Blessing in Disguise (33 page)

Thorliff studied the telegram. “Ipswich, South Dakota. That’s where the message originated. He says, ‘Found someone who knows of Augusta stop She is married stop More when I know stop.’ ” Thorliff handed Bridget the paper. “That’s all.”

Bridget sank down in a nearby chair. “Ja, well, if she is married, she surely won’t be coming here, but why didn’t she write and tell me?” Her heart clenched in sorrow. She rubbed her chest with one hand and pleated her apron with the other. What had happened? Would she ever see her remaining daughter again?

“Are you all right, Bestemor?” Thorliff laid a hand on her shoulder.

She looked up at this tall grandson of hers. He had his father’s eyes and chin, and his hair was darkening as he grew older, just as Roald’s had. If he continued to grow as he had been, he would have the stature of his father also. While Roald had a good head on his shoulders, this son of his teetered on the brink of brilliant, at least according to Pastor Solberg.

“Bestemor?” Thorliff leaned closer, looking deep into her eyes, concern evident in his every gesture.

“Ah, not to worry. Just getting lost in my thoughts there for a moment.” Bridget patted his hand and heaved herself to her feet. “Don’t let an old woman’s wanderings worry you, son. The news was just a bit of a shock, that’s all.” She pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen, calling over her shoulders as she went, “Cookies are hot out of the oven, Thorliff. You want to take some home with you?”

The grin he gave her made her add, “Now, you make sure some of them get as far as Andrew and Astrid, you hear?” She pinched his rosy cheek and chuckled as she filled one of Metiz’ low baskets, covered it with a clean white cloth, and handed him the handle. “You have Jack here, ja?”

“Yep, Pa says we’re going to get a riding horse one of these days, maybe from Zeb, if he ever gets back, that is.” Thorliff paused in the doorway. “Sure wish I was with him scouting Montana. Leastways that’s what Manda said he’s doing.”

“Tell your mor about the telegram. She’ll be wanting to know.”

“And Tante Kaaren?”

“Yes. Was there a telegram for Penny?”

“Not that I know of.” He filched another cookie from the cooling rack.

Bridget fished the missive from her pocket. “Drop this off for her, then, on your way by.”

“So what . . . ?” Goodie raised one eyebrow.

Eulah stopped what she was doing and looked to Bridget.

Only the wood snapping in the stove broke the silence. Bridget sighed. “My Augusta is married.”

“Wh-what?” Goodie dusted the flour off her hands. “Bridget Bjorklund, you just sit right down there till I fetch you a cup of coffee.” She motioned to Eulah, who took three cups from the cupboard and set them on the table while Goodie brought the coffeepot. As soon as she poured, she took Bridget by the arm and guided her to the chair as if she’d suddenly become fragile and unable to do for herself.

Bridget sank and sighed at the same time. “That’s what the telegram said. Hjelmer sent it from Ipswich, South Dakota—wherever in the world that is. He said he’d learned of Augusta there. I was so excited until Thorliff read the next line. She’s married. More will come later.” She propped her cup between both hands. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

“Well, my land.” Goodie looked to Eulah, shaking her head all the while. “Did you ever hear of such goings-on?”

Eulah shook her head, the tails of the kerchief she wore over her kinky black hair bobbing in the motion. “Might be somethin’ bad happen to dat girl.”

“What if she was kidnapped or something? Forced to marry? Land, what is this world coming to?”

Eulah squinted her eyes. “Dat Hjelmer, he go to fixin’ dis. Dat man wrong his sister. He wrong dat man.”

Bridget stared at the woman who spoke so assuredly. “How do you know that?”

“It’s true, ain’t it?”

“Ja, my Hjelmer, he is a fixer all right, but how did you know?”

“Years ago when he worked on the railroad wid mah Sam, he took care of dat ol’ darkie. Made sure dey was food to eat and a place to sleep. Sam said he owed his life to Mr. Hjelmer. And now we’s here in Blessing, we ain’t never had it so good. All of us together, workin’, playin’, little’uns in da house, jest one big happy family. First time in years.”

Bridget reached across the table and covered Eulah’s hand with her own. “You said just the things I needed to hear. Mange takk from the bottom of my old Norwegian heart.” She drained her coffee cup and got to her feet. “Well, we better get back to business here, or we’ll have some mighty unhappy guests pounding on the tables out there. Anyone seen Ilse in the last hour or so? And Lemuel? Where is he? We’re going to need some more wood split. That stack out back is getting mighty low.”

“That’s because Henry hasn’t been around for weeks.”

Seems more like months
, Bridget thought but refrained from saying. Once Goodie got an idea what she was thinking, it would be all over Blessing before a dish towel could dry on a July day in a stiff breeze.

“Bridget?”

“Ja, Penny, I’m back here.”

The door swung open as if blown in by a northerly. “I give up. That man is never coming home!”

“I’m sorry. He’s trying so hard to find Augusta, and you know how much that means to me.”

“I know, and I want him to find her too, but . . .” Penny hung her shawl over the back of a chair. “Brr, but it’s getting cold outside. On top of that, big, I mean
big
crates arrived today. You should have seen Sam’s eyes light up. You ever heard of windmills?” At the shake of the others’ heads, Penny did the same. “That man can find more things to buy.”

“And he’ll make money with them too. He’s got the Midas touch, that man.” Goodie dusted off her hands. “I better see that those tables are ready. Eulah, you want to slice the bread?” Goodie left by the same door Penny entered.

Lemuel came through the back door with a gust of wind and dropped his armload of wood into the woodbox. “Mistah Olaf said we could have snow soon. I ’bout froze out there choppin’ da wood.”

“Chop fast, den. It warm you right up.” Eulah waved her knife in the air. “Is Laban and Mary Jane home doin’ der studyin?”

Her boy nodded. “An sissy is out to Bjorklunds’ helpin’ wit da cheese. She said she not be home for suppah.”

“You tell those young’uns and Sam to come here for supper.” Bridget turned from forking the potatoes to see if they were done. “We got plenty.”

“Thank’ee Miz Bridget.” Eulah went back to slicing bread. “Lemuel, you run on and fetch dem.
After
you chop more wood.”

“Penny, you stay too. No sense going home to a lonely supper.”

“Mor, you’ll go broke feeding half the town like this.” But Penny put on an apron and pitched in with the supper preparation. “When’s Henry coming back?”

“How should I know? I ain’t his keeper.”

“Oh, s-o-r-r-y.” Penny took a step backward. “I think you and me are in the same boat. Our men off somewhere else while we’re here.”

“He’s not my man.” Bridget’s fork hit the counter with a clatter.

Penny and Eulah exchanged looks that said,
Oh me, something sure put a flea in her ear
.

“Maybe I better just go out and come in again, or maybe I better just go out.” Penny stabbed the last pickle in the jar and quartered it into the serving dish.

“Oh, shush.” But the smile on Bridget’s face said she knew exactly what Penny was doing.
All this so I don’t go worrying on about Augusta. Thank you, Lord, for my friends and family. Oh, you can call me blessed. And thank you my girl is alive
.

Since they only had three boarders in for supper, everyone ate around the tables in the dining room. When Eulah tried to say her family would eat in the kitchen, Bridget gave her a glare that said otherwise.

“I learned me a poem today,” Laban said, his grin enough to light the room without the kerosene lamps.

“So what is it?” Penny sat next to the children, or they sat next to her. Whenever there were children in the vicinity, they gravitated to her side.

“He cain’t say it all yet.” His sister rolled her eyes and shook her head, setting her pigtails to flapping.

“I can too.

“ ‘Under the spreading chestnut tree,
The village smithy stands.
The smith a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands.’

“Like mah Uncle Sam, huh, Miss Penny?”

Sam raised his hands. “Might be large to you, son, but . . .”

“An we ain’t gots a chestnut tree heah neither. Ah asked Pastor Solberg, and he said no.”

Penny tried to keep a straight face, but one look at the two earnest ones on either side of her and her chuckle escaped. It nabbed the others at their table and then flew on to the next and around the room until everyone joined in.

“Now, if that don’t sound mighty friendly to a poor wayfaring railroad man.” Henry pushed through the swinging door just as Bridget was about to pour coffee.

“Henry!” The coffeepot thumped down so hard it spouted brown lava, and she turned and almost fell into his arms right in the middle of the room.

“Now, if that ain’t the best kind of greeting of all.” Henry, cheeks matching hers for blazing red, gave her a hug that lifted her feet right off the floor.

“H-how did you get here? Henry, put me down.”

He set her back down but kept a hand on her arm. “I planned on being here earlier, but the train was late.” Belatedly, he glanced up to see every pair of eyes in the room riveted on the two of them.

“Henry, you’re blushing.” Bridget’s whisper worked something like Andrew’s. Everyone within a mile could hear it plainly.

With that, his face flamed brighter than the sunset. “Come with me, woman.” He grabbed her hand and hauled her through the swinging doors amid the cheers and laughter of all present. Once alone, he kissed her soundly.

Bridget started to sputter but gave it up and returned the kiss with fervor.

“You’ve missed me, then.” He laid his cheek against the soft hair now looped down over her forehead.

“I didn’t say that.” She nestled closer, if that were possible.

“You didn’t have to.” Henry sighed. “I’ve missed you far more than I ever thought I could. If it hadn’t taken so long to locate that daughter of yours, I’d a been back much sooner.”

“Oh.” Bridget pulled back enough to look up into his face. She clapped her hands to her cheeks. “I forgot all about Augusta.”

“Now.” Henry nodded. “Now, that’s the words I wanted to hear.” He kept hold of her hand and pulled her over to sit down on his knee when he sat in the chair. With one arm around her waist, as if to keep her from escaping, he turned her chin so he could see her full face.

“I want you to know that Hjelmer has been doing the best he could, and I was too. I left him as he was about to get on the train to Ipswich. A conductor friend of mine remembered seeing Augusta on that train, but he’d been sick and not at work, so we couldn’t talk with him earlier.”

“Henry . . .”

“Now, just a minute, let me finish. When Hjelmer got on that train, he said he’d bring her back or die trying.”

“Henry . . .”

“In a minute. I told him I knew his mother didn’t expect that kind of commitment from her son but—”

“Henry.” Bridget took his chin in her fingers. “Augusta is married.”

“I told him—” He jerked loose. “What did you say?”

“Hjelmer sent me a telegram. He got to Ipswich only to find out Augusta was married. I don’t know how he knows that, but knowing Hjelmer, there’ll be a long, long story about all this. He still plans to find her.” She shook her head. “I just don’t understand, that’s all. Why would she do this to me? To her family here?” She laid her head on his shoulder. “Ah, maybe I’ve lived too long. There is so much I don’t understand anymore.”

“Hush.” He put a finger to her lips. “I have only one question now.”

“What?” His shoulder felt so good under her cheek. She sniffed. And he smelled good too.

“Will you marry me?”

“Now?”

“Soon. I did what I could to help find Augusta, and now it looks like maybe she didn’t want to be found.”

“I don’t think it’s that. Not Augusta. She believes to the marrow of her bones that one lives up to one’s word. And she promised to come help me with the boardinghouse.”

“I will help you.”

“Yes, dear. But something strange is going on, you mark my words.” She shrugged her shoulders and sighed. “Yes, Henry dear, I will marry you.”

“When?”

Chapter 31

The Ranch
October 4

“Think I’ll go for a ride.” Augusta took the last flatiron off the stove.

“Eh?” Morning Dove came through the back door with a basket of vegetables.

“Ride.” Mimicking riding made them both laugh.

“Not far.” The housekeeper motioned close.

“No, I won’t.”
God, please forgive the lie. I have to take this chance. If I ride hard, maybe I can make it to the train station in one day. After all . . .
She didn’t continue with the “after all.” When she’d finally made Kane understand that she wanted to go to Blessing, he’d been adamant that she stay here. She was his wife now, and he had no plans to take her to Blessing.

Just in case, Augusta rolled up a wool blanket and let it drop out the window of her room. She’d pick it up on the way out. If Morning Dove went back outside, she’d take some food from the kitchen. She didn’t need much. It wasn’t as if she were riding clear to St. Paul.

By tomorrow noon at the latest she would be there. If only Morning Dove would go back outside. Now she knew what waterdrops felt like on a hot skillet, all jumpy and full of steam. Only they didn’t have to wait; they just exploded.

Morning Dove poured water in a pan and began to scrape the carrots.

“I can do that.” Augusta motioned toward the dry sink.

“Good.” Morning Dove handed over the knife.

Oh, please go back outside
. Scraping away, Augusta looked out the window. Frost from the night before still sparkled on the undersides of the cabbages and now darkened sunflower stalks. But the sky was the kind of blue that called one outside. Augusta scraped faster. She cut off an end and popped it into her mouth. Even the carrots tasted sweeter after a frost. All the turnips were already stored in the root cellar, along with the rutabagas and potatoes.