She heard steps behind her and turned her head. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself,” Søren muttered. “What’s up?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I just . . . Something about that place over there draws me.”
He snorted a laugh. “Guess I’m not surprised.”
“Hmm?” Kari sipped on her coffee.
“You, Kari. It’s like you are nothing if not ‘all things Rose.’ So, see that house over there that’s falling down? That was the house Rose and Jan lived in. That land is the homestead Rose bought when she moved here in the 1880s.”
Kari’s head jerked up and she stared with new eyes down the pastures and across the meandering creek. “That is Rose’s homestead?”
She whirled and faced Søren. “And you are selling it? But how can you?” Her shock and dismay—even indignation—were evident.
He dug his toe into the dirt where he stood. “I told you the other day. We are losing ground here. Even if we sell it and plow the money back into the farm, I don’t know how long I can hang on here . . . I don’t know if I will even be able to leave this place, our heritage, to my son.”
His jaw tightened. “And Rose’s land is not just ours—Ilsa’s and mine—alone. Others also have claim to it. So when we sell it, we’ll only receive a fifth of the proceeds.”
“But-but it’s wrong to sell it—” Kari turned in stunned disbelief toward the falling down house in the distance.
Søren held up his hand. “Please don’t lecture me, Kari. You don’t think I know that? You think I want to give up what our ancestors worked, bled, and died to build? It is killing me!”
Søren’s voice broke and Kari glimpsed the pain he tried so hard to hide. Through his frustration and grief he shouted, “So don’t lecture me, Kari Hillyer. Just don’t.”
After he’d stomped away, Kari turned her eyes again to the land on the other side of the creek. It was still early and the light still soft. Even though the only building left standing was listing precariously, she could imagine it as it had been once: The little house tucked into the hollow of the bluff, flowers blooming in window boxes maybe, a green garden, certainly.
Before she knew it she was striding toward the lane, running down it to the road. It felt good to stretch her legs and gulp great lungfuls of air. Her long braid, a copy of how Ilsa wore her hair, bumped against her back as she ran. She moved into her jogging rhythm, despite wearing her ropers, setting a pace that would carry her across the bridge and onto Rose’s land.
These boots were made for walking, she laughed, not for running. But she kept going.
Kari lengthened her stride. When her feet echoed on the wood of the bridge she slowed to a walk and took her time, trying to see the old place as perhaps Rose had seen it when she first arrived.
Rose’s land! Kari wandered along the creek until she came near what remained of the burned out house and barn. She walked up the slope to them, seeing the pattern of what had been. She came nearer the house Rose had lived in.
Careful not to do anything unsafe, Kari peered through the windows. The house was empty, of course; barren was the word that came to her. The floor had rotted away and gaps showed between the wall boards.
Yet wasn’t it much like this when Rose first arrived here? she wondered. Didn’t Ilsa say Rose and her neighbors, the McKennies, found a nest of snakes in the stove?
She walked around the old house, staying clear of it, but examining it from all sides. Then she turned and stared across the creek toward Søren’s land. Backlit by the sun, Søren’s pastures and fields glowed and shimmered.
So this is what Rose saw when she got up early like this, Kari realized. She smiled, thinking about Søren’s description of Rose and Jan’s courtship.
Oh, Rose! she mourned. I would give anything to keep your land in your family!
~~**~~
Chapter 23
Kari was lounging on a cushioned bench in the screened porch, sipping one last cup of coffee. She now loved the rhythm of a farming day, drinking her first coffee with Søren and Ilsa before the sun rose, helping with morning chores and breakfast preparations, soaking in the Scriptures that Søren and Ilsa read aloud as they lingered over the remains of the morning meal.
The Thoresens’ house faced west and, from Kari’s perch on the porch, her view included the barn, the outbuildings, the pastures running down to the creek, and—most significant to her—Rose Thoresen’s old homestead on the other side of the creek, nestled in the hollow below the bluff.
Kari often slipped away from Max, her frequent shadow (and from everyone, to be honest), in order to stare across the creek at the old house listing so precariously. She would recall Søren’s even, mellow voice recounting the twin tragedies of Jan and Rose’s first marriages, then later how they had met, how they had fallen in love, the story of their marriage and family.
By the time Søren had finished telling her about Rose and Jan, Kari could see them clearly in her mind: Jan, tall and wide, blonde, blue-eyed, sunburned from years of farming this daunting land; Rose, slight but sturdy, grey-eyed, steady, new to her faith—like me!—and the two of them coming together to influence many future generations for Christ.
Kari had slipped into the living room many times to stare at the family portrait of Jan, Rose, and Joy that hung on the wall.
What an amazing couple, Kari mused. What an amazing family. I am so honored to know of them.
She gazed across the distance to Rose’s old house, trying to imagine it as Rose had first seen it—even smaller and more primitive. She imagined Rose living there alone through the wild prairie blizzards with only her dog, a homely mutt Søren said Rose had named The Baron!
This morning, from where she sat in the screened-in porch, Kari frowned. She could just barely glimpse the realtor sign along the road, but even that glimpse rankled.
This land should never pass out of Thoresen hands. Of that she was certain, and she found that she faulted Søren—at least a little—even though he and Ilsa had again patiently explained the harsh facts of farming in the 1990s.
Kari’s eyes shifted to the scorched foundation of what had been the newer farmhouse, now burned to ashes. If there is a way for Søren and Ilsa to keep this land, they should do whatever it takes, she grumbled.
Kari roused herself. Well, I can’t stay here lollygagging all day, not contributing. It’s time for me to find something useful to do.
She started to get up only to be jerked to a standstill. Stunned by the thought that had leapt into her head, she could only stand there . . . astounded by its audacity.
But why not?
Why not . . .
After lunch that afternoon, Ilsa started baking up a storm. Before many hours had passed, pies filled refrigerator shelves and jars of cookies lined the counters.
“What are all the goodies for?” Kari asked, curious.
Ilsa turned her back. “We might have company this weekend,” she muttered, a little evasively.
“Oh.” Kari wondered at Ilsa’s sudden reticence and looked down at her hands.
I’m overstaying my welcome, she deduced. “Is it okay if I use your phone?”
“Certainly.”
The only phone in the house was hanging on the kitchen wall. It had a long cord, so Kari dialed the number and walked through the swinging door into the living room, dragging the cord and receiver with her. “Hey, Jeff? Hi. It’s Kari Hillyer.”
She listened. “I’m fine, thanks. You? Oh, good. Say, I’m just wondering about my car . . .”
She listened for a while longer, making noncommittal sounds as Jeff talked. “So two more weeks? Really? Um. No, the money sounds fine. Do you take credit cards? No? Will you take a check?”
She listened again. “Well, if I give a check to you now, you can deposit it right away. That way it will have cleared and you’ll have the money in hand before I take the car. Yes? All right; I’ll bring it over. I’ll get Søren to lend me his car.”
She fiddled wi
th the cord. “The thing is, Jeff, I feel like I’m imposing here. Is there anywhere nearby I can rent a car so I can go back to Denver until you have finished with the Caddy? Yeah. Well, I understand Søren and Ilsa have company coming this weekend—”
Then Kari realized that Søren was standing right behind her, listening. Arms folded. Frowning.
“Jeff? Hey, I need to go now. I’ll get that check over to you right away.”
Kari pressed the button to disconnect. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself. Are you planning to leave?”
“Well, I, that is, Ilsa said you were expecting company this weekend.”
“And?”
“Well, I really appreciate your letting me stay and all, but I shouldn’t be in the way when your company comes—”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
“What?”
“First of all, you’re not in the way and you won’t be in the way this weekend. Second of all . . .” he scratched his head. “Well, I guess there’s no ‘second of all.’ Just . . . you aren’t in the way, we’re enjoying your company, and you’re helping—a lot. We want you to stay. Please. Just stay until your car is ready, all right?”
“But—”
“Just stay, Kari.”
It was more of a demand than a request, but Kari decided that she didn’t mind. She was loving the routine of the farm, loving their family life, after all.
“Well, if you think so.”
“I do think so. Now. Did I hear you say you need to get a check over to Jeff?”
She nodded.
“Here are the keys to the sedan. Think you can find your way there and back without getting lost or clobbered by a bale of hay? —Ow!”
He rubbed his arm where Kari had punched it. “That hurt.”
“It was supposed to.”
That afternoon Kari drove to Jeff’s farm. Before she handed him the check, she inspected the work he was doing: Jeff had removed the hood from the Caddy, sanded the paint from it, and hammered out the dents.
“Priming the hood is next. You won’t know the difference when I’m done, Kari,” he promised. “And I’m still waiting on the windshield, but it’s coming. Be here mid-week, next week.”
“I’m encouraged,” Kari admitted. Jeff had also vacuumed the hay from the interior.
When Kari left Jeff’s farm, she paused where his long driveway intersected the road. Then, instead of turning in the direction of the farm, she made a right turn and drove into RiverBend.
The following day started out just as the previous Friday had. The household rose early and worked hard, Kari working hard along with them. She noticed, though, that Søren and Ilsa seemed to have quickened their pace and were hustling to get the day’s chores done early.
They both seemed a bit nervous or preoccupied and less talkative that morning, too—except for Søren barking orders at Max and at Kari.
At lunch she learned why.
As they sat down to eat, Søren cleared his throat. “So, Kari, Ilsa mentioned yesterday that we’re going to have visitors this weekend. Some of them will arrive in just a couple of hours, in fact.”
“Oh? Who might your company be? And is that the reason you are in such an all-fired rush today?” Kari glared at Søren, happy to let him know she didn’t appreciate the rough side of his tongue.
He shrugged. “It is. And . . . I apologize for being so brusque. It’s just that we can’t take time off this afternoon to visit with them if we still have work to do.”
“Oh. I didn’t think about that. I understand.” Kari nodded, forgiving him immediately.
The life of a farmer is unrelenting, she admitted. No sleeping in, no weekends off, no holidays, no vacations.
“Thank you,” he whispered. His eyes met hers and something crossed between them and connected.
How much of the weight of the world must you carry on your shoulders, Søren! I do understand, and I’m so sorry, Kari thought, trying to tell him with her eyes.
Ilsa glanced between them and coughed politely. “Why don’t you tell Kari more about our visitors, Søren? She shouldn’t be caught by surprise.” To herself she muttered, “There’ll be surprises enough as it is this weekend.”
Kari snapped out of the silent communication between her and Søren. “Surprise? Why? Who is coming?”
Søren pressed his lips together and searched for the right explanation. “Word of you finding Rose’s journal has gotten around in the family.”
Kari nodded, still waiting.
“The O’Dells would like to . . . make your acquaintance.”
“The O’Dells? What, like, all of them?”
“No, that is, not today. Today just the O’Dell brothers. Joy and Edmund O’Dell’s three sons.” He glanced at her, nervous. “You did say you wanted to meet them, right?”
“Yes, but they are coming here? Today?” Kari jumped up. “Why, I’m a mess! I’ve been mucking out stalls! My hair is dirty! In fact, I stink!”
She directed a glare at Søren. “When do you expect them? And why in the world didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“We expect them around three,” Ilsa offered. “That’s . . . a little over two hours from now.”
Kari stared at both of them. “And why? Why are they coming here just to see me?”
To Kari’s amazement, Søren started stuttering, but Ilsa replied smoothly, “It’s all about the journal, Kari. All about the journal. I’m sure they will explain when they get here. Why don’t you go ahead and shower? I’ll take care of the dishes.”
With a puzzled backwards glance, Kari scurried away.
Just before three that afternoon, a line of vehicles throwing up a haze of dust lumbered its way down the bluff on the other side of the creek. Kari, from her favorite perch in the screened-in back porch, watched as a sedan and three RVs—two motor homes and a fifth wheel—crossed the bridge and turned up the lane.
A few minutes later Kari lost sight of the vehicles as they pulled up to the front of the house. She could hear doors slamming and shouts of greeting. That was when Kari realized Søren was standing near her, his hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans.
“Kari?”
She turned and was alarmed at the pensive look he wore. “What is it, Søren?”
He fingered her sleeve. “Listen, whatever happens during this visit, will you trust God, Kari?”
Worried and a little touched, she studied him. “I can do that. But . . . is something wrong?”
He sighed. “Let’s just say that something was wrong but it will be set right today. I just need you to know that we, Ilsa and I—and Max, too—are here for you. More than that, God has you. He has you right where he wants you to be at this moment, Kari. Trust him. Please just trust him, okay?”
Kari swallowed. She felt an all-too-familiar wave of anxiety tighten her throat but she refused to acknowledge it.
Lord, I do trust you, she prayed. I don’t know what is going on, but Søren is right. You have led me here and, as I’ve learned in this last week, I can . . . do all things through Christ.
Ilsa walked toward them. Her smile was a bit tremulous. “They are ready for you, Kari.”
Kari and Søren followed Ilsa toward the living room. As they walked Kari nervously reached for the comfort of Søren’s hand and found that he had reached for hers at the same time.
Kari’s first thought as she pushed through the kitchen’s swinging door into the living room was not very charitable.
Did I just step into a geriatric convention?
A group of older-to-elderly men and women mingled among the furniture—and then Kari’s mouth fell open in stunned surprise. “Clover? Lorene!”
She ran to embrace them both. “I don’t understand! What are you doing—Owen?”
Owen Washington hugged her, too. “Hey, Kari. You are looking wonderful, girl.”
“But . . . I don’t understand . . .”
Søren bent toward her ear. “Just go with it, Kari, and trust Go
d, okay? Like we talked about.”
His whisper tickled her ear and as his words sank in, Kari nodded. “All right. I’ll do my best.”
“I’m here, too, Kari.”
“Alannah! Oh, I’m so happy to see you!” Kari rushed to hug her.
“Kari, I’d like to make some introductions,” Ilsa said quietly.
Kari pulled away from Alannah. In fact, she realized that the room had gone quiet as many sets of eyes studied her.
She swallowed. “Okay.”
One of the elderly men stepped forward and held out his hand. “My name is Matthew O’Dell,” he said by way of introduction. He had thick, steel-grey hair and dark eyes, eyes that studied her kindly.
“Kari Hillyer,” Kari answered, her eyes large. “You are Joy and Edmund O’Dell’s son?”
“I am. This is my wife, Linda. More of the family is on its way to RiverBend,” he gestured, “our children and grandchildren, my brothers’ families, and Roseanne’s family, too.”
“Wow. It will be like a family reunion,” Kari stammered. “I didn’t know I was visiting Søren and Ilsa during a family get-together. They never said or I would have left sooner. I don’t want to be in the way.”
“Actually, Kari, we’re all here because of you.” Matthew was still scrutinizing her, like Kari had been scrutinized many times in the last two weeks. “We understand that you found Grandma’s journal and came all the way to Denver—and now here—just to find out more about her?”
“I—yes; I did find her journal. I’m very interested in learning more about her. She . . . her words have meant so much to me.”
Kari’s emotions sank. She was certain now they would take Rose’s journal from her, and she was already bereft, blinking back tears of dismay.
But after all, she tried to remind herself, who has more legal right to Rose’s journal than her own grandchildren?
“Perhaps,” Matthew added, “perhaps you would be kind enough to allow us to see this journal you found? But more than that, we would like to get to know you.”
Kari brightened a hair. It almost sounded as though they didn’t intend to demand the journal of her. “I would be happy to show it to you. Søren and Ilsa have been so good to me—they have recited so much of your family’s history that I really feel that I know Rose, and Jan, and even your mother, Joy.”
Lost Are Found (A Prairie Heritage, Book 6) Page 28