Dandelions on the Wind (8 page)

“I could be completely blind in a matter of a few years. I wouldn’t wish myself upon a man who needs a wife who can work beside him.”

“Don’t shortchange yourself, dear—you are a hard worker. And many women with full eyesight don’t have half the heart you do.”

Tears stung the backs of Maren’s eyes. “Thank you.” It squeaked out on a whisper. She would surely miss this woman and Gabi—and all of her quilting circle friends—when she left Saint Charles. Yet she had no choice but to do so. A hard worker or not, the day would come when her limitations would catch up to her. She took the wet bowl from Mrs. Brantenberg and dried it thoroughly.

“You think I’m being unfair to him? That I should’ve welcomed him home with open arms?”

“It’s not my place to say.”

“I asked.” The widow stilled her hands and waited for an answer.

“Grace cannot be earned, only given.”

“Did I say that too?”

Maren nodded, trying not to smile.

Mrs. Brantenberg lifted the washtub to the window and flipped the remaining water outside. “I talk too much.”

“I think it’s just easier to trust someone else’s wise counsel.”

She wagged her curved finger. “Your heart is not only full, dear, but perceives more than most eyes can see.”

“Oma. Miss Maren.” Gabi’s voice split the silence as she dashed into the kitchen, skidding to a stop in front of Maren. “PaPa said it is time for the music. You and Oma need to come.”

Maren had scarcely removed her apron when Gabi captured her hand and pulled her through the doorway of the sitting room. She focused on the glow in the fireplace, then on the man on the settee. Smiling, he stood and brushed a wild curl from his temple.

That’s when she realized she was fingering the silver chain at her neck. Woolly had given her the present, and the whistle now lay between her chemise and her shirtwaist. Her neck warmed at the thought. She’d not heard of a nanny who had ever received such a gift. She should never have accepted it, especially when she had plans to end her care of Gabi soon.

“Without a flute and a piano the band is incomplete.” He glanced at Mrs. Brantenberg, then pulled the bench out from the piano.

The older woman held up her hand, pointing a finger upward, and spun toward the staircase. In silence, the three of them watched her disappear from the second-floor landing. Before Maren could think of small talk, Mrs. Brantenberg descended the stairs with something in her hands. As she drew closer, Woolly’s breath caught.

“My zither? You kept my zither?”

Nodding, Mrs. Brantenberg handed Woolly the instrument. “Now, the band will be complete.”

He held it as he would an infant, counting toes and fingers. Silent, he wiped his cheek with his sleeve. Also silent, Mrs. Brantenberg rested her hand on his arm.

Maren’s own eyes brimmed with tears, her heart full of joy for them.

Woolly looked at Mrs. Brantenberg. “It’s been too long. Thank you.”

She nodded and turned to the piano.

Maren pulled the box from the bookcase and assembled her flute while Mrs. Brantenberg seated herself on the bench.

“We’ll start with ‘Love Divine, All Loves Excelling.’ ” Mrs. Brantenberg tapped an A-note on the piano. Gabi chimed in on her recorder and Rutherford strummed the zither. His profile against the light streaming in from the window revealed a tall forehead, a straight nose, and a square chin beneath a neatly trimmed beard. She could see a man described in the Viking mythology of her childhood.

Maren joined in. When her memories tried to carry her back to the good days in the old country, she shook them off so she could enjoy this moment.

Nine

M
aren held a sickle in one hand and Gabi’s little hand in her other. With barely enough daylight to see the path at her feet, she followed Mrs. Brantenberg and Woolly toward the wheat field. The chill in the morning air wouldn’t last, but right now if she had a hand free, Maren would raise the collar on her coat.

Gabi swung Maren’s arm, her steps cheerful despite their extra-early start on the chores. The difference between this walk out to the field and the cautious one last week was as stark as the sunlight casting a glow on the heads of the wheat stalks.

“Miss Maren.” Gabi tugged her hand.

Slowing her steps, Maren looked into the child’s sweet face. “Yes, little one.”

“I am really happy PaPa is here with us.”

Maren couldn’t help but giggle when she nodded. “I am happy too, little one.”

Woolly looked over his shoulder at them, his bright teeth revealing a warm smile.

Of course she was happy he’d come home … happy for Gabi and for Mrs. Brantenberg. He was family, and they needed a man around the farm. Especially today. Even though he was still protecting his injured shoulder, Woolly’s help would make the work shorter.

Maren smiled, remembering Mrs. Brantenberg coming down the stairs with Woolly’s zither, handmade by his father-in-law. Then, the sweet gathering around the piano. She couldn’t recall when she’d had so much fun. Certainly not since her childhood in Denmark. If she were being truthful to herself, she’d admit that she was also happy Woolly had returned to the farm. And thankful. She liked Gabi’s PaPa, and why wouldn’t she? He’d made mistakes that hurt his family—mistakes he regretted—but he was a good man. She knew Mrs. Brantenberg didn’t have the money for the supplies he’d brought home. Nor the credit. But Woolly had seen to it. He was a generous man who was doing his best to make things right. She’d miss her brief morning chats with him at Bootsie’s stall. She would miss him and all of the family when she found work and moved to town.

***

At the only tree on the hilltop along the north edge of the wheat field, Woolly added several sheaves to the growing stack in the wagon, then reached under the seat for the food sack and quilt. The sun had risen to high noon, time for a break. He carried the sack around to the shady side of the tree and knelt on the drying bed of wildflowers. After he spread the quilt on the ground, he pulled a loaf of crusty bread and dry sausage from the sack and set them on quilted napkins. He chuckled. It seemed everything in Mother Brantenberg’s life had become fodder for quilting.

He stood and looked over the field as Gabi picked up sheaves from where Miss Jensen was reaping. The young woman hadn’t slowed down all morning, the rhythm of her sickle so steady you could set a clock by it. He should’ve brought the scythe out. His shoulder couldn’t hurt any more than his pride did watching Mother Brantenberg and Miss Jensen bent over, taking the brunt of the physical work in the harvest.

Gabi toddled toward him, her eyes barely visible over the tops of the bundles she held in front of her like a giant ragdoll. “PaPa, Miss Maren said I am a good helper.”

“You are indeed!” He took the sheaf from Gabi and added it to the stack.

“Oma said it’s time to break for water.”

“Yes. And something to eat.” He looked across the field past Miss Maren. About ten paces down the slope, Mother Brantenberg was straightening herself. She looked like a tree growing up from the field, its branches unfolding and stretching. A sickle hung at her side, looking as tired as she did.

Pulling a tin cup from its hook on the water barrel, he held it and the loaf up. If he didn’t get his shoulder working right soon, he might just have to start wearing an apron. The role reversal wasn’t something he would be able to live with long, although he was able to at least be of some help.

Waving, Mother Brantenberg walked across the stubble to where Miss Jensen gathered cut stalks into a sheaf. When the older woman placed her hand on Miss Jensen’s back, she stood and wiped her brow with her sleeve.

Woolly scooped the cups into the barrel and had the makeshift dinner table set by the time they got to the tree.

It was hard to tell which of the women was helping which up the rise, but it wasn’t hard to tell that they were close. He heard laughter from them both as they approached, and his heart was warmed that Gretchen’s mother had found a surrogate daughter to share those bonds with.

He was truly blessed with the women in his life.

Women
. Of course he’d include Miss Jensen. If he was still a part of the family, she certainly was. A most important member. She knew his daughter better than he did and had been the one helping Mother Brantenberg on the farm all these past months. Despite her own hardships, she did the farm chores, was a playmate and teacher for Gabi, and did it all for room and board, as there was apparently no money to pay her.

“Miss Jensen.” He gestured to a position on the quilt as if a waiter at a fancy restaurant.

“I’ve been thinking.” Maren retrieved her cup of water. “Seeing as how we’re working together, I think it’s time you felt comfortable calling me Maren.”

“Sounds fair to me, ma’am, and I’m Woolly.” He brushed the brim of his cap. “Rutherford, if you’d prefer that.”

She nodded, then downed the cup of water and retrieved another.

While he helped Mother Brantenberg to sit on the quilt, Woolly stole a look at Maren as she drained the second cup of water. Her bonnet askew, wisps of corn silk blond hair had escaped the braid wound atop her head.

Maren lowered her cup and looked straight at him. She blinked, but neither of them looked away. Suddenly growing weak in the knees, Woolly leaned against the wagon wheel.

High cheekbones covered with faint freckles flowed into smooth cheeks, narrowing to her charming pointed chin, no longer scuffed from her fall off the ladder. “I’d say we are making good progress.”

“Amazing.” Had he meant it as a response to her or to himself?

“Are you all right?” Mother Brantenberg looked up at him, an eyebrow arched above a smile.

“Yes ma’am.” He knelt and busied himself, slicing more of the sausage. “You’ve filled the wagon.” He chucked Gabi under the chin, making her giggle. “When we’ve finished eating, I’ll empty it at the granary.” He looked at Mother Brantenberg. “You plan on taking Thursday off for the quilting circle, don’t you?”

“Yes. If we can keep this pace, we’ll finish Saturday, even taking that time out.”

“I’ll figure on doing some threshing while the ladies are here. And since we don’t have as many animals to feed, I can take a third or so of the grain to town to sell. Maybe winnow some out and take it to the mill to barter for some flour. There should be plenty to get us through.”

“Hadn’t thought yet how we were going to get the threshing done. Thank you. You may need to fix the winnower, though. Last I heard, the handle kept falling off.”

“That’s the least I can do. I hate it that I can’t do more in the field.”

Mother Brantenberg gave him a look that brought back the old days. Softer, with no hint of the scowl he’d earned. “Don’t you worry. You’re doing more than your share hauling sheaves and keeping us watered. Besides, from the looks of all the new wood and supplies at the barn, you’re going to be doing plenty more around here.”

A refreshing breeze. He may have been the only one who felt it, but he’d definitely experienced a refreshing breeze.

Ten

T
he sun had given way to darkness, and an oil lamp flickered on the bedside table. Wednesday night already. Seems it was just Sunday, and they were all gathered around the piano. Where had the days gone? Maren sighed. The deep breath caused her aching arms to remind her. She’d given most of her time and all of her energy to the wheat harvest.

Sound asleep on her bed, Gabi purred like a kitten. Maren pulled her dressing gown tight and focused her gaze to follow the light that bounced along the path toward the barn. The candle lantern’s glow was just strong enough to illuminate Rutherford’s silhouette. At the barn doors, the light stopped moving forward and swung around, toward the house. Could he see her standing at the window?

Her sight couldn’t confirm the notion, and it wouldn’t be proper for her to wave. The lantern raised and swung right then left. He had seen her.

“Sweet dreams, Rutherford.” He deserved to sleep well. And comfortably. Despite a sore shoulder, he had worked alongside them every day, today swinging the scythe. She hadn’t seen him wince, but she knew he had to be hurting.

When the lantern disappeared through the barn doors, Maren closed the curtain and blew out the lamp, then knelt at her bedside. Her prayers were full of thanksgiving, as they should be. But tonight, between her praises she stacked petitions for Caroline Milburn, Hattie and her family, and for herself—for a job. Because of Rutherford’s help in the fields and with the chores this week, they’d take all day tomorrow for the quilting circle and finish the wheat harvest Friday.

At the close of her prayer, she hung her dressing gown on the bedpost and laid her head on the pillow. Poor Rutherford had been through enough, losing his wife, fighting in two wars, separated from his daughter and the mother-in-law who still loved him deeply. He deserved to sleep in a bed … in the house with his family.

After the wheat harvest, she’d do some deep cleaning for Mrs. Brantenberg, but the next time they went into town, she’d see about a new job.

***

His strength buoyed, Rutherford pulled the barn door closed behind him. Trudging the path from the house, he’d barely had the energy to place one foot in front of the other. But then he’d looked up at the window on the second floor. Lamplight glowed behind the young woman, creating the image of a guardian angel. Maren hadn’t waved, but he knew she was watching for him, watching over him. He hoped she’d been able to see the lantern swinging to and fro, his
good-night
.

A rooster protested the disturbance with a cackle and fluttered across the rafter. “Clearly, Orvie Christensen is a fool. What kind of man would walk away from the gift of Miss Maren? She is a treasure more valuable than a boatload of pure gold.”

So were his daughter and Mother Brantenberg. “Turns out me and Orvie aren’t all that different.” Orvie had run from Miss Jensen, and Rutherford had run from a newborn and Mother Brantenberg.

Rutherford shook his head. Partly because of the mistakes he and Orvie had shared, but mostly because he was in a barn talking to a rooster as if the bird were a confidant.