The dog licked it.
“Ugh! I don’t want him to lick me.”
“Why, Mrs. Brownlee! Don’t you like your dog?”
“I don’t care for dogs, Uli, especially big ones.”
Fru Brünlee made a face and Jan experienced an urgent need to clear his throat.
“But you don’t want the coyotes to get Snowfoot, do you?” Uli persisted.
Jan listened and watched. He may not have understood every word, but he did recognize disgust—and a little fear—when he saw it. He spoke to Uli who nodded.
“Onkel says if you are afraid of the dog he will know it. You must be bold because you are his mistress, and he must learn to mind you.”
Then Jan’s neighbor stared at him, defiance in the firm set of her lips. He stared back, challenging her.
Somehow Jan managed to keep his face resolute. And he wasn’t all that surprised when she squared her shoulders.
I think I would have been surprised if she’d done otherwise, he realized. He was coming to expect her to show grit in new and difficult situations.
Fru Brünlee held out her hand to the dog. He sniffed it and then her skirts. He looked up expectantly so she patted him. She looked a trifle relieved.
Jan handed the rope to her and asked Uli to pass on some instructions.
Uli nodded and told Mrs. Brownlee, “Onkel is going to drive a stake for you to tie him to; otherwise he may try to go home. You are to leave him tied up for two days and feed him. Then he will think this is his home and stay all by himself. Also, stake Snowfoot near him—not too near at first, though. Soon he will know Snowfoot lives here too and will protect her.”
Jan sauntered down to the creek and broke off a low cottonwood branch. He cut it to a two-foot length, trimmed it, and whittled one end into a point. Using a hammer from the stable, he drove the stake into the ground and tied the pup’s rope to it.
Uli fetched Snowfoot, tied him near the dog, and gave Fru Brünlee a few more suggestions. All the while, Jan watched the woman. He knew well enough that she didn’t want the dog, but she was trying hard to adjust herself to what was necessary rather than what she wanted.
Jan found himself admiring her struggle to do the right thing. Then he shook his head. “Uli, come. We have work at home,” he called. He pulled Uli up in front of him on the horse.
Trying valiantly to be gracious but not quite managing it, his neighbor addressed him. “Hm. Thank you very much, Mr. Thoresen.”
Jan glanced from the dog back to her. It was all he could do to keep his expression neutral—when what he really wanted was to release the laughter bubbling just below the surface. Maybe even tease her a little!
“Ja, sure,” he replied as calmly as he could muster. Then he had to chew the inside of his cheek.
At his answer, Fru Brünlee’s eyes narrowed and Jan could tell his neighbor saw through him. In fact, she knew he was laughing inside.
If he didn’t get out of the yard soon . . . He clucked to the bay. As they neared the bridge, Jan released a pent-up laugh.
That was the most fun I’ve had in a long time, he chuckled.
“What is funny, Onkel?” Uli demanded.
“Eh? It is nothing. What a glorious day the good God has given us, ja?” But he was glad Uli couldn’t see his face, because he was grinning from ear to ear.
~~**~~
Chapter 37
“I heard Mrs. Brownlee had a bad encounter in town,” Søren mentioned at the midday meal one afternoon. Jan’s head snapped up. He waited for Søren to explain, but his sønn, with a look bordering on ecstasy, was biting into a piece of fried chicken.
“So? What bad encounter?” Jan snapped. He set his fork down and waited.
“Oh. With Mark Grader! He was in the Schmidt’s store. Guess he was trying to get more credit, and Herr Schmidt wouldn’t give him more. I heard Grader started smashing dishes—dropping them on the floor!—trying to pressure Herr Schmidt into changing his mind.”
Mark Grader and his brother had been nothing but trouble in the little town for more than a year. They were known for starting fights, not paying their bills, and bullying RiverBend proprietors. Most of the community believed the worst of the problem had ended when Mark’s brother, Orville, was sent to prison after badly injuring a man in a fight.
Apparently the problem had returned.
Amalie and Jan both looked concerned; the children looked between them and Søren.
“Ach! But someone must stop such wrong things!” Amalie remonstrated.
“I heard Mrs. Brownlee tried to stop it.” Søren shook his head and grinned. “For being a little city lady, she has a lot of gumption!”
Jan’s opinion of her at the moment was quite different. What could she have been thinking! he fumed. RiverBend has no law enforcement! Does she not understand what some men might do to a woman who is alone, with no one to protect her?
Jan’s ire kept rising. Has she not the brains God gave a goat? he demanded within himself. Having lost his appetite, he stood up and cleared his plate from the table.
“Jan? Where are you going? Jan? You haven’t finished your meal!”
But he left Amalie protesting and the children staring wide-eyed at his back. “What has gotten into him?” Amalie asked Søren.
Søren shrugged and grabbed another piece of chicken from the platter.
A few weeks later, Jan saw Fru Brünlee driving her little buggy up their road. She has likely come to visit Amalie. Jan’s brows pulled together into an annoyed frown. He was still angry with her over her foolhardy confrontation with Mark Grader.
He thought no more of her visit until later when Amalie informed him, “Fru Brünlee wishes Little Karl to drive a wagon of her goods from the train to her house. I think you had better go too, Jan,” Amalie added as she poured coffee in his cup. “I would feel more comfortable if you helped so nothing gets broken, ja?”
It would serve her right, Jan fumed.
“So? Will you go, Bror?”
“Ja, I will go,” Jan drawled, feigning reluctance.
Ja, I will go! he snarled silently. I would like a chance to give her a piece of my mind!
He took a calming breath. Secretly, perhaps he was a little pleased to have another opportunity to study their neighbor.
Early Wednesday morning Little Karl drove a Thoresen wagon into their neighbor’s yard. Jan rode beside him on the bench seat. They found Fru Brünlee ready and excited to leave for town. Jan helped her up where she sat on the bench behind him and Karl.
She tried several times to engage Karl in conversation and Jan had to grin at her frustration. Karl could speak the English well enough—but the boy was so tongue-tied around their neighbor that her efforts got her nowhere. After a bit, she just relaxed and enjoyed the drive.
She is not afraid to try new things and she adapts quickly in new situations, Jan admitted. Even ill-advised situations, he added. He tried to muster his irritation again, but it had abandoned him.
Jan realized his neighbor was becoming a little anxious as they drew near the train siding. When he helped her down she immediately sought out their friend, Mr. Bailey, who showed her where her freight was stacked.
“I b’lieve all the boxes what came fer ya will fit in that one wagon—cept’n that ’un.” Bailey pointed to a crate stenciled liberally with the words “Fragile” and “Do Not Drop.”
“Reckon you’ll hafta take my wagon, too. My boy kin drive it back when it’s empty. He’s a mite small yet, but he kin handle th’ horses okay. Over here, Mr. Thoresen. All these boxes here.”
Jan was taken aback at how many boxes and crates were stacked in the shade of the freight office. Little Karl looked from the many crates to Jan, who shrugged.
And then something interesting happened. Apparently Fru Brünlee had not yet met Mary Bailey. She introduced herself and straightaway invited Mary to church.
Jan felt chastened. The Baileys have been our good friends for many years, and I have never
asked them to church?
He thought of their first encounter with the Baileys when a younger Robert Bailey, rifle at the ready, had put a stop to the railroad workers carelessly tossing their things from the freight car. If it hadn’t been for Bailey, their family would have suffered the loss or damage of many of their things. And after the train had pulled away, it was Mary Bailey who had offered them a hot meal and agreed to trade one of their oxen for a milk cow!
How could I have not spoken of the Lord to them in all this time? Jan frowned. Even worse, he realized, I did not know that a local pastor had forbidden the Baileys from attending his church because they had been raised Catholic.
Jan grimaced. He could think of only one local pastor who would have done so. Ach! Forgive us, dear Lord!
Karl and eleven-year-old Jeremy Bailey rode in Bailey’s wagon on the return trip. Jan helped his neighbor into his wagon. He paused; without a word he returned to his friend Bailey and put out his hand.
As they shook, Jan did his best to put into English words what his heart wanted to convey. “Mr. Bailey, you come church. God luffs you. God vants you.”
He and Robert Bailey exchanged a look of mutual respect and friendship. His friend nodded and Jan returned to the wagon.
The drive back had been both good and bad for Jan. It surprised him how comfortable he felt in Fru Brünlee’s company. But. But the conversation had quickly grown beyond his ability to follow. It grieved him to ask her to speak more slowly.
Nevertheless he had enjoyed the drive. Enjoyed it more than he was willing to own.
When they arrived at her house, Karl and Jeremy were almost dancing with excitement to help open the crates and boxes.
I am curious, too, Jan admitted. It will be like Christmas to see what has been sent from a city far away!
Fru Brünlee first selected the large crate whose boards were stenciled Fragile and Do Not Drop. Jan prized the lid from the crate that stood as tall as Fru Brünlee’s shoulders, and then she, standing haphazardly on a box to reach inside, pulled out the packing.
“Now,” she smiled at Jan, “you may pull the other boards off—but carefully, please.”
Jan hefted a crowbar and glanced inside before fitting it to a corner of the crate. “Hah!” he muttered. What he glimpsed inside intrigued him.
He pulled the crate apart one board at a time, revealing a tiny, glossy piano. Cherry wood, Jan noted, admiring the grain.
“Oh, isn’t it sweet?” Fru Brünlee crooned, caressing the glassy veneer. “Let’s put it inside right away—out of the sun.”
Jan, Karl, and Jeremy picked the piano up and placed it against the wall Jan and Søren had built halfway across the cabin. Fru Brünlee followed with a winding stool and set it in front of the spinet.
Jan examined the instrument closely, stroking the grain, studying the workmanship. “Play, please?” he requested.
“Oh! Well, maybe just to try it . . .” His neighbor ran her hands over the keys and played something . . . something wonderful.
Jeremy Bailey was thrilled. “Gosh, Miz Brownlee, that ’uz beautiful! Never heered nothin’ like it afore.”
Fru Brünlee was saying something about a concert, but Jan was fixated on what he’d just heard. To make such music, he stared at the keyboard, to create melody and harmony with the hands . . . He was entranced.
Karl poked him, jolting him from his thoughts. He and the boys went outside to open the rest of the freight.
Every new box was a fresh adventure! Linens, dishes, kitchen utensils, lamps, knick-knacks, sewing notions, clothes, wall hangings—even a myriad of seeds, seedlings, and cuttings!—emerged to the delight of Fru Brünlee and the boys.
“May I pay you all now?” she asked when all the crates were opened.
Jeremy and Karl blushed and nodded, both boys excited to earn cash money.
With a small frown, Jan refused. “Nei,” he stated, shaking his head. “Venner.”
“Pardon, Mr. Thoresen?”
“Venner,” he repeated. “Friends.”
She seemed touched, he thought.
“Thank you! You’ve been so kind to me. I do thank you so much.”
Jan felt words . . . and feelings bubbling up from inside, but they stuck in his throat like sand . . . so he just nodded.
“Come, Karl,” he managed to choke out.
On an afternoon two weeks later Amalie and Uli prepared to walk to their neighbor’s home for what Amalie, in raptures, described as “a luncheon.” Amalie and Sigrün first fixed the Thoresens’ midday meal before Amalie and Uli departed, leaving Jan, Sigrün, and the boys at home.
Although Sigrün had also been invited and despite Amalie’s persuasive attempts, his niece declined to join the little party. After they had eaten, Jan touched Sigrün’s arm gently and she came to his arms, resting her head on his shoulder as she had so many times as a little girl.
As she had for months after the sickness had taken her pappa, her cousin, and tante. Jan knew she was afraid to go where she might be pressed to speak.
At the late evening meal, Amalie and Uli could not stop talking about the “luncheon.” “Such lovely things Fru Brünlee has!” Amalie gushed. “A beautiful lace tablecloth, china, a silver tea service!”
“And chocolates!” Uli raved. “Every sort of chocolate candy! On such a beautiful plate! Fru Brünlee asked me to hold the pretty plate and pass the chocolates around!”
Up until now Karl, Arnie, and Kjell had scoffed at or ignored most of Amalie and Uli’s recitation. However, when Uli crowed “chocolates!” the three boys became patently disgruntled.
“We never get chocolates,” Kjell groused.
Jan, too, had paid only marginal attention to Amalie’s description of the lunch and its conversation. He was, of course, happy for Amalie. His hard-working søster rarely received such a treat.
Then Amalie began chuckling. She crossed her arms and held herself while she laughed.
“Well? What is it?” Jan asked.
“Fru Brünlee!” Amalie chortled. Uli giggled with her.
Jan sighed. “So? What has our neighbor done now?”
“Nei! If you had seen her face!” Amalie and Uli laughed more.
Søren looked from his frowning father to his tante. “What is so funny?” Søren finally insisted.
“Ach!” Amalie wiped her eyes on the corner of her apron, and tried to compose herself. “Fru Brünlee said to Uli, in front of all the ladies, Uli, please tell Amalie that Herr Thoresen did the most excellent work on my cupboards and porch. What a blessing it must be to have a husband so skilled.”
Søren snickered, and the boys joined him. Amalie kept chuckling. “Oh, Jan! These many weeks she has thought you and I were married! Oh, if you could have seen her face, Bror!”
Jan blinked slowly and did not laugh.
She thought I was married?
It was breakfast at the Thoresen table. Early morning chores were over and five hungry men were shoveling fuel into their mouths as quickly as Sigrün or Amalie could set food before them.
“Onkel,” Kjell said with his mouth full of fried potatoes. “Onkel, I took eggs and butter to Fru Brünlee this morning. Ach! She was very angry.”
“Eh? Something was wrong with the butter?” Amalie asked, concerned.
“Nei, Mamma. Nei. She was angry with her dog. She said, ‘Please tell Herr Thoresen that the dog he gave me is tearing up my yard and garden. Ask him what I should do, for heaven’s sake!’”
Kjell, with one hand on his hip, delivered a more than passable imitation of Fru Brünlee, sending the boys and Uli into spasms of laughter. Amalie, her mouth twitching, fussed at their poor manners, but her brother-in-law was not helping: he was grinning with them!
Ja, I can see that, he thought, covering his mouth with a napkin.
“That is enough now, Kjell,” Jan said when Amalie frowned at him. “I will talk with her.” But he grinned through breakfast.
That night in his room in the barn, Jan
laughed aloud. Several times during his long day he had recalled the pleasure of his visit with Fru Brünlee. He had cut a nice, supple switch, walked across the field and creek, and handed it to her.
“Kjell say dog bad. Here.” And he had handed her the switch.
“What do I do with this?” Fru Brünlee had demanded, her words frosty with disdain.
Jan chuckled again. So indignant! At that moment he had nearly laughed in her face. When she pointed to the bush that her ugly, ill-mannered dog was dragging across the yard, Jan had promptly demonstrated the switch’s use.
“Now, Fru Brünlee—must do if dog bad. All times.” He had spoken firmly, perhaps too firmly, for she shrank from him.
So he gentled his voice and pointed. “See?” The gangly pup was baring his belly, a submissive sign.
After that Jan began to notice the many little improvements she had made to her yard—shrubs, bushes, and newly sprouted seedlings. He had studied her garden and was, he admitted, impressed.
Then he had seen her fruit saplings! He counted four of them. Grunting in approval he commented, “Four, five year, get fruit.”
“Yes, I know. I . . . just wanted to start them, to see them grow.” She was flushed with the pleasure of her first successes, but Jan sobered, doubting again that she would endure those four or five years to see them flourish.
She had talked on, saying something he could not follow, so he held up his hand. “Talk so slow, please, Mrs. Brünlee,” he had asked. The “Mrs.” did not come easily to his tongue, but he did his best.
Later she had offered him some cool tea and they had sat on the steps of the porch he had built, discussing the Bible as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do.
It had felt natural, Jan realized. Natural and comfortable. Satisfying.
When he had finished the last of his tea he stood. “Go now, Mrs. Brünlee. You make dog gud.”
She grimaced but agreed.
Jan knew she had not the stomach to switch the dog when he needed it. “Proverbs 13:24,” he quoted as he started away. Perhaps she would look it up and learn an important principle.
Wild Heart on the Prairie (A Prairie Heritage, Book 2) Page 27