Blessing in Disguise (38 page)

Augusta nodded. “Ja, I will stand up for you.”

“You’re like a wildcat with a mangled foot, snapping at everyone.” Lone Pine leveled a look at Kane that would have felled a lesser man.

Kane grunted and slammed the posthole digger deeper into the hole. The ringing of metal striking rock vibrated up his arm. With no longer suppressed fury, he flung the posthole digger to the side, then hefting a sturdy post, slammed it into the hole.

“Hold it.” He kicked dirt back in the hole, tamping it with a heavy iron rod.

Lone Pine held the post straight, he, too, using his foot to scoop the fresh dirt back in the hole. “Mighty shallow.”

“We’ll brace it.”

By the time they had another hundred feet of posts planted and the wire strung, the sun had oranged the sky, then flamed in red, purple, and magenta, all underpinned with gold. The cloud layers faded from fire back to mauve, lavender, and finally gray. The wind picked up, and one of the team whinnied at a sound neither of the men could hear.

“I imagine Morning Dove has supper ready.” Lone Pine picked up the remaining roll of barbed wire and set it back in the wagon.

Kane didn’t even bother to grunt this time, just threw in the tools and climbed to the seat. He had the horses in motion before Lone Pine got seated.

The jingle of harness and the
clip-clop
of trotting horse hooves lulled him into remembering. Something he’d sworn not to do.
Augusta, where are you? Are you happy in Blessing?
The sound of her laugh made him almost turn to see if she was riding in the back of the wagon. She hadn’t laughed that much. Why was it so clear in his ear?

“You could go get her, you know.” Lone Pine broke the silence.

Kane spun around, his jerk on the reins stopping the horses in midstride. “Who in thunder asked for your opinion?”

The team snorted and stamped. Guilt bit into him for the way he had just misused his animals, something he would have torn the hide off one of his hands for.

He clucked the horses forward again and tucked himself back into the shell that kept the pain in and others out.
She could have stayed. You are married to her. Go get her. If she doesn’t want to be here, I don’t want her to be. Liar
. Thoughts hammered through his mind like twin woodpeckers drilling a tree. But while the woodpeckers would be fed from their efforts, his yammering thoughts took him nowhere but around in a futile circle.

“ ‘Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God and this company to unite this man and this woman in holy matrimony.’ ” Reverend John Solberg looked up from his service book to smile at the man and woman standing before him. “ ‘Marriage is a godly estate, ordained by God . . . ’ ”

Augusta had a hard time keeping her mind on the ceremony. So different this was than the one she stood up for so long, no, so short a time ago. Such a travesty. She’d had no idea what she was agreeing to. Citizenship—hah! Where had her mind gone? She should have known better.

But Kane . . . Kane knew
. She had fought the tears that woke her this Saturday morning, as they had every day, and threatened to overwhelm her now.
You will not cry and ruin your mother’s wedding. You will not!
She sniffed, and when she heard other sniffs from the gathered congregation, she knew they would think it only normal. Women always cried at weddings.

She forced her attention back to the service.

“Henry Aarsgard, do you take this woman to be your wedded wife?”

“I do.”

That’s what I said—I do. And Kane did too. Do you suppose he really meant it?

“And you, Bridget Bjorklund, do you take this man to be your wedded husband?”

The service continued, and by the end, Augusta wasn’t sure if she’d heard any more or not. Her thoughts refused to stay in Blessing. They returned instead to a ranch in the sandhills of South Dakota, seeking the man who had kept her heart.

She made it through the big party afterward, meeting all the people she’d read of so often, helping to serve the food, and answering questions about those at home in Norway. No one asked about a ranch in South Dakota. No one asked about the man who was legally her husband.

And no one called her Mrs. Moyer.

Chapter 35

Blessing
Late October

“I have a favor to ask.” Augusta clamped her hands on a chairback.

“Of course. What is it?” Bridget turned from setting the platter of fried sausages on the table for all the boardinghouse workers.

“I
have
to learn to speak English, so will everyone please speak only English?” Augusta wished she could at least have asked in English.

“Ja, we can do that.” Goodie spoke slowly with gestures and smiled when Augusta answered.

“Good.” While she’d been picking up some of the language and asking questions, Augusta knew she needed to make a more concentrated effort. She also knew that speaking only in English would be good for her on the one hand and frustrating to everyone else on the other. “Thank you.”

She glanced over to see the look of consternation on Asta’s face. While Asta had proved to be a good worker, Augusta still stayed as far from her as possible. Besides, Asta’s new man was taking up all her spare time when he was in town.

Concentrating on learning English kept Augusta’s mind occupied at least some of the time.

Each morning for the next few weeks she told herself that she would feel better this day. Each night she scolded herself for hanging on to what was not to be.

One day Penny pulled her sister-in-law over to the long mirror she’d fastened to the wall in the sewing section of her general store and said, “Augusta Bjorklund, look at you. How long since you’ve eaten a decent meal?”

Augusta sighed. “I just don’t feel hungry.” She held the wool skirt she’d been sewing on Penny’s machine up to her waist. She’d have to take deeper seams, that was all. To distract the other woman’s attention, she patted the Singer sewing machine. “This is some machine, let me tell you.”

“Forget that. Now we will talk about you.” The bell above the door tinkled with an arriving customer. “Oh! Wouldn’t you know it.” Penny called out, “Be there in a minute,” then turned back to Augusta. “You stay right here until I return, hear me?”

Augusta nodded, but as soon as Penny’s back was turned, she gathered up her things and beat a hasty retreat out the back door. She didn’t need any more advice from well-meaning friends. She thought back to the day before. Ingeborg had asked if she were sick, she looked so pale. Awful, bad dreams from the night before had caused the blue blotches under her eyes.

Kane had been calling to her. She was stuck in a swamp, sinking and screaming, but he couldn’t hear her. She could still smell the swamp.

The Ranch

“Women are just too much trouble!”

Lone Pine looked at his boss and shook his head.

Kane stood looking out the sitting room window as rain pelted the ground, already splashing mud puddles, though the thirsty ground was sucking the moisture in as fast as possible.

“Coffee ready.”

Lone Pine cocked an eyebrow at Kane and glanced at his wife.

“Not all women.” They left the papers they’d been working on and headed for the table, the smell of fresh apple pie drawing them if the coffee hadn’t.

“So you go get her.” Morning Dove plunked a pie-filled plate in front of him.

“Now, why in thunderation would I do that?” Kane paused in the act of cutting a bite of pie.

“So we can get some work done around here. You jump from one thing to another, bark at the men like a rabid dog, and in general—”

“That’s enough.” Kane’s eyebrows about met in the middle. “I ain’t been that bad.”

Lone Pine and Morning Dove exchanged the kind of look that snorted,
Oh yeah?

“Well, just when you get used to having a woman around, she up and leaves.”

“Did you ask her to stay?” Morning Dove studied him through dark eyes that alternated between compassion and frustration.

Kane took a swig of coffee to wash down the pie that seemed to clog his throat. Funny, usually Morning Dove made real good pie, but this time it seemed heavy.

Heavy, just like he felt.

He’d dreamed of Augusta the night before. She kept calling to him, but no matter how hard he searched, he couldn’t find her.

Was she happy in that Blessing town with her family around her?

That evening he reached under the bed—he’d decided to sleep in the bedroom he’d made for her, since that bed was much more comfortable. A small square of cotton lay there, one of her handkerchiefs. He pulled it out and smoothed it flat on his knee.

“Oh, Lord, what do I do? She didn’t seem happy here. Is she happy there? And if she is, I’m sure not. I thought you gave her to me for a wife, and sometimes it seemed she was coming to think good of me too. Soon as I understood, I should have taken her to Blessing, or at least promised to do so as soon as the cattle were rounded up.” While he prayed, he continued to smooth the bit of cloth.

The dream came again that night.

Blessing

Didn’t they all realize Augusta was doing the best she could? After all, it wasn’t as if she didn’t do enough to earn her keep. Her mother had even remonstrated her for working too hard. As if any Norwegian ever thought another worked too hard. Or themselves either.

One night at supper a young man, tall enough to fit with the Bjorklunds, strolled into the boardinghouse. The wool in his coat was of finer quality than many, the fit more precise. With a recent haircut and his mustache trimmed perfectly, he caught all the women’s eyes.

But he looked only at Augusta.

“How can I help you?” she asked, being the one closest to the door and thus the greeter. She’d worked hard on phrases like that in English, so they were coming more easily. And people could now understand them.

He took off his hat and gave her a slow smile that made her breath catch in her throat. It was so much like Kane’s smile that all she could think of was Kane.

“I need a room and supper please,” the young man said.