She found one in the ditch not far up the road. It grew in a ball. In winter it rolled before the prairie wind and caught on barbed-wire fences, causing thick drifts to build up around it. Come spring, it had to be manually dislodged. But now, in September, it was a perfect orb of tiny green flowers. A pair of blue-green bottleflies buzzed around it, and a fat bumblebee came to dip into its flowers.
Linnea leaned her drawing pad against her waist and began sketching. “Now tell me, Lawrence, don’t you find that a pretty plant? Look how the bee drinks from it.”
Coming over the crest of a small rise of land in the wheat field to the northeast of the schoolhouse, Theodore raised his eyes to the small building in the distance. From here it appeared no larger than a dollhouse, but as the horses plodded along the gentle slope he made out the coal shed, the swings, the bell gleaming in the sunlight. A motion caught his eye and he noticed a figure some distance from the school, standing in the ditch near the far corner of the field. Unconsciously his spine straightened and his elbows came off his knees. Beneath the brim of his hat his brown eyes softened and a small smile lifted his lips.
What was she doing out there, the little missy? Standing in weeds up to her knees with something in her hands, something he couldn’t make out from here. Such a child, dawdling in the ditch as if she had nothing better to do with her time. He gave a silent, indulgent chuckle.
He knew the moment she spied him. She straightened, alert, then lifted whatever she was holding to shade her eyes. An odd exhilaration fluttered within him as she suddenly flung both arms in the air and waved in wide arcs, jumping up and down several times.
He shook his head a little, smiling as he eased forward again, elbows to knees, and continued studying her.
Such a child, he thought. Such a child.
* * *
Linnea watched the three sickles cross the field, coming her way, but too far to tell who was in the lead. It was a stunning sight, and she wished she possessed the skill to capture it in a painting, in bright yellows and blues to duplicate those of the wheat and the sky. There was a magnificence about the men and horses, so small against the majesty of all that land, spread before her in vast oceans of undulating yellow. That they controlled it and made it bountiful increased her admiration. Something clutched her heart with a wondrous ferocity and the words of a song came with awesome clarity...
Oh, beautiful for spacious skies
For amber waves of grain...
Could there really be a war happening when before her lay nothing but beauty and bounty? And they said it was happening to preserve exactly what she was looking at. She thought of the flag she’d just hung, the words she’d just printed on the blackboard. She watched three men drive their teams through the thick stand of wheat. She breathed deeply. And leaped three times in sheer appreciation. And waved.
And one of them waved back.
6
LINNEA HAD SLEPT in a state of excitement. Awakening the first morning of school, she heard a rooster crowing out a reveille. Dawn promised a clear day through her little square of window. Downstairs, Nissa was making noises in the kitchen. Linnea bounded from bed with vitality and an avidity to begin the real thing at last.
She took great care with her hair, parting it down the middle, forming the tight twist that began just behind her ears and contoured her nape in a crescent shape. She donned her new green skirt and the matching Black Watch plaid shirtwaist, buttoning it high up the neck, then stretching the thin waist ties from front to back where she formed a bow before twisting on tiptoe to check the results in the mirror.
Though the skirt fit snugly across the front, its rear plaits were deep and full, billowing slightly across her spine, giving a faintly bustled shape that lifted the gathered tail of the shirtwaist. Seeing her reflection, she felt adult and confident. Still on tiptoe, she struck a pose, arms elevated, wrists gracefully cocked.
“Why, thank you, Lawrence. How I wish I could, but you see, today is the first day of school, and I’ll have a building full of children by... ” She suddenly looked down at her chest and gave a chagrined laugh. “Oh, dear, I’ve forgotten my watch. You’ll have to excuse me while I fetch it.”
Dropping the whimsy, she moved to the dresser and took up a dainty gold pendant watch that hung suspended from a delicate bow-shaped pin. Over its face was a paper-thin gold cover etched with an all-over design of roses. It had been a graduation gift from her mother and father and was the first timepiece she’d ever owned. She pinned it just above the fullest part of her left breast, then stood back once again to admire herself with pride.
Yes, now I look the part. Miss Brandonberg, teacher.
With a smile, she went down to breakfast.
The others were there already, the men seated at the table while Nissa scuttled back and forth between it and the stove.
“Well, good morning, everyone! Mmm... that smells delicious, Nissa.” Linnea sounded as cheerful as the wake-up rooster, and her step was sprightly as she crossed to her usual chair.
John pivoted in his, gave her a longer inspection than ever before, turned the color of a freshly cured ham, and seemed unable to find his tongue.
“John,” she greeted, dipping her knees in a brief curtsy. “Kristian.” She swung his way with a gay smile and found him wide-eyed and gawking.
“Good —” But his voice cracked and he had to start again. “Good morning, Miss Brandonberg.”
“Theodore.” She gave him her brightest smile, but he scarcely glanced up as he filled his plate.
“Mornin’,” he mumbled.
Well, what have I done now, she wondered. Probably nothing. Theodore was just being his usual bright, sunny self.
“It looks like we’re going to have a beautiful day for our first day of school,” she chirped.
Nobody said a word except Nissa, who came to join them and offered, “Sure does. Everybody’s here so let’s pray.”
Theodore again did the honors in Norwegian, and though Linnea tried several times to break the barrier of silence through the meal, she met with little success. She complimented Nissa on the breakfast, then brought up the subject of yesterday’s lunch.
“If I keep eating this well, I’ll be fat in no time. My sandwich Saturday was delicious, too.” She looked up inquisitively. “What was in it?”
“Tongue.”
Linnea felt her stomach lurch. “T... tongue?”
“Beef tongue,” Nissa clarified.
“Beef t —” But she couldn’t bring herself to say the word again. She gulped and felt slightly nauseated while four pairs of eyes slowly lifted to her.
“Never had tongue before?” Nissa inquired.
“N... no, thankfully.”
“Thought you said you liked it.”
“I thought I did. But... tongue?”
“Hadn’t you heard? There’s a war going on. We don’t waste no part of the cow around here, do we, boys?”
She could feel their amused gazes on her and suddenly felt foolish. Still, she had to ask. “Did you put it in my sandwich again today?”
“Matter of fact, I did. It was the only cold meat I had. Course, I could fry you an egg and put it in there instead if you... ”
“Oh, no... no,” Linnea was forced to insist. “I don’t want to make any extra work for you. The t... tongue will be fine.”
For the first time that morning, Theodore’s eyes rested on her for more than a flash. But they wore a glint of amused mockery as he said, “Wait till you taste Ma’s heart stew.”
A chuckle rippled around the table before the Westgaards returned to their eating, but Linnea found it impossible to take another mouthful.
Rising, she offered lamely, “If you’ll excuse me, I have some things to get ready for school.” She gestured limply toward the stairway, then made her getaway.
But not even the prospect of tongue sandwiches could daunt her later when she checked her watch and found it was at last time to set off down the road.
> Nissa was waiting to bid her good-bye. Kristian must have been in his room changing clothes, and the other two had already gone off to the fields. At the door, Nissa said, “Kristian says to give you this. I put a chunk of cheese in your lunch pail to bait it with.”
Linnea looked down at the mousetrap, accepted it gingerly between two fingers, and placed it on top of her grade book.
“Oh, he remembered. I’ll thank him when I see him.” She looked up and smiled, drew a deep breath, held it several seconds, then said, “Well, here goes. Wish me luck.”
“You won’t need it, I don’t think. Just make ‘em know you’re boss and you’ll do good.”
Linnea set out on her twenty-minute walk eager and happy, her step animated as she strode along the crunching gravel. Beside the road the tall grasses were sleek with dew, glistening in the low sun, bending toward her in lissome arcs that scarcely quivered in the windless dawn. Beyond the ditches the fresh-cut grains dried in the long-stretching fields like a woman’s freshly washed hair. And everywhere was the scent of harvest: a nutlike quality tinctured with the dusty smell of chaff that hung before the sun in gilded motes.
A red-tailed hawk drifted high on an updraft, its wings as still as the grasses below, only its tail occasionally twisting as it circled and searched for its breakfast. The world was resplendent, silent, its night sounds ceased in the flush of early morning. The sun was an orange ball of flame, hot and blinding, warming Linnea’s front but leaving her back cool. Even squinting she could not make out the bell tower of the schoolhouse only half a mile away.
She passed John’s place and studied the small weathered house behind its windbreak of columnar cedars. A number of black and white cows stood beside the barn. A flock of song sparrows fluttered about the latticed derrick of his windmill, whose lower third was covered with thick morning glories lifting their blue trumpets toward an equally blue sky. Halfway between the house and the windmill sat an old washtub overflowing with bright pink and white petunias. Had he planted them? And the morning glories too? She felt a stab of loneliness for the shy, quiet man, then saw a patchwork cat sitting on the back step washing its white face with a gray paw. Somehow she felt better.
John, she thought. What a simple, dear man.
Theodore. She frowned. Anything but simple, and certainly not dear. How could two brothers possibly be so different? If only their personalities could in some way be homogenized — John could use some of Theodore’s gall and Theodore some of John’s shyness. Odd, how in spite of Theodore’s boorishness — or was it because of it? — she couldn’t stop trying to win him over. There were times when she detected humor emerging, but always he submerged it. How many days could a man go without smiling? Without laughing? Did he never indulge in gaiety? Surely he had when he was young, when he’d had Melinda.
You just wait, Theodore, you old sourpuss. I’ll make you smile yet.
With that promise, she reached the schoolhouse. She paused in the driveway to relish the scene — white building, azure sky, emerald cottonwoods, gold wheat, birds singing somewhere in the grain, the awakening breeze brushing her ear, not a soul about... as if she were the only person arisen. Mine, she thought, filing away the memory, promising herself she would never forget these precious moments.
She walked to the concrete steps, touched the cool steel handrail, and opened the wooden door. Mine... at last.
She moved through the cloakroom and stopped just inside the double doors — everything was exactly as she’d left it. She clasped her hands beneath her chin, savoring the anticipation of her first school day. Golden light poured through the long, clean windows of the schoolroom. The shadows of the desks angled crisp and black against the unfinished oak floor from which Saturday’s scrubbing had raised the smell of fresh wood. The shade pulls swayed lazily, their rings creating shifting oval shadows that undulated across a row of desks. Between the windows, the lamp chimneys gleamed. The flag hung motionless. The freshly blacked stove awaited its first fire, the inkwells their first filling, the words on the blackboard their first reading.
And the mouse was sitting in the middle of the floor.
She laughed. The sound sent the creature scampering toward the front of the room. “Well, good morning to you, too.” She watched as it scurried across the creaky floor and disappeared behind the bookcase. “So this is where you hide,” she said as she went down on one knee to peer behind the shelves. She stood up, brushed off her hands, and said aloud, “I’ll get you soon enough, but till I do, don’t stick your nose out, do you hear?”
She sat at her desk, pried open the lid of her tin pail, and found the wedge of cheese Nissa had sent. But after she’d set the mousetrap, she glanced at the bookcase, back at the deadly steel spring, and at the bookcase once more. Finally she mumbled, “Oh, all right, just one more day.” She tripped the trap and set it on the floor, harmless, cheese and all.
Next she went outside and filled the water pail, lugged it inside, and transferred the water to the water crock. Last, she filled the inkwells then checked her watch impatiently. Fifteen minutes to wait. She glanced at the closed doors, tipped her head thoughtfully, then rushed across to open both the inner and outer ones, leaving them wide and welcoming.
From the door she studied her table. Then from her table she studied the door. She sat, clasped her hands on the scarred oak table, and studied the view: the west schoolyard and cottonwood Windbreak framed by white walls and cleanly dissected by the black stovepipe.
She was sitting precisely that way when the first three heads appeared and peeked around the stovepipe.
“Good morning.” Immediately Linnea was on her feet, moving toward them. Lars and Evie’s children. Each of them held a theme book and a tin molasses pail, and they all stared at her. The boy was freckled, his hair parted on the side and severely slicked down. His dark-blue britches were held up by gray suspenders, and the toes of his boots hadn’t a scuff mark on them. The taller girl held the hand of a younger one who tried to hide behind her sister’s shoulder. The two girls were dressed similarly, in flowered cotton dresses reaching their high-top brown boots, which were obviously as new as their brother’s. The younger girl wore a starched white pinafore over her dress. Both of them had their hair parted down the middle, slicked back into tight, neat pigtails bound by tiny yellow ribbons.
“Good morning, Miss Brandonberg,” the older two singsonged in unison.
Linnea’s heart hammered as she tried desperately to recall their names, but dredged up only one. “You’re Norna, aren’t you? Norna Westgaard.”
“Uh-huh. And this is Skipp and Roseanne.”
“Hello, Skipp.”
He nodded and colored while Roseanne stuck her finger in the side of her mouth and looked as if she were about to cry.
“Hello, Roseanne.”
Norna nudged her with a knee and the little tyke recited the obviously rehearsed greeting. “Good morning, Mith Brandonberg.” Norna leaned over and pulled her sister’s finger from her mouth, ordering, “Say it nice now.”
“Good morning, Mith Brandonberg.” This time it came out a little more clearly, but with the same captivating lisp as the first time.
Linnea’s heart melted immediately. She came forward, but not too near, afraid of rushing Roseanne. “Well, Roseanne, this is your very first day of school, I’ve heard.”
Roseanne pulled out her cheek and nodded, her eyes never leaving Linnea’s.
“Did you know it’s mine, too? You’re my very first students. And I’ll tell you a secret if you promise not to tell anyone else.” Linnea folded her hands, pressed them between her knees as she bent down, and confided, “I’ve been just a little bit nervous about meeting you.”
Roseanne’s finger came out of her mouth and she gazed up at Norna, who smiled down reassuringly.
Another figure came to the door just then. It was Frances Westgaard with a little brother in tow. Recognizing them as Ulmer and Helen’s children, Linnea expected to see two older brot
hers join them momentarily. But as the children filed in to meet her, there were no older brothers.
After an exchange of greetings, they all went outside, the children to the playground and Linnea to the school steps to meet each student who came. She kept one eye on the road for the approach of the missing boys. But minutes passed and the oldest one to arrive was Allen Severt, who sauntered off to the playground where he immediately began pestering the older girls pushing the younger children on the swings.
At nine o’clock Linnea was still short of her four oldest male students and went back inside to check her class list to make sure she hadn’t been mistaken about whom to expect.
But she couldn’t be mistaken about Kristian! Where was he? Scouring her memory, she came up with a face to go with the name “Raymond Westgaard” — a tall, angular boy who, as soon as he’d been introduced to her on Sunday, had gone off with Kristian. And the Lommen girl had already arrived — she was the pretty one with trailing auburn hair and stunning, long eyelashes — but where was her twin brother? And who else was missing? Oh, yes — Linnea checked her list — Anton. Tony, Nissa had called him, and Linnea had marked his nickname in the margin. Tony Westgaard, age fourteen, was missing, too.
Linnea drew a deep breath and felt her stomach tense. Were they putting her to some test already, the older boys? Deliberately arriving late the first day just to see what her reaction would be?
Thinking of Kristian, she found it impossible to believe he’d be part of such maneuvering. But it was ten after nine already and she still hadn’t rung the bell. Finally she looked over all the students and chose the one who looked the most sensible and trustworthy.
“Norna, may I speak to you a moment?” she called from the edge of the playground. Immediately Norna left the rest and came to stand before her.
Years Page 10