This stranger was her husband. She’d promised to obey him. Susannah nodded. He helped her out of her redingote. She untied the ribbons from her neck and lifted off her bonnet. The breeze wove cool fingers through her hair.
“Better?”
“Fine, thank you.” Truth was, she felt exposed. Without the protection of her hat’s brim, her words vanished on the wind. Her blouse flapped in an unseemly manner. She crossed her arms to maintain some particle of modesty and hide her frayed cuffs.
He looked her up and down. “Prettier than I thought.” He made a sound in the back of his throat, somewhere between a groan and a cough, then glanced at the sun. “We’d best head for home.”
Chapter 2
Help me not to judge on appearance, Lord.
I trusted You for a wife, the right wife
for me, so I’m leaning on faith here.
Susannah considered herself far too practical to believe in love at first sight. All she wanted was a small miracle, that she would feel something other than overwhelming shyness.
Too much to hope for, she supposed. At least he didn’t chew tobacco.
Jesse led her into the draw where his ox waited in the shade of the platform. He stowed her bag, then lifted her to the seat. With easy, efficient movements, Jesse swung up and took the reins. He sprawled, his knee brushing hers. She scooted to the edge and dug her fingers into the plank seat. They bumped over the tracks and headed south along two lines of bent stems.
“Guess this old wagon doesn’t ride as smooth as the train.”
“It’s fine.” She glanced over her shoulder as the shed disappeared behind a curtain of tall grass.
“What’re you looking for?”
“Is there a grocer’s?”
“General store at Fifth Siding, but we’ll grow most of our food.” Jesse reached under the seat behind her feet.
Susannah flinched as an unwelcome memory surfaced, an arm clothed in finely woven wool. She pushed the image aside. The future was frightening enough without the past intruding.
He handed her a pail. “I fixed biscuits for you. Sourdough, seeing as how there’s no milk or eggs. Plums from down by the crick.” He hefted an earthenware jug. “From the beautiful Sweetwater Spring. Finest-tasting water anywhere. Being first out here, I claimed the quarter section with the best spring.”
“Is there a cup?”
His shoulders drooped. “Guess I forgot how to treat a lady.”
Susannah’s arms trembled under the weight of the jug. Water splashed her linen shirt. So clumsy.
“Don’t worry, you’ll dry off quick in this wind. It never stops. Feels good in the summer when you work up a sweat, but freezes your nose off in winter. ’Course that might be an improvement with a snout the size of mine.”
She took a tiny bite of biscuit, then realized he wasn’t eating. “I’m sorry. Would you like some?”
“Nope. Ate mine watching for your train. Go ahead.”
“Did you have long to wait?”
“My fault. I left home too early. Heard some brides cash in their ticket to cheat the husband. Not that you’d do such a thing, but changing trains in Chicago isn’t easy. Your luggage might be stolen. Some sharper might see a woman traveling alone and try to swindle her out of her tickets, her money, or her honor. Or maybe you’d catch the eye of a Beau Brummell who’d smooth talk you into marrying him instead of this dirt man.” He bent to retie his brogan. “Then I worried you wouldn’t like me, or the house, or the territory.” He straightened. “So, what do you think of Dakota?”
Explorer Stephen Long had labeled this the Great American Desert. What could she add? “The grass is so tall. It makes me feel like planting trees.”
“Scratch a city girl, find a farmer.” He chuckled. “Yes, ma’am, we’ll need a shelterbelt around our house to keep it from blowing away. And an orchard sure would be nice. Newspaper says some fellows are selling trees east of Fifth Siding. We’ll see about buying a few saplings, if this harvest pays. This is real good land, the best. No stumps to plow around. No digging rocks every spring like back east. The soil here is so rich, wheat’s shooting up in spite of the drought.”
Over her shoulder, the telegraph poles sank behind the swell of the land. “Do you ever get lost?”
“I steer for a spot on the horizon. See that little dip? We’ll go to the right of it, then there’s another spot to hunt for farther on.” A half smile twitched his mouth. “Guess this old ox could find his way home without me.”
Grass slapped against the wagon. Unlike Michigan’s soft emerald lawns, it grew dusty and dry, bleached tan in places.
“How far is your”—what was the proper term?—“your claim?”
“We’ll be home before dark.”
A shudder vibrated through her. No. Best not to worry about that which cannot be changed.
He shifted in the seat to face her. “Tell me about your train ride. Guess you met some interesting folks.”
Did he think she was so ill bred she’d encourage such familiarity? “No,” she said.
He took a deep breath. “All right. Five states and one territory. What’s the most curious thing you saw?”
“Chicago. They’ve rebuilt from the fire.”
“Anything happen on your trip?”
Her mind went blank. “No.”
“Not a thing?” He drew back, shoulders drooping. He expected something from her, and she had disappointed him.
She swallowed against the constriction in her throat and hunted for something to say. “Have you seen Indians here?”
“Not a one. Army moved them west after the Sioux Uprising. The nearest post, Fort Ransom, closed last spring due to lack of hostiles.”
“The Detroit Free Press reported General Custer sent his wife and the other officers’ wives back east from Bismarck. Does he expect trouble from the Sioux?”
“Nope. Like the rest of the territory, Bismarck suffers from a lack of accommodations. The ladies won’t have anyplace to stay until Fort Abraham Lincoln is finished this fall. Say, isn’t Custer from Michigan? Know him?”
“Father met him during the War.”
“Hear tell he’s quite the character.” He waited for her to say something, but she couldn’t imagine what. “Guess your pa had some stories about our youngest general.”
“He kept dogs in his tent.”
“So your pa was a man of few words and you take after him.” He propped his forearm on the seat back.
“I’m sorry.”
“Well then, how’s my little brother?”
“Oh yes, Reverend Mason told me to give you this right away.” Susannah retrieved the marriage certificate from her pocket. “He married us before I left, by proxy, since there’re so few pastors out here. I won’t hold you to it if—”
“Yeah, Matt said something about this in his last letter. Hey, got a witness at my wedding I never heard of. Who’s this?”
“Homer Ferguson. The organist’s father.”
“All right.” He stretched, taking up most of the bench. “Since I couldn’t make it to my own wedding, you tell me about it. Everything. All the details.”
“Well, the usual—”
The certificate tapped against the hand holding the reins. “Start from the beginning. You got all dressed up.”
“No, I had on my brown—no, my blue calico.”
“And you went over to the church.”
She shook her head. “Miss Ferguson was practicing the organ. Reverend Mason had us stand in his parlor.”
“He crammed everyone in his front room?”
“It was only the Reverend, Ellen, Mr. Ferguson, and the children.” “Courage,” Ellen had told her. “Be brave.”
One eyebrow arched. “Just because my friends couldn’t be there doesn’t mean you couldn’t invite yours. Then what?”
“Reverend Mason read the ceremony.”
“And this Ferguson said my part?”
“No, he hasn’t spoken since the W
ar. The Reverend said the vows on your behalf. If you’d rather not—”
“No, this is great. We’re married, all legal and official, and didn’t have to spend a dime. No preacher’s fee, no extra train fare for me to ride to Fargo.” He folded the certificate into his pocket. “Well, much as I respect my brother, I’d just as soon have God hear it straight from me.”
He dropped the reins. The ox slowed to a stop. Now what? He stood, pulled her up, and lifted his face to the clear sky. “Dear Lord, I come before You today to marry this woman.” He smiled down at her. “I, Jesse, take you, Susannah, to be my wife, to love, honor, and cherish, as long as I live.”
A long minute passed. His thumbs pressed her palms. She whispered, “I, Susannah, take you . . . Jesse, to love, honor, and obey, as long as I live.”
“What God has joined together, let no man put asunder.” He grinned at her. “Now we’ll put it in writing.” They sat. From under the bench, Jesse brought out a worn Bible, a metal ink bottle, and a pen. He opened the book to the first blank page. “Let’s see: ‘United in Holy Matrimony, August 26, 1873, Dakota Territory.’ Now sign your name and I’ll add mine.”
Her hand shook so hard, her signature was unreadable. His marched across the page, past the allotted line. Duty complete, he replaced the book and snapped the reins. “Seems kind of short. What else?”
“Ellen read some verses.”
“‘Though I speak with tongues of men and angels . . .’” He went on and recited the whole thirteenth chapter of First Corinthians. “‘And the greatest of these is love.’ And now, music. What’s your favorite hymn?”
“You pick.”
“How about one of Wesley’s?” He sang “Love Divine, All Loves Excelling.”
Susannah leaned against the backrest. His deep voice flowed over her, easing a particle of tension from her shoulders.
“Sing with me,” he directed, starting “Amazing Grace.” Susannah took the alto part.
“You sing so well,” she said when they finished. “Did you consider going into ministry too?”
“Susannah, we can’t talk about that in the middle of our wedding. I still have to kiss the bride!”
She clutched the seat. As a girl she’d dreamed of a first kiss, the dream fading through years without suitors. Now, here it was, a first kiss on her wedding day, no less. His lips, warm and soft, brushed hers. She opened her eyes. He tilted his head, eyebrows drawn together. She’d disappointed him again.
He stared off into the distance. After a while, he cleared his throat. “Yeah, I did consider the ministry, but God didn’t call me. Matt’s better at bookwork anyhow. I need to be outside, moving around. Can’t sit still. Could’ve stayed to help my little sister and her husband run the old farm, but I wanted somewhere new, a challenge, a chance to build a place all my own.”
He leaned toward her, his head inches from hers, and wiped his brow with his bandanna. Breathe, Susannah reminded herself.
“So I took the train as far west as the tracks were laid.”
He was a talker. Good. He spoke in staccato phrases, drawing out the last word, punctuating with easy movements of his wrists. His voice sounded half an octave lower and rougher than his brother’s polished speech. He paused and looked at her. Her mind had wandered, and she hadn’t the faintest idea what he was saying.
“Do you have neighbors?”
“Ivar and Marta Vold.”
Susannah looked where he pointed. No smoke from a wood-stove, no plowed field, no path. Just empty prairie.
“Ivar showed up my first fall. Couldn’t speak a word of English, but I talked his ears off anyway. Helped me get the first harvest in, then we built his soddy. Wouldn’t stay in it, though. ’Round about Christmas, he made skis and hiked over from his place. About choked on my grub when he banged open my door—I sure wasn’t expecting any visitors. He looked like Saint Nicholas himself, his beard and eyebrows crusted with snow, nose bright red. Must have decided I wasn’t all that good of company. First sign of spring he sent for his wife.”
A low chuckle rolled from deep in his chest. He unbuttoned his cuffs and folded up his sleeves. Dark brown hair curled across his forearms and lay flat over the back of his hands. His skin was work-worn, ruddy from the sun. “Last winter Ivar stayed over at his place. He couldn’t leave his wife, what with a baby on the way.”
Two veins formed an x before his third and fourth knuckles. The fingers of his left hand twitched and his right wrist moved side to side for no apparent reason. His ox ignored the oscillations of the reins.
“Don’t know if winter was so much worse, or I’d just had enough of my own company, but soon as the weather broke, I wrote Matt asking if he knew anyone he’d like as a sister-in-law. Sure am glad I won’t have to face another winter alone.” His warm hand pressed Susannah’s. “I’m talking too much. Your turn.”
“What should I say?”
“Anything. Tell me about you. Ever been out of the city?”
She’d never been farther from home than Detroit’s outlying farms, making calls with Father. She’d never visited New York City or Washington City or even Toledo. “No.”
Enthusiasm drained from his voice. “Sidestepping all my questions, like your letters: ‘The weather has been pleasant.’ Susannah, I want to know you, what you like, what you want.”
What she wanted? Since when was that important?
Susannah’s throat tightened. She’d spent days on those letters— composing drafts, searching for words that were not too forward or self-serving, then feeding her poor efforts to the fire. Finally she had copied samples from a correspondence book, using the fancy pen and stationery she’d received for graduation. “I’m sorry.”
He groaned. “All right, back to talking about my brother.”
Ah, a safe topic of conversation. “He’s well. The Reverend preached my parents’ funerals. Ellen packed for me.”
The prairie dissolved. Back in Michigan, Ellen and her husband tucked their children into bed. She could see Reverend Mason, with his Lincolnesque stature, bent almost double under the rafters. The two oldest girls had given up their bed for Susannah and were curled on a pallet, covered with quilts. The Reverend listened to their prayers, which included entreaties for traveling mercies for Susannah. Smoothing their hair, he kissed them good night. Ellen sat by the stove, rocking the baby’s cradle with her foot, hemming a shirt for the older boy.
“Where did you go?” Jesse broke into her reverie.
“I’m sorry. I was thinking about the children.” And wondering if she’d ever have a family.
“How many nieces and nephews do I have these days?”
“Four and one on the way. They may have to change churches if the congregation doesn’t add on to the parsonage. It’s only four rooms, same as ours. I mean, same as Father’s.”
“Five children! We’ve got some catching up to do.” He winked.
Susannah swallowed and looked away. This couldn’t be real. Not this man. Not this place. The wagon lurched and a splinter dug into her finger. It was real. She had better get used to it.
“Susannah.” He touched her chin, bringing her to face him. His stare dissected her, cutting to the core. She focused on the brim of his hat, fighting the urge to put space between them.
“Your eyes are the same color as the sky right now,” he said. “Best part of the day. Time to stop work, look over all you got done.”
He let go. She inhaled, her breath sounding like a gasp, and turned away from him. A gray animal darted out of the draw ahead. “Wolf!” Susannah tightened her grip on the seat.
“It’s a dog. Norwegian elkhound. From Ivar’s first litter.”
The animal bounded into the wagon box. He hopped over the luggage and stuck his wet nose into Susannah’s neck. His frame was more compact, with shorter legs and a wider chest than the wolf specimen mounted in her father’s office. Unlike his wild counterpart, the dog’s tail curled tightly over his back.
“Handsome boy
.” Susannah rubbed his soft fur.
“Sit, Jake.”
The dog complied.
“You’ve trained him well.”
“He’s all I’ve had to talk to until you.”
“Well, please don’t stop talking to him on my account. I don’t want him mad at me.”
Jesse grinned. “Jake, let’s give Susannah the grand tour. On your left is the spring.” Sunlight reflected off a narrow band of water edged by saplings. “On your right, the barn, then our mansion.”
A stovepipe and black barrel marked the roof of the sod house. A plank door was set deep in walls over two feet thick, centered between a pair of six-pane windows. A sod stable with a woven willow enclosure abutted the east side. To the west a sapling vibrated in the wind, red knobs decorating its branches.
“You have an apple tree.”
“You didn’t know Johnny Appleseed made it this far west?” Jesse leaped down. “Brought it out on the wagon with me. Thought it’d died by the time I got here, but it’s growing good now.”
Susannah gathered her skirts.
“Wait.” He held up a palm. “We may not live in a castle, but I’ll treat my bride like a queen.” He put an arm under her legs and another around her back. Before she could figure out what to do, he lifted her off the seat and carried her inside. “Welcome home.”
Afraid he might kiss her again, Susannah twisted out of his arms. With a glance she took in his house: one room, dark. Fried pork and wood smoke odors mingled with the overriding damp-earth smell. His letter said he’d built it from sod bricks, but she hadn’t expected it to resemble a cave. She averted her face, trying to hide her shock.
“I’ll unload the wagon.”
She followed him out. “If you’ll tell me where those plum trees are, I’ll pick more.”
“Try the thicket along the crick.” He stepped close and whispered, “The outhouse is behind the apple tree.”
Chapter 3
Lord, I know You don’t make mistakes, but maybe
Matt made one. Well, we’re married, so I’m asking
for a heavy dose of wisdom. Don’t hold back.
Spring for Susannah Page 2