Prairie Romance Collection

by Cathy Marie Hake

  Maggie didn’t want to put a name to the icy fear that gripped her heart. She was so tired she could hardly hold her eyes open. She knew she should go out and check on the stock again. First she sat in her mother’s rocking chair by the fireplace to rest just a few minutes. Her head nodded, and she sank into the oblivion of slumber.

  Thwunk! Maggie jumped awake. How long had she slept, and what was that noise? The clatter of falling wood followed another large thump. She hurried toward the back door. The disturbance came from that direction. Not taking time to put on a wrap, she pulled the door open and peered out. A tall man placed a large piece of wood on the chopping block. Although he looked wiry, he must have been all sinews. When he raised the ax and brought it down on the thick slice of a tree, he made it look easy. With precision and using only one stroke, he placed the blow to split the log into the right size pieces for the fireplace. But why was he cutting wood in her backyard? Didn’t the man understand anything about private property? This was the second time today that he had trespassed on her land.

  Realizing she felt chilled, Maggie shut the door and went to get her coat from its hook. She quickly threw it on and pulled a warm knitted cap down over her hair and ears. After turning up the collar of her coat, she jerked on gloves before opening the door again.

  “Mr….Collins, isn’t it?” Maggie tried to rein in her anger.

  The man leaned against the handle of the ax. “At your service, Miss Swenson.” He removed a handkerchief from his hip pocket and swiped it across his forehead. He must have been working awhile to sweat in this weather. His cavalier behavior reignited her anger.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Maggie didn’t care that she shouted.

  “I thought that was obvious.” His smile dampened Maggie’s wrath. “I’m chopping wood.”

  She stomped through the snow toward him. “Why are you doing it here…in my backyard?” Maggie felt as if her world had tilted and nothing made sense.

  “To fill your wood box. It’s nearly empty.” He reached to place another piece of log on the chopping block. When he lifted the ax, Maggie finally realized that although he wore a heavy woolen shirt, he didn’t have a coat on.

  “Mr. Collins, I don’t need your help.” Maggie stomped her foot for emphasis, and pain shot through her foot. Why did she do that? It didn’t accomplish anything.

  “That’s all right, Miss Swenson.” He started toward the back porch, his arms loaded with wood. “I need to do this for you.”

  Maggie didn’t know what to reply, so she turned and hurried back inside. Maybe the man would work off his penance with this one good deed and leave her alone after that. This stranger wasn’t the answer to her loneliness.

  It didn’t take long for Maggie to find out that chopping wood wasn’t the only thing he planned to do for her. John Collins often came to the farm. No matter how many times she told him she didn’t need his help, he kept coming back.

  One day when her best friend, Holly Brunson, sat with Valter so Maggie could go to town for supplies, she found John working in the barn when she got home. He must have heard her drive up in the wagon, because he came out and helped carry things into the house. Then he took the wagon to the barn and unhitched her horses. She could talk until she was blue in the face, telling him she didn’t need his help, but Mr. Collins didn’t listen to a word she said. The man was almost a nuisance. Almost…but not quite.

  At least his assistance allowed Maggie to spend more time with her brother. Not that it did much good. Each day, she thought he couldn’t get any weaker, and every day, he did. The doctor often came out from town to check on Valter. Maggie did everything Dr. Morgan said to do, but she began to think Vally wasn’t going to make it. Everything inside her screamed against the idea whenever it dropped into her mind.

  One morning in early April, John Collins came out of the barn just as Maggie prepared to check on the stock. She felt bad for always telling him not to come. The pain of losing Rolf was receding, and she had finally forgiven him for shooting the dog. Maggie couldn’t remember if she had ever thanked him for all his help. She stepped out on the porch.

  “Mr. Collins!”

  He untied his horse from the hitching post then looked up at her. “Yes, Miss Swenson?”

  Maggie tried to smile, but her lips stayed flat beneath the weight of her fatigue. “I don’t think I’ve thanked you for all you’ve done.”

  His eyes narrowed, and he studied her as though trying to figure her out. “That’s all right. No thanks are needed.”

  “Yes, they are. I do appreciate all you’ve done for me … for us.”

  He tipped his hat and turned back toward his horse. Just as Maggie shut the door, she became aware of a different sound coming from her brother’s room. She rushed toward the door. Vally was breathing in a strange rattling way she hadn’t heard before. His body made a slight jerky movement with each breath.

  Maggie raced out the front door. John Collins was just turning his horse toward town.

  “Mr. Collins! Please get the doctor out here right away!”

  John rode as fast as he could. It didn’t take the doctor long to hitch up his buggy. John followed him as he drove as fast as the buggy would go down the road toward the farm. He wasn’t sure Miss Swenson would want him to be there, but he had to know what was happening. He would stay out of the way and pray while the doctor took care of his patient.

  No one answered the doctor’s rap on the front door, so he opened it and went in. John was right behind him. The cabin’s large main room stood empty, so Dr.

  Morgan headed toward one of the other doors. John followed him, but the doctor stopped in the doorway.

  When John saw Maggie, his heart ached. She sat beside the bed, mechanically rocking the chair and staring at some unseen spot across the room. A sheet covered the face of the man in the bed. A man John had never met.

  The doctor went to Valter and pulled the sheet back. He listened to the patient’s chest with the stethoscope and felt for his pulse. Then he replaced the covering.

  John felt helpless. He wanted to do something for the vulnerable young woman who looked to be in shock. Maybe he should have become a minister the way his parents wanted him to. Then he would’ve learned how to help those in need. Especially Margareta Swenson.

  Doc turned toward John. “Please go to town and ask Holly Brunson to come out here. She’s Maggie’s best friend.”

  John nodded before he strode through the silent house. Shouldn’t Maggie be crying? Maybe she’d already cried before he and Doc arrived. John hoped so.

  It didn’t take him long to find out that Holly Brunson lived about a mile out of town in the opposite direction. When he inquired at the café, Rose told him that Holly had been married only a few months. He hoped she would be able to come to the Swenson farm with him.

  When he knocked on the door to the farmhouse, a young woman about the same age as Maggie answered the door. Her dark blue eyes contained a question as she stared up at him. “My husband has gone over to a neighbor’s because his cow is having a hard time birthing a calf. He’ll be back later.”

  John removed his hat and held it with both hands in front of him. “I didn’t come to see your husband. Are you Mrs. Brunson?”

  She moved a little farther behind the door. “Yes, I am. What can I do for you?”

  This wasn’t going to be easy. “I’m here to ask if you can come with me.” When her eyes widened and a frown veiled her face, John cleared his throat and tried again. “I’ve just been at the Swenson farm. Margareta’s brother passed away, and Dr. Morgan thinks she needs you.”

  Quickly, Holly wrote a note telling her husband where she was going. She packed a valise while John saddled her horse. Then she rode beside him. They didn’t talk. There didn’t seem to be anything to say.

  When they entered the house, John followed Holly as she went straight to the room where her friend sat.

  “I’m here.”

  Maggie jumped
up from her chair and threw her arms around Holly. Then she burst into tears.

  John knew they didn’t need him, so he went to the woodpile and picked up an armload to feed the fire. It was the only way he could help Maggie right now.

  Chapter 3

  Maggie couldn’t have made it through the last three weeks if it hadn’t been for Holly. Even though they hadn’t been married very long, Hans Brunson insisted that Holly stay with Maggie. He ate his meals with them, so Maggie didn’t feel so bad about taking her best friend away from him.

  As soon as the neighbors heard about Valter, they let Maggie know that she wouldn’t be alone. Besides providing a big meal the day of the funeral, they made sure food arrived on time for dinner and supper every day for the next two weeks. Maggie told everyone they didn’t need to do that, but she was thankful they did. Managing the farm and nursing Valter had drained her more than she realized.

  Holly pampered her during those weeks, taking care of the house so Maggie could rest. She was surprised by how much Maggie slept. While Maggie was asleep, Holly searched through the trunk and found the dresses her friend had worn after her parents died. She even hemmed a black dress that had been Maggie’s mother’s so she would have something new to wear during her mourning.

  Now, though, Maggie was ready to do more. After thanking Holly and telling her to go home to her husband, she found herself alone for the first time since her brother died. She tried to turn her thoughts away from all her sorrow. If she ignored it, maybe it would go away. Many of her friends from the church had told her to pray, but Maggie wasn’t sure she could trust God anymore. Hadn’t He taken away everything dear to her? If He hadn’t caused it, at least He had allowed it to happen.

  When she went out to the barn, Maggie couldn’t believe what she found. Neighbors had come every day to care for the livestock. She assumed they had only fed the animals. But when she entered the stable, it was clean. The stalls had been mucked out and new hay placed down. Maggie had dreaded all the backbreaking work it would entail to get the barn in good shape.

  She walked to the stall where her mare, Stormy, stood munching grain. The horse looked up and shuffled over to Maggie, playfully nudging her shoulder. Maggie threw her arms around the mare’s neck and crooned words of love into her ear.

  “You’re all I have now since Vally and Rolf are gone.” Maggie had told all her secrets to her dog. Now she would have to talk to her horse instead.

  Every few days since Vally had been buried, Maggie had made the trip into town to visit her brother’s grave at the cemetery by the church. She wiped off the plain wooden cross that marked his place. Maggie often talked to him while she was there.

  That day, she dropped to her knees on the cold ground. “You’ll never believe what happened today. I went into the barn, and someone had cleaned it up for me.” She rubbed her finger over the carved letters that spelled Valter Swenson. “Vally, why didn’t you fight the disease harder?” A sob escaped her throat. “I miss you so much.”

  When she stood, tears streamed down her face. She wiped them away, but others pooled in her eyes, making it hard for her to see as she turned toward her horse tied outside the cast-iron gate. She almost bumped into someone standing close behind her. Strong hands took her arms to steady her, and she looked up into light green eyes filled with sorrow.

  “Mr. Collins?” Maggie pulled away. “What are you doing here?” She straightened her shoulders and stood taller.

  “I wanted to make sure you were all right.” The sound of his rich baritone voice reached deep inside her, releasing a whisper of something she couldn’t define.

  “I’m just fine.” More tears spilled over as if to deny her claim. She dashed them away with the back of her hands. As she hurried toward her mount, she thought she heard a soft reply.

  “I’m sure you are.”

  Why did the words sound as if he didn’t mean them?

  John watched Maggie ride away. The more he saw of the petite blond, the more something inside him called out to her. He prayed for her every day. As he prayed, he wondered if she could be the woman God was preparing for him. What else could explain the way he was so drawn to her? But John knew that she wasn’t ready for any kind of relationship, and when she was ready, she probably wouldn’t look in his direction. He wondered if she would ever forgive him for shooting her dog. They never mentioned it after the day it happened. John expected her to ask him where the grave was, but she never had.

  He feared that Maggie was mad at God. The only time he saw her at church was at her brother’s funeral. When people consistently stayed away from services, it usually meant they had a problem with God. John talked to Martin about both Valter and Maggie. He found out that their whole family had been active in church for years, so John prayed for her spiritual well-being as well as for comfort from her sorrow.

  Not only did John pray for her, but he also got up before dawn every day. That way he could go out to the farm and take care of the chores before he returned to the depot for the first train of the morning. And he kept her wood box filled. If he could think of anything else to do, he would have done it, because his heart broke for Maggie and her grief—and for the fact that the first time they met, he added to her already heavy burdens.

  John didn’t want to awaken Maggie when he rode up to the farm, so he usually left his horse tied in the woods and walked the rest of the way to the barn. He slipped in the door and went about his work without making any noise that could be heard from the house. It hadn’t taken him long to make friends with all the animals. They turned their attention to him as soon as he came through the door, knowing they were about to be fed. When he had time, he even curried the horses, gently talking to them as he did.

  One Tuesday, John climbed into the hayloft to throw down enough hay to replace what he had taken out of the stalls. Before he filled the pitchfork, the door opened. He glanced down to see Maggie walking toward her horse. He couldn’t decide what to do. He didn’t want to startle her. While he was trying to figure out a way to let her know he was there, she started talking to the animal. John didn’t plan to eavesdrop, but her sweet voice drifted up toward him.

  John peeked over the edge of the hayloft. Maggie’s arms were around the horse’s neck, and he heard every word she said.

  “Oh, Stormy, I wish you could come into the house with me the way Rolf did. He was so much company to me when Vally was sick. I talked to him, and I wasn’t as scared. Now I’m alone, and the house feels so empty. Sometimes I just climb into bed and pull the covers over my head and cry.”

  Her voice became more muted, and John could no longer understand what she said. He thought about what he heard. There must be some way he could help her.

  When John got back to town, he took his horse to the livery. The proprietor was raking the hay that covered the floor.

  “Henry.” John dismounted and walked his horse toward its usual stall. “Have you heard about anyone whose dog has had puppies recently?”

  The old man took a minute to answer. He scratched his stubbly chin while he thought about it. “Not right off. I’ll ask around, though, if you want me to.” He leaned his arm on the handle of the rake. “You want a dog, do you? They’re a mite o’ trouble to take care of, ‘specially since you’re living in the boardinghouse.”

  John chuckled. “It’s not for me. I want to give it to someone.”

  Henry stood looking at John as if he wanted to know who, but he didn’t ask, and John didn’t tell him.

  The next day, Martin came by the Wayzata depot. John was receiving a telegraph message, so the preacher walked around the station, looking at all the information tacked up on the walls. When John finished, he called to his friend.

  “Martin, how can I help you? You don’t need tickets to go somewhere, do you? It’s pretty cold to be traveling.”

  Martin quickly came to the counter and leaned on its polished surface. “No, but maybe I can help you.”

  “Help me? I didn’
t know I needed any.”

  The preacher smiled. “I heard you were asking about a puppy.”

  John chuckled. “Oh, that. News travels fast around here. I only asked Henry about it yesterday.”

  “You know how it is.” Martin joined his laughter, his fingers tapping an accompaniment on the polished wood. “He told me over coffee at Rose’s Café. Rose heard him, so she asked everyone who came in yesterday and today. It’s a good thing she did. There’s a family with a farm west of Lake Minnetonka whose dog had puppies a few weeks ago. They were just starting to try to find homes for them. Does it matter what kind of dog it is?”

  John hadn’t thought about that. “I don’t know. What kind are they?”

  “Well, the momma is a big, long-haired dog. They aren’t sure who the daddy is. Henry said you wanted to give it to someone. Will that person want a big dog?”

  John nodded. “A big dog would be just fine.” He figured that a large dog would help Maggie feel safer. When it was grown, it could protect her.

  Martin pulled a piece of paper out of the inside pocket of his suit coat. “Here are the directions to their house. You can go today if you want to, but you probably should take something to wrap the puppy in. It’s only been in the barn with its mama and the other puppies. The wind is still nippy in the evenings. It might be too cold to carry it far without being wrapped up.”

  John took the proffered paper and unfolded it. He read the words scribbled on it and studied the crude drawing of a map. “Thanks, Martin. I’ll go out there after the last train leaves this evening.”

  It didn’t take John long to pick out which puppy he wanted. While he watched them tumble around their mother, one seemed to have more personality. Light tan in color, it sported irregular white patches around each eye, making it look as if it were wearing a mask. When he picked it up, the puppy jumped higher in his arms and licked his face. Then it settled down against his chest as if satisfied. John held the little dog away from him and studied it all over. If this puppy looked anything like his mother when he was grown, he would have long hair.