“Bargain! I said the bargain is broken by your deceit. I paid good money for your passage. What of that? Can you return it to me? Can you do that, or have I been fool enough to get you here and end up with no wife and no money?”
“I can't pay you back in money, but if you'll take us, both of us, we'll work hard. That's the only way we can pay you back.” She looked away from the genuine shock in Karl Lindstrom's eyes, the kind that comes from gentle rearing where black and white are clearly defined.
“Mr. Lindstrom,” James interjected, “I'll pay my way, too, you'll see. I'm stronger than I look. I can help you build that cabin you're planning on, and I can help you clear land, and . . . and plant it and harvest it.”
Karl's eyes bored straight ahead between Belle's ears. His jaw was so taut it looked swollen.
“Can you manage a team, boy?” he snapped.
“N . . . no.”
“Can you handle a plow?”
“I've never tried.”
“Can you lift a logging chain or handle a flail or fell with an axe?”
“I . . . I can learn,” James stammered.
“Learning takes time. Out here time is precious. Our growing season is short and the winters are long. You come to me unskilled and expect me to make you teamster, logger and farmer all in one summer?”
Anna began to see the shortsightedness of her plan, but she couldn't give up now. “He learns fast, Lindstrom,” she promised. “You wouldn't be sorry.”
Karl looked at her sideways, shook his head despondently and studied his boots. “I am already sorry. I am sorry I ever had such an idea, to send for a wife through the mail. But I waited two years thinking there would be other settlers coming, other women. In Sweden there is much talk about this Minnesota, and I believed other Swedes would follow me. But nobody comes and I can wait no longer. This you know, too. This I think you have planned to use against me to get your way.” He sounded sad.
“Maybe I did, but I thought you'd see that an extra person would be useful.” Anna picked at a piece of loose cuticle while she said this.
There was another point Karl wanted to make, but he did not know how to say it without seeming to be a man of great sexual demands. He could not imagine taking a wife to bed in the same room with a brother. If he said as much, Anna would undoubtedly be horrified. All he could do was tiptoe around the issue by saying, with his eyes now on Belle's neck, “I live in a house of only one room, Anna.”
Anna quit picking at her cuticle. She felt her face warming, understanding fully what Karl implied. His courteous way of implying they would need more privacy touched her. He was different from any man she had ever met. She'd never before met a human being who was totally good, but it looked as if perhaps Karl Lindstrom was. That goodness filled her with self-recriminations that she could not have come to him a better person herself.
Had Karl dared to look at Anna that moment, he would have seen a faint blush beneath her freckles. But he did not. He stared absently, preoccupied with another disillusioning thought. Suppose Anna had been wily enough to reckon on using their lack of privacy to keep her from performing the duty that some wives—he'd been told—found distasteful. This, of course, he could not accuse her of, especially not in front of the lad.
Karl only wanted to take his new wife to his little home, which was waiting in readiness for their return. There he would have had time and privacy to woo her as in any normal courtship. Ah, thought Karl, what a strange way we have come together, Anna and me.
Within the heart of Karl Lindstrom fell a heavy sadness. How he had looked forward to this day, thinking always how proud he would be when he took his little whiskey-haired Anna into his sod house for the first time. He would proudly show her the fireplace he had built of fieldstone from his own soil, the table and chairs he had fashioned of sturdy black walnut from his own trees. He remembered the long hours spent braiding buffalo grass into ropes to restring the log frame of the bed for her. How carefully he had dried last season's corn husks to make the softest tickings a woman could want. He'd spent precious hours collecting cattails, plucking their down to fill pillow ticks for her. The buffalo robes had been aired and shaken and rubbed with wild herbs to make them smell sweet. Lastly, he had picked a sheaf of sweet clover, its fragrance headier than any other, and had lain it on the spot where their two pillows met, in the center of the bed.
In all these ways Karl Lindstrom had sought to tell his Anna that he prized her, welcomed her and strove to please her. Only now that she was here, he found her a liar, perhaps not worthy of his lofty concern, a liar who brought a brother who would be sleeping on the floor on the night Karl Lindstrom took a bride to his bed for the first time.
Karl pondered long and silently, while Anna and James held their tongues. At last, unable to bear the strained silence any longer, Anna bit the inside of her cheek and said, “You keep me and I won't lie no more.”
Karl looked at her finally. There was the stain of guilt upon her skin, which in itself was pleasing to him. It told him she did not lie without feeling small at getting caught. Her cheek had turned the color of the wild roses that graced Karl's land in June. And, just like coming upon one of them unexpectedly at a turn of the trail, coming upon that rosy color in Anna's cheeks now made him want to pick it and take it home with him.
He was a man to whom loneliness was a dread thing. Again he thought of awakening to find the bloom of her cheek on the pillow of cattail down beside him, and his own face felt warm. He found he had been studying her golden freckles, too; they seemed to lessen the severity of her guilt. They made her look utterly innocent. In that moment he thought of her lies as childish tales, told by a youngster to turn things her way.
“You promise me that?” he asked, looking straight into her eyes. “That you will not lie to me anymore?” His voice was soft again, disarming.
“I promise, yes,” she vowed, matching his steady gaze with a steadiness of her own, matching his quiet tone, too.
“Then I want you to tell me how old you really are.”
Her eyes dropped, she bit her lip, and Karl knew he had her cold again!
“Twenty,” she said. But the color in her cheeks had deepened to the heliotrope hue of the prairie thistle blossom, which Karl had never desired to pick and take home.
“And if I say I do not believe you?”
She only shrugged her shoulders, but avoided his eyes.
“I would ask your brother to tell me the truth, but I see that the two of you are in cahoots together with this pack of lies you have cooked up for me.” The gentle tone of his voice did not deceive her this time. Beneath it was an iron stubbornness to get at the truth.
Anna threw up both hands at once. “Oh, for heaven's sake! All right. I'm seventeen! So what!” She glared bravely into Karl's face, her sudden spunk making him want to smile, which he carefully did not do.
“So what?” he repeated, raising his eyebrows, leaning back relaxedly—a cat playing with a mouse before sinking his teeth in. “So I wonder if you are the cook and housemaid that you said you are.”
She puckered up her pretty mouth tight and sat staring stonily ahead.
“Do not forget, you said you are done with lying,” he reminded her.
“I said I'm seventeen. What more do you want?”
“I want a wife who knows how to cook. Can you cook?”
“A little.”
“A little?”
“Well, not much,” she spit, “but I can learn, can't I?”
“I do not know. How will you learn? Will I have to teach this, too?”
She elected not to answer.
“How much housework do you know?”
Silence.
He nudged her. “How much?”
She jerked her arm away. “About as much as I know about cooking!”
“Can you make soap?”
No answer.
“Can you make tallow dips?”
No answer.
“Bake bre
ad?”
No answer.
“I guess that you have never done much farming either, or gardening or caring for a house.”
“I can stitch!” was all she'd say.
“Stitch . . .” he repeated, quite sarcastically for Karl Lindstrom. “She can stitch,” he said to the wagon wheel. Then Karl began talking to himself in Swedish, and that really riled Anna, for she couldn't understand a word he said.
At last he fell silent, studying the wagon wheel, his head turned away from her. She sat ramrod stiff, her arms crossed over her chest.
“I reckon you should've waited for those Swedish girls to come to Minnesota, huh?” she asked sourly, taking her turn at staring down the horses' necks.
“Ya, I think I should have,” Karl said in English. Then he muttered, once more for good measure, “Seventeen and she knows nothing but how to stitch.”
He mulled silently for some time, then finally turned to face her, wondering how a man of his age could take to bed a child of seventeen without feeling like a defiler of innocence. His eyes flickered down to her breasts, over to James, then back to Anna's face. “There seems to be a lot you do not know how to do.”
“I can damn well do anything you set me to, seventeen or not!” But she prayed her face was not flushed.
“You can sure cuss real good, but I don't need no woman to cuss.” He wondered how he'd survive the rest of his life with her Irish temper. He wondered how he'd survive another year or two womanless. All he said was, “I must think.”
“Sir . . .” James began, “Anna and me—”
“Do not disturb me when I think,” Karl ordered. James and Anna looked at each other out of the corners of their eyes. They thought he'd set the horses to walking, but he continued to brood in silence. It was his way, the way his father had taught him, the way his grandfather had taught his father. He spent time meditating a situation first, pondering before making a decision, so that when he tackled a problem, he almost always solved it. He sat quiet as a stone while the birds twittered, soft evening talk as if putting their young ones to nest for the night.
The summer evening imposed itself on Anna, and she thought how bird-talk wasn't often heard in Boston. There, at this time of day, came the music from the taverns opening for the evening. Already Anna found she preferred the birds. In his letters Karl had said there were more birds here than anyone could name. She wondered now if she'd ever get the chance to try.
“Anna!” he said, making her jump, “you must tell me now what other lies you have told. I think I am entitled to know if there are any more.”
Anna felt James jab her in the side with his elbow.
“I didn't tell any other lies. Heaven's sake! What more could there possibly be?” Oh, she sounded so convincing she thought she should be on the stage.
“There better not be more!” he warned. But still he did not give a clue what else he was thinking. He picked up the reins, started the horses on their way again and drove to the mission.
He pulled the horses up before the pair of log buildings with well-worn earth between them. The larger building had a crude cross atop the door, while the other had none. It was the school, Anna knew.
“I have much thinking to do yet,” Karl said. “We will sleep here tonight as planned, and I will seek the wisdom of Father Pierrot to guide me. In the morning I will decide about everything—whether to keep you or send you back to Boston on the next Red River cart train that comes through.”
Suddenly Anna realized the significance of the term, “Father.”
“Father Pierrot?” she inquired. “Is this a Catholic mission?” Already her mind was racing ahead, wondering how she'd get out of this one.
“Yes, of course. In my letters I told you we would be married here.”
“But . . . but you never said it was Catholic.”
“Of course it is Catholic. Are you worried that Father Pierrot will not be willing to witness our marriage because I am Lutheran and you are Catholic? It is all fixed and Father has received a special dispensation from Bishop Cretin to witness the vows we will speak ourselves. But think no more about it because perhaps we will say no vows after all.”
Anna was not sure which prospect scared her more, being sent away, or having Karl unearth her other deceptions.
Karl jumped down, tied the reins, then helped Anna alight. But this time, when he put his hands on her thin waist, he could not help recalling what she'd said about his always having plenty to eat. She was reed-thin.
They were greeted at the door of the smaller building by Father Pierrot himself. “Ah, Karl, what a pleasant thing it is to greet you, my friend. And this must be Anna.”
“Hello, Father.”
Anna bobbed her head while the dark-haired priest broke into an even deeper smile. “Do you know how this young man has been waiting for you? Each time I see him, all he can talk of is his Anna. His little whiskey-haired Anna. I thought if you did not get here soon, he would abandon that place he's always bragging about and run looking for you.”
Irreverently, Karl thought, you, too, Father, have a big mouth, even if you are a man of the cloth! Karl had been raised to have great respect for the clergy. It was natural for him to radiate toward the friendship of the only cleric within a hundred miles, no matter what denomination he was.
“Do I brag, Father?” Karl inquired.
“Oh, do not look so worried, Karl. I enjoy teasing you.” Eyeing James, the priest next asked, “And who might this young man be?”
“James, sir,” the boy replied, “James Reardon.”
“He's my brother,” Anna declared forthrightly.
“Your brother . . . mmm . . . Karl neglected to tell me you had a brother. This is good news. Minnesota can use strong young settlers like you, James. It is not a bad place for a boy to grow into a man either. Do you think you will like it here, James?”
“Yes, sir,” James quickly answered, “but I have lots to learn.”
Father raised his head and laughed. “Well, you pick a good man to come to, son. If you have any doubts about Minnesota, this big Swede will soon put them out of your head.”
Karl suddenly cleared his throat and said, “I must tend my horses, Father. You will perhaps like to talk to Anna and James about Boston and the East.”
“Can I help you?” James asked immediately.
Karl looked at the lad, so stringy, so lean, so young, so eager. Karl found himself not wanting to have the tug of the boy's willingness influencing his decision regarding Anna. “You go with Father and your sister. You have had a long trip, and it is not over yet. You rest.” The look in the boy's eyes seemed to ask, but will the rest of my trip take me back to Boston or forward to your place? Karl looked away, for he did not yet know the answer.
Watching his broad shoulders going through the door, Anna felt a sudden longing to please him for James' sake. James had never known a father, and this man would be the best influence a boy of his age could possibly have. When Karl was gone, the image of his sturdy back lingered in Anna's mind.
An Indian woman served a delicious mixture of corn and meat. Anna and James fairly wolfed supper down. From across the table Karl now studied Anna more thoroughly. Her face was appealing enough, but he truly disliked her dress, and her hair seemed wild and disorderly, nothing like the neat coronets of braids he was used to on Swedish women.
Anna looked up unexpectedly and caught him watching her. Immediately, she slowed her eating.
But the word “hungry” stayed in his mind, just as she'd said it earlier. Her shoulders were peaked beneath her dress, and her knuckles were large on otherwise thin hands, making him wonder just how hungry she had been in Boston. The boy, too, was painfully thin, with eyes that looked too large for their sockets. Karl tried to dismiss these thoughts as he ate his meal, but again and again they forced their way upon him.
After dinner, Father Pierrot asked the Indian woman to prepare pallets for his three guests on the floor of the schoolroom.
<
br /> This done, the woman returned and led Anna and James to their beds, while Karl stayed behind to talk to Father Pierrot.
Brother and sister found comfortable makeshift beds of straw and buffalo robes, and they settled down drearily to worry about what was to become of them. It was quiet and dark, the night rampant with unspoken thoughts.
Finally, James asked, “Do you think he'll send us back?”
“I don't know,” Anna admitted. He could tell by her voice that she was really worried.
“I'm scared, Anna,” he confessed.
“So am I,” she confessed.
“But he seems like a fair man,” James put in, needing some hope.
“We'll know in the morning.”
Again silence fell, but neither of them was remotely sleepy.
“Anna?” came James' small, worried voice.
“What now?”
“You shouldn't have lied to him about the other things. You should've admitted them when he asked.”
“About what other things?” she asked, holding her breath for fear he knew her worst, most unforgivable secret.
But he only listed the others. “About knowing how to write, and that I was the one who wrote those letters, and where we lived.”
“I was afraid to tell the truth.”
“But he'll find out. He's bound to find out.”
“But he'll find out too late, if we're lucky.”
“That ain't right, Anna.”
Anna stared up into the darkness above her, feeling tears gathering in her throat. “I know. But since when's right ever worked on our side?”
No, James admitted to himself, right had never been on their side at all. Still, he didn't think two wrongs made a right either. He knew what a shock it must've been to Karl Lindstrom to see him arrive today with Anna—a kid Karl hadn't even known existed! And then poor Karl learned that Anna was only seventeen instead of twenty-five, and that she couldn't do a blame thing around the place. James acknowledged that Karl had taken it all better than most men would have.
“What'd you think of him, Anna?” he asked quietly.
“Oh, shut up and go to sleep!” she exclaimed in a choked voice. Then she buried her head in her arms to stifle a sob as she thought of the bald look of innocent expectation that had greeted her on Karl's face. And of how he had helped her down from the wagon at first, and offered to buy her anything she needed in the store. Oh, she liked him all right. But at the same time she was scared to death of him. He was, after all, a man.
The Endearment Page 3