Dakota December and Dakota Destiny

by Lauraine Snelling

  Mary stared at him. The thought of marrying someone other than Will brought a knot to her throat and tears to her eyes. “I have to go. Thank you for . . . fo—” She turned and bolted out the door.

  “What happened to you?” Ingeborg’s eyes widened when she saw her daughter’s face.

  “He . . . he asked me to m-marry him.” Mary put a hand to her throat.

  “A bit of a surprise, that?” Ingeborg shook her head. “Well, I never.” She stirred the kettle simmering on the stove. “Hmm, that idea has possibilities.”

  “Possibilities! Mother, I don’t love Kenneth.”

  “Yet. Sometimes the best marriages are when two people grow into love.”

  “Mother! You want me to marry someone I don’t love?”

  “I didn’t say that. But I can see it is a natural choice from his point of view. You are lovely, you are familiar, you know his home, and you love his children. Many men would say that’s more than enough basis for marriage. Women have married for a lot less, you know.”

  Mary felt like she was talking with a total stranger who somehow wore her mother’s face. “I don’t think I have any more to say to you.” She turned on her heel and climbed the stairs to her bedroom. Flinging herself across her bed, she buried her face in her hands. Oh, Will, why did you have to go and die?

  Time took wings during the days until Mary left, making her breathless most of the time. So much to be finished. In spite of her feelings of misgivings, she continued to care for Joey and Jenny, bringing them back to her mother’s on the afternoons when she had errands to run.

  She wanted her classroom just perfect for her new pupils and spent hours preparing calendars and pictures, lesson assignments, and flash cards for numbers. Mr. Gunderson had said the school didn’t have a large budget for supplies—the year had been hard for the farmers, in spite of the high prices for grain due to the war.

  Mrs. Norgaard insisted that Dag would drive Mary to her new home so she wouldn’t have to take all her things on the train. “God will be with you, child, as you share His love for those children. Don’t you forget it.”

  “I’m not about to.” Mary gave the old woman a hug. “You take care of yourself now while I’m away.”

  “Humph.” Gudrun straightened her back, as if it needed it. “I’ve been taking care of myself since before your mother and father were born. I surely won’t stop now.” But the twinkle in her faded blue eyes turned the tear that shimmered on her lashes brilliant. She waved one slender hand. “You drive careful now, Dag, you hear?”

  Clara, too, stood in the doorway, waving them off. “We’ll keep supper for you, Dag. Enjoy the day.”

  “I wish she could have come.” Mary settled back in her seat. The wind whipped the scarf she’d tied around her hat and blew the ends straight out behind her. The thrill of driving such speeds! One day, she promised herself, I will have a car of my own to drive. The picture of the black roadster driven by Kenneth Oien flashed through her mind. What would it be like, married to him? She liked him well enough. In fact, they could probably be friends. She shrugged the thoughts away. He’d said he’d write and gladly drive up to bring her home for a weekend. She deliberately pushed the thoughts out of her mind.

  “So, how goes the blacksmithing?” She turned in the seat so Dag could hear her above the roar of the automobile and the rushing wind.

  “Slow. I know I will have to convert more and more to repairing tractors and automobiles and trucks. With the engines improving all the time, we will see more changes than we ever dreamed of.”

  “I agree.” She sought for another topic, but let it lie. Talking above the noise took too great an effort.

  Dag carried all her boxes into the schoolroom, and then took the suitcases into the Widow Williamson’s two-story square farmhouse and up the stairs to the large bedroom facing east. When he straightened, his head brushed the slanted ceiling, so he ducked a bit.

  “This is very nice.”

  “I think so.” Mrs. Williamson had even brought up a desk and chair to set in front of the window. Carved posts stood above a white bedspread, and extra pillows nearly hid the oak headboard. Braided rag rugs by the bed and in front of the high dresser would keep Mary’s feet off cold floors in the winter, and there was more than enough space for her simple wardrobe in the double-doored oak chifforobe. A picture of Jesus the Shepherd hung by the door.

  “Well, I’d best be on my way.” Dag extended his hand. “You call if you need anything. I saw a telephone on the wall downstairs.”

  “Thank you for all your help.” Mary walked him down the stairs, turning at the landing and on down. When his car roared to life and he drove away, she stood on the porch waving long after the dust had settled. She was on her own now—just what she had always wanted. Or had she?

  Mary fell in love with her pupils the instant they shuffled through the door. She had sixteen all together: four in the first grade, all so shy they couldn’t look up at her; three in the second; five in the third; and four in fourth. The fourth graders already bossed the younger ones, but when she rapped for order, they all sat at attention.

  “We will stand for the flag salute.” She checked her seating chart. “Arnold, will you lead us?” She put her hand over her pounding heart. Were they as nervous as she? She nodded at the boy on the outside row.

  “I pledge allegiance to the flag . . .” They stumbled through the words, some having forgotten them and others having not yet learned.

  One of the first graders broke into tears when Mary asked them to repeat the Lord’s Prayer. And when they sang the “Star Spangled Banner,” she mostly sang solo. These children had a lot to learn.

  She had planned on standing in front of them and quizzing them on their reading and numbers, but at the sight of the tears, she called all the children to the side of the room and, sitting down on a chair, told them to sit in front of her. She smiled at each one when she called their names again.

  “I need to know who you are, so could you please tell me something you like to do?”

  The older children looked at each other wide-eyed.

  “Arnold, we’ll start with you. What do you like?” And so she went around the group, and by the time she reached the youngest ones, they smiled back at her. One little towheaded girl stared at her teacher with her heart in her eyes.

  “You are so pretty,” she whispered. “I like you.”

  Mary felt her heart turn over. “And I like you.” She laid the tip of her finger on the little girl’s button nose. “Now, let’s all learn the pledge of allegiance because we are going to start every day saluting our flag.”

  “My brother went to war for our flag.” One of the boys said. “He never comed home.”

  Mary knew she was going to have heart problems for certain. “That has happened to many of our young men, so when we salute the flag, we are remembering them at the same time.” Thoughts of a star in the Big Dipper handle twinkled through her mind. Remembering. Yes, the sweetness promised by Mrs. Norgaard had finally come.

  “A very dear friend of mine went to Europe to fight, too, and never came home.” She laid a hand on the head of a little boy who had gravitated next to her knee. “Now, repeat after me, I pledge allegiance to the flag . . .” And so the morning continued. By the time recess came around, Mary felt like running outside to play with the children.

  “The first day is always the hardest.” Mr. Colburn, his graying hair worn long over the tops of his ears, stood in her doorway. His kind brown eyes and smile that made his mustache wiggle invited her to smile back.

  “Is that a promise?” Mary stretched her shoulders. “Mr. Colburn, everyone spoke so highly of you, I feel honored to share your building.”

  “Yes, well, I try, and the honor is mine. I think we will do well together. My wife insisted I bring you home for supper one night soon. She is so curious about the new teacher, I made her promise not to come see you for herself. We’ve lived here for ten years, and we are still not con
sidered part of the community. She’s hoping you can be friends.”

  “Isn’t that nice? I never turn down the offer of friendship.”

  “I’ll go ring the bell.” Mr. Colburn left, and immediately the bell in the tower bonged twice. The children flew to form a line starting with the larger ones and going to the smallest and marched into the building.

  Mary took a deep breath and dove back in.

  The days fell into a pattern. Up before dawn to make breakfast while Mrs. Williamson did the outside chores. Then walk to school, teach all day, and walk home. Evenings, after she’d washed the supper dishes, were spent preparing for the next day. On Saturday they cleaned house, and on Sunday, Mrs. Williamson’s sons took turns driving them to church.

  Mary didn’t have time to be lonely. She continued to write her letters to Will each night, but now she planned to send them to her mother. Ingeborg would love to hear the stories of her daughter and her small charges.

  When Mr. Colburn discovered she could play the piano, he rolled the heavy instrument into her room on the condition that she teach music. The students at Valley School loved to sing. So every afternoon, if all had done their assignments, everyone gathered in Mary’s classroom for singing and then Mr. Colburn read to them. His mellow voice played the parts as he read first The Jungle Book, by Rudyard Kipling, and then Oliver Twist, by Charles Dickens. Mary was as entranced as the children.

  Letters came weekly from Kenneth Oien, and Mary grew to look forward to them. While she had yet to go home to visit, his letters were like a window into the life of Soldahl. He wrote of the antics of Joey and Jenny and their new friend, Mews, a half-grown cat that had shown up on their doorstep one day. He described the changing of the colors with the frost and the geese flying south. He said they all missed her and looked forward to her coming home.

  There’s a poet hiding in that man’s soul, Mary thought as she read the latest letter. But can I ever think of him as more than a friend?

  When the phone rang one evening and Mrs. Williamson called up the stairs to say it was for her, Mary felt her heart leap into her throat. Was something wrong at home? Was Daniel sick again?

  “Hello?” She knew she sounded breathless, only because she was.

  “Mary, this is Kenneth.”

  “Kenneth? Oh, Mr. Oien . . . uh, Kenneth.” She felt like an idiot. Surely they could be on a first-name basis by now, in fact should have been a long time ago.

  “I wondered if I could come and get you on Friday afternoon, if you would like to come home, that is. I would take you back on Sunday, after church. I . . . ah, that is—”

  Mary took pity on his stammering. “I would love that. Thank you for the invitation.”

  “Would you like me to come to the school?”

  “No, I’ll meet you here at Mrs. Williamson’s.” She gave him the directions and hung up the receiver. She’d heard a click on the party line. Now everyone around would know the new teacher had a beau. Whether he was or not did not matter.

  “I think of you a lot,” Kenneth said when he stopped the automobile in front of the parsonage that Friday night. Dark had fallen before they reached Soldahl, and traveling the rough roads by lamplight had made them drive even more slowly.

  What could she say? “I enjoy reading your letters. And thank you for the ride home. Will you be coming to dinner on Sunday?”

  “Yes.” He smiled at her in the dimness. “And we have been invited to supper on Saturday at the mansion. That is, if you would like to go.”

  “Why, of course.” Mary fumbled for her purse. “Thank you again for the ride.”

  He got out and came around to open her door, leaving the motor running. “Till tomorrow then.” He helped her out and carried her valise to the door. “Jenny and Joey hope you will come see them while you are in town.”

  “Oh.” Mary wondered what had happened to her tongue. Suffering from a lack of words was a new experience for her.

  Looking back, she couldn’t remember having a nicer time in a long while. While she was fully aware that all her friends and family were playing matchmakers, she couldn’t fault them for it. Kenneth Oien was a very nice man.

  But a few weeks later, when he asked her to consider marriage, she shook her head.

  “Please don’t pressure me,” she whispered. “I just cannot answer that yet.”

  “Yet?” His eager voice came through the darkness. He’d just brought her back from another weekend at home. He touched her cheek with a gentle caress.

  Mary held herself still. If that had been Will, the urge to throw herself in his arms would have made her shake. All she felt was a longing to feel more. What was the matter with her?

  Chapter 9

  The world went crazy on Tuesday, November 11, 1918. Victory Day. The war to end all wars was over. School bells rang, radio announcers shouted, the people cheered. Some sobbed at the thought their sons might still make it home in one piece. Others cried for those who would never return.

  Mary was one of the latter. While her head said, “Thank You, Father, for finally bringing peace,” her heart cried for the young man she had seen leave for war.

  While the children were out on the playground after eating their lunches, she walked out beyond the coal shed and leaned against the building wall. Letting the tears come, she sobbed until she felt wrung out. When she could finally feel the cold wind biting her cheeks and tugging at her hair, she wiped her eyes and lifted her face to the sun that played hide-and-seek in the clouds.

  “Will,” she whispered, “I loved you then and I love you now, but I guess it is about time I got on with my life. One more Christmas is all I will ask for, and then if God wants me to marry Kenneth Oien, I will follow His bidding.” She waited, almost hoping for an answer, but all she heard was the wind and it was too light to look for that star.

  Kenneth and the children joined the Moens for Thanksgiving dinner after the church service. Pastor Moen had thanked God for bringing peace to a world torn asunder by war, and the congregation heartily agreed. Mary refused to let the tears come again. She sat in the front pew but didn’t dare look directly up at her father, for she knew the love in his eyes would be her undoing. Why was it always so hard to keep from crying in church?

  Several of the boys, now turned men, had returned from the service already, making it easy for some families to give thanks. One even brought back a French wife, and if that didn’t start the gossips buzzing . . .

  Mary felt sorry for the shy young woman. If only she could speak French to help her out.

  They had stuffed goose for dinner, two given them by one of the hunters in the congregation. Ingeborg had been cooking for a week, or so the amount of food on the table testified. Afterward they played charades, and when the two little ones woke up from their naps, they played hide the thimble. Jenny ignored the game and came to sit on Mary’s lap, leaning her head back against Mary’s chest.

  Mary looked up to catch a glance between her parents. Please, don’t push me, she wanted to cry. Cuddling Jenny was so easy. Would cuddling with her father be as simple?

  “You know, Kenneth is a fine young man,” John said after the company had left.

  “Yes, Father, I know you like him.” Mary bit off the colored thread she was using to embroider a rose on a handkerchief for Mrs. Williamson. Making Christmas presents had begun.

  “He will make a fine husband,” Ingeborg said without looking up from her knitting.

  “All right. I know how you feel and I know how he feels. All I want to know now is how God feels.”

  “And what about you?” John kept his finger in his place in the book. “How do you feel?”

  “Like I cannot make a decision yet.”

  John nodded. “You don’t have to.”

  “I want to go through Christmas first. I will make a decision after the first of the year. Then it will have been a year since we got the final word. But I know one thing for sure, no matter what my decision, I will finish my year at Va
lley School.”

  John and Ingeborg both nodded. Daniel wandered back down the stairs, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “I heard you talking, and it made me hungry.”

  Mary laughed as she rose to cut him another piece of pumpkin pie. “You should be as big as Knute with all that you eat.”

  The weeks before Christmas passed in a blur of preparing a school program and party for the families around Pleasant Valley. They decorated a Christmas tree someone brought from Minnesota and hung chains made from colored paper around the room. But the music made Mary the most proud. The children sang like the angels had from on high, and during the performance even the most stoic fathers dabbed at their eyes more than once.

  Mary left for home with her presents completed and bearing treasures given her by her students. Her favorite, if she were allowed to pick, was a card decorated with pressed wildflowers and lettered, “To my teechur.”

  A snowstorm hung on the northern horizon, so she took the train, rather than allowing Dag or Kenneth to come for her. While it would take a lot of snow to stop the train, automobiles buried themselves in drifts with the ease of children finding a mud puddle.

  Her father met her at the station with his horse and buggy. He took her valise and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Do you have anything more?”

  “Father, at Christmas?” Her laugh pealed out. She pointed to two boxes tied up tightly with twine. “Those are mine. What happened to all the fancy automobiles?”

  “Too much snow.” John loaded the boxes into the area behind the seat and helped her up. “I sure hope we don’t have a blizzard for Christmas.”

  She told him about the school program on the way home, her arm tucked in his and a robe covering their knees. When her story finished, she said, “You know one good thing about horses?”

  “No, what’s that?”

  “You can talk and hear the other person answer.” She leaned closer to him. “Without shouting.”

  “I know. Sometimes I think if the congregation offered me an automobile, I’d turn it down.” He slapped the reins, clucking the gray gelding into a trot. “General, here, and I, we’ve been through a lot together. An automobile won’t take me home if I fall asleep after a late call or listen to me practice my sermon. If he doesn’t like one, he shakes his head and snorts. Then I know I need to go back to the desk and keep writing.”