At last Søren spoke. “These windows must be ordered. Mr. Bailey’s company doesn’t stock them this size, and he only keeps a few in hand anyway. If you are intent on this . . . veranda? My father says it should be built last only after the roof is replaced, the interior work done, doors fixed and windows installed. He means to make you as snug as we can for your money and in the time we have and feels the decorative part should wait. We may not be able to get to it until late summer if we’re to do the essential repairs between plantings now. That’s about two weeks.”
Rose answered. “I see.” She couldn’t keep the disappointment from her voice, but knew she was being childish.
Mr. Thoresen was looking at her intently, so she mustered a bright smile and responded, “Well then, we will get the essentials done and not worry about the porch until later. But I do want it as soon as is convenient.”
Nodding, Søren picked up his tools, and the two men set to business. While they were working, Rose fed Prince and put him in his pasture. He looked questioningly askance at her quick visit so she relented, spending five minutes scratching his forehead and patting his neck. He responded by laying his muzzle on her shoulder. How she loved this horse! Finally, Prince moved away of his own accord to graze, and she fetched her rake, hoe, and hatchet.
Rose didn’t know how to go about clearing brush, but she could see what she wanted removed. Brian had cleared the front fairly well, so she widened the area, working around the side in narrow swaths. Each time she hoed down a respectable amount of grass or brush she would rake it into a pile. She made two piles, one on either side of the house. Her hands already stung inside her gloves, and her back protested when she would straighten, but she kept at it. The growing open space was her reward.
At midmorning, every loose board had been nailed down. Søren and Mr. Thoresen were making a list of lumber and materials needed and called for her to come and approve it. Aware of how dirty and disheveled she had made herself, Rose made haste to assure them that whatever they needed was fine.
“All the arrangements are made with Mr. Bailey—you can pick up whatever you need.”
Mr. Thoresen spoke rapidly to Søren in Norwegian and he agreed.
“My father suggests one of us take our wagon to town to get the lumber. There are several things to be done here in the meantime, so I’ll leave right away.”
“That’s fine.” Rose hurried away to the pump. With her hanky she washed her hands in the cold water. She removed her straw hat and tidied her hair before going back to clearing brush. A new respect for her hoe was in her eye when she began again.
She heard Mr. Thoresen working on Prince’s barn, the sound of his hammer blows rhythmic and sure, while Prince stood curiously at the fence watching what he could.
Rose’s brush clearing advanced to the back of the house. Again and again she brought the hoe down on the roots of the brush. The largest green roots required using the hatchet to cut through. It was satisfying to see the pile of brush grow and the clearing spread out.
Mr. Thoresen was working on the outhouse now, knocking the old roof off in preparation for a new one. Rose was happy about that, considering the leaky alternative!
For an hour more she labored, going to the pump to bathe her face and hands once. Her back was in pain, but she kept at it, hoeing down the “enemy” (as she now considered all weeds) and raking them into mounds. In her heart she knew she was overdoing it, that it didn’t all need to be done today, but she stubbornly kept on. She was struggling to get the last bunch into her pile when turning around she ran right into Mr. Thoresen. She was so surprised, she just stood there. He reached out and took the rake from her exhausted hand.
“Too much,” he said mildly. “Sit, please.” Without another word he took over her job.
Rose didn’t dispute with him. At the pump she washed again and went into the house. In spite of her dusty shoes, she lay down upon her bed and didn’t realize she’d drifted off to sleep until the sound of lumber being piled in the yard startled her awake. Her instincts told her it was way past lunchtime. One o’clock! She’d been asleep more than an hour.
“Ohh!” Rose’s back protested when she got up. She pushed herself up and, putting on her hat, limped outside. Søren and Mr. Thoresen were just finishing unloading the wagon.
“Have you eaten lunch yet?”
Søren laughed. “No, but I’m hungry enough to. We brought it in that pail, and I’m just getting back as you can see, so we’re about ready now.”
“Would you like some coffee with it?”
Mr. Thoresen knew what coffee was apparently, for he responded decidedly, “Ja! Dat’s gud.”
Rose went to get the water. Most of the back yard was free of brush and grass! In addition, the pile of brush was smoldering, nearly reduced to ashes. She checked the sides. Yes, both piles were burning. Mr. Thoresen had done it while she was sleeping.
Rose stirred up the fire and put the pot on. For her own lunch she sliced bread and cheese, opened a can of peaches, and served out a small dish. When everything was ready, she took a cloth and the coffeepot out to the larger tree and laid them out. Returning to the house she got her plate and three cups. The last item was a pail of icy water from the pump.
Søren and his father, both leaning against the tree, were waiting for her, lunches ready. They looked happy to take a break, and Rose recalled that they had already done the “choring” of their large farm before coming to work for her!
Mr. Thoresen blessed the food softly in Norwegian and Rose and Søren said “amen” at the same time. Then they opened their lunch pail. Rose was astonished at what they pulled out. Great open-faced sandwiches made of thick slices of meat, cheese, and onions followed by pickles, carrot sticks, sliced turnips, cookies, dried apple slices, two quarter-pie sections of squash pie, and a small cheese wrapped in a damp cloth emerged from that bucket. Tucking clean cloths into their shirt collars the two men began to eat. And eat. Rose looked at her bread and cheese. They had both devoured half their sandwiches and several pickles, carrots, and turnip slices when she nibbled her first bite.
Mr. Thoresen said something amusing to Søren who chuckled in agreement.
“What did he say?” Rose asked smiling.
“Oh, he said that the reason you are so thin is that no one has ever fed you properly.”
Rose’s cheeks and neck flamed in embarrassment.
Mr. Thoresen’s eyebrows went up and Søren apologized immediately.
“Mrs. Brownlee, I’m sorry—what he said wasn’t meant to be rude. Our women are so hearty that they eat quite a bit. Why, Sigrün eats nearly as much as I do when we are harvesting. I truly apologize if we’ve offended you.”
Rose nodded. After a moment she offered, “I’m not used to working hard—or even seeing men work hard and eat as well, I mean as much, as you do. I’m sure my appetite will get better out-of-doors. You see, I was sick a while ago and haven’t got my weight back yet. But I will.
Both Søren and Mr. Thoresen nodded in agreement as Søren translated what she said. Mr. Thoresen cut a small wedge from the wrapped cheese and offered it to her.
“Gjetost” (yay-toost), he stated. “Gud, gud for you.”
“Goat’s cheese,” Søren explained. “Our specialty from Norway. It’s very nutritious. We have five goats in addition to our cows.”
Rose sniffed it dubiously, but was afraid to offend them by not trying it. Cautiously she nibbled the dark brown substance. It was different, quite strong. She thought she could like it so she took another bite. It was all right and she finished the piece. “I like it. Thank you.”
“My father wants to know if you have milk here.”
“Well, no, but maybe I could buy some from you?”
“Yes, he says we will work something out.”
Mr. Thoresen spoke again, and Søren repeated it to her.
“He says if you have been ill you should be careful and not overdo it by working outside too long like you did toda
y, until you build your strength up.” Søren chuckled and shook his head. “There’s more, too, Mrs. Brownlee, and I apologize for my father’s boldness. He’s a very kind man, but he basically says what’s on his mind without considering if it might be taken wrongly. Please understand that his advice is meant in friendliness. He also says you are too pale (chuckle) and should work outside sometimes without a hat because the sunshine is good for you and will give you color—but, again, not too long at a time (another chuckle), and that you should eat more, of course.”
Mr. Thoresen was seriously looking at both of them so Rose thanked him demurely and valiantly ate everything on her plate, including the second piece of gjetost and several pickles and cookies Mr. Thoresen insisted on adding to her lunch.
Rose wondered if her sore muscles would let her get up when lunch was over. Finally the two men stood and stretched. They excused themselves and went back to work so she picked up the dishes, groaning as she did, and shook the cloth.
To her surprise, both men were in the house moving everything to one side of the room.
“We are going to paper and wall the inside,” Søren explained. “When your windows arrive in about three weeks, we can put them in. Meanwhile, getting the walls finished is important.”
“Yes!” Rose was enthusiastic and helped shift her few things aside. She put a chair by the back door where she could observe them. Beginning in one corner, they papered the front wall between the studs with black tar paper. The paper would make the wall “tight,” keeping out wind and dust. They worked quickly, being careful not to drip on the floor. The hot, acrid smell of tar was strong in the room, but Rose didn’t mind. She was having the time of her life seeing her plans unfold. After the men finished the papering, they cut long planks and nailed them lengthwise to the studding. Each board was butted up to the next one and made snug by a few soft hammer blows on the side, forcing it as close to the next one as it could go. As fast as they worked, they still only finished the one wall before it was chore time.
“We don’t work tomorrow, Mrs. Brownlee,” Søren informed her, “because it’s Sunday. But we’ll be back Monday morning. We’ll get a lot done since we have the lumber here now.”
“Thank you! It’s already looking better! And I’m sure I will see you at church tomorrow. Perhaps I could meet Mrs. Thoresen then.”
“I’d be happy to introduce you, Mrs. Brownlee,” he replied. They gathered their tools and lunch pail and strode down the slope across the creek and fields to the waiting cows and other chores. Rose watched them and then inspected her one finished wall with satisfaction. Not plastered as she would expect back east, but maybe someday.
Remembering again that the following day was Sunday, she opened her small trunk and unpacked her blue suit and hung it up. Some hand washing took time too, so she was busy. When she should have been thinking of dinner she was still too full from lunch, so she admired her wall again trying to envision all four of them done and the one room made into two, plus the other repairs.
The roof was bad too, they had said, but she had known that from Brian. Rose stared at the little square trap door to the loft and decided to take a look up in it. She’d never been up there. The ladder leaning against the outside of the house was heavy and awkward. By laying it down she was able to drag it in and lift it up until it leaned against the beam next to the door. She tested it gingerly, then climbed up. Hanging on fearfully to the ladder with one hand she pushed up with the other. The door was quite light and opened all the way over. Rose stepped up another rung but could see nothing in the murky darkness. She descended the ladder and fetched a lamp. Lighting it and trimming the wick, she carefully climbed back up. This time the dusty outline of the loft could be seen when she put her head through the door. She lifted the lamp higher for a better look. The room was small, because the low pitch of the roof used up much of the space, but large enough for the Anderson’s children to have slept in. Rose twisted around to see it all. It was totally empty but dirty. The amount of dirt had to have been from the cracks in the roof. Rose wondered why she couldn’t see daylight through those cracks. Brian McKennie had said that the roof had holes or near-holes in its boarding.
An enormous clap of thunder shook the house making Rose gasp in shock. Before she’d descended the ladder, hard, pelting rain was beating rhythmically on the roof and walls. She hadn’t even noticed the sky darken with rain clouds, but that was why sunlight hadn’t penetrated the loft. Rose was grateful her stockings were hung inside!
Deciding the rain shouldn’t keep her from taking a bath and washing her hair, Rose lifted the galvanized washtub from the nail outside the back door and brought it in, placing it on the floor by the stove. Next she built the fire up good and hot. Then she ran to the pump with both buckets and pumped them full. The rain was pouring down in cool torrents. Rose liked it. She stood with her face upturned, enjoying the sensation. This was something she had never been allowed to do as a child. She emptied the buckets into two large pots on the stove and made three more trips. By the time the water was hot she was chilled enough to really enjoy its warmth. Of course there was no way to actually soak in a washtub, but she knelt in it and rubbed herself vigorously with soap and hot water, rinsing with ladles of water from the stovetop. The heat radiating from the coal fire filled the room with delicious warmth. She toweled off and dressed in her nightclothes before emptying the washtub bucket by bucket. Next she ladled hot (not too hot) water onto her hair as she knelt on a towel before the tub. After washing and rinsing it thoroughly she wrapped it securely in another dry towel and finished dumping the dirty water.
It was late enough to be bedtime when she sat in front of the stove carefully combing and drying her hair with the stove door open.
Chapter 15
When Rose left for church in the morning, gray clouds swirling high overhead in the stiff wind painted the landscape with a dreary, colorless face. She was glad the buggy had its cover up; the rain seemed to hang back ready to pour down at the least provocation. Prince stepped gingerly through the muddy puddles and ruts.
Attendance was actually larger today than last week, and Rose nodded to several families not known to her. Feeling a little bit “the stranger” still, her eyes scanned anxiously for any of the McKennies. Mrs. Schmidt timidly said “hello,” while her four children stood solemnly arranged behind her. The smallest broke with tradition by pulling his fingers out of his mouth and waggling them at her from back of his sister’s skirts. Rose winked slowly and deliberately in return; he quickly hid his face in his sister’s dress, giggling.
Still searching for Meg or Fiona, Rose noticed Søren Thoresen drive into the yard with Mrs. Thoresen and the oldest girl in the buggy. Søren immediately pointed her out to them and Mrs. Thoresen made her way through the crowd to Rose, her face wreathed in smiles, Søren right behind her. Without waiting for introduction, Mrs. Thoresen took Rose’s hands in both of hers and spoke in Norwegian for several minutes. The whole time she talked, Rose couldn’t help but notice how everything she said was personalized; Mrs. Thoresen looked Rose right in the eyes while speaking and made her feel that they knew each other well—even though Rose didn’t comprehend a word! Søren finally got an opportunity to translate.
“Mrs. Brownlee, Amalie is saying she is so happy and blessed to make your acquaintance. Having you for a close neighbor is wonderful news because Mrs. McKennie is too far the other side of you to see often and is so busy with the new baby, too. She hopes that you will feel free to visit our home and to call on us for any help you may have need of while getting used to living out here. Just to start our friendship, would you please be our guest at dinner today following service? You could drive to our home along with us.”
Rose continued being held by this strong, outgoing woman during Søren’s interpretation. Deciding on impulse that she liked Amalie Thoresen’s gregarious greeting, she smiled back to her and replied, “I’m very happy to meet you also, and would be perfectly delighted to co
me to dinner.”
Amalie didn’t even wait for Søren’s interpreting services.
“Ja?” she asked Rose.
“Er, ja,” Rose responded.
“Gud!” She linked her arm in Rose’s and turning to the girl at her side made her own form of introductions.
“Miz Brünlee—is Sigrün.”
Rose and Sigrün shook hands formally.
The girl was very pretty—pink, beige, and blonde all mixed like pastel ice creams. She shyly bobbed her head but remained silent. Amalie caressed her cheek with her hand reassuringly, and the girl smiled in appreciation. When she did, it seemed to Rose that the sun came out.
Like an angel! Rose thought. That smile transforms her whole face.
They made their way into service together, Amalie taking Rose along with them. She still hadn’t seen the McKennies but service was starting.
Into the row of bench seating they filed; Søren, Sigrün, Rose, Amalie, three younger boys and the little girl followed by Mr. Thoresen. Mr. Clark stood to lead the singing, and Rose lost herself in the worship, listening and feeding on the verses of each hymn.
Whosoever heareth shout, shout the sound
Spread the blessed tidings all the world around
Tell the Joyful news wherever man is found
Whosoever heareth may come
On the chorus Rose hummed along, learning her way through the words and tune.
Whosoever will, Whosoever will
Send the proclamation over vale and hill
‘Tis a loving father calls the wand’rer home
Whosoever will may come
A Rose Blooms Twice Page 11