A Place to Belong (3 page)

Alfrid unhitched the horses from the buggy, slipped the harness from their heads, and held out the leads to Danny. “Suppose you hold Flash and Fury while I open their stalls and fork down some feed.”

“F-flash and Fury?” Danny stammered. The horses
snorted, bobbing their heads, and one of them looked right into Danny’s eyes.

“Don’t let the names disturb you,” Alfrid said. “They’re well behaved, if treated firmly.”

Danny reluctantly stepped forward to take the leads, looking up into the faces of the horses. Eager for their stalls and food, they were restless, blowing gusts of warm air through their noses. “Th-they’re fine, big animals!” Danny said, and gulped as one of the horses leaned down to snort at him with a noise that seemed as loud as the engine on the train. Danny squeezed his eyes shut tightly but held his ground.

He thought he heard Alfrid chuckle, but when he looked over, Alfrid’s face was as solemn as ever.

“I’ll take them now, Danny,” he said. “Just step back so they won’t tread on your toes.”

With relief Danny backed up until he could feel a solid post behind him. He watched Alfrid rub down the horses with rough sacking.

Soon Alfrid stepped from the last stall. “We’ll let them enjoy their meal before we give them a full rubdown,” he said. Pausing, he tilted his head and studied Danny. “You did a good job,” he added.

Feeling much braver, Danny said, “I can’t wait to tell Mike about the horses.” The realization hit him like a blow: he wouldn’t be seeing Mike to share the story with him. Tears burned his eyes.

“Come with me,” Alfrid said quickly. “I’ll show you around the barn and the yard. One of your chores will be to help me care for the animals. Tomorrow I’ll teach you how to milk a cow.”

“I’d like to milk a cow,” Danny said. Thinking about the warm milk caused his empty stomach to rumble so loudly that Alfrid heard and turned sharply toward him.

“When is the last time you’ve eaten?” he asked. “A real meal, I mean?”

“This morning on the train,” Danny said. “We had bread and apples and milk.” The cookies at the hotel had been delicious, but Danny had been too keyed up, and too flustered by the elegant surroundings, to do more than nibble.

“Not enough to hold you for so long,” Alfrid said. “Let’s take our tour of the farm later. It’s probably just about time for dinner.”

As they entered the kitchen, Danny knew dinner would be no hurried catch-as-catch-can meal. He inhaled a blend of the light fragrances of cinnamon and sugar and the deep buttery richness of roasting chicken. His mouth watered, and he gave a little moan of pleasure.

The kitchen was large and warm and tidy, with rows of cooking tools hanging on the walls and a pine cupboard with dishes and copper pans arranged in rows on its shelves. Centered in the middle of one inside wall was a huge brick fireplace open both to the kitchen and a room beyond. Through it, beyond the metal grate and swinging arm that held a steaming teakettle, Danny could see the legs of a table and chairs in another room.

A red-cheeked woman, strands of brown hair plastered across her damp forehead, her hands swaddled in toweling, pulled a covered dish from a brick oven and turned toward them. She was as round as though she were stuffed with pillows, and her smile was comfortable. “So this fine young man is the Danny you were telling me about,” she said.

Olga put her arm around Danny. “Yes,” she answered. “Danny, I’d like you to meet one of our near neighbors, Mrs. Ennie Pratka, who was kind enough to come and prepare a meal for us.”

“It was no trouble. Just a way of being neighborly,” Mrs. Pratka insisted. She put down the pan and hugged Danny with such enthusiasm that he was nearly smothered. Suddenly released, he staggered back. He saw the
mischievous twinkle in Peg’s eyes and knew she’d received the same over-abundant greeting. But Danny’s interest lay more in the steaming bowls and platters of food crowded onto the table than in Mrs. Pratka.

“Wash up! Be quick about it!” Mrs. Pratka cheerfully ordered.

Alfrid led Danny to a table in one corner on which were a large bowl, a pitcher of water, a folded towel, and a small bowl of soft lye soap. By the time they had washed their hands, Mrs. Pratka had lined up Olga and Peg behind her, Olga with a bowl of potatoes, Peg proudly carrying a bowl of applesauce.

“Alfrid, you carry the large platter of chicken, and Danny, you take the bowl of cream gravy,” she said. “Mind you, it might be hot, so be careful not to drop it. I’ll come back for the beaten biscuits.”

Without question they all obeyed her, and Danny had the strange sensation of being part of a parade.

As they seated themselves, Danny leaned toward the platter of chicken, breathing in its deep fragrance. He closed his eyes, delighting in the moment, but Mrs. Pratka firmly set down the plate of biscuits, plopped into her chair, and said, “Napkins in your laps, children, and bow your heads while Mr. Swenson ‘turns thanks.”

“Turns
what
?” Peg asked.

“Returns thanks to God for all His bounty,” Olga murmured, and smiled at Peg.

Danny willingly bowed his head, thankful, also, that Alfrid’s prayer was short. His stomach rumbled loudly again, and he pressed his hands against it.

“Amen!” Mrs. Pratka said loudly, and without pausing for breath, added, “Fill up your plates, children. There’s plenty for seconds and a good bread pudding for dessert.”

Danny ate as he had never eaten before. Mrs. Pratka was a little bossy, but she made up for it by being a fine cook. One of the reasons Ma had sent the children west
was so they’d have nourishing meals. Danny hoped that Frances and Petey and Megan and Mike were eating food this good.

He paused, a fork loaded with a large bite of gravy-smothered biscuit in his hand, suddenly unable to swallow. This wonderful food wasn’t worth being parted from the people he loved. He’d give anything to be back home eating boiled cabbage with Ma and his brothers and sisters. Nothing could take their place.

“Danny? You don’t like my biscuits?” Mrs. Pratka’s voice brought him back to the present.

“Oh! Oh, yes, I do!” Danny stammered. He couldn’t give in to tears. Not now. He took a deep breath and tried to smile as he said, “You’re a fine cook, Mrs. Pratka.” He quickly popped the bite on his fork into his mouth.

“Then have another biscuit,” she said, putting one on his plate and generously spooning cream gravy over it. “Tyrus—my late husband, may he rest in peace—was always partial to my beaten biscuits.”

Peg spoke up around a mouthful of food. “What happened to your husband?”

Olga gave a little warning frown to Peg. “I’m sorry, Ennie,” she murmured.

But Mrs. Pratka shook her head impatiently and said, “It’s a good question, and I don’t mind answering.” She leaned across the table to look directly at Peg and said, “Tyrus came down with the grippe, and it went into pneumonia, and he never got better.”

“Like our Da,” Peg said. “He was supposed to get better, but he didn’t. I was scared and we all cried.”

“Peg!” Danny muttered. “That’s enough.” With one fist he rubbed at the tears, which this time he’d been unable to fight back.

Mrs. Pratka shifted her attention to him. “It hurts a lot to lose someone you love,” she said, “and there’s no
getting around it. But life goes on, and that’s the way it is, so we may as well make the best of it.”

Danny could hear Ma saying, “And that’s the all of it.” The same idea. It made sense, and in a way it was such simple, straightforward advice that it made him feel better. He put down his fork, noticing that the other plates were empty, too. “I’ll clear the table,” he said, and scrambled to his feet.

Olga rose from her chair. “Thank you, Danny, but there’s no need,” she said. “Mrs. Pratka and I can manage.”

“But I want to help,” Danny said.

Alfrid stood and reached for a bowl. “We’ll all help,” he said. “The more helping hands, the sooner we get to the bread pudding. Do you have cream for it, Olga?”

“Of course,” she said. “There’s a cooled pitcher down in the root cellar.”

“Not anymore there isn’t.” Mrs. Pratka gave a hearty laugh. “It’s on the kitchen worktable now. I borrowed just a little for the biscuits.” Olga laughed with her.

Danny was surprised that neither of the Swensons seemed to mind Mrs. Pratka coming into their house and taking over. On the one hand, why should they mind when she cooked such a wonderful meal for them? But on the other, she dominated the conversation, and Danny was desperately curious about Olga and Alfrid. This was an entirely new life for him and for Peg, with a new home, new parents, and new ways of doing things. Frankly, he admitted to himself, this part was more frightening than helping Alfrid with the horses.

As he carried the last empty plate to the kitchen, Mrs. Pratka was still rattling on. “And oh, wasn’t Tyrus the one to save every little thing.” She pointed to a huge ball of twine on a shelf near the back door. “He would have greatly admired your thriftiness, Olga.”

“What
is
that thing?” Peg asked, looking where Mrs. Pratka had pointed.

“Olga’s one folly, but a harmless one,” Alfrid said. He tenderly put an arm about his wife’s shoulders.

Olga tossed her head, pretending to be miffed, but couldn’t help smiling. “Don’t make sport of me,” she said. “It’s just that I can’t abide to throw away the good, sturdy pieces of twine that tie the feed sacks and purchases from the store. Who knows when they’ll come in handy?”

“She ties them together,” Alfrid explained to Danny and Peg, “and winds them into that ball. We expect it to grow bigger and bigger until it takes up the entire kitchen. Then we’ll have to do our cooking out-of-doors.”

“Oh, Alfrid,” Olga said with a giggle. “Enough of your teasing. Who’s going to dish up the bread pudding?”

By the time the meal was over, the kitchen cleaned, and they’d said their good-byes to Mrs. Pratka, Danny was so tired he could hardly keep his eyes open; but Olga gave Danny and Peg a tour of the house, and Alfrid showed them around the farm.

That evening the fireplace in the dining room was comforting, the flames casting shadows that jumped in and out of the dark corners of the room. Danny spooned in the hot beef soup Olga had served them, hoping he wouldn’t fall sound asleep at the table. Even Peg’s chatter had come to a halt.

Peg dropped her spoon with a clatter. “I’m so tired,” she murmured.

“Of course you are, dear,” Olga said, and immediately got up to help Peg from her chair. “I’ll take you upstairs right now and tuck you into bed.”

“Better take Danny, too,” Alfrid said. “He’s about ready to turn his soup plate into a pillow.”

Danny pulled himself up in his chair. “I’ll help with the dishes,” he said.

“Not tonight,” Alfrid said firmly. “It’s up to bed with you. Your room is next to Peg’s.”

“Can’t Danny sleep with me?” Peg asked. At home all the children had shared the same bed.

“From now on you and Danny will have your own rooms,” Alfrid told her.

Peg’s lower lip quivered. Alfrid picked her up and swung her to his shoulder. “She’s overtired,” he said to Olga. “She’ll be asleep by the time her head touches the pillow.”

Olga picked up a lamp and went ahead of them up the stairs. She lit the lamp in Danny’s room, then kissed him softly on his forehead. “Good night, Danny. Sleep well,” she said. “There’s water in the basin so you can wash, and I’ve put your clothes into the chest. Your nightshirt is on top. If there’s anything you need, please call us.”

Danny nodded, glad when the door closed behind her. As quickly as he could manage, he pulled off his clothes, tugged on his nightshirt, and dove under the quilt on his bed. He’d save the washing up for some other time.

He heard footsteps going down the stairs and Alfrid’s and Olga’s voices murmuring together. Then in the silence, through the wall of his room, he heard Peg crying.

“Peg,” he said. “Peg, can you hear me?”

There was a snuffling whimper and a creak of her bed before she answered, “Yes.”

“Stop crying. It won’t help. And you’ve got to go to sleep.”

“But I’m lonely.”

“You won’t be if you’re asleep.” Danny’s eyelids were so heavy they ached.

“Come and sleep with me, Danny,” Peg begged.

“I can’t. We’re supposed to sleep in our own rooms.”

Peg began to cry softly again. “I miss Ma,” she moaned. “I miss Frances and Megan.”

Danny struggled to sit up. “Be quiet,” he said. “They’ll hear you downstairs.” He waited a minute, but Peg’s sobs didn’t stop.

“All right. I’m coming,” he groaned and slid from the bed, wincing as his feet hit the cold plank floor.

Danny stealthily opened his door. There was enough light coming from the hall downstairs so that he could find his way to Peg’s room. He opened the door and shut it just as quietly, stifling a cry as he stubbed his toe against the end of her bed.

Peg scrambled up to cling to him. “Get back in bed,” he ordered. Danny squirmed from one position to another, trying to get comfortable on her bed. “I can’t sleep here,” he complained. “This bed’s too narrow.”

“Don’t leave me,” Peg insisted. “We can pull the quilt off the bed and sleep on the floor.”

“Don’t be silly,” Danny said. “Here. I’ll curl up next to your feet. Just don’t kick.” He tugged the bottom end of the quilt over him.

“I won’t. I promise,” Peg whispered.

“You always do,” Danny mumbled.

“I do not,” he heard Peg say. If she said anything else, he missed it as, with a sigh, he dropped immediately into sleep.

Later, mixed with the dreams that murmured through his mind, Danny felt a pair of strong arms lift him and pillow his head against a hard shoulder.

“Da?” he whispered. Danny could picture his father smiling, nestling his chin against Danny’s curly hair. “Da,” he said again.

“I’m here,” a deep voice whispered. “Go to sleep. Everything’s all right.”

Danny could feel himself being tucked into bed, the quilt snuggled under his chin, and a rough hand stroking back the hair from his forehead. He heard the door shut and slid back into his dreams.

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