He cleared his throat. “Nora.” His voice broke. He cleared his throat again. “Would it be possible that I teach you English? Here . . . in the evening? When you get to feeling better?”
Chapter 8
The break came a week later. Nora felt like she had been given a priceless gift. Peder slept for four straight hours in the afternoon and again that night. And he smiled at her when she bathed him. This little round face with the button nose that was usually screwed up in either anger or pain, now opened its mouth and let the sides flutter upwards.
Nora lost her heart. She felt it wing from her chest and join with the baby’s. She dried him, between each precious little finger and toe, all the while murmuring love words and praising him when the smile came again, broader this time.
Nora wanted to tell someone. Kaaren? No, she was asleep in a much-needed nap. Carl? He should be the person to rejoice in his son’s first smile. But he was out working on the farm someplace—who knew where—and, to this day he had never even peeked into the baby’s cradle. He never asked about the mite or even said the baby’s name.
She would have to settle for writing to her mother as soon as Peder fell back asleep. Her mother would understand the joy Nora felt. It was as if this little life were her very own. Her son. Her Peder.
Nora put a hand to her heart. A pain stabbed at the thought. No, she was only the housekeeper and, in only a few months, she would be returning to Norway. Another would see Peder crawl and take his first step. Carl would marry again and his new wife would take over the care of this home and this family.
The words she said to herself made so much sense. After all, they were the truth and the plan Carl had proposed. Why then did they hurt so much?
That night, when Nora and Carl sat down at the table for the English lesson, Nora found it difficult to concentrate.
First, Carl laid their earlier lessons on the table and they reviewed them. Then, she wrote something in Norwegian and, after making sure he understood what she wanted, Carl wrote the English word beside it. Then, he read it to her. She read the words and they repeated them until she said them correctly.
After the lesson, Nora gathered her courage. “Peder smiled at me today,” she said slowly as she wrote the words in Norwegian.
Carl took the paper, read the words, and wrote them in English. After he said them in English, he waited for Nora’s response. There was no smile, no change in inflection. Nothing.
Uff da, Nora thought. What an impossible man. She repeated the words aloud, but now they were just words—the magic she had felt with Peder’s first baby smile was missing.
Why? Nora wanted to scream at him. What is the matter with you? But, instead she watched his hand. The hairs on the back of his hand glinted white in the golden glow of the lamp. They were strong hands with long fingers and hard calluses. How would they feel . . . ?
“Nora.” The tone snapped impatience.
“Ah, ja?”
“The lesson? If you do not want to continue, just tell me. I have other things I could be doing.”
She lifted her gaze to his.
Eyes stern, he repeated his words. “Peder smiled at me today.”
“Ja, and his father might try the same,” Nora said in Norwegian as she shoved back her chair and rose to her feet. She finished in English. “Good night, Mr. Detschman.”
As she swept into the bedroom, she thought she heard a chuckle behind her, but she refused to turn and see. No, she shook her head; it must have been the wind.
The next morning, after waking only once during the night to feed the baby, Nora felt more like herself than she had for weeks. She had diapers washed and hung out before breakfast. There was a johnnycake baking in the oven, and Kaaren was giggling at Nora’s funny faces.
When Carl walked in the door with a basket of eggs in one hand and a jug of milk in the other, Nora greeted him with a sunny smile. “Good morning, Carl. Would you care for your coffee now?” She spoke in English.
He brushed past her to set the eggs and milk in the sink and grunted.
No “Thank you.” No “Congratulations.” Not even a smile. Nora knew just how Kaaren felt whenever she stamped her foot. Only now she would prefer having a certain large, booted foot underneath her stamping. His grunt must have meant yes.
When she wrote to her mother that morning, Nora had a hard time thinking of anything good to say about her employer. She corrected her thoughts—“her husband.” What a joke!
So, instead, she told them of March in North Dakota, of the Moens, about Peder’s smiles, and Kaaren’s antics. She did not write about the weeks of walking the floor and wiping runny noses; of no one to talk to; of the ache in her heart for Norway and home; of a little girl who cried at night for the mother that would never return. Of Carl . . . she said nothing.
A few days later, Nora woke to the sound of dripping water. She slipped out of bed, picked up her wrapper, and, while shoving her arms into the sleeves, went to stand at the window. Dawn had just cracked the dark gray of the eastern sky, tinting the clouds with a promise of gold. The icicles, hanging in dagger points from the roof, now dripped onto the snowbanks below.
Nora cupped her hands around her elbows. She could see the cottonwood trees bending before a wind, a warm wind—if her ears really heard dripping water. The chinook had arrived. Carl had told her about the warm wind that came unannounced from nowhere and melted the snow away. Spring was coming to North Dakota.
That morning, she hurried about her chores. Maybe for a change she could wrap up Peder and take the children for a walk down to the barn. She was so tired of staying cooped up in the house.
“Today, I’ll be free,” she sang to Peder as she fed him. After all, they were all healthy again. And the fresh air would do them good.
“I’ll be going to Soldahl today,” Carl announced at the breakfast table. “If you have your letter ready, I will mail it for you.”
Nora nodded. She held her breath. Maybe he would ask her and the children to go with him. She watched as he ate his mush with rapid bites. The toast disappeared the same way. Nothing was said about their going.
“Carl, I . . .” Her words stumbled to a halt. She should not have to ask.
“Ja?”
“Ahh, nothing.” She handed him her letter. “Thank you.”
She and Kaaren waved in the window, but he never even turned his head. With a fluid motion, he stepped up into the wagon-turned-sleigh and flicked the reins. The harness jingled into the distance.
“Silly goose,” Nora told herself. “What difference does it make if he is here or gone to town? You do not see him anyway.” But the heavy feeling hung over her shoulders like the wooden yoke she used to carry two buckets of water to the garden.
While washing the dishes, she stared out the window. The sun still shone, the warm wind tickled the trees—nothing had changed. When she put the last cup away, the thought hit her. You wanted Carl to show you around his farm. She nearly dropped the cup.
“Who needs him!” She hung the dish towel over the line behind the stove. “Come along, Kaaren. We’re going down to the barn.”
“See cows?” Kaaren scrambled to her feet. “Horse?” She ran to pull her coat off the rack. “Pa’s barn?”
“Ja, little one. Pa’s barn. You must wait for me. We have to get Peder ready, too.”
By the time they were all dressed and out the door, Nora could hardly keep from running down the carefully shoveled path. She wanted to fling herself into the snow and teach Kaaren how to make snow angels. Brownie, the cocoa-and-white fluffy dog, picked up on her exuberance and bounded over the snow, his tongue lolling. His sharp barks made Kaaren laugh, then made Nora laugh, then set a big black crow cawing from the top of the windmill.
“Bird.” Kaaren pointed toward the sky.
“Ja, this is a bird.” Nora agreed. “A—what is it called in English?” Oh well, she shifted Peder into her other arm and guided Kaaren before her. On to the barn.
N
ora inhaled deeply when they stepped through the door into the barn’s dim interior. She stood for a moment, letting the aromas wash over her. Cow and hay, grain and horses, manure, leather, all the odors so familiar, be they American or Norwegian.
One of the red-and-white shorthorn cows turned her head in her stanchion and lowed at the newcomers. Nora counted four milking cows. Walking farther, she saw the horse stalls. Overhead, a cat meowed and peered down through the open hayloft door.
The animals and barn showed Carl’s good care. The manure had been forked out, hay was in the mangers, and the aisles were swept clean. Even with their dense winter coats, the cows showed evidence of having been brushed and curried. Harnesses hung in perfect order on pegs in the wall. Nothing was out of place.
Nora put the bundled baby down onto a pile of hay and, taking Kaaren by the hand, walked up to the first cow. “So-o, boss,” she murmured to reassure the cow who turned friendly eyes their way.
She reached through the boards of the stanchion and scratched the cow under the chin.
“See, Kaaren, this is how cows like to be petted.” She took the little girl’s hand and together they rubbed the cow’s silky throat. The cow stretched her nose way out, the better to enjoy the caress. Squatting in the straw, cheek to cheek with her charge, Kaaren and Nora giggled together as the cow closed her friendly brown eyes in appreciation.
A bay gelding nickered when they came to his stall. He turned his head, pulling against the rope tied to his halter.
Nora looked around and saw the wooden grain bins against one wall. Together, she and Kaaren lifted a slanted lid to see the golden oats half filling the bin. Nora pulled her mittens off and scooped out a handful of the grain. “For the horse.” Grain clenched in her fist, she motioned Kaaren to stand still while she eased her way past the horse’s huge body to reach his head.
The horse lipped the grain from her hand and whiskered her palm, begging for more. Nora smoothed his forelock and rubbed under the halter behind his black-fringed ears. “Oh, you beautiful thing, you. You must be lonely with your friends gone. I wonder what your name is.” All the while she talked, she rubbed and stroked. When she inhaled, the smell of horse reminded her again of home. Some things stayed the same, everywhere.
Sure now that the animal was gentle, she went back out and, taking Kaaren in her arms, brought her up to pat the horse, too. Her big hand guided the little one.
“Pa’s horse.” Kaaren giggled when the animal blew in her face. She wrapped her arm around the back of Nora’s neck and leaned against her, cheek to cheek.
Peder began to whimper on his hay nest, so Nora gave the horse one last pat and left the stall. Down the aisle she found another stall, this one with two white hogs. She lifted Kaaren up to see over the wall.
“Pa’s pigs,” Kaaren announced.
By the time Nora picked Peder up again, he had switched from whimper to demand. “Hush, now. We’ll go feed you, but you must be patient.” They left the barn and dropped the bar into place behind them.
The windmill squeaked and turned in the wind above the low building that must be the well house. Off to the side of the barn other buildings waited to be explored, but Nora walked quickly between the snowbanks. Peder had been so good he deserved to eat right away.
Under the onslaught of the chinook, the snow quickly melted. Nora watched the calendar as Easter approached. One day after serving fried pork chops for dinner, she made a decision.
“Carl.”
He stopped drinking his coffee and looked at her over the rim of his coffee cup.
“Is Easter soon?”
He nodded.
“We go to church?” Nora hated to stumble over her words, but she knew he wanted her to speak English whenever she could.
He pushed his chair back and set the cup carefully down on the table. Jaw tight, he grabbed his coat and strode out the door.
“That must mean ‘No.’” She stared after him. At least he could have answered. She had said the words right—hadn’t she?
In spite of the thundercloud that seemed to have taken up permanent residence on Carl’s forehead, Nora went ahead with her spring housecleaning. Her home must be shiny clean for the risen Christ. Laundry danced on the clothesline, rugs took their beating without a murmur, windows sparkled and welcomed their clean curtains.
On Saturday, while Carl was in town, she poured water into the washtub in front of the stove and, after giving Kaaren a bath, took one herself. She left the tub of water for Carl to use and disappeared into the bedroom with the children.
The next morning, the tub was gone. Nora wished Carl had rinsed away that stern look when he had washed his hair.
“Christ is risen, He is risen indeed.” Nora whispered the words to the sun on Easter morning. “Thank You, Father, for loving us and sending Your Son to die. And rise again. He is risen.”
When she thought of missing church, the organ, and the hymns, the joy of Easter dimmed. So, Nora refused to let the thoughts of what she was missing bother her.
Instead, in her mind, she repeated the words over and over, Jesus Christ is risen today. Even Carl’s scowl when Kaaren spilled her milk failed to drown out Nora’s inner chorus.
That evening after supper, Nora and Kaaren sat at the table reading a schoolbook Carl had brought back from town. Nora read the English slowly, but Kaaren did not mind. She pointed a chubby finger at the pictures, naming each object. When she got bored, she slid to the floor and ambled off to the bedroom. A few minutes later, she came back, dragging her doll. She pulled on Nora’s skirt. “Ma.”
Nora felt her stomach fall clear to her knees. She focused hard on her book, hoping and praying that Carl had not heard. She scooped Kaaren up onto her lap. But the deed was done. She did not have to turn to see his face—his thudding footsteps on the stairs told her what he was thinking.
Kaaren put her tiny palm on top of the book, now closed, on the table. “Ma’s book.”
“Auntie Nora’s book.” She covered the small hand with her own.
Kaaren shook her head. She peered up at Nora with eyes the blue of a summer lake. “Ma’s book.”
With a shaking hand, Nora pressed the dear little head to her chest. What would she do about this latest folly? Did Carl think she taught Kaaren to say that? Didn’t he know that she would never do such a thing? She leaned her cheek on the top of Kaaren’s head. But then, what did Carl really know of her at all?
Nora crawled into bed that night with a heavy heart. How could a day that began with heavenly singing end on such a sour note?
Chapter 9
Two days had passed and he had not spoken to her. Nora felt her temper simmering like a kettle about to boil over. She stifled the urge to slam the lid of the stove back in place—or the oven door. In fact, she knew if she stepped outside after the sun went down, her cheeks would freeze in the smile she forced past her clenched teeth.
She heard her mother’s soft voice. “Ah, Nora, do not let the sun go down on your anger.” But Nora knew that that had referred to keeping a happy marriage. And this . . . this contract she was caught in certainly could not be called a marriage in any terms she knew of.
But this is what you agreed to, the cool voice of reason reminded her. So you could go back to Norway, remember?
“Talking to myself, hearing voices. You think my mind is going?” The gray-striped cat in her lap looked up and yawned, showing white dagger teeth and a raspy pink tongue. She stretched her front paws way out, claws digging into Nora’s knee, then curled back up and resumed the rumbling purr that could probably be heard across the room.
Nora set the chair to rocking, letting her thoughts fly back over the last few weeks. Whenever she thought of Carl, his anger came to mind. Had she done anything to make him mad? Well, she tried not to, that was for certain, but he either snapped at her or ignored her. No, that’s not all true, she corrected herself. The English lessons have mostly been peaceful times.
Was it his sorrow that made hi
m so . . . so . . . she searched for the best word. Angry, yes. But lost? She stroked the cat’s back. Lost, yes, but more like an animal that has been wounded and strikes out at anyone who tries to help. She nodded.
So, what do I do? She let her mind float again, like a thistle seed caught on a summer’s breeze. The answer came strong and clear. Pray for him. Pray for him daily. Pray for him when he spitefully uses you. A verse from her confirmation time, part of the “blesseds” that she so loved.
Silence reigned in the kitchen, a peace that gilded each chair and shelf, that glistened on the stove, and sparkled in the window. Even the cat’s purring ceased. Nora felt that peace slip into her heart and fill it to bursting. “Bless this poor hurting man, oh my heavenly Father. Bring healing to his broken heart and bring him back to You.” She whispered the words, as if loud sounds might disturb the moment.
A meadowlark sang from the fence, its song fluting on the morning air.
Nora lifted the hem of her apron and wiped the corner of her eye. “Thank You.” The words had to squeeze past the lump in her throat. “I promise to pray for Carl every day. Amen.”
After supper that evening, Nora brought out her books and paper and put them on the table. When Carl came back into the house after having checked on the animals, Nora met him with a cup of coffee.
“Please.” She nodded to the chair she had already pulled out and extended the cup with both hands. “English lessons I want.”
“Nora, I’m really tired, I . . .”
Nora held the cup and threw all her heart into the smile. “Please.”
“Oh, all right.” Carl took the cup and sat down at the table. He took a sip and set the cup down on the table. “Let’s see where we were.”
Nora sent another “Thank You” heavenward and slipped into her own chair. She took up the pencil and wrote, “When do the roses bloom?”
Dakota Dawn Page 9