“Men coming,” sang Eloise from her watch by the corner of the house.
“Thank you.” Nilda set the pot of ham and beans in the middle of the table and returned to cut the corn bread. After dinner—that was when she would paint that spot above the door. Should it say welbekommen or good-bye or be only flowers? Or peace to all, or just peace? Only in Norwegian or in English as well? Joseph may not like my art, but this is who I am. This is what I can leave for him—along with a clean house.
Before they ate, Joseph bowed his head. “We will have grace.” He waited and then intoned, “I Jesu naven, gor ve til brod…”
Her voice caught in her throat and stayed there when she tried to join him. With the plates in front of her, she dished up the baked ham and beans, then passed the corn bread.
“I have rabbits from the snares cooling in the wellhouse. You will fix them for supper?” Hank reached for a second piece of corn bread.
“Ja.” That I can do easily in between the colors. So we will leave tomorrow. Will he take us to the train if I ask, or would it be better to just leave? That will be a long walk to town but not impossible. She ignored the voice that reminded her she would be carrying Eloise much of the way. She ignored the questions of where she would go, what she would do when she got there, and how a move would affect Eloise’s health. She just knew she had to leave.
With the men back in the field and Eloise sleeping, she fetched the cleaned rabbits from the cooling tank where Hank had left them in a bucket of cold water, and after cutting them up, dredged the pieces in flour and laid them in the skillet to brown. Out in the garden, she dug under the potato vines to find the new potatoes, easing out only the ones near the surface so the rest could grow larger. She checked the ears of corn, which were not yet full enough, closed the silk back, and pulled beets instead. She should can beets instead of painting. Pickled beets would be such a treat. She pulled extra, washed them, cut off the greens to serve separately, and set the beets to boiling.
Finally, she fetched the pots from her hiding place under the bed and sat down to mix the oil with pigments of red, yellow, and blue. The colors mesmerized her, enchanting her as she dabbed a brush into the blue to create a petal, then into the red. Purple, more red, so rich. When she added a bit of black, the color deepened. Yellow and blue made green, and a dab of the red-brown she’d created on her own yielded a rich brown. Her heart smiled at the glorious colors.
She picked up the kettle of beets and poured off the water to let them cool so she could slip the skins off later. Ah, fresh beets warmed in butter. What a treat that would be. Along with pickled beets, but there wouldn’t be time to can them if she painted her design. Staring at the paper she’d drawn earlier as a pattern, she eyed the wall. No words at all would be far simpler and easier for her first piece in such a long time. If only he had not spoken this morning, she would not need to be in such a hurry. I don’t want to leave, but how can I stay?
“Ma?”
“I am here.” She cocked her head, hearing a strange noise, like a giant humming. Curious, she left her paints on the table and stepped outside. The sound was louder outside and seemed to be coming from the west. She went around the cabin and shaded her eyes with her hand. Grasshoppers flew by and landed around her. And more grasshoppers. She turned at shouts from the men. She couldn’t understand what they were saying, but they were running in from the field. On the horizon hung a dark cloud, different from any storm she had ever seen.
“Close the windows!” Joseph waved his arms to get her attention. “Shut the windows and doors. Get inside.”
Grasshoppers began to rain around her, landing on her shoulders and tangling their feet in her hair. She brushed them away and headed for the door.
She could hear the roaring even after the windows and doors were closed. Joseph and Hank burst in the door. “Did you pick the beans?” Joseph asked.
“Ja.”
“They won’t get to the root crops.”
“What is it?”
“Grasshoppers, hordes of them. They eat everything in sight.”
“Not my garden?”
“Ja, your garden and all the oats.” Joseph sat down at the table and rested his head in his hands.
Eloise picked a grasshopper off his shirt. “Go fishing.”
In the morning, the land was stripped bare. The hordes had lifted and gone on to terrorize other farmers. Nilda stood at the edge of her garden, nothing showing above the soil—no potato vines, no beans, no corn. Her little trees were naked sticks planted in the circle of red rocks. Grasshoppers crunched under her feet, dead and dying, but not dead soon enough. Tears streamed down her face. “My garden. My first and only garden.” She wandered down to see the chickens gorging themselves on the bounty from above.
What would the cattle eat? The horses? Now there was no grain for winter feed. All their work, stolen by the devouring horde. Lord, You visited this plague upon the Egyptians, and now I understand their horror. But how do I praise You for such as this? Flinging her arms wide, she turned in a circle to see nothing of green.
“The land will come back.” Joseph stopped behind her and laid his hands on her shoulders. “Like the Good Book says, this too shall pass away.”
She laid her hand upon his. “How will you manage?”
“We will survive. The root vegetables will send up new leaves and grow larger. I have hay for the cattle. I will buy grain.”
The warmth from his hands stole down into her heart. “I would like you to take Eloise and me to the train.” There she’d said it.
“You are running away because of this?”
“No, I am leaving because I cannot marry you.” And to stay would be impossible.
“No!” Joseph’s cry broke over her. “You show love in everything you do and say. I can’t take you to the train. Can you believe me when I say”—his voice cracked and he swallowed—“I love you.” He stared into her eyes and whispered, “I love you.”
“But there is something else.” I cannot tell him. I must.
“What? Just tell me so we can go on from here.”
“I am not a missus.”
“But you said…”
“I know what I said, but there was a man in a house where I worked, and he—he and me and—and Eloise came to be. He never planned to marry the silly little maid I was then.”
His hands clenched on her shoulders.
She stared straight ahead, willing herself not to cry.
“I will kill the…” He unclenched his hands and smoothed her shoulders, tenderness in every caress. “Does he know of Eloise?”
“No. I left there and found a good family to work for. They will take us back.”
“No!” His cry rent the heavens. “By the God I knew as a youth, I swear that I will love you and care for you and raise Eloise as my own. I promise you, I will do this. As this land brings forth green again, we will raise our family here and grow old together. Please, Lord God, let it be so.” He kneaded her shoulders as he spoke. His voice broke to a whisper. “Please Lord, for Nilda’s sake, help me forgive my brother.”
Nilda listened with her eyes closed, her heart hammering in her chest. Could this be? Would this man talk like this, did he not believe it himself? Could she trust her heart?
“Yes.” She whispered it first to see how it felt. Her heart seemed to pause as it turned from hammering to singing. “Yes, Joseph. We will learn to love together.”
He bent his head. “You mean it?”
“Yes. I love you now, and I will love you more.” She turned and wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his chest.
When he tipped her chin up and covered her lips with his own, she stood on tiptoe to answer him, speaking love with her lips, with her entire self.
When the kiss ended, she smiled into his eyes. “I think it is past the time for breakfast.”
Grasshoppers crunched under their feet as they walked back to the house. The rooster crowed as the sun burst ove
r the ridge to the east, shedding new light on the new lives that had been promised.
“Tomorrow I think we will go to Dickinson to be married,” he paused, “if that is all right with you. So there will be no more talk.”
“Is that what happened the other day at the store?”
“Ja. I was mad enough to crunch them underfoot like these grasshoppers. I love you, and I want everyone to know it.”
Nilda smiled then laughed. “They would never say anything again, let alone anything bad.” She reached up and patted his cheek. “Before we go, I think I will give you a haircut.”
They’d even strung wiring for electricity.
Ragni stood dumbfounded, staring up at the disconnected wires. She’d never really thought it would happen.
“Just thought that since you are going to use this place, we might as well wire it now before we put up the Sheetrock.” Ivar stood beside her, pointing out the wall brackets too. “Took down all the wall boards. It was too damaged to salvage.”
“I can’t thank you enough.”
“Ragni, see what we found over here.” Erika grabbed her hand and dragged her back to the kitchen. “Look.”
Ragni followed her pointing finger to see a faded painting, a rose-maling design right above the door. “I’ve seen those in pictures of Norwegian houses. Nilda painted that, like she did the cupboards. Did you show them those?”
“Yep. Myra says she knows Aida Gardner in town has some of her paintings. We’ll be able to see them.” Erika backed out of the way as Paul and his brother carried in sheets of white Sheetrock and leaned them against the far wall. “Did you call Mom?”
“No, I called Grammy.” Ragni softened her voice. “Honey, she had to put Poppa in the nursing home yesterday.”
“When will he be able to come home again?”
Ragni swallowed. “He won’t.”
Erika stared at her, lips quivering. With a cry she threw herself into Ragni’s arms. “But that’s so not fair.”
Ragni patted her back and murmured loving auntie things into her ear, trying to hide her own tears in Erika’s hair. “It’ll be all right.” She thought about what she said. No, it won’t be all right. Dad will never be all right again. He will die bit by bit, and well have to watch that happen. Surely a heart attack would be a more humane way to go. She’d already asked God why He allowed this to happen. He’d not answered.
Myra came over and wrapped her arms around both of them. “You poor dears. This is one of the hardest things to go through in life, far worse than a quick death. My heart bleeds for your mother and all of you.”
When the tears finally dried, Ragni wandered into the bedrooms where she could hear men talking and using the nail gun. She found Paul and Ryan holding up the Sheetrock as Matt nailed the sheets in place. The sound of the generator motor resonated from the end of the house.
“You guys are fast.”
“Thanks. Keep that in mind when you’re with my brother.” Matt, the man with the nail gun, unplugged the power cord to reload the tool, then replugged it in, set the point back against the ceiling, and pushed the trigger. “Dad started on the floor in there yet?”
“About to,” Ragni said. “Can I get you guys anything?”
“Ask Mom to go get a fan,” Paul suggested. “It’s getting hotter in here by the minute, and we can plug more than one thing into this generator.”
“Anything else?”
“Cold water.”
Ragni did as they said, and Myra drove off in one of the trucks. Erika and two of her new friends were loading the torn-out walls and flooring into a trailer, laughing at something not heard over the blaring of a boom box. Ragni watched them for a moment when Erika turned to wave her over.
“Did you see where the hole used to be?”
“No, what happened?”
“Paul said it most likely was a badger hole, and we filled it in.”
“What about the badger?”
“No one home and now they can’t get under there.”
Not snakes either. The thought brought a further measure of relief. “That’s great.”
She returned to the house to find Ivar asking for her. “Ragni?”
She joined him along the wall to the bedroom where he was laying out the twelve-inch-square vinyl tiles. “How can I help you?” she asked.
“If you peel them, I can stick them in place faster.” He pointed to the box of flooring tiles.
“Good enough.” She peeled off the first backing and handed the piece to him. “I helped my dad lay vinyl at their house, only we did the full sheet kind. Cutting that was a real pain. He was so precise.”
“That way is best, but since this place won’t be used year round, this will work fine. Getting the power in here will make a big difference.”
“You think we could run water here too?”
“Don’t know why not. The old well is no longer usable, but drilling a well isn’t too bad here. The water table is pretty high.”
“Something to think about.”
Why couldn’t I live here year around? The thought flared like a sparkler. Don’t be silly. You live in Chicago. But I don’t have a job there now. And when should I tell Erika about that? Peeling more backings off the squares, she let her thoughts roam. She’d not allowed herself to think of her new life on the drive back to the cabin with Paul, thoughts of her mother and father taking precedence. Now her thoughts went back to her former employer. She had more years with the company than Helene, who was telling her what her options were. So who did she sleep with to get where she was? Ragni Clauson, that is a totally unchristian thought. You know better than that. Okay, that’s it. No more wondering, other than sending a letter to ask someone to box up my stuff.
“Ragni?”
“I’ll be right back.” She turned at the call and headed outside.
“When we’re done here, we can go swimming, right?” Erika asked.
“Far as I’m concerned.” Ragni nodded and smiled. “You’ve done a good job.” The pile of trash was almost completely in the trailer. She glanced up at the roof to find two young men prying loose the shingles and tossing them to the ground.
“We’ll pick those up later,” Erika promised.
Paul came up behind her. She could feel him even before he said anything.
“This way they can start with the new roofing immediately in the morning, not have to take off the old first. Should be able to finish it in one day, even with replacing some of the sheeting.”
If she leaned back the slightest, she would… Ragni turned slightly and smiled up at him. “That’s wonderful.”
“Hey, Uncle Paul, what do you think?” Ryan swept the area with his arm.
“I think that when you finish, you should all go swimming.” Paul grinned at their exuberant response. “That sure made me popular.”
She didn’t tell him she’d already said the same thing. “I’d better get back to peeling squares.”
“Mom is helping him. They’ve done things like that together for so many years, they’re like two arms on a giant, and in their case the left hand indeed knows what the right hand is doing.” He stuck his hands in his back pockets, his elbow bumping against her back and settling there. He lowered his voice. “You worrying about your decision?”
“Not worrying so much but still a little ticked off.”
“You should be. They done you wrong.” He paused and somehow melted closer. “Since you quit, you could stay here.”
He said that to me earlier today. Hmm. “What would I do for a job?”
“Cost of living is far less.”
“But living still costs.”
“I know. Do you believe God has a plan in all this?”
“Yes.” Then she repeated with more emphasis, “Yes, I do.”
“Paul!” came a voice from the cabin.
“They’re calling me. Just can’t manage without me.”
“Right.” They turned and headed back into the house. But wh
at is that plan? And when will I know it? Since Myra and Ivar were laying tile as fast as possible, Ragni admired the section they’d finished and then moved her easel and small table back in front of the south windows. The sun caught the deep colors in Storm and made her stop and stare. The painting was more than she’d dreamed. For the first time, a painting of hers had taken on a life of its own and now glowed with tumult and power. The paint shimmered before her, as if seen through a sheen of tears. She spread her fingers and stared down at her hands, then back to the canvas. Was this a picture of her inner self? Had she translated it onto canvas? Right now it most certainly felt like it.
She set the painting of the cattle on the other easel and moved it to the light also. While it didn’t have the power of Storm, it still showed a depth and feeling her paintings of earlier years didn’t have. She’d always had good technical skills, but the emotion—the life— just hadn’t been there. Both of these glowed and pulsed with life, even to the trees and grasses.
“I can smell the watering hole on that one.” Myra pointed to the cattle picture. “And hear the thunder in that one.”
Ragni fought to keep her voice steady. “That’s the most wonderful compliment you could ever pay me.”
“Perhaps. We shall see. Do you have a lot of other paintings?”
“I haven’t painted for ten years.” Hard to believe it was that long, but it was.
“Why?”
“No time, my job.” She shrugged and thought deeper. Because I never had the touch. And without it, I knew I could never be more than a hack. And I could make a living in advertising. A good living. I even have a pretty good nest egg. How long can I live on it?
“I hope you don’t stop again.”
“I wanted to make Storm on a larger canvas.” Ragni studied the painting again. “Even bought the stretchers and canvas to do it. But it wouldn’t fit in my car.” She snorted. “Any excuse is a good excuse.”
“I’ve never seen Paul happier.”
Ragni turned to stare at this woman who was still studying the paintings. “What?”
The Brushstroke Legacy Page 30