Nora waited, continuing to drop the cookie dough onto another flat baking pan.
“We’ve known Carl since he arrived in Soldahl six years ago. He was just starting out after buying old Mr. Einer Peterson’s farm. Einer had died that summer from the consumption. He’d been sick a very long time.”
Nora had a hard time to keep from interrupting. She did not want to hear about Einer Peterson.
“Carl came from Minnesota, somewhere down by St. Paul, so he has no family around here. He was already betrothed; that was such a disappointment to the young ladies in our church. You could just see their eyes light up the day he walked into services. Such a handsome young man.”
Nora could agree with that even though she had seen him when he seemed frozen in the middle of an ice chunk.
“And the voice of an angel. When he sings those hymns—why he just lifts the rest of the congregation and leads us into heaven.” Ingeborg winked at Nora then picked up the full sheet of cookies and slid it onto the bottom rack in the oven. With one finger, she touched one of the cookies on the top rack to see if it was done. When the cookie indented rather than springing back, she turned the cookie sheet around 180 degrees and closed the oven. “Now, where was I?”
“About what a voice Carl has,” Nora reminded her.
“Oh yes, and such nice manners. You know his ma taught him well. He brought Anna to meet us when they returned after the wedding. They were married at the end of harvest. It was a very good year, I remember. He’d ordered a new wagon to drive her home in, painted all red and green with shiny yellow wheels. That wagon was really a sight.”
Nora did not want to hear about the wagon, either.
“He’s a hard worker, that Carl. Einer, because he was so sick, had let the farm run down. But by the next year, Carl had painted the barns and even the house. I said Carl is a hard worker. Well, his Anna was, too. It was a shame they didn’t get more acquainted with the community. But they worked from dawn to dark.”
Ingeborg opened the creaky oven door and removed the top sheet, placing it off to the cool side of the range while she moved the bottom sheet to the upper rack.
“Oh, Ma, those look so good.” Mary and her three shadows lined up by the table, ogling the cookies as her mother lifted the fragrant goodies from the pan to the table.
“Wait until they cool a bit.” Ingeborg pushed away an inquisitive finger. “My, they do smell good, don’t they?” She sniffed appreciatively.
Nora agreed. The apple-cinnamon aroma filled the room. She dug a finger into the dough and, after putting the dab in her mouth, sucked her finger clean. She looked up, guilt evidenced in the heat coating her cheeks when she saw Ingeborg watching her. “I know, I’m setting a bad example for the children as my ma always said, but . . .”
“No buts, child. I usually can’t resist myself. But here, why don’t you try this instead?” She picked up a hot cookie and brought it over, along with the empty pan. “You eat this and I’ll finish.” She turned back to the table. “Go ahead, children. Just be careful you don’t burn yourselves.” The three did not need a second invitation.
“Thank you,” they chorused and joined James back on the quilt.
“No! No! He’s too little.” Nora flew across the room to scoop the baby up, safe from the cookie Kaaren was going to shove into his mouth.
The little girl burst into tears that turned into wails. “Ma-a-a. I want my ma.”
Realizing he did not know who the strange person was who had snatched him up, little James joined Kaaren, puckering up and letting loose with a wall-shaking howl.
Mary and Knute stared from one to the other, forgotten cookies clutched in their hands.
Ingeborg dropped the spoon of cookie dough and, in the process of spinning around to help Nora, bumped the cradle with her toe.
With both the noise and motion, Peder yowled almost before he awakened.
“There, there.” Nora tried to quiet the screaming baby in her arms with one hand and comfort the little girl with the other.
“Whatever is going on in here?” Reverend Moen stepped through the door. “I could hear the noise clear out to the street.”
Ingeborg gathered James from Nora and hid her laughing face in the baby’s chubby neck. James quieted immediately.
Mary patted Kaaren on the back, trying to comfort her but to no avail.
Nora looked from the little girl to the baby yelling in the cradle. Whom should she go to first? When Reverend Moen squatted down in front of the two little girls, Nora picked up the screaming infant. She put him up to her shoulder, joggling him and crooning comfort at the same time.
“What’s for supper?” John asked after calming Kaaren and picking her up. Together, they leaned over the fresh cookies on the table.
Nora and Ingeborg stared at each other—supper was not ready. Ingeborg threw her hands into the air and laughed. “Chicken and dumplings but, even with two cooks, it’ll be a while.”
“I can fix the dumplings since I can’t take care of this one’s needs.” Nora continued swaying with the still-snuffling baby.
“Good.” Ingeborg turned to her husband. “And, if you’ll take care of your young son here, we can proceed. Mary, why don’t you and Kaaren set the table?”
“Oh, the cookies.” Nora reached for a pot holder as she handed Ingeborg the baby. The smell of burning chased the cookie fragrance from the room. All the cookies on the back corner of the pan had changed from light brown to smoky black.
“I’m so sorry to burn—” Nora felt her cheeks flame again.
“Oh, well. The birds needed something to eat, too,” Mary said over her shoulder as she led Kaaren and Knute from the room.
Ingeborg chuckled. Nora bit her lip. John grinned from one woman to the other, his eyebrow arched above his right eye. Laughter filled the room and bounced off the darkened windows.
Just like home, Nora thought. Oh, how I’ve missed the laughter.
Ingeborg settled herself in the rocker and started to nurse the baby. She flipped the baby’s quilt over her shoulder and set the chair rocking.
John pulled out a chair and, after sitting down and bouncing James on his knee, reached across the table for another cookie. “How good to come home to such a happy place.” He took a bite of cookie and closed his eyes in bliss. “Now, if only I had a cup of coffee to wash this down.” He looked his young son in the eye, as if asking his opinion. “Wouldn’t that be about right?”
Nora leaped to grab a cup and fill it to the brim. If she wanted to hire out as a housekeeper or helper, she had better begin to anticipate what a man arriving home would want.
“I hope that is hot enough.” She placed it in front of him. She watched him with anxious eyes as he sipped then nodded. “Good. Now I start the dumplings.”
On her way back across the kitchen she stopped to check the fire and added more coal. After moving the cooking pot to the hotter part of the stove, she raised the cover and gave the contents a stir with the wooden spoon that rested in a saucer on the warming oven.
While she mixed and stirred the dumplings, Nora listened to the conversation between the pastor and his wife. Thanks to Ingeborg’s delightful descriptions, she recognized many of the people John talked about. The conclusion of both doctor and pastor: No one was available to nurse this new baby. Also, they had not talked to people about hiring Nora.
“Maybe tomorrow, after the funerals, I’ll have a better idea for you,” Reverend Moen told Nora. “In the meantime, we are grateful to have you here.”
“Especially since all I seem to be doing is feeding babies.” Ingeborg lifted baby Peder to her shoulder and patted his back.
Nora took her bowl to the stove and, after raising the lid of the steaming kettle, plopped the spoonfuls of dough onto the bubbling chicken. “There now.” She resisted the habit to taste her cooking and set the kettle farther back on the range so it would simmer.
That evening, after a dinner lightened with laughter, the family rem
ained gathered around the table for the father to read from the Bible and lead family prayers. Nora relaxed against the back of her chair, caught up in the rhythm and beauty of the Beatitudes.
“Blessed are they . . .” The words rolled off Reverend Moen’s tongue and brought a lump to Nora’s throat. It was so easy to picture herself back home and pretend this was her father reading. “Blessed” was one of her mother’s favorite words.
Nora opened her eyes to lock herself into the present. These people—this family—were indeed the merciful. To take her in as they had and make her feel so much a part of them. “Thank you” hardly seemed sufficient for all the gratitude she felt.
When he prayed for Carl Detschman, she joined her thoughts and prayers with his. And for little Peder, sleeping so soundly and blissfully in the cradle at their feet. Kaaren nodded on Nora’s lap, as did Grace on Ingeborg’s. But, when the “Amen” came, all the little ones joined right in.
“I’m going to take Peder to bed with me so we can keep him warm enough. Nora, I’m sorry to ask this, but will there be room for Kaaren with you and Mary? Grace is still using the crib and I dislike making a pallet on the floor in case she throws off her covers.”
Nora hugged the little one on her lap even closer. “No, that will be just fine.”
“Come on, Kaaren, you get to sleep with me.” Mary bounced to the floor and, grabbing the little girl’s hand, dragged her up the stairs.
“Me, too,” Grace wailed, trying to scramble down from her father’s lap.
“All right, all right.” Ingeborg threw her hands over her head. “You go on up with the others.” After Grace trudged partway up the stairs, Ingeborg whispered, “We’ll bring her down to her crib after they all fall asleep.” She gave Knute an extra hug and sent him up after the others to his room across the hall. “I’ll be up in a bit for prayers.”
Nora rose to her feet and began clearing the table. “Maybe I should have Mary teach me English,” she said as she stacked the plates. “She switches between English and Norwegian like she’s speaking one language. I know the Bible says not to envy, but I wish I knew two languages like that.” She carried the dishes to the sink.
“Ja, and Kaaren speaks some German since her mother and father speak both languages. These little ones learn quickly.” Ingeborg dipped water from the reservoir to fill her dishpan. “Tomorrow, we’ll all begin teaching Nora English. You’ll help, too, won’t you, John?”
Reverend Moen looked up from his Bible and the papers beside it. “I’ll be happy to, after the two funerals.” He rubbed his forehead with the fingers of one hand. “So many we are losing. And this isn’t even what you’d call a bad year.”
“Did you talk with Carl again today?” Ingeborg crossed the room to rub her husband’s neck and shoulders.
“No. I asked Einer, who works down at the feedstore, if he could go out and let Carl’s neighbors know he needed help.” He leaned his head forward. “That feels so good.”
Nora took Ingeborg’s place at the sink and continued with the dishes. She bit her tongue against asking if she should go out and help Carl. When he came for the children, that would be the right time.
After they had shuffled all the sleeping children into the right beds, Nora studied the faces of the two girls sleeping together. Kaaren’s hair was darker, more like honey than towhead white like Mary’s. Freckles dotted Kaaren’s turned-up nose, and the trace of a tear still lingered on one pale cheek.
Poor little lamb, Nora thought as she lifted the covers and slipped into the bed. So young to be left without a mother. No wonder she cried herself to sleep. Nora snuggled down into the feather bed and tucked the quilt around her shoulders so no cold air could sneak in.
How long would it take her to earn passage home to Norway? Could she be there by Midsummer’s Eve? At home she shared the bed with her sister Clara, not two little girls who looked enough alike to be sisters.
“Dear Lord,” she whispered, “please let Carl Detschman hire me so I can go home soon.” But her last thoughts were not of home. Instead, a tall, blond farmer walked through her dreams and the land he strode was flat.
Chapter 5
By noon the next day, Nora had a headache. “You’re trying too hard.” Ingeborg patted the younger woman’s shoulder as she walked by. “You can’t learn to speak an entire new language in one day. Even with all of us helping you.”
“But I feel like . . . like as soon as I have a word locked in my head, it takes off like a lamb running from the barn up the hill after its mother.” Nora rubbed her aching head.
“Well, the table is set and dinner is all ready, so why don’t you sit down with a cup of coffee and close your eyes a few minutes? Both babies are sleeping and I’ll read a story to the others in the parlor.” Ingeborg suited actions to her words and left Nora sitting in the rocker in front of the stove.
Nora tipped her head forward, stretching the muscles as far as she could, then leaned it back against the rocker. With one foot she set the chair in motion. The hum of the fire and the creaking-rocker song were as soothing as a cold compress on her forehead.
The fragrance of bread, fresh from the oven, and the stew simmering on the stove, mingled with the bite of the lye soap with which they had washed diapers. Strung on a line behind the stove to dry, the diapers added their own peculiar odor.
The cat meowed at her feet then leaped up in her lap and arched its back against the palm of her hand before circling three times to find its comfort spot. As Nora stroked its back, the cat’s rumbling purr added harmony in bass to the kitchen quartet.
The drumbeat of her headache left her temples and escaped up the chimney pipe.
After several minutes of comfort, she heard boots scraping snow off on the step, then a fist knocking on the door. Nora swept the cat to the floor and rose to answer the summons.
Up close like this, Nora realized how tall Carl Detschman really stood. Even with the difference of the porch and house floors, he towered over her by nearly a head. Tongue-tied because she could not speak his language, Nora just stepped back and motioned him to enter.
At his “Guten tag, “Nora bobbed her head. She was amazed. It sounded so much like Norwegian. Would they really be able to communicate?
“Come in, come in.” Ingeborg and the children joined them at the door.
“Pa!” Kaaren threw herself into her father’s waiting arms. She locked both arms around his neck as if defying anyone to try to remove her.
Carl Detschman stood and took off his hat but refused to venture farther into the room. He pointed to his snowy boots and shook his head. “Is Reverend Moen here?”
“Any minute now,” Ingeborg shooshed the other children back. “He had another funeral this morning and then a call to make. How may I help you?”
“I . . . that is, Anna . . .”
“Ma? I want my ma!” Kaaren placed her hands on both sides of her father’s face and turned him to look at her. “Please, Pa.”
Nora did not need to speak English to understand what the little girl was saying—the look on Carl Detschman’s face said it all.
“Can you keep her . . . them . . . until after the funeral?” Carl asked after shushing his daughter.
“Of course. We’ll talk more then. But why don’t you come in and sit down to wait for Reverend Moen? What will you—”
“I can’t.” He drew himself straight, hugged his daughter, whispered in her ear, and handed her to Ingeborg. “I just can’t.” He turned and yanked open the door, the cold draft sending the women’s skirts back against their legs.
The look on his face imprinted itself on Nora’s mind. Lost and angry. What a heavy burden, she thought.
“Why didn’t they have both funerals this morning?” Nora asked after they had settled the children again. Kaaren sniffed back tears once in awhile—and hiccupped.
“Because Carl and Anna are German,” Ingeborg snapped, “and some people in this town are hateful.” She hid her mouth with the back
of her fist. “Forgive me, I didn’t—I shouldn’t even think such things. But, much as Reverend Moen preaches to love thy neighbor, some people think that doesn’t include anyone who isn’t Norwegian.” She shook her head. “Sometimes, being the pastor’s wife isn’t easy, let alone being the pastor.”
“So, will anyone come to mourn with him?”
“Ja, a few.”
“Why don’t you go and I’ll stay here with the children? Just being with you is a comfort, and I know he needs that.”
“Ja, that is a good idea. Thank you.” Ingeborg used the edge of her apron to wipe something from the corner of her eye. “I should have fed Peder by then, and I won’t be gone long if James wakes up. Now I know how difficult it would be to feed twins.”
Everyone ate dinner with serious faces and little talking.
“Mary, you help Miss Johanson with the dishes,” Ingeborg reminded her daughter as they all rose from the table. “We won’t be gone very long and I’m depending on you to show what a helper you can be.”
“Yes, Ma.”
“We’ll bring Carl back for coffee and maybe others who attend the funeral. So would you please set out the coffee and cookies?” Ingeborg pressed a forefinger against her lips. “I have some søtsuppe in the pie safe also. You could bring that in and thaw it out over the stove. That, warmed, will taste good.”
“Oh, I haven’t had that for so long.” Nora continued to clear the table. “My mother uses all kinds of fruit in hers.”
“And we have cream to pour on top.” Ingeborg lifted her black wool coat from the wooden coat tree and pinned on her black veiled hat while standing in front of the minor. “Now, you children be good for Miss Johanson.” She bent and kissed each one, including Kaaren. Then, waving her fingers, she went out the door.
When Kaaren started to fill up with tears again, Nora lifted the little girl in her arms and spun her around. Laughing together, they all trooped into the kitchen. She handed each of the children a dish towel and as she washed each dish and cup, she handed them one at a time, to each child. Mary led the game of naming every item in English with Nora repeating the word each time. After the dishes were done, they continued the game by naming things around the room. When Nora forgot the word for table, they chorused it together; when she remembered stove and oven, they cheered.
Dakota Dawn Page 5