Dakota Dawn (4 page)

Nora sighed blissfully as she took her first sip of coffee and bite of the jellied bread. She placed two thick slices on a plate and carried her breakfast over to the table. “Do you mind if I join you?” she asked the children.

The two with hair so blond as to be white, hers in braids and his bowl-cut, stared at her solemnly. Mary broke the ice with a grin. “I didn’t think you were ever going to wake up.”

Not to be outdone, Knute piped up. “Did you like the train ride?”

“He always wants to go on the train.” Mary closed her book. “But we never have.” She leaned her chin on her stacked fists. “Ma said you went on a ship, too.”

Nora set her plate and cup on the table, then pulled out a high-backed oak chair. “Yes, I did. Both a ship and a train.” She sat down. “Now, why do you like the train so?” She leaned forward to look Knute right in the eyes.

“It is so big and goes so fast.”

“Big and fast. Big and fast.” Mary shook her head like big sisters everywhere.

Nora smothered a grin behind her coffee cup. “Someday, I’m sure you’ll have a train ride.”

“Now, you children go play in the other room,” their mother ordered. She rose to her feet and laid the baby in his cradle. “Miss Johanson and I would like to visit.”

“Yes, Ma.” The two obediently slid to the floor and, gathering their books, ran laughing down the hall.

“No running in the house.”

“Yes, Ma.” A giggle floated back to the peaceful room.

Ingeborg poured herself a cup of coffee and brought it over to the table. The orange-striped cat followed her and wound herself around Nora’s ankles. The toddler followed the cat and tugged at her mother’s skirt to be picked up.

Nora felt a tug at her heart. “What beautiful children you have.” She leaned over and scratched along the cat’s arched back. “It is so wonderful here.”

“Thank you.” Ingeborg settled little Grace on her lap and leaned back in her chair. “Mary and Knute should be at school, but there have been so many children sick that they closed the school for a time. I thank the Lord each day for keeping us safe and healthy. The fever seems to come like a fiend from the north and before you realize it, people are coughing to death. That’s where John is now. Someone else died during the night. And the doctor was at a difficult birthing. But there seems to be nothing he can do for these poor ones. Some get well but many don’t.”

“We’ve had those in Norway, too. But not so much this last year.” Nora got up and refilled her coffee cup.

“Ach, what a terrible hostess I am,” Ingeborg moved as if to get up.

“No, you stay there. This is the least I can do when you take in a stranger like this.” Nora sat back down. The cat leaped up into her lap and settled itself for a nap.

“The cat likes you; the children like you; I like you. That means we all agree. You are welcome to stay as long as you need to.” Ingeborg stroked little Grace’s silky white hair; the little one’s eyes drooped closed and a thumb found its way into her mouth.

“You have no idea how much your offer means to me, but I must earn my own way. With all the illness, isn’t there someone who needs a strong back and willing hands?”

“I don’t know.” The older woman wrinkled her brow in thought. “Can you teach school? There is a town not far from here that is looking for a schoolteacher.”

Nora shook her head. “I think not. I have no certificate and, besides, I don’t speak English. Does everyone around here speak Norwegian?”

“No, there are Germans and Swedes and several Norse dialects. You would have to learn English.” She thought awhile. “You’re not thinking of returning to Norway then?”

“I have no money.”

“None at all?”

“Four pennies. That is why Oscar brought me here last night. I couldn’t afford the hotel.” Nora sipped her coffee. “Do you suppose they need anyone at the hotel? I can cook and clean.”

Ingeborg shuddered. “I know the Lord says not to speak ill of anyone, but we can’t let you work there. We’ll ask John when he comes home. Surely he’ll have an idea of what to do.”

Nora stroked the soft fur of the cat purring in her lap. It was true, animals and children always took to her, especially the wounded. Back home she loved teaching Sunday school for the little ones. If only she did not need English to teach school in North Dakota.

The clock bonged the first notes of twelve.

“Oh, my land. John may be home any minute.” Ingeborg roused the sleepy Grace and, after a quick kiss, set the child on the floor. “Mary, time to set the table. Knute, the coal bin is nearly empty.”

“Let me help.” Nora set the cat down in Grace’s arms and patted the little girl on the head. She glanced out the window. “Here comes Reverend Moen. He’s just opening the gate.”

Nora helped Mary set the table and, with everyone flying to do their jobs, the dinner was on the table by the time the father had hung his coat on the coatrack by the door and had washed his hands. The children scrambled into their places, Grace into her high chair, and, when the adults sat down, everyone joined hands for grace.

The familiar words of the table prayer transported Nora back to the warm kitchen of her family’s farm. She swallowed a tear and sneaked a peek at the child in the high chair beside her.

Grace murmured her own unintelligible words along with them all. But her “Ah-men” rang loud and clear and her proud grin prompted giggles from the others.

Their father eyed them sternly, but they caught the twitch in his cheek.

Nora tried to suffocate her chortle, but a glance at Ingeborg struggling the same way did her in.

When they all laughed, Grace announced “Ahh-men” again and banged her spoon on the table.

Reverend Moen reached over and removed the spoon from the child’s hand. “Ja, that was good.” He smoothed her hair back with the back of his knuckles. “Now you must eat your dinner like Mama’s good little girl.” He looked around the table. “As you all must.”

Conversation lagged while everyone devoured the soup, both first and second helpings. When they finished, Ingeborg brought cookies and coffee to the table.

“Now. Did Mary and Knute do all their lessons?” Reverend Moen gazed at each child, then his wife.

“Mostly,” Mary answered.

“That’s not enough. You go get your books and bring them to the table while we talk. Knute’s, too.” When the children were settled and the coffee poured, he turned to Nora. “And now, how are you?”

“I’ll be all right. This all takes some getting used to.”

“Yes, it does. I want you to know you can remain with us as long as you want.”

“Mange takk.
But we, Ingeborg and I, were talking about—do you know anyone who needs a . . . someone like me to help them? Ingeborg said you might have heard of someone who is sick or a family that needs . . . well, I can cook and clean, manage a house, a barn.” Her voice began to fade away. She took a breath. “I’m not afraid of work.”

Reverend Moen leaned back against the chair. He looked up at the ceiling, his brow creased in thought. The clock ticked loudly in the silence. “There are so many that need help but they can’t afford to pay anyone. Times are harsh here on the prairie.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose with a long finger. “I’ll ask Doctor Harmon if I see him this afternoon. We’ll be having another funeral in the morning. Old Peder Stroenven died during the night.”

“Ach, this is so hard.” Ingeborg shook her head. “The young and the old are always hit the hardest.”

Nora glanced out the window in time to see a horse and sleigh stop in front of the gate. “You have company.”

Reverend Moen pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. “You’d best make some more coffee. Whoever it is will be cold clear through if he’s driven far. The cold is fierce even with the sun shining.”

He strode to the door and pulled it open before the knock sounded. “Why, Carl Detschman. How good to see you. Come right in.”

Nora felt lost immediately. The greeting was in English. She looked up to find frozen blue eyes staring at her. Then the man’s gaze flickered back to the pastor. Their conversation continued.

The man handed a well-wrapped bundle to Ingeborg and pushed a very young girl forward also. Then he touched his hand to his forehead and left. The door closed behind him.

“Oh, the poor man.” Ingeborg sank down in a chair and began to unwrap the bundle. A tiny red-faced infant emitted a wavering cry. Tears formed in the little girl’s blue eyes and ran down her cheeks.

“Pa!” she cried and ran to the door. “Pa!”

“What is it? Can I help?” Nora sprang to her feet.

Ingeborg settled herself in the rocker. “Carl’s wife died last night in childbirth and he can’t get this mite to take a bottle. John said we’d help. Why don’t you bring the little girl here? Her name is Kaaren.”

“Now, we’ll have two funerals tomorrow.” Reverend Moen stood in front of the window. “Dear Lord, when will this cease?”

I wonder if this is the family I am to help,
Nora thought as she went to the stove for the coffeepot.
Mr. Detschman is certainly a man with more than his share of troubles.

“Oh, that poor man.” Nora felt her heart break for him. “P-a-a.” Kaaren tried turning the doorknob to follow her father. Tears streamed down her face as she twisted on the slippery knob.

Nora rose and knelt by the child. “Your pa will come back. Come here and let me dry your tears.”

Kaaren pulled away and wailed more loudly.

Nora sat back on her heels. If only she could speak the language.

Reverend Moen stooped beside her. “Come, Kaaren, you must give this up now. You’ll make yourself sick with such tears.” He lifted the little girl in his arms and patted her back.

“Pa, I . . . I want my . . . my pa.”

Nora rose to her feet, thankful that the Moens spoke both Norwegian and English. However would she be able to work for a family that did not speak Norwegian?

“Mary, you take Kaaren and show her your dolls,” John said. He set the crying child down again and linked the two girls’ hands. “Kaaren, you go with Mary. Knute, why don’t you help entertain our visitor, also?” When the children wandered off to the other room chattering, he turned back to Nora.

“Carl said he needed to get back to take care of his livestock. That’s why he left so hastily. He also said he’d bring Anna, that’s his wife, in for the funeral tomorrow.”

“Oh, that poor, poor man.” Nora shook her head. Visions of stern, blue eyes in a strongly handsome face returned to her. So young for such a tragedy. She totally forgot her own situation while praying for his.

“God be thanked that Carl didn’t lose his son, too,” Ingeborg added.

“That is true. But for right now—” Reverend Moen studied the toe of his boot. He inhaled deeply and sighed in weariness. “I need to go over to the blacksmith and ask him to prepare another box. Then locate someone to ride out and help Carl. He looked about at the end of his tether.” Reverend Moen reached for his coat and hat. He paused. “You know anyone besides yourself who could wet-nurse this baby, Inge?”

Ingeborg looked up. “What? Oh dear, I don’t know, not right now.”

After the man left the house, Nora began clearing the table. Had the good Lord answered her prayer already? Here was someone, literally on their doorstep, who needed help. And he needed help now! Granted, she could not nurse the baby, but maybe she could persuade him to take a bottle. Maybe after Ingeborg nursed him a few times to get his strength up—the thoughts leaped and tumbled over one another.

“There, now,” Ingeborg said with a sigh of relief. “The mite finally found out what he’s supposed to do.” She pushed her rocker into its creaking song. “Who else might still be nursing a baby? We’ve had no newborns around here for a time.”

Nora reached under the sink for a metal pan. After slicing several curls off the hard lye soap bar and into the pan, she poured in steaming water from the teakettle. Then, she added the dishes. All the while her thoughts tumbled on. She could work for Carl Detschman, of course she could. That way she would earn money for her passage back to Norway. She could go home. What kind of wages would he pay? Maybe he was unable to pay like the others that Ingeborg mentioned. What then?

Memory of her mother’s voice blew cool reason through the confusion in her mind.
“If you are doing God’s will, He will make your path straight.” I don’t only need it straight,
Nora thought
, I need the bumps taken out and a good road map. What am I supposed to do?

“There.” Ingeborg nestled the infant up on her shoulder and rubbed his back for a burp. “He should feel much better now.”

“What did they name the baby?” Nora finished drying the dishes and putting them away.

“Peder. Peder Detschman. Such a strong name. He will have much to live up to.” The baby burped in her ear. “There now, little one.” She cuddled him in the crook of her arm; the rocking chair continued its song.

Nora heard the beginning stirrings of Ingeborg’s baby waking in the cradle by the rocker. She hung the dish towel over the bar behind the stove and, picking up the iron handle, lifted the round stove lid and set it to the side. Red coals glowed in the firebox. She picked up the small, metal scoop on top of the coal bucket and dug out several dusty, brown pieces of lignite, the soft coal of North Dakota, and scattered them over the red embers. After replacing the lid, she dropped the scoop back into place.

The baby in the cradle announced that he was ready to be picked up now—and eat.

“Will you have enough for him?” Nora nodded toward the cradle.

“We’ll make do.” Ingeborg put both arms around the baby in her arms and made as if to stand. She looked from the bundle in her arms to Nora and then back down. “Here, you take little Peder and lay him in the cradle after I take James in for dry diapers.”

Nora leaned over to take the infant from the older woman’s arms. As she straightened, she studied the baby wrapped so tightly in his blankets. When his eyelids fluttered and the rosebud mouth yawned, she felt her heart fly right out of her chest and open wide to the tiny baby.

“Oh, you are a darling, baby mine,” she crooned to him as she rocked him carefully in her arms. Without a thought, she hummed him a lullaby, learned at her mother’s knee. She hesitated to put him down, this mite who was starting life with no mother. He needed her.

If only she had milk for him. But she did not. Her practical side won out, and she laid him on his stomach in the cradle. Peder squirmed and mewed like a newborn kitten. When Nora gently rocked the cradle and resumed her sweet song, his body relaxed and he drifted back to sleep. Nora knelt by the cradle, reluctant to take leave of her charge.

She smiled as Ingeborg returned with her contented baby perched in her arms. James waved an arm and, turning his face, began rooting at his mother’s breast.

“Ja, you are hungry again.” Ingeborg settled herself back in the rocker. “With two of these young men, I know what a ewe with twins feels like.” His sucks and gurgles proclaimed his relief that he was finally being fed.

Ingeborg chuckled as she stroked the baby’s round, still-bald head. “This one, he’s not shy about letting his mama know when she is neglecting her duty. He seems so big, especially when I hold him right after little Peder.” She trailed a finger down the baby’s rosy cheek.

His blue eyes concentrating on his mother’s face, James waved a chubby fist and reached for his mother’s mouth. She nibbled on his fingers and then kissed them.

Nora felt an ache in her heart. If only she and Hans . . . She rose to her knees and then to her feet. As she dusted off the back of her skirt, she dusted away the regrets. Hans was now a memory, and any dreams of him and their life together should be put to rest in the cold ground, like he had been. That sounded so easy.

“Ingeborg, would you like a cup of coffee?” She swept away the thoughts, firmly planting a smile on her mouth, a mouth that would rather quiver.

“Yes, please. Here I am so remiss. What kind of a hostess do you think I am?”

“A very busy one,” Nora replied with a smile. “Since I’m not able to perform your special task, let me take over some of your other ones.”

“There are cookies in the round blue tin on the second shelf,” Ingeborg motioned to the cupboards with her chin. “Why don’t you set out enough for everyone and call the children? They have been playing so good. There’s milk for them in the pantry.”

Nora did as asked, taking a peek at the sleeping infant every time she passed the cradle. He was so tiny. As soon as the table was set, she walked through the sitting room, scarcely taking time to admire the stiff, horsehair sofa and matching chairs. She could hear the children laughing through a door at the opposite end of the room.

“There are cookies and milk on the table,” she said, pausing in the doorway.

Smiles greeted her from the two girls sitting cross-legged on a counterpane, surrounded by dolls. Mary cuddled a porcelain-faced doll with curly, blond hair and dressed in blue dimity. Kaaren clutched a rag doll as if it would be taken from her, she turned to look up at Nora.

On the floor, Knute stopped his train rumblings and screechy noises and sprung to his feet. “Cookies, yumm.” He brushed past Nora in the doorway.

“Knute, put your train away,” Mary called after him.

As he trudged back into the room muttering under his breath, Mary took Kaaren’s hand. “Come on. There are cookies and milk.” When spoken in English so she could understand, Kaaren smiled and, still hugging the doll to her chest, slipped by Nora in the doorway, careful not to touch her—or look at her.

What does she think I am, the big bad troll?
Nora thought while waiting for the hurrying boy to put his toys away.
Just because I talk Norwegian instead of English. Poor little mite, how will she bear it with no mother? I wonder if they’ve told her yet. How do you tell a little one like her that her ma won’t be coming back anymore? How can she even understand . . . when I don’t?

Nora followed after the children, wishing she could gather little Kaaren close and take away the tears that would be coming.

And come they did, as soon as Kaaren saw Ingeborg nursing her baby, James, in the rocking chair. “I want my ma-a-a.” Huge tears spilled from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. When Mary offered her a cookie, Kaaren pushed it away and continued to cry. She scrubbed her fists into her eyes and leaned her forehead onto the edge of the table.

Nora scooped the little girl up in her arms and sat back down on the vacated chair. She rocked back and forth, cuddling Kaaren against her chest and murmuring words of comfort. She stroked the fine, blond hair and wiped away the tears as they continued to course down the pale cheeks.

“Hush, now,” she crooned. “You’ll make yourself sick with all these tears. You’ve cried so many we’ll all float away on a puddle.”

Mary left her chair and brought one of the crisp sugar cookies to Kaaren. She took the younger girl’s hand and placed the cookie in it. “My ma makes the best cookies anywhere. You’ll like this.” Mary took a big bite of the cookie in her other hand and grinned between chews. “See?”

Kaaren sniffed back her tears and took a bite. As she solemnly nibbled at the rich cookie, she kept her gaze on Mary. Sniffs punctuated the bites.

Nora looked over the little girl’s head to see Ingeborg smiling and nodding. The baby had finished eating and was now playing poke-a-finger-in-my-mother’s-mouth, a favorite mother-baby game since time began. She could hear him cooing, imitating his mother’s sounds and, once in a while, adding a contagious belly laugh.

She continued the soothing rocking motion and laid her cheek against the child’s head leaning on her chest. Who would care for this dear little one? Could it be herself? How would she propose this idea of hers? Just step forward and say, “I know you need help with your children and I need work”? She mentally shook her head. Should she talk this over with Ingeborg? But what if she disapproved? Why would she do that? Nora felt like she had two people arguing in her head.

“Mary, why don’t you and Kaaren play with James while I start fixing supper? Bring the quilt in from the foot of the bed and all of you can play on the floor.” Ingeborg held her baby under his arms and bounced him on her knee. “I could sit and play with you all afternoon and then what would your pa say? He’d like to have supper ready when he comes home.” The baby gurgled in agreement.

While the children played on the floor, the women shared the cooking chores. Nora peeled carrots and potatoes to add to the already cooked pot of chicken that Ingeborg had brought in from the pie safe on the screened-in back porch.

“Then, we’ll make some dumplings and supper’ll be all ready.” The older woman glanced at the clock bonging by the door. “We have time to make applesauce cookies. Would you like to help me?”

“Of course.” Nora rinsed off her hands and bent over to check the cradle where Peder was making the squeaking noises of a baby awakening. She set the cradle rocking gently with the toe of her shoe. “Hush now, little one. You must sleep longer.”

“Ja, so I have more milk for him.” Ingeborg set a tan earthenware bowl on the table and began adding ingredients. As she measured and stirred, she kept up a running introduction of the residents of Soldahl for Nora’s delight and amusement.

Nora felt like she would be able to recognize her prospective neighbors just from Ingeborg’s mimicry. “What can you tell me about Carl Detschman?” Nora asked, after giggling at another of Ingeborg’s tales of life in Soldahl.

After sliding a sheet of cookies into the blackened oven, Ingeborg paused. The creak and slam of the oven door snapped her back in motion. “Ja, that poor man. He has his hands full now. And it is so hard for him to ask for help.” She shook her head, like so many other women who wish they could do something but did not know what.

Nora waited, continuing to drop the cookie dough onto another flat baking pan.

“We’ve known Carl since he arrived in Soldahl six years ago. He was just starting out after buying old Mr. Einer Peterson’s farm. Einer had died that summer from the consumption. He’d been sick a very long time.”

Nora had a hard time to keep from interrupting. She did not want to hear about Einer Peterson.

“Carl came from Minnesota, somewhere down by St. Paul, so he has no family around here. He was already betrothed; that was such a disappointment to the young ladies in our church. You could just see their eyes light up the day he walked into services. Such a handsome young man.”

Nora could agree with that even though she had seen him when he seemed frozen in the middle of an ice chunk.

“And the voice of an angel. When he sings those hymns—why he just lifts the rest of the congregation and leads us into heaven.” Ingeborg winked at Nora then picked up the full sheet of cookies and slid it onto the bottom rack in the oven. With one finger, she touched one of the cookies on the top rack to see if it was done. When the cookie indented rather than springing back, she turned the cookie sheet around 180 degrees and closed the oven. “Now, where was I?”

“About what a voice Carl has,” Nora reminded her.

“Oh yes, and such nice manners. You know his ma taught him well. He brought Anna to meet us when they returned after the wedding. They were married at the end of harvest. It was a very good year, I remember. He’d ordered a new wagon to drive her home in, painted all red and green with shiny yellow wheels. That wagon was really a sight.”