Prairie Romance Collection

by Cathy Marie Hake

  What had Maggie been thinking a few minutes ago? If one more thing happened… Well, it had, and she didn’t have the strength to scream, so she dropped her face into both upraised hands and sobbed—deep, wrenching sobs that shook both her body and her soul.

  When John Collins emerged from between the trees, he saw a girl or woman hunched over. Although she appeared to be a woman, she was tiny. She looked as though she was crying as she sat in the snow beside a barn, an animal stretched out beside her, half in her lap. John’s heart almost stopped beating. He knew he was the reason she cried. Why hadn’t he been more careful? He had been so sure that the patch of light brown fur he glimpsed between the trees was a deer or an elk that he had taken aim and pulled the trigger. If only he had waited until he was close enough to be completely certain.

  John took pride in the fact that he shot so accurately from a distance. Pride made him risk the shot, knowing he wouldn’t hit anything except the patch of brown fur he sighted down the barrel of his rifle. He shifted slightly to allow for the wind and squeezed the trigger. Immediately after the loud boom of the gun stopped echoing in the trees, the animal dropped behind the underbrush.

  It had taken John awhile to climb the fence and find a place to cross the creek without getting wet. Then he worked his way to the spot where he was sure he would find the deer or elk to dress. The meat would be a welcome addition to the larder at the boardinghouse where he lived, and he planned to give some of it to the preacher’s family. Before he reached the spot, John pulled his hunting knife from its sheath so he could make quick work of field dressing the animal.

  Instead of the game he expected, he found an impression in the snow where an animal had fallen, but it couldn’t have been a deer. The path through the snow told its own story. Paw prints surrounding the bloody trail where an animal had dragged its body were evidence that John had shot something besides wild game. Probably someone’s guard dog or pet—or both. His heart sank. Heaviness fell over him like dusk on a winter evening in North Dakota. He followed the trail to find the heartbreaking sight before him.

  Reluctantly, John trudged across the open space between himself and the woman. When he was about three feet from her, he stopped. He knew she wasn’t even aware of his presence. Tears ran down his own cheeks as he studied her. Although she was bundled up against the cold, she appeared to be almost as old as he was. Blond curls peeked from the edge of the multicolored knitted cap she wore pulled down around her ears, and tears made streaks on cheeks rosy from the winter wind. John wished he could relive the last half hour. He constantly battled his pride. This time, pride won, and this woman paid the price.

  John cleared his throat. “Ma’am, I’m sorry.”

  He stepped forward, and after sliding the animal to the ground, he pulled her up into his arms. John hadn’t held anyone this way except his mother and sisters, but he wanted to comfort this woman. She cried so hard that she didn’t seem to be aware of much, but she let him pull her into his embrace. She continued to sob as if her heart had shattered.

  He looked down at the lifeless animal, and silently he called himself all kinds of uncomplimentary names. At that moment, he never wanted to shoot his gun again. All the warnings his father had given him while teaching him to hunt ran through his mind in a cycle, the chants magnifying just how far he was from heeding them. John felt helpless. Was there any way he could ever undo the damage?

  When Maggie became aware of the warmth surrounding her, she pulled back and looked up into the face of … a stranger. The tall man wore a heavy coat with a scarf to ward off the cold, but she noticed dark curls peeking from under the brim of his hat. The clear green eyes that gazed back at her held sympathy and great sorrow, and traces of tears stained his cheeks.

  Maggie looked at her gloved hands grasping the front of his coat. Quickly, she let go, and his arms dropped to his side. She stepped back, never taking her gaze off her gloves. They were stained with Rolf’s blood. She stared at them before looking down at the lifeless body at their feet.

  “I’m really sorry.”

  Maggie glanced up at the man and realized he had apologized two times to her. What did he have to apologize for? Who was he?

  She must have voiced the last question, because he answered it. “I’m John Collins, the new stationmaster in Wayzata.”

  Maggie continued to stare at him. What was the stationmaster doing beside their barn?

  “I was hunting, and … I must have shot your dog by mistake.” His gaze dropped to where Rolf lay on the cold ground. “I followed his trail through the woods.”

  Maggie didn’t have to look where he gestured to know that he had come from her woods. Why would anyone kill her dog, even by mistake? Rolf was her companion during the long, hard nights. He stayed near her feet while she sat in the rocking chair beside Valter’s bed. Just last night, Maggie had tried her best to stay awake, but she had been so tired her head dropped against the high back of the chair. Exhaustion brought a deep sleep. She wasn’t even aware when Vally began struggling to breathe. But Rolf knew. He managed to wake her up. Because of their dog, she had been able to keep Vally from dying.

  While these thoughts ran through Maggie’s head, she became aware of the cold. Realizing she had become chilled to the bone, she stamped her feet, trying to get her blood to circulate in her nearly frostbitten extremities.

  “Can we at least go into the barn to get out of this wind?” Mr. Collins’s words brought her attention back to him.

  She nodded and led the way. Being a well-built barn, it had no cracks where the wind could swirl through. With two workhorses, two riding horses, and three cows inside, the temperature felt almost warm.

  After the man latched the door, Maggie turned her fury on him. “What were you doing hunting on our property anyway?”

  He took a step back and pulled his hands in front of his chest as if to ward off her attack. “I didn’t realize it was anyone’s property.”

  “You won’t find many places this close to town that aren’t owned by someone.” She placed her fisted hands on her hips the way her mother had when she was upset. “We don’t mind if people hunt here if they ask permission … and as long as they don’t kill our animals.”

  The man stuffed his hands in the pockets of his heavy coat. “I know I made a mistake. What can I do to make it right?”

  “You can never make it right!” Maggie knew she shouted at the man, but she didn’t care. She was very near losing all control. “Just get off my property and don’t ever come back!” She pointed toward the closed door.

  The man shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I want to do something to help you. You’re not all alone out here, are you?”

  Maggie wondered if the man was some kind of monster who preyed on lonely women. “No! My brother’s in the house.” She put her shaking hands under her arms. “Now please, leave.” She started toward the door.

  The man didn’t move from his place, blocking her exit. “I’ll take care of the dog for you.”

  Rolf! Maggie hadn’t even considered what she would do with his body. The ground was too frozen for her to bury him by herself. Maybe she should let Mr. Collins do it. At least he could do that much.

  Maggie slowly nodded. “Okay. Then leave our farm and don’t ever come back.” She stepped around John Collins and reached for the latch.

  “I’ll go to town and get a wagon.” His baritone voice held sympathy she didn’t want to accept. “I won’t be long.”

  Without turning her head, Maggie nodded again then exited the barn.

  John’s heart broke for the woman he left at the farm. He hadn’t even asked her name. When he stepped into the brightness of the wintry sun reflecting off the snow, he squinted to watch her walk toward the house. Her shoulders sagged and shook. She probably sobbed as she went. He wouldn’t be surprised if her brother came looking for him after he heard about the fiasco. John hoped he wasn’t a violent man.

  Because his father was a preac
her, John had been taught to be honorable, but he felt anything but honorable right now. He would rent a wagon from the livery and drive back to pick up the dead dog. Perhaps his new pastor would tell him what to do with it. He couldn’t just drag it off into the woods where some wild animal would devour it. The dog meant too much to this woman. However, John knew that just disposing of the animal wasn’t enough. He had to do something more. Maybe he should go out and talk to her brother. Help him with the chores or something like that. Of course, he could pray and ask God to show him what needed to be done to make up for what he destroyed. John’s heart sank within him as he made his way toward his new home.

  After Maggie shut the door, she slumped against it. The heaviness of disease hung in the house, filling it with a palpable feeling of misery. Even this room, which had been warm and cheery before her parents died, looked and felt dreary. After a moment, she took off her coat, hat, and gloves and went into Valter’s bedroom. She sank into the rocking chair beside his bed. He slept soundly. She pulled her arms tight across her abdomen and gently rocked the chair. What was she going to do if her brother didn’t get well soon?

  “Please, Valter,” Maggie whispered as she leaned close to his ear. “Your name means ‘strong fighter.’ Live up to that name. Fight this illness.”

  As the sound of her last word died, his eyes fluttered. Soon they opened, and he looked at her. When he spoke, the words crackled through his dry lips. “Margareta, our pearl, you’ve been so good to take care of me.”

  His words scared Maggie. They carried the sound of finality with them. She pushed his hair back from his face. His hot skin felt like delicate parchment, making her afraid she would hurt him just by touching him.

  “Vally, dear brother, you’re going to be okay.” With her words of assurance, his eyes once again closed, and he fell into restless slumber.

  Maggie stood and paced around the room. Oh, God, please dont let Vally die. I need him so much. Our parents are gone, and Thou didst not prevent their accident. Now Rolf is gone. I cant take much more.

  She opened the door to the kitchen and slipped into the other room. The fire in the fireplace burned low, so she went out on the back porch and brought in another armload of wood. The woodpile had really dwindled in the last few weeks. When Vally cut all the wood and loaded it onto the sheltered porch, he told her it should last all winter, but now Maggie feared it wouldn’t. She would have a hard time cutting more wood.

  After the fireplace once again warmed the room, she went back to get more fuel for the kitchen stove. Mother had been so proud of the new cookstove. Father bought it only a few months before their deaths. Every time Maggie looked at it, she remembered how happy Mother was when he brought it home. When he finished setting it up, Mother grabbed him from behind. He turned around and danced her across the kitchen, and their shared laughter filled the house. At the time, Maggie thought they were crazy. Now she would give anything to have them back, even if they did dance around like children. It had been a long time since she felt happy about anything, and she wasn’t sure she ever would again.

  Chapter 2

  John had left his mare tied in a grove of small trees with plenty of underbrush to protect her from the biting wind. He hurried back there. Quickly he mounted and rode into town. When he reached the livery stable, he found a note tacked to the door. It said that Henry had gone to Rose’s Café to have coffee with the preacher. John led his horse into the stable and rubbed her down before going down the street to find the livery owner.

  When John stepped out of the stable, the wind had died down, but the air still felt nippy. He blew out a deep breath and watched the cloud it formed dissipate around him. He had lived through many cold winters. In North Dakota where he grew up, the weather was even colder than in central Minnesota. Halfway to the café, John wished he hadn’t forgotten the gloves he shoved into his saddlebags before he rubbed down his horse. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his suede coat. At least it had a warm woolly lining.

  More than a block away from the café, the tantalizing aromas of biscuits and bacon met him. His stomach growled. He hadn’t taken time for more than a cup of coffee at dawn. Maybe he could eat a quick bite while he talked to Henry and Pastor Martin Hardin.

  The preacher was a young man, barely older than John, and they became friends soon after John moved to town. Since John grew up in a parsonage, it helped him understand what a man of the cloth had to contend with.

  When John stepped through the door of the eating establishment, warm, moist air made him shed his heavy coat. He hung it on the coat tree by the door, noticing that all the windows were completely steamed up, adding a cozy but cutoff feeling to the room. He leaned across the counter so the cook could hear him.

  “Rose, can you scramble me two eggs? And if there are any of your wonderful biscuits left, I’d love to have a couple.”

  The two men he was looking for sat alone at a table at the far end of the room. They looked up when they heard John. Martin waved him back.

  John dropped into a vacant chair at the table. “I wanted to talk to the two of you anyway.”

  Both men leaned toward him expectantly. “What’s on your mind?” the livery owner asked.

  John tried not to show how emotional he felt. “A couple of things.” He cleared his throat. “I went hunting this morning.”

  “Did you kill anything?” Henry raised his bushy eyebrows at the end of his question. John noticed he often did that.

  “Well, yes…and no.”

  A thoughtful expression covered Martin’s face, much like John’s father often looked. It must be because they were both preachers. “What exactly do you mean?”

  John countered with a question of his own. “Whose farm is directly northwest from the edge of town, about half a mile or so?”

  “You mean the Swenson place.” Henry shook his hoary head. “It’s sad, really.”

  John’s interest piqued. He leaned his arms on the tabletop. “What’s sad?”

  Henry looked at Martin as if expecting him to answer.

  “The farm is owned by Valter Swenson and his sister. Her name is Margareta, but we all call her Maggie.”

  John couldn’t see anything sad about that.

  “Last summer their parents died in an accident. It’s been hard on Maggie and Vally. Now Vally is very sick, and Maggie is trying to run the farm by herself, as well as take care of her brother.”

  Can things get any worse? He had added to the pain the woman was already dealing with. A huge lump settled in his chest, right beside his heart, making it hard to breathe.

  “Well, I killed her dog this morning.” The shocked expressions on the faces of his companions added to John’s distress. “It was an accident, but…”

  “Here’s your breakfast, John.” The grandmotherly woman who owned the café set a steaming plate in front of him then retreated to wait on another customer.

  John looked at the food, and his stomach congealed. He knew he wouldn’t be able to eat more than a few bites, if that. He didn’t want to offend Rose. She had been good to him since he came to town, so he forced some eggs and a bite of biscuit past the boulder inside him.

  Pastor Hardin studied John. “What kind of accident would kill her dog?”

  John took another bite before he answered. The food seemed to grow larger in his mouth, so he picked up his glass of water to wash it down. “I thought I was shooting some game.”

  Henry gave a snort. “That dog is big enough to be a deer or elk, but he didn’t look anything like either of them.”

  John rested his fork on the edge of the plate. “I know it was a stupid mistake, and it’s one I’ll regret for a long time.”

  Martin nodded. “I’m sure you will.”

  “I told Miss Swenson that I would take care of her dog’s body.” He turned toward the owner of the livery. “It’s a pretty big animal, so I want to rent a wagon to pick it up.”

  The grizzled man shook his head. “Won’t nee
d to rent it. Just take what you want. Bring the body back here. I’ll start a fire near the stand of trees a ways behind the stable to soften up the ground a little. When you get back, I’ll help you dig the grave.”

  When John stood, so did the pastor. “Would you like me to go with you?”

  John nodded, and the two men headed toward the livery stable.

  The horses plodded down the rutted road toward the farm. Cottony clouds scudded across the blue-gray sky. A rabbit hopped across the snow-covered meadow beside the road, leaving a thin trail behind it.

  John had been silent for a while before he turned to the pastor. “Is anyone helping the Swensons?”

  Reverend Hardin, who had been staring at the road ahead, looked at John. “We try, but they’re proud people. They think they can do everything by themselves, so we let them. I’ve been keeping an eye out for any way their neighbors can help, but they’ve done a good job…until the boy got sick.”

  “Just how old are they, anyway?”

  Martin gave a wry laugh. “I guess I shouldn’t call them boy and girl. Vally must be at least twenty or twenty-one, and Maggie isn’t far behind. They’re adults doing an adult job. But she’s had her hands full since Vally got sick. At least it’s winter, and there isn’t so much outside work to do. Doc told me that all their stock is in the barn. Maggie just has to go that far to take care of them. It’ll be a different story when spring and summer get here. I hope Vally gets well soon, but Doc doesn’t hold out much hope at this time. He tries to go out there every day or two.”

  Maggie heard the wagon rumbling down the road. She walked to the window and peeked through the curtains while the two men took Rolf away. Maggie almost opened the door and asked where they were taking him, but she wasn’t ready to face anyone yet. She had cried so much that her face looked all blotchy, and her eyes were swollen.

  After the two men left, Maggie went back into the bedroom to sit beside her brother. Earlier she had spooned broth between his pale lips. She wasn’t sure how much he swallowed. It took her a while to clean him and his bed up from all that spilled. Her strong playmate and protector was now helpless. She spent most of the night with her head leaning against his bed, napping when she could. Two times she had to prop him up so he could just get a breath.