“Always in time for breakfast. After you, my dear.” Susannah let him inside. The dog dined on pork scraps while his mistress ate fried potatoes.
After breakfast, Susannah sorted through the provisions for her move to the Volds’. Bless Ivar and Marta for their gift of cocoa. She opened the tin. Enough for a small chocolate cake. Perfect use for the egg.
“We’re low on wood. Come on, Jake. I don’t trust you alone with cake batter.”
Always jumpy around wood chopping, the dog disappeared immediately. A brisk southern wind shredded the fog, allowing the sunlight to nudge its way to earth. Ice turned to slush.
After a noon meal, with warm chocolate cake as the highlight, Susannah curled up for a nap. The somersaulting baby woke her moments later. “Yes, yes.” She patted her belly. “Back to work.”
Susannah pushed the wheelbarrow to the garden. “Pumpkins, watermelons, cucumbers, potatoes.” With each shovelful of manure, she planned the layout and prayed: Lord, hurry spring; I’m ready to plant. She rubbed her taut belly. Ready to burst.
Despite Ivar’s concern, she felt strong, sure of her body. She started to return to the soddy, then headed the other direction, up to the ridge. Ivar’s footprints from yesterday melted deeper into the snow. The ratio of open land to covered tilted slightly in favor of open. Fog hid the riverbed. Travel would be risky.
What was she thinking? Was she worried about Ivar coming tomorrow? No, it was hope, the painful hope that had been with her every day since the day Jesse left. Would she ever stop watching for him, missing him, longing for him?
Jake leaned into her leg and Susannah bent over the best she could to scratch his ears. With one last look westward, she followed the dog down the slope. In a sun-warmed spot beside the spring, a pasqueflower sent up a purple bud. Even the land was ready for winter’s end.
At dusk, the sun surrendered to the fog and the chickens returned to their roost. Susannah ate potato soup by lamplight. The kerosene was running low; she dimmed the lamp to stretch the supply. For her last night of privacy, she heated water for a bath. Then she dragged the remaining potatoes from the root cellar to sort for planting. If she was going to bathe, she might as well be good and dirty.
Jake paced, stopped to listen, then gave his sharp “out” bark.
“All right. Just remember, no porcupines, no skunks.”
The dog’s ears twitched with impatience. He dashed out at a full gallop. All four legs slid in different directions. He skidded, then disappeared into the fog.
“Silly dog.”
Susannah returned to the table. The stool sank under her weight. A couple of weeks ago Betsy’s repair of the rungs had loosened. “Watch over her, Lord.” All the nails and glue had been used to build beehives, so Susannah had tried to hold it together with rope. The makeshift repair stretched, lowering the seat until she was eye to eye with the potatoes.
Eyes. She thought about the sky-blue of Magnar Hansen’s eyes, the pale blue-gray of J.W. Webb’s. What should she do? Was last fall’s teaching job God’s way of preparing her to start Sunday schools? But four weeks in the classroom hadn’t wiped out a lifelong desire to care for animals. Jamestown had a school. Would Worthington have one by the time her baby was ready? Sissel would be old enough to teach by then. The girl adored her uncle. He was gentle and playful with all the children. J.W. would be stricter, more serious. If a man knew a child from birth, gave him his name, would he accept him as his own?
What name would Jesse choose?
Absently rubbing her abdomen, she tried to imagine herself repeating marriage vows to Magnar. No, not possible. Could she see herself moving to Jamestown as the Reverend Mrs. Webb? Even more unlikely.
She looked up at the rafters. I’m listening. I know You hear me.Just help me know what to do. I know You love the baby and me. I know You’re working for good in our lives.
The wind shifted. The roof creaked. Four winters without sags or gaps. Jesse had built a sturdy house. It held heat in winter and stayed cooler in summer than frame houses. The windows and doors fit snugly. The garden, the fields, the freshwater spring: all of this was home. How could she leave?
Something scraped out in the yard, loud in the fog-hushed darkness. Susannah froze, listening hard. The sound repeated. Ivar? No, not after sunset. Jake? Susannah placed her palms on the table to push herself up.
The door opened an inch. A man. A jolt shot through her.
She should have barred the door. Instead she had let a man walk in, just like in Detroit. Only now there was no Ellen, no one to hear her scream.
The door swung wide, bringing her a whiff of wild animal pelts. Not smelly enough or large enough to be Abner Reece. The man stepped across the threshold. Beads and quills decorated his shirt. Fringe dangled from his buckskins. An Indian! Indians walked into people’s houses without knocking.
And slit their throats.
He stepped between her and the shotgun. Maybe he just wanted food. She’d give him the rest of the cake. And anything else he wanted. Anything, as long as the baby was safe.
“You’re here. You’re still here.”
He spoke English. His voice was hoarse but familiar.
“Jesse?”
Without taking his eyes from her, he pulled a wide strap over his head, setting down not a quiver but his guitar. “Susannah. You look so good.”
“You’re alive?” The kerosene light flickered as she sagged against the table.
Jesse’s tentative smile revealed new wrinkles. “Ghosts don’t stink.”
Susannah inhaled the smoke of wood fires, the tang of cooked wild game, the sour smell of his unwashed body. It’s Jesse! It’s really him. Oh, thank You, God. Thank You.
He glanced around the room. “Anyone else here?” His hair, clotted with grease and dirt, grazed the top of his shoulders. His beard straggled to his chest like panicles of wild oats.
“What? Anyone else? No, of course not.” She wanted to run to him, grab hold of him, but breathing took all her energy.
“If you thought I was dead—”
He’d lost weight. The beard couldn’t disguise his thin cheeks. Had he been ill?
Curiosity fought with elation. “Where have you been? Not a word from you in months. The bodies of two white men—”
He nodded. “Ferrymen without paddles. Mind if I sit? It’s been a long walk.” He wiped his palms on his pants, then sank onto the trunk.
“You’re back. You’re alive.”
“Don’t sound so disappointed,” he teased. He looked around a second time. “The place is in good shape. Woodpile, haymow, firebreak. Did you do this all by yourself?”
She shook her head. “The firebreak was a gift from God, a lightning strike followed by a downpour. I rented your cutting plow to the new neighbors in exchange for the wood and traded eggs for the hay.” And soon as she got her thoughts in order, he would hear about leaving her at the mercy of Abner Reece.
“And the potatoes?”
“From my garden.” She hesitated, but he didn’t react to her taking ownership. “I sold a few, gave some away, ate a lot, and still have enough to plant.”
“You’ve been living on potatoes?”
“And prairie chickens. I taught school to buy necessities. A circuit rider brought grasshopper relief supplies from churches back in the States.” No, she hadn’t hungered for food.
“You managed without me. The city girl conquered Dakota.” He slumped against the wall, studying her under fatigue-heavy eyes. “Susannah, I can’t tell you how sorry I am for leaving, for staying away, for coming home empty-handed. I was a fool. If you’ve found someone else, I’ll understand. Deserting you all this time, I wouldn’t blame you.”
His hand circled the air, then flopped down. “Thinking I was dead, of course you’d, a fine woman like you—well, every bachelor in the territory—” He stuttered to a halt on, “A better man than me . . .”
Finally he shrugged, defeated. “I’ll just go. No one will have to know I
was back. I rehearsed this speech the whole walk home and still made a mess of it.”
“You’re not the only one who’s been practicing a speech.” Susannah took his hands, squeezing until he met her gaze. “Back before the War, some hunters wounded an eagle over by Lake St. Clair, a little north of Detroit. They kept her in a chicken-wire cage, feeding her crackers and seed, trying to get her to talk and do tricks like a parrot. The bird wouldn’t eat, became lethargic. Word got around to Father. The hunters had lost interest, so they let him take her. Father removed the lead shot from her wings, fed her meat scraps. The eagle grew strong again, squawking and fighting to get loose. So Father took her back to the lake and set her free. Next spring we saw a nest that might have been hers.”
Jesse frowned.
Her grip softened into a caress. “I’m not the storyteller you are, but I’ve felt like that bird. You patched me up, helped me grow strong, brought me to a place where I could fly and build a home.” She held his gaze. “Yes, I do have more options now. I have choices. I choose you.”
He exhaled a pent-up breath.
“Wait a minute, Jesse.” She searched his hazel eyes. “The question is, are you going to want me? I’ve found my wings. I’ve been running this homestead by myself, earning and spending money, making my own decisions, expressing my opinions, standing up for what I believe. I’m not the same woman you married.”
He closed his eyes and touched her fingers to his lips. His whiskers tickled. She shivered. “From your first day here, from your first letter to me, I felt you fighting that cage. I’d catch a glimpse of who you really are when you talked to Jake, when you delivered the calves. So I worked at the cage door trying to set you free. Yes, I want you. I want to see you fly, to fly with you if you’ll let me.”
He opened his eyes, and the tension in his face ebbed away. “Still, I’m surprised you’re here.”
“You thought I’d go back to Michigan? Back to the cage?”
“No, I thought you’d be over at Ivar’s.”
“So did he.”
“Did I miss a fight?”
“A discussion. Well, several heated discussions.”
“Which you won.” Jesse grinned, deepening the creases on either side of his nose. “I was half afraid I’d find Abner Reece camped out here.”
She glared at him. “He offered.”
“I’m sorrier than I can say. And who else? Circuit riders are usually bachelors. Bull’s-eye. I got home just in time.”
“In more ways than one.” Susannah pushed aside thoughts of Magnar. “You still haven’t told me why you were gone so long. Have you been mining all this time?”
“No, not mining. I crossed the Missouri last fall, going to see Custer about a job. The ferrymen dunked us. A Lakota boy pulled me out. He was interested in my guitar. By the time I recovered from drowning, winter had set in. When I get rested up, I’ll tell you the whole story and you can tell me yours.”
His back straightened and his shoulders lifted. A little of the old Jesse returned. “Listen, I’ve got to go to Washington. I need to talk to the president and Congress, tell them not to violate the treaty with—”
Susannah slapped her hand on the table. “No.”
“—the Sioux.” He stopped, his mouth open. Then he squinted and cocked his head. “Susannah, did I hear you right? Did you say, ‘No’?”
“I most certainly did.”
“I always wanted you to argue with me.” He flashed a grin. “But you see, I have to tell the president—”
“God listens to me and you will too. You just got home and you’re planning to leave again? How dare you!” A flash of anger, a remnant of the anxieties of the past months, heated her blood and raised her voice. “Do I have to nail your boots to the floor?”
“You can’t do that.” He lifted his foot to show her a moccasin. “Susannah, I don’t ever want to spend another day without you.” He winked. “Or another night. Come with me.”
“You will have to put your thoughts to the president in a letter. I’m not traveling this spring. And neither are you.” She pushed herself upright. “I told you I’m not the same woman you married. Remember last August, the Perseids meteor shower? Up on the hill, when we—”
Jesse rose, sidestepping around the table. “I thought of it every night.”
She rose and came around the table.
“Oh, Lord.” His eyes widened and filled with tears. He reached for her, shaping the dress to her belly. “Susannah, can you ever forgive me?”
“Are you here to stay?”
“Wild ponies couldn’t drag me away.” His hands stroked what used to be her waist. “Got home just in time.”
“I calculate six more weeks. Of course, if the child takes after his father, who knows when he’ll make an appearance.”
Jesse winced. “I deserved that. Hey, he’s moving.”
“Just wait until tonight.” Susannah guided his fingers. “Here’s his head, back, and keep your hand here, you’ll feel more kicking.”
“Have you seen a doctor?”
“When the nearest one doesn’t know a ‘safe day’ from a wet rock?”
“If I didn’t smell like a polecat, I’d—” Jesse nodded at the pails on the stove. “Don’t suppose you’d scrub my back?”
Susannah took his face in her hands and kissed him. “Not just your back. Welcome home.”
Reading Group Guide
1. Susannah and Jesse marry after exchanging a few letters. How long were you in a relationship before committing? What discoveries did you make after committing? Are there any surprises left for longtime couples?
2. Susannah is intimidated by Dakota’s emptiness. What frightens you when you travel?
3. Susannah wants privacy, but Jesse craves intimacy. How do couples work this out?
4. Jesse refers to their marriage as a two-piece puzzle—different, but fitted into a whole. Is he right? Do opposites attract? Do you believe there’s someone for everyone?
5. Susannah wants to confide in Marta. How important are girlfriends? What can you say to a girlfriend that you wouldn’t discuss with your spouse?
6. Victorian culture blamed women if they were attacked. In what ways does today’s culture blame victims? What should our stance as Christians be toward victims?
7. Jesse tells Susannah to forget the “shoulds.” What “shoulds” does today’s culture impose on us? Do “shoulds” point to a more Christ-like life or restrict our freedom in Christ?
8. Jesse’s expectations for his wife don’t include fancy meals or a spotless house—he wants to know her. How do expectations affect relationships? How do expectations change over the years?
9. Jesse keeps trying to coax Susannah into expressing her opinion, debating with him. On what issues should couples agree? And where are differences of opinion acceptable?
10. Susannah stopped praying when God didn’t give her what she wanted. What other ways do people react to disappointment with God? Have you had a similar experience with unanswered prayers?
11. Jesse thinks the grasshopper invasion is a lesson or punishment from God. When Susannah learns the extent of the plague, she remembers Matthew 5:45, which says that God “sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust.” Who is right? In your life, which problems do you attribute to God’s discipline and which are “just life”? Are some problems both?
12. Susannah renegotiates her marriage. Have you had to do this? How did it work out?
13. When Susannah has to make a decision, she struggles to hear God amid advice from friends. What role should friends have in discerning God’s will?
14. Jesse’s love for Susannah opens her to believe God loves her. Who in your life has helped you understand God’s love? How can our actions show God’s love?
Acknowledgments
Thank you to everyone who helped on this long journey, especially:
Nebraska Novelists, who expertly critiqued numerous revisions, read the best writing I’ve heard all we
ek, and didn’t let me quit.
Omaha Public Library’s Connie Ashford, who deserves a microfilm-reel tiara for her interlibrary loan expertise.
My family, who joined me on research trips. All your friends went to Disney World, so we had North Dakota to ourselves!
Sandra Bishop, who tracked me down as I vacationed without my laptop and revised this proposal while taking her son to the doctor. That ACFW Agent of the Year Award is well earned.
Editor Amanda Bostic and the Thomas Nelson team for believing in this story.
Now unto him that is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that worketh in us, unto him be glory in the church by Christ Jesus throughout all ages, world without end. Amen.
Ephesians 3:20–21
About the Author
Catherine Richmond was focused on her career as an occupational therapist until a special song planted a story idea in her mind. That idea would ultimately become Spring for Susannah, her first novel. She is also a founder and moderator of Nebraska Novelists critique group and lives in Nebraska with her husband.
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