Blessing in Disguise (37 page)

“They’d be large crates, hard to miss.”

Penny turned her head, gave him the look she reserved for riffraff, and straightened her shoulders.

“Well, fine, if ’n you can’t be any more talkative than this, I’ll see you at home.” He kicked his horse back into a lope without looking over his shoulder. Her “men!” sounded somewhat like a swear word, at least if he heard it right.

“You find yo missus?” Sam asked when Hjelmer swung off his mount.

“Ja.”

“Oh.” Sam went back to pumping the bellows, bringing the iron bar in the coals to an incandescent white, separated from the black by a glowing red band. The smell of hot iron and burning coke filled the shanty.

Hjelmer stripped the saddle off his horse and led the animal into the stall, where he fussed with removing the bridle and buckling the halter in place.

From inside the barn he couldn’t see or hear if Penny was close. If she wanted a fight—so be it.

Don’t let the sun go down on your anger
. Penny could hear her tante Agnes’s voice as if she were sitting on the wagon seat right beside her.

She heard it again later as she set a plate of food before her husband, when she would rather have slammed it and gladly watched the gravy bounce into his lap.

And she heard it that night when she crawled into bed after banking the coals, filling the reservoir, putting the cat out, checking on the rising sourdough, and hanging his coat on the hook by the door. While he tried to sound as if he were asleep, she knew better. Besides, he never slept that close to the edge of the bed and on his side.

That was her style.

She sighed. This was no good. She had so much to tell him, and he was acting like—she knew it wasn’t proper to think of one’s husband as acting like a little boy, but that was what it seemed.

“Hjelmer.”

A fake snore answered her.

“Hjelmer Bjorklund, quit acting so silly.”

“
I’m
acting silly?” He rolled over on his back and crossed his arms over his chest, jerking the covers around in the process.

She sighed again.
Whatever did I do to deserve this?
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you came home.” She didn’t add that they were butchering chickens so she would have some to sell in the store and so she would have one to roast for a special dinner for him tomorrow.

He grunted.

She waited.

He let out a sigh that missed being a huff by only a hair. “I had so much to tell you, and you weren’t here.”

She gritted her teeth and forcibly relaxed her jaw. “I know.” Rolling over, she settled her arm across his chest and squeezed gently. “I’ve missed you.” She could almost hear him thinking
funny way to show it
, but she ignored that and stroked his arm. She could feel him relax, and he settled deeper into the feather bed.

Why is it so hard for him to say “I’m sorry”?
She waited.

He turned on his side facing her and cupped his hands around her cheeks. “Thank you.” He kissed her, first her nose and then her lips. When he released her mouth, they both sighed.

“I was the rear end of Jack the mule, huh?” he whispered.

“Ja.” She kissed the palm of his hand, her gentle chuckle bringing one from him. “So you finally found Augusta and dragged her home?”

“Ja, and she hardly said a word the whole way.” He shook his head and tucked her under his arm next to his side. “I don’t think there’s a chance this side of heaven that I will ever understand a woman.”

Penny chuckled and drew a circle on his bare chest. “You think it might be different in heaven?”

His low growl made her laugh. And when laughter leads to loving, all kinds of miracles can happen.

Her last thought before sleep claimed her was that Tante Agnes and God’s Word were indeed right. If for no other reason, one slept better with the anger gone.

Augusta woke up crying. After drying her eyes and blowing her nose, she lay looking at the moon reflections through the curtains. The same moon shone on Kane. Was he seeing it too? Some time passed before she slept again, but when she woke at the first rooster crow, her pillow was soaked.

Wasn’t she out of tears yet? She turned the pillow over and let her scratchy eyes drift shut again. She’d get up in a few minutes. Weariness far worse than that of hard physical labor dragged her down and down. If this was to be home, how could she get her heart to reside here?

Chapter 34

Blessing
October 8

“Noon!” Augusta’s feet were in hurry motion before they hit the floor.

“Sorry, Miss Bjorklund, I didn’t mean to waken you, but your mor was getting worried and asked me to check on you.” Ilse stood just inside the doorway twisting her hands.

“No, no. I had no intention of sleeping like this.” Augusta glanced out the window to see people hurrying by holding hats on their heads with one hand, the other fighting the wind that tried to tear the coats from their backs.

“Can I get you anything? Hot water? Coffee?”

How good it was to hear Norwegian spoken, even though Augusta knew she should request English. Somehow she had to learn English, more than her rudimentary phrases, and fast. “Both would be wonderful, but I can’t let you serve me like this.”

“Why not? That is what I do.” A look of pride came over her pale face. “I am in charge of the rooms and our guests. The others take care of the meals.”

“All right, then. Hot water would be so good. Surely I can be of help downstairs if I hurry.”

When the young woman left the room, Augusta swiftly made her bed and began brushing her hair in front of the mirror.
Mor must think me gone lazy like a cat in the sun since I came to America
.

A tap on the door brought Ilse back with a pitcher of hot water and one of cold.

“Mange takk, er, thank you.”

Ilse took the hint. “You are welcome.” Her smile brought color and life to her face. “Mrs. Bjorklund says to tell you the coffee is hot.” She closed the door gently after backing out of the room.

Augusta turned back to the mirror and frowned at the sight of her own puffy face and eyes red from all the crying. Whatever had come over her?
Kane, that’s what, or rather, who
. Even the thought of him brought the sting of tears to the back of her eyes. She dunked the washcloth in the hot water she’d poured in the basin and held the steaming cloth to her eyes. “Uff da.”
Will there be no end to it?
The cold cloth followed, dunked and wrung several times in the hopes of banishing the red.

One thing for certain sure, she did
not
want to talk about or think about Mr. Elkanah Moyer.

Once downstairs, her mother shooed her to a rocking chair out of the way of the bustling help and handed her a cup of coffee along with a plate of freshly sliced bread slathered with sour cream and chokecherry jelly.

“Now eat.” Bridget stood in front of her daughter, waiting for her to take the first bite. When that happened, she nodded with a gentle smile. “Good. No wonder you were sad. You haven’t eaten decent for days.”

Augusta refrained from asking how Bridget knew that, but the bread and cream tasted heavenly. And her nose told her there was plenty of other good food for the asking. The cheerful bustle flowed on its prescribed course, as everyone knew what to do and went about their assigned tasks with laughter and teasing comments.

With coffee cup in hand, Augusta wandered to the dining room door and peeked into the other room. Four men sat at one table, and a man and woman shared a table over by the window. Her gaze continued on, then flicked back to the couple.
Asta Borsland! With that man. Whatever in the world? Who?
The questions nearly spilled out her mouth, but she clamped her lips shut on them until she caught her mother by the stove.

“How did that woman meet a man so fast?” She tried to keep from hissing but didn’t quite make it.

“At supper last night. They hit it right off. ’Course I was kind of hoping you’d meet him, since he’s so nice and all, but this could solve a problem or two.” Bridget checked the chickens she already had roasting for dinner.

“But, Mor . . .” Augusta shook her head.

“I offered her work here for room and board until she can decide what she wants to do.”

“And?” Augusta could feel her stomach churn. Not that Miss Borsland didn’t have a good reason for being angry at her. After all, when it came right down to it, she
had
stolen the woman’s intended husband.

Augusta hated putting it quite like that, but honest she was, no matter how painful.

“She said she’d be glad to. I told her she starts tomorrow. She can help Eulah with the washing.” Bridget smiled up at her daughter. “I was hoping you would help me with the sewing. I need more quilts for the winter. Just wait until you hem sheets on that sewing machine.”

“But I don’t know how to use it.”

“You will catch on in no time.” Bridget handed her a pitcher of milk. “Here, set this on the table, will you?”

When the guests were served and all the help sat down to eat, Augusta joined them at the table.

“So,” Goodie asked Bridget, “when will the wedding be? You got your daughter here now, so there can be no more excuses.”

Bridget gave a bit of a headshake and glanced at Augusta, who was busy chewing.

Goodie flinched. “Sorry,” she whispered.

But Augusta heard her. “All right, what is this about a wedding? I can tell you are trying to keep a secret.”

One person looked to the next and the
look
passed on around the table, finally ending up with Bridget, who continued to eat as if nothing untoward were happening. But the twitching of a muscle at the right side of her mouth gave her away.

“Mor.”

Bridget ducked her head as if to take another bite.

“Mor!” Augusta put a bit more force behind her words. Someone else snickered. Eulah got up to pour the coffee, her broad smile and wink making sure Augusta didn’t give up.

“Henry asked me to marry him, and I said yes but not until you were found.” The words sped from her lips.

Augusta pondered the muttered words and watched the red creep up her mother’s neck.
Married?
Her mother was going to be married? The thought caught her like a punch in the middle. She stared at the woman with white hair and cheeks flaming bright enough to need dousing by snow.
But she is too old
. As soon as the thought came, she banished it. Why shouldn’t her mother find happiness again?
Because she is married to my far.

So? Not anymore. He died
. Another memory flooded her mind and brought tears burning the back of her eyes.
I am not crying anymore!
She rolled her eyes, took a sip of coffee and a deep breath.

“So who is this man who is good enough to think of marrying my mor?”

The flash of smile from Goodie and the pat on the shoulder from Eulah told her that they approved of her response. The tension around the table relaxed as everyone, including Bridget, took a deep breath and let it out on a sigh.

“Mor?”

“You will meet Henry today when the train comes in. He is a conductor on the railroad and—” Bridget stopped and frowned at her daughter. “If he’d been on that line that day, you wouldn’t have gotten out of that station on the wrong train, let me tell you.”

And I wouldn’t have met Kane
. Augusta sighed and blinked a couple of extra times. After another deep breath, she forced a smile to lips that wanted to quiver. “So when is the wedding?”

“I think this Saturday. This is Henry’s last run for the railroad. When he knew we had found you, he told them he was quitting.” Bridget blushed clear to her hairline. “He wants to help me here.”

Augusta ignored the pain that thinking of her mother with a man other than her father brought to her heart region. She knelt by her mother’s chair. “I look forward to meeting this Henry. For if you love him, he must be a fine man.”

“Ah, my Augusta, even with all those around me”—she indicated the others with a sweep of her hand—“and with you and Hjelmer . . .” She paused and cupped her daughter’s face in gnarled hands that had not lost their gentleness. “I . . . I have lost much, but God has blessed me with more. Can I do less than take this gift and thank our Father for it—for Henry—for bringing you, whom I thought was gone too, back to me?” She thumbed away the moisture gathering at the edges of Augusta’s eyes. “Rejoice with me, Gussie, and stand beside me at the church. Nothing would make me happier. Haakan is standing up for Henry.”