“He’s not,” the girl declared stubbornly.
“He has a son nearly your age. I was upset at the thought that it was the boy you had feelings for, but to even consider yourself in love with his father! Linnea, it’s absurd.”
Their troubled gazes locked. Then Linnea said quietly, “I think you just want me to end up falling in love with Adrian and marrying him. I really wish I could — I mean it, Mother But I’d better warn you right now, I don’t think it’s going to happen, not judging by what happened when he kissed me last night. Or rather, what didn’t happen.”
“Puh!” Judith huffed, releasing her daughter’s shoulders with a slight shove. “You’ve always been single-minded, and I suppose nothing I say is going to change that now. But you listen to me... ” She shook a finger beneath Linnea’s nose. “That... that man, that... that... Theodore? At least he’s got some common sense. He knows better than you that there are too many years difference between you, and you’d best accept the fact before this thing goes any further!”
But Judith Brandonberg might as well have shouted down the rain barrel. Linnea only turned once more to do her packing with a stubborn set to her shoulders. “I didn’t choose to fall in love with him, Mother. It just happened. But now that it has, I’m going to do everything in my power to make him see that what we’ve been given is a gift we must not squander.” She straightened, and Judith saw the determined look in her eyes. Linnea’s voice softened to a wistful, womanly tone. “He loves me, too, as much as I love him. He’s told me so. And it’s too precious to risk giving up, don’t you see? What if I never find it again with a man my own age?”
Judith’s troubled eyes lingered on Linnea with a sad, certain recognition. Yes, her little girl was growing up. And though her heart hammered in trepidation, Judith had no reasonable argument.
It was difficult to argue against love.
18
IT WAS OVERCAST the following day as Linnea rode the westward train. Beyond the window the sky was the color of ashes, but it couldn’t dull the excitement she felt: she was going home.
Home. She thought of what she had left behind. A cheery house, a mother, a father, two sisters, the city where she’d been born. All the familiar places and people she’d known her whole life... yet it wasn’t home anymore. Home was what tugged at the heartstrings, and the steel wheels were drawing her closer and closer to that.
When the train was still an hour out, she pictured Theodore and John already on the road to town, but when she stepped down from the car onto the familiar worn platform of the Alamo depot, only Theodore was waiting. Their eyes met immediately, but neither of them moved. She stood on the train step, clutching the cold handrail. He stood behind a cluster of people waiting to board: his hands were buried in the deep front pockets of a serviceable old jacket buttoned to the neck with the collar turned up. On his head was a fat blue stocking cap topped with a tassle; in his eyes, an undisguised look of eagerness.
They studied each other above the heads of those separating them. Steam billowed. The train breathed in gusts. The departing passengers hugged good-bye. Linnea and Theodore were aware of none of it, only of each other and their buoyant hearts.
They began moving simultaneously, suppressing the urge to rush. He stepped around the group of passengers, she off the last step. Eyes locked, they neared... slowly, slowly, as if each passing second did not seem like a lifetime... and stopped with scarcely a foot dividing them.
“Hello,” he said first.
“Hello.”
He smiled and her heart went weightless.
She smiled and his did the same.
“Happy New Year.”
“The same to you.”
I missed you, he didn’t say.
It seemed like eternity, she swallowed back.
“Did you have a nice ride?”
“Long.”
Words failed them both while they stood rapt, until somebody bumped Theodore from behind and said, “Oh, excuse me!”
It brought them from their singular absorption with each other back to the mundane world.
“Where’s John?” Linnea glanced around.
“Home nursing a cold.”
“And Kristian?”
“Checking his trap line. And Ma said she wanted me out from underfoot anyway while she fixed you a come-home dinner.”
So, they were alone. They need not guard their gazes or measure their words or refrain from touching.
“Home,” she repeated wistfully. “Take me there.”
He took her suitcase in one hand, her elbow in the other, and they moved toward the bobsled. He had missed her with an intensity akin to sickness. The house had been terrible without her and Christmas only a day to be borne. He had been silent and withdrawn from the rest of the family, preferring to spend his time in the tack room alone, where his memories of her were most vibrant. He had even imagined that once she got a fresh dose of her old life in Fargo, she might not come back. He had worried about Lawrence and how he himself would compare to any man she’d known in the city, how Alamo and the farm would compare.
But she was back, and he was touching her again — though only through her thick coat sleeve and his leather glove.
She glanced up as they walked, her smile sending currents to his heart. “You have a new cap.”
He reached up and touched it self-consciously. “From Ma for Christmas.” He stowed her grip in the rear of the wagon and they stood beside the tailgate, trying to get their fill of each other, unable.
“I love my book, Theodore. Thank you so much.”
He wished he could kiss her right here and now, but there were townspeople about. “I love my new pen and ink stand and the slate, too. Thank you.”
“I didn’t know you knew how to write my name.”
“Kristian showed me.”
“I thought as much. Have you been working with the speller since I’ve been gone?”
“Every night. You know, that Kristian, he isn’t such a bad teacher.”
“Kristian isn’t a bad teacher,” she corrected. “Not Kristian he isn’t a bad teacher.”
He flashed her a lopsided grin. “First thing back and she’s pickin’ on me already.” He tightened his grip on her elbow and handed her up. A moment later they were heading home.
“Well, you might think you collected the wrong girl if I didn’t pick on you a little bit.”
His slow smile traveled over her, and he took his sweet time before replying, “Naw, not likely.”
Her heart danced with joy.
“So how was your family?” he inquired.
They talked unceasingly, it mattered little of what, riding along with their elbows lightly bumping. Though the sun remained a stranger, the temperature was mild. The snow had softened, gripping the runners like a never-ending palm. It was pleasant, gliding along to the unending squeak and the clop of hooves. All around, the clouds hung like old white hens after a dust bath. They sulked churlishly overhead. Where they met the horizon, little distinction was visible between earth and air, just a grayish-white blending with neither rise nor swale delineating the edge of the world.
Theodore and Linnea were a half mile east of the schoolhouse when he squared his shoulders, stared off to the north, and drew back on the reins. Cub and Toots stopped in the middle of the road, pawed the snow, and whinnied.
Warily, Linnea glanced at the team, then at Theodore. “What’s wrong?”
“Look.” He pointed.
“What? I don’t see anything.”
“There, see those dark spots moving toward us?”
She squinted and peered. “Oh, now I see them. What is it?”
“The horses.” Then, excitedly, “Come, get down.” He twisted the reins around the brake handle and leaped from the wagon, distractedly reaching up to help her alight. Down the ditch they went, and up the other side, giant-stepping through knee-deep snow until they stood at a double strand of barbed-wire fence. Standing motionless they
gazed at the herd that galloped toward them, unfettered, across the distant field. In minutes the horses drew near enough to be distinguished, one from another. But only their heads. Their bellies were obscured by loose snow moving like an earth-bound cloud around them. Their hooves churned it up until it blent with the white-clad world below and the milky clouds above. The sight was stunning: a swirling, whirling mass of motion.
As they neared, Linnea could feel a faint tremor beneath her soles, a singing in the thin wire between her mittens. There must have been forty of them, their leader a proud piebald prince with streaming gray mane and thick dappled shoulders of gray and white that seemed an extension of the dirty-linen clouds behind him.
Sensing their presence, he whinnied and lifted his head, nostrils dilated and eyes keen. With a snort and lunge, he veered, taking the herd off in a new direction. What a majestic show of power and beauty they made, their hooves charging through whorls of white, tails trailing free, coats long and shaggy now in high winter.
No sleek Virginia trotters, these, but thick-muscled giants of questionable breed whose chests were massive, shoulders strapping, legs thick, beasts who knew the plow and harrow and had earned their temporary freedom.
The pair who watched shivered in appreciation. Absorbed, Linnea clambered up to the lower fence skein to get a better look. Balancing there, watching the horses thunder off, she was scarcely aware of Theodore’s steadying arm around her hips. The reverberations faded. The cloud of snow became dimmer.
Theodore looked up.
She might have been one of the unbridled creatures, reveling in her freedom. He had the feeling she’d forgotten he was beside her as she stood on the lower rung of barbed wire with her knees pressed flat against the upper rung, neck stretched, nosing the air, straining for a last glimpse of the disappearing herd. He wondered if she even realized she’d climbed up there. She looked more childish than ever, with a plaid wool kerchief over her hair, knotted beneath her chin.
But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she saw the majesty in the horses just as he did.
It struck him afresh, how much he’d missed this poppet of a girl in the childish scarf, whose nose was as red as a cherry and whose mitten rested on his shoulder.
He chuckled, hoping it would relieve the sudden tension in his loins.
She glanced down.
“Come down here before you topple over to the other side and I lose you in a snowdrift.” He took her by the waist and she leaped down. They stood for a moment with her mittens resting on his breast pockets.
“Wasn’t that something, Teddy?” She glanced wistfully after the horses once more. All had grown silent, as if the herd had never appeared.
“I told you we’d see them sometime.”
“Yes, but you didn’t tell me it would be this beautiful... this... ” She searched for an adequate word. “This awesome! How I wish the children could draw them, just as they looked, all mighty and snorting and throwing snow up everywhere!” Without warning she bent and scooped up two handfuls and tossed it over their heads. It drifted down on her upraised face while he laughed and backed off to avoid it. “Chicken, Theodore!” she taunted. “Honestly, I never saw such a chicken.”
“I’m no chicken. I just got more sense than some teachers I know who’re gonna end up in bed with the sniffles, like John.”
“Oh, phooey! What’s a little snow gonna hurt?” She stooped over, scooped again, and took a bite. He could gauge almost to the exact second when she changed from woman back to child. It was part of why he loved her so much, these quicksilver changes of hers. Nonchalantly she began shaping a snowball, patting it top and bottom, transferring it from mitt to mitt, arching one eyebrow with devious intent.
“You just try it and you’ll find out what it’s gonna hurt,” he warned, backing off.
“It’s just clean snow.” She took a second taste and advanced lazily. “Here, try a bite.”
He jerked his head back and grabbed her wrists. “Linnea, you’re gonna be sorry.”
“Oh yeah? Bite... here... bite it, bite it, have a b — ” They began struggling and laughing while she tried to push the snowball in his face. “Come on, Teddy, good clean Nort Dakota snow.” She mimicked the Norwegian accent that sometimes crept into his words.
“Cut it out, you little twerp!” She nearly got him this time, but he was too quick, and much stronger.
“Don’t you call me a little twerp, Theodore Westgaard. I’m almost nineteen years old!”
He was laughing unrestrainedly as they continued struggling in hand-to-hand combat. “Oh, how about that — she goes off for two weeks and comes home a year older.”
She gritted her teeth and grunted. “I’m gonna get you yet, Theodore!” He only laughed, so she hooked a heel behind his boot, gave one mighty shove, and set him on his backside in the snow. There he sat, with an amazed expression on his face, sunk in up to his ribs and elbows while she covered her mouth and rocked with laughter. He picked up one hand and peered into the sleeve. Snow was packed against the lining. He gave it a slow, ponderous shake, all the while skewering her with a feral gleam. He picked up the other hand, dug the snow from around his wrist, and eased to his feet with deliberate slowness. Linnea started backing away.
“Theodore, don’t you dare... Theodore... ”
He dusted his backside and advanced, leering wickedly. “Now she begs when she knows she’s in for it. What’sa matter, Miss Brandonberg, you scared of a little good clean Nort Dakota snow?” he teased.
“Theodore, if you do, I’ll... I’ll... ”
Unfazed, he advanced. “You’ll what?”
“I’ll tell your mother!”
“Tell my mother! Ha ha ha!” He came on steadily.
“Well, I will!”
“Yeah, you do that. I’d like to know what she’d say.” Suddenly he lunged, caught her wrists, and tried to knock her backward. She squealed and fought. He pushed harder and she braced deeper, struggling, laughing. “I didn’t mean it, honest!”
“Ha ha!” He took another step and she grabbed his jacket to keep herself from going over, but she was too late. Whoosh! Back she went, hauling him with her into the puffy pillow of snow, landing in a tangle of arms and legs and skirts, with Theodore sprawled over her like a human quilt. He fell to his side, one leg trailing across her knees while they laughed and laughed and laughed.
As suddenly as it started, it ended. The world grew silent. The weight of his leg across hers grew heavy. A pulse seemed to rise up out of the earth itself, through the snow, into their bodies.
He braced up on an elbow and looked down at her. Their gazes grew intense. “Linnea,” he uttered in a queer, strained voice. Snow clung to the back of his collar, his shoulders. She saw him for a brief moment, his blue hat gone, his face framed by the pewter sky above him, his breath labored through open lips. Then his mouth took hers and his weight pressed her deeper into the snow. Their tongues met, mated, warm against their cold lips while he settled full length upon her and she drew him in with eager arms.
When he lifted his head, their hearts were crazy, erratic, and they knew an impatience to make up for lost time.
“I missed you... Oh, Teddy... ” He kissed her again, holding her head in both gloved hands, and it felt as if the herd galloped by once more and made the earth tremble. The kiss ended with the same reluctance as the first.
“I missed you, too.”
“I kept thinking of how I was home, but it didn’t seem like home anymore because all I wanted was to get back here to you.”
“I wasn’t fit to live with so I spent most of my time in the tack room.” A dollop of snow fell from his collar onto her cheek and as he licked it away her eyes closed and her lips opened. His mouth slid back to hers, reclaiming it with a fervor that vitalized both of their bodies.
Reluctantly he rolled from her and lay on his back.
“I even thought you might not come back,” he confessed.
“Silly.” She
felt denied with his weight gone, and rolled across his chest.
“Am I silly? I don’t think I’ve ever been silly before.”
She kissed his eye, then lay with her lips there, breathing on him, smelling him — leather, wool, snow.
“Did you mean what you said at the station?”
“Oh, God, Linnea.” He clutched her tightly, closing his eyes, wondering what to do.
She pushed back to see his face. “Y... you mean, you didn’t?” Her fear sent another shaft of love to his heart.
“Yes, I meant it. But it’s not right.”
“Of course it’s right. How could love be wrong?”
He took her arms and pushed her up, and they sat hip to hip. He wished he could be young again, plunging into life with the same recklessness she had. But he wasn’t, and he had to use the common sense she hadn’t grown into yet.
“Linnea, listen. I told you I didn’t know what to do about it and—”
“Well, I do. I’ve thought about it a lot and there’s only one thing to do. We have to get—”
“No!” He lunged to his feet, turning away. “Don’t go getting ideas. It just wouldn’t work.”
She was up and at his shoulder in an instant, insisting, “Why not?”
He picked up his hat from the snow and whacked it against his thigh. “Linnea, for heaven’s sake, use your head.”
She swung him around by an arm. “My head?” She gazed into his eyes, forcing him to look at her. “Why my head? Why not my heart?”
“Have you thought about what people would say?”
“Yes. Exactly what my mother said this morning. That you’re too old for me.”
“She’s right.” He settled his cap on his head and refused to meet her eyes.
“Theodore.” She clutched his arm. “What do years have to do with this feeling we have? They’re just... just numbers. Suppose we had no way of measuring years and you couldn’t say you’re sixteen years older than I am.”
Lord in heaven, he loved her so. Why did she have to be so young?
He took her upper arms in his gloved hands and made her listen to reason.
Years Page 35