The Endearment

by LaVyrle Spencer

  She kept a close eye on the sun, gauging its descent, knowing when it rimmed the horizon, she had better start for home so she'd be there when Karl and James returned.

  Not twenty minutes from the creek she found the berries. They were fat and purple and thick as the mosquitoes that hovered above them. Never in her life had Anna suffered mosquitoes like this! She swatted and slapped, and still they stung her faster than she could swoosh them away. At last she was forced to move out of the thicket for a while. But Karl wanted blueberries, and she was determined he'd have them. She moved from thicket to thicket, continuing to pick until her pail was nearly two-thirds full and heavier than she'd imagined mere blueberries could be.

  The sun was as low as she'd decided she should let it get before starting back. She heard the gurgle of the creek and headed for it. The mosquitoes were coming out worse than ever now as evening drew on. But she tried to ignore them, carrying her bucket and following the meandering stream toward home, until she reached a sharp curve that took the creek northward.

  On her way out to the berries, she had not passed this bend in the water! Well, with the sun at her right, she ought to be going in the proper direction. But when she retraced her steps, she came to a fork where this creek met another, and they both seemed to be flowing due north. Their own little creek flowed south by southwest!

  The pail became leaden, the sun slipped down, dusk came on. Anna picked a willow switch to keep the mosquitoes fanned off herself as best she could. The tree frogs started up, and the mosquitoes kept it up. Finally, Anna thought she could stand neither the singing nor the stinging one more minute! By the time she admitted she was abysmally lost, the western sky was tinted with only a faint hint of orange, making the stark silhouettes of the trees loom like threatening black fingers.

  Karl and James returned from the Johansons expecting to find woodsmoke rising from the chimney and a pleasant supper warm on the hob. But the ashes were scarcely warm, and there was no sign of supper cooking. Karl walked out to the vegetable garden, found it freshly weeded. He walked to the new log house and stepped inside. It was dark, for the sun was gone. He could see nothing in the far corners.

  “Anna?” he called. “Are you in here?” But there was only the soft tittering of the birds, chirping through the partially opened chimney hole. “Anna?”

  He met James in the clearing. “She's not in the springhouse,” James said. “I checked.”

  “There is still the barn.”

  “She's not there either. I searched there, too.”

  Karl's heart began hammering harder. “She might have gone down to the pond.”

  “Alone?” James asked disbelievingly.

  “It is the only other place I can think of.”

  They grabbed the gun and headed for the pond. Why hadn't Anna taken the gun if she went out alone into the woods? It was feeding time for the wild animals. Karl knew the pond was the likeliest place to come upon any number of various creatures drinking—creatures with claws and teeth and horns and—But at the pond there were no animals. There was no Anna.

  He could think of no place she might be. Sadly, he headed back down the trail for home. James was on the verge of tears. He walked ahead of Karl and kept peering into the darkening woods on either side, hoping to see his sister appear out of the shadows. By the time they reached the cabin, the sun had fully set, and there was a scant hour of dimming light left by which to see.

  “Would she have walked out along the road toward Johanson's?” James asked hopefully.

  “We would have seen her if she was headed that way to join us.” Karl's eyebrows were blond question marks of worry.

  “What's the other way up the road?”

  “Nothing. It is only the trail that goes all the way to Fort Pembina in Canada. Why would she go that way?”

  “Karl, I'm scared,” James said, his eyes wide with bewilderment.

  “When you are scared is the best time to keep your wits about you, boy.”

  “Karl, I know Anna's been crying a lot lately.”

  Karl felt like James had taken a hot poker and branded him in the middle of his chest. He gritted his teeth together and stared. “Be quiet and let me think.”

  James did as he was bid, but it didn't settle his nerves any to have Karl pacing back and forth, rubbing his forehead and saying absolutely nothing. Karl built a fire, knelt before it staring. At last, when James thought he wouldn't be able to stand the silence another second, Karl leapt up and exploded, “Count the buckets!”

  “What?”

  “Count the pails in the springhouse, boy! Now!”

  “Yessir!” James ran out the door while Karl sprinted to the barn to see if there were any pails there.

  They met in the clearing again, and it was almost full dark by this time.

  “Four,” James reported.

  “Three,” said Karl. “There is one missing!”

  “One missing?”

  “If she took a pail, she must have gone to get something. What? A load of clay for chinking? No, we have already been down to the clay pit. Berries? No. She does not know where any berries grow—Wait!”

  They both thought of it at once.

  “You told us blueberries grow on the northwest corner of your property.”

  “That's it! Get the team back out, James, and ride to the Johansons. If Anna is lost in the woods, it will take every person to find her. These woods are deadly at night.”

  Karl rigged a flare of cattails for James to take along, lit it and handed it to him, ordering, “Get the Johansons back here as fast as you can. Tell them to bring guns and flares. Hurry, boy!”

  “Yessir!”

  Knowing there was no sense in going out alone, that one man could do little against these wilds, Karl forced himself to remain calm while waiting for James to return with the Johansons. In the meantime he continued binding the cattails into slow-burning torches the search party could carry through the woods. He tied them into clusters of eight, so each member of the party would have a supply to sling on his back. At last James returned with the Johansons.

  They wasted no time on questions, except for those Karl needed to answer to make sure nobody else got lost while hunting for Anna.

  “We will quarter the creek,” Karl explained, meaning they would walk at a ninety-degree angle to it. “Walk fanned out with only the distance of the torchlight between us. Never get so far away you lose sight of the torches next to you. If your torch goes out, signal the person next to you. If you find Anna, pass the word along the line. When we have gone as deep into the woods as I believe she could have gotten, I will fire a single shot. That means everybody turns to his right and walks eight hundred paces before turning back toward the creek again.”

  “Do not worry, Karl,” Olaf said, “we will find her.”

  “Everybody take ashes from the bucket and rub them on your face and hands,” Karl ordered, “or the mosquitoes will eat you alive. When you get to Anna, you will have to use your own face and hands to rub ashes on her. She will be in bad shape from bites, I fear.”

  They followed Karl and James into the woods, along the babbling creek, deeper and deeper, until Karl gave the instruction to fan out. They quartered the creek, walking in the buzzing night with only the far-off torch flickers to brave fearful hearts.

  Each of them thought of how it must be for Anna somewhere out here alone, with no ashes to protect her from the vicious mosquitoes, no torchlight to remind her there were others within shouting distance, no gun to protect her from the nocturnal prowlers ranging the forests. They strained their eyes and ears, called out until their throats were raw, their voices hoarse.

  Karl and James searched with frantic pictures in their minds of Anna hurt, Anna crying, Anna dead.

  Karl berated himself for leaving her home alone today when he should have insisted she come along. He thought of the cleanly weeded garden, and swallowed hard at the lump in his throat. He thought of their estrangement and the reason fo
r it, and of how long it had been since they had made love. He thought of James saying earlier, “I know Anna's been crying a lot lately, Karl.” He knew Anna had been crying a lot lately, too.

  Why hadn't he done as Father Pierrot so wisely advised? Why had he not talked this thing over more fully with Anna when he had the chance? Instead, he had not only let the sun set on his anger; tonight he had also let it set on Anna, lost somewhere in the woods with all this enmity between them. And if he never found her again, or if it was too late when he found her, it would be entirely his fault.

  Anna, where are you? I promise I will try to work this thing out of my system, Anna, if you are only here and safe. At least we will talk about it and find some way to work at forgetting it. Anna, where are you? Anna, answer me.

  But it was not Karl who found her. It was Erik Johanson. He found her not by spying her running toward the torchlight in the woods, but by spying the red eyes of the wolves, by hearing their nipping yaps ahead of him long before their eyes pierced the night.

  The wolves were circling the tree where Anna perched in terror, afraid her numb limbs would give out, afraid she would fall asleep and tumble down. Underneath, the jaws snapped and the canine mewls told her the animals were still trying to get to her by leaping at the tree trunk. There were only three of them.

  When Erik bared his own teeth and whirled his torch above his head, the wolves retreated. Still, all three hovered until Erik jabbed at a pair of red eyes with his torch, and at last they slinked off like shifting shadows.

  “Over here!” Erik shouted to the search party members nearest, then raised his eyes and arms. “Anna, are you all right?”

  Before she could answer or slip down the tree to him, she saw one of the wolves advancing again toward Erik and she shrieked his name.

  He swung about sharply, stabbing at the hungry, glowing eyes, singing fur upon the beast who thought his threat empty. At the smell, the animal withdrew farther into the woods to join the other two before they disappeared into the blackness for good.

  By this time another torch had come to help ward off the attackers, then another. Karl had stationed himself in the center of the flank, so by the time the word got to him, four other torches were there and Anna had been safely brought down from the tree.

  Karl came into the circle of torchlight to find a sobbing Anna clutched in the strong arms of Erik Johanson. Tears streamed down her face, rinsing it clean. Thin rivulets of tears and ashes washed down her skin. Erik had done as instructed, had used his own face and hands, rubbing them upon Anna as soon as he found her. But she had clutched Erik about the neck in a locked grip, which she would not relinquish.

  Erik looked across her head as Karl came into the torchlight, helplessly bound by Anna's arms, not knowing what to do or say. Karl was smitten with mental pictures of Erik's cheeks and hands rubbing his Anna's face. His stomach turned curiously tight, and he wanted to shout at Erik to get his arms away from her.

  “She seems to be all right,” Erik assured him, then his voice became gentler as he spoke near Anna's ear. “Anna, Karl is here now. You can go to Karl now.”

  But Anna didn't seem to hear, and if she did the words weren't registering. She clung to Erik as if her life depended upon him.

  Karl watched with heart so utterly relieved that the sudden release from fear caused his stomach to tremble. James came plummeting out of the woods to fling himself against Anna, hugging her from behind with his face against her back, fighting away the tears. And all the while Anna clung to Erik Johanson.

  Kerstin saw the way Karl hung back, strangely reluctant to take his wife from her brother's arms. It confirmed the suspicion she'd had all along that all was not right between the Lindstroms.

  At last Karl spoke. “Anna, you are going to choke poor Erik.” But it was Karl who sounded like he was being choked. He approached, waiting for her to turn to him.

  At the sound of his voice, she did. He saw her ash-smeared face wavering in the torchlight while she, too, saw his. When his familiar voice came from behind the gray mask, she whimpered, “Karl?”

  “Yes, Anna.”

  And still they hesitated. She stood forlornly, like a ragged, dirty waif, her face smeared and ashen, puffed beneath the gray from bites and from crying. Her hair was an explosion of whiskey strands and blueberry twigs. In the torchlight her red-rimmed eyes were frighteningly enormous. Her tears rolled silently and plopped off her cheeks onto her shirt, making dirty blobs where the garment hung loosely on her thin frame. She struggled to hold her chest still, but could not breathe without shuddering. The back of one hand came up and swiped at her nose, then dropped down forlornly.

  Never in her life had Anna wanted a person to touch her . . . just touch her . . . as badly as she now needed Karl to. Bitten, abject, frightened, penitent, she stood before him, her insides trembling, her limbs quaking, knowing she had fallen short of his expectations again.

  “You have given us such a fright, Anna,” Karl said tiredly, but relieved.

  Between sobs she choked pitifully on her words. “I wa . . . wanted to p . . . pick you suh-hum blueb . . . herries . . . fo . . . hoar your . . . suh . . . hupper.”

  At her wracked appeal, Karl was overcome by pity. Opening his arms, he clutched her against his thick chest, with James somewhere in the hug, too, and Karl's hard, cold rifle pressing into the back of Anna's head, pulling her hard against him.

  “The wol . . . wolves . . . ca . . .

  came . . . Karl,” she sobbed, “a . . .

  hand . . . I—”

  “It's all right, Anna. It's all right,” he soothed, but she went on.

  “And the . . . mos . . . mosque . . .

  heetoes . . . were . . . s . . . so bad.”

  “Shh, shh.”

  “I just wa . . . haunted to . . . get . . . s . . . some blue . . . berries for you, K . . . Karl.”

  “Anna, you don't have to talk now.”

  “The p . . . pail . . . spilled, K . . . Karl.”

  He squeezed his eyelids tight shut. “I know, I know,” he said, rocking her.

  “But . . . but the blue . . . blueb . . . berries.”

  “There will be more.”

  “The creek . . . it flowed north and . . . and I . . . I couldn't—”

  “Anna, Anna, you are safe now.”

  “Oh, Karl, I'm . . . s . . . sorry. I'm s . . . sorry, Karl.”

  “Yes, Anna, I know.” The tears were gathering on the rims of his eyes.

  “Don't l . . . let . . . me . . . g . . .

  go, Karl. I'm s . . . sorry.”

  “I will not let you go. Come, Anna, we must go home now.”

  But she would not give up her grip. She sobbed out of control against his neck until he finally handed his rifle to James and picked Anna up in his arms.

  Encircled by the torches, he carried her home. Before they got there, she was asleep in his arms, though her hold around his neck was as tight as ever. In spite of his stature and physical condition, Karl was in a quivering state himself by the time they reached the cabin.

  Everyone hovered after Karl had laid Anna down on the bed, wanting the best for both of them, hesitant to leave for fear they might yet be needed. Karl assured them they had done more than enough, and once outside thanked them all with handclasps and squeezes.

  Before going Olaf suggested, “Karl, perhaps we should not come tomorrow to help with the cabin. We can wait and come the next day. Anna is in a bad state and maybe would like to rest one day. You spend the day with her until she feels better, and we will come the next day.”

  Katrene advised, “You put a thick saleratus paste on those bites so Anna will not feel so awful.”

  “Ya, Katrene. I will do as you say. And I think you are right, too, Olaf. One day more or less will not matter. We will finish the work on my cabin day after tomorrow.”

  “We will all be here then, don't you worry,” Erik assured him.

  Each Johanson made a comforting comment as the fam
ily parted.

  Charles said, “You rest now and take it easy tomorrow, too. You can use it.”

  In Swedish Katrene said, “Now do not forget—saleratus will take away that itching.”

  Karl smiled and promised he would not forget.

  Leif said, “I sure hope she's all right, Karl. We'll all be thinking about her till we see you again.”

  Olaf said, “We will be here with sharp axes, bright and early day after tomorrow, boy.” He clapped a big paw around the back of Karl's neck, much as he might to one of his own sons.

  Erik lingered. “I am sorry you were not the one to find her, Karl.” His eyes said, she was not thinking of who she clung to, think nothing of it, my friend. Karl's eyes rewarded the young man with a tired smile, telling him he must not worry about it.

  Kerstin came last. She laid her hand upon Karl's forearm and looked directly into his troubled blue eyes. She, too, spoke in Swedish.

  “Karl,” she said, “Mama is right about saleratus, but I think saleratus will not fix all that is wrong with Anna. I can see there is something that needs fixing in her heart. Whatever it is, I think you could help her fix it, Karl.”

  “We have not been married long, Kerstin,” he muttered. “There are things between us we are still getting used to.”

  “I will not say more now. I can see you are troubled, too, Karl. Just remember, differences cannot be overcome if they continue to be held inside.”

  Her words were essentially the same as Father Pierrot's.

  “I will remember. Thank you, Kerstin.”

  Nedda was the only one not to bid goodbye to Karl, for she and James had strolled near the barn when the others crowded outside the tiny sod house. In the soft late-summer night they stood beneath the starshine. A whippoorwill called a repetitious song from the dark of the trees. Bats swooped and darted, squeaking in mouselike voices, while the cheep of the ever-present crickets scraped away like fiddles with single strings.