left.

  He wasn’t mistaken. Inga did care for him, but every time she realized it, she withdrew into some protective place. She was afraid to love him. He stopped still and looked up at the heavens as voices from the past played again in his memory.