Rimfire Bride (2 page)

Frederick stopped and looked first at his daughter, then toward the setting sun. “We have maybe thirty more minutes. Then we quit.”

Greta worked a few minutes longer, then with a groan, she dropped her cane knife and fell on her hands and knees gasping for breath. Jana hurried to her.

“Get up!” Frederick yelled, dropping his knife and striding angrily toward them. “You lazy girl. Get up and finish this field before I give you a reason to crawl in the dirt!”

“Leave her alone!” Jana said defiantly, her eyes staring pointedly at Frederick. “I’m taking her back to the house.”

“She stays, and she works,” Frederick said as he attempted to grab Greta’s arm.

Jana raised her cane knife. “Don’t you dare touch her!”

Frederick stared at Jana, his face contorted by anger, then he turned away. “We will stop working for today.” He turned and started for the house, leaving Greta on the ground.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Greta said between gasps for air.

“How many hours have you worked today?” Jana asked as she helped her sister to her feet.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Greta leaned heavily on Jana as they slowly made their way back to the farmhouse. When they arrived, Marta met them at the door, helping Jana get Greta to a bench.

“I’ll get her a drink,” Marta said as she unhooked the dipper from the lip of the water bucket and filled it.

While Greta drank, Jana massaged Greta’s lower chest with one hand and her back with the other. Eventually, Greta’s breathing returned to normal—not deep breaths, but at least no wheezing.

“Mama, Greta can’t work in the field. Doesn’t he understand that she’s not well, and the corn silk is making things worse?”

“Ich gab ihm keine Söhne
.”

“You’re right. You gave him no sons, but he can’t make boys out of us. Come, Greta, you need to lie down.”

“But supper?”

Just then Frederick came into the house, his hair wet from a dousing at the outside water pump. He went to the table without comment and took a helping from the bowl of noodles and cabbage that Marta had prepared for the evening meal. Jana noticed that he had taken at least three-fourths of the available food.

It didn’t matter. Tonight, she would refuse to sit at the table with her stepfather.

When Jana and
Greta got up to their room, Jana helped Greta out of her dress. Jana went to the
washstand and poured water from the pitcher into the bowl. With a soft cloth, she began wiping her sister’s face with the cool water.

“Thank you,” Greta mumbled as tears began to run down her face. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Jana held her sister in her arms. “Tomorrow you rest, and I’ll let my girls take over the class. I’ll come home as soon as I can get them started, and the corn will be shocked lickety-split.”

Greta lay back on the bed and soon fell into a troubled sleep. Jana picked up a candle and her knapsack, then sat down on the window seat. She needed to correct the compositions, but she wasn’t ready to do that just yet. She was so tired. If only she could fall asleep right now.

Jana raised the window, putting a stick under the sash to keep it open. A gentle breeze was blowing, causing the still-green leaves on the maple tree to rustle. A large, yellow moon hung over the barn, bathing the farm in silver and shadow. As a child she had sat in this spot many times, watching the stillness of the night. She had never known anything but life on a farm, and the beauty of moments like this soothed her like a balm.

But whatever beauty there was to see was spoiled by the thoughtlessness of the man who had governed her life for the last twenty years. At one time Frederick had a hired man to help him, but over the last few years money had been so dear that he had let the man go. She would have thought he would be pleased that she had a source
of employment, but at times she thought he actually resented it.

Sometimes Jana felt that he treated her as he did because she wasn’t his natural daughter. But in truth, he showed no favoritism with his cruelty. He treated Greta, his biological daughter, as harshly as he did Jana.

After a light knock on the door, she heard her mother calling quietly, “Jana? Greta?”

Jana hesitated for a second. She wouldn’t put it past Frederick to use his wife as a means of getting Jana to open the door.

“Jana?” her mother called again. a little louder. “Are you awake?
Ich habe Lebensmittel
.”

Taking a deep breath and bracing herself, Jana walked over to the door and jerked it open. Her mother was standing there, but no one else.

“I don’t need any food, Mama. I’m not hungry.”

“But take. Maybe later you are hungry.” Marta handed a burlap bag to Jana. “How is
deine Schwester
?”

“She is sleeping.”

“Can Greta go with you?”

“What do you mean, can Greta go with me? Go where?”

Marta looked up and down the hallway. “Today it was bad.” Marta shook her head. “If Greta stays here, I think she might die. You can save her if you leave and Greta
geht mit Ihnen
.” Marta reached into a pocket of her dress and pulled out a cloth drawstring pouch, which she handed to Jana.

In the dark, Jana could feel coins, and when
she slipped the drawstring, she felt a roll that she assumed was paper money.

“This is a lot of money, Mother. Where did you get it? If Mr. Kaiser discovers it is gone . . .” Jana let the sentence hang.

“It is not Frederick’s money, it is my money. It is
Ei Geld
about which he knows nothing, and for a long time I have kept it.”

“Mama, I can’t take the egg money you have saved for so many years, and I can’t leave you here alone with Mr. Kaiser. When he discovers we are gone, he will be very angry, and he will make you work even harder than you do now.”

“He is very—
wütend jetzt
—angry now,” Marta repeated, finding the English words she was looking for. “I am an old woman. If I die, it is my time. Greta is
jung,
but twenty. It is not her time. You must take care of her, Jana, just as you did when you were
ein Kind
.”

Jana looked back at Greta as she lay sleeping, the moonlight causing the shadows of the maple leaves to make eerie patterns on the wall. She knew her mother was right. Her sister would die if Frederick Kaiser continued to work her like a hired hand.

“Oh, Mama, how do we do this?”

“You are a strong woman,
meine Tochter.
You will find a way. Today I talked to Dewey Gehrig at the market. Go to him tonight. Early in the morning, he will take his pigs to the stockyard. He will take you and Greta with him and leave you at the depot. Dewey says there is a train
nach
Chicago. In Chicago
ist meine
cousin Marie. In there is a
letter for her.” Marta pointed to the little cloth bag.

Jana put her arms around her mother and held her close. She felt moistness on Marta’s cheeks. Jana could not recall having ever seen her mother cry. Jana knew then what a sacrifice her mother was making. She was sending away her two daughters, which meant she might never see them again, just as she had left her own mother when Frederick brought her to America sixteen years ago. Jana hugged her mother tighter and felt her mother’s arms around her. She felt her mother shudder; then Marta dropped her arms, recognizing the urgency of the moment.

“
Gehen jetzt schnell!
He must not see you go.”

“Aren’t you going to tell Greta good-bye?”

“
Ja.
I will tell her.”

Jana stepped out into the hall to keep her eyes and ears alert for the sight or sound of her stepfather. Behind her, she heard her mother’s voice, quiet and anxious. She heard, too, Greta’s voice, questioning at first, then acquiescing.

Finally, wiping the tears on her apron, Marta stepped back into the hallway.

“Mama, the school! I can’t just leave without them knowing what happened to me. You must send word that I will not be coming back.”

“I will. Hurry,
mein liebes Kind.
”

Jana went back into the bedroom and found Greta sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Jana, are we leaving tonight, as Mother said?”

“Yes. Get packed, but only take what we can carry in one case between the two of us.”

“I’ll light the lamp,” Greta said, reaching for the matches.

“No, the light will be too bright. Light a candle. That’s all we’ll need. Hurry now.”

As Greta was packing, Jana withdrew a wooden picture frame from her drawer in the chest. It contained a wedding picture of Johann and Marta Hartmann, a happy young couple with no inkling of the sorrow to come. She held the picture, wanting to take it with her, but then she decided against it. It would just take up much-needed space in the case, and if she left it, she would have a good reason to return someday. Turning the picture around, she withdrew seven $10 bills she had managed to save from her salary last year. She stuck that money into a pocket of her dress. Then, helping Greta pack, Jana put in her own packet of paper and charcoal pencils for drawing.

“Do you really think we should do this? We may never see Mama again.”

Jana stopped and looked at Greta, who was standing in the light of the candle. She looked so fragile, so delicate, and Jana was hit with the enormity of the situation. Her mother had asked Jana to take on the responsibility of what both women thought was necessary to save Greta’s life, but no one had asked Greta if she wanted to do this.

“Greta, you’ve had no say in this, so I ask you now. Do you want to do this? Or would you rather stay?”

“I’m sad to leave Mama, but I’ll go wherever you take me.”

Jana gave her sister a hug, then picked up the
case, handed the bag of food to Greta, and quietly they left the house.

Marta stood in
the dark upstairs hallway and watched through the open window as her two daughters walked down the lane, then turned on the road toward Dewey Gehrig’s farm. She knew that she would likely never see either of them again, and she wiped the tears from her eyes before she went back to her bed. Frederick’s heavy snoring told her that he knew nothing of the girls’ escape.

She crawled into the bed beside him, then said a quick and silent prayer that she had done the right thing, and that
Gott
would look after her two daughters.

Bismarck, Dakota Territory—September 1882

Drew Malone stood in his law office and poured two cups of coffee. He looked back at the rather stout woman who was sitting on the other side of his desk.

“Ma’am, do you take cream or sugar?” he asked.

“I can’t always get cream or sugar, so I always drink it black.”

Drew handed her the cup of coffee, then sat down behind his desk. He held his cup in both hands for a moment.

“Tell me a little about yourself, Mrs. . . .” He glanced down at his paper. “Considine, is it?”

“Yes, sir. Elfrieda Considine. Well, I’ve been in the Dakota Territory for almost ten years now—came when they opened Fort A. Lincoln. My
husband was proud to bring the best laundress Fort Riley ever had.”

“Your husband was Sergeant Considine?”

“No, sir. Martin was my second husband. He was killed with General Custer, rest his soul, but John Dalton was killed by a civilian in a drunken brawl. Do you drink, Mr. Malone? Because if you do, there’s no need for this conversation to continue.”

Drew’s eyebrows raised in amusement at the turn the interview had taken. This woman, who stood close to six feet tall and weighed at least 230 pounds, was interviewing him!

“I’ve been known to take a drink now and then.”

“I didn’t ask if you took a drink. I asked you if you drank. Believe me, there
is
a difference.”

“I am not a drunk, Mrs. Considine.”

“Good. Then when do I start?”

“Don’t you want to know what your duties will be?”

“I expect you want me to take care of the two little boys that you’ve been shufflin’ from pillar to post since your wife died.”

“Are you sure you were a laundress and not a detective?” Drew laughed openly.

“A woman alone in the world can’t be too careful about who she takes up with. I’ve buried two husbands, or rather, the army has buried two husbands for me, and, Mr. Malone, I want you to understand right now, I’m not in the market for another man.”

“That’s good to know, and I’m not in the market for another wife, so we should get along fine.
Besides looking out for the boys, I’d like you to do some cooking, some housekeeping, and laundering. Are you agreeable to that?”

“Your ad in the
Tribune
said as much, so I’m expecting to do that. My cooking’s not fancy, but it’s tasty, and I run a clean house.”

“That’s all I ask. When can you start, Mrs. Considine?”

“Tomorrow will be right fine. My friends call me Elfrieda, and I would be honored if you would call me that as well.”

“And you may call me Drew.”

“No. While I never wore stripes, bein’ married to two soldiers and doin’ laundry for the bunch of ’em, I was in the army same as if I stood reveille ever’ mornin’. And the army taught me that rank has its privileges. You will be
Mr. Malone
to me.” Elfrieda stood and offered her hand for a shake. “I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

When Elfrieda left, Drew stood and watched her from his window.

What a strange interview. She hadn’t asked him where he lived, what her living accommodations would be, how old the boys were, not even how much money he would be willing to pay her. He smiled. Something told him that with the introduction of Elfrieda, his household was about to be a whole lot different.

Drew hoped that was so. He had just put Rose Denton on a train back to Chicago. Rose was Addie’s mother and had come out to Bismarck to take her grandchildren back to “civilization,” as
she called it. Thank God he’d gotten her on the train without his boys.

What business was it of hers how he raised his children? They were healthy and seemed happy. Maybe Sam couldn’t read as well as she thought he should, and maybe Benji said “son of a bitch” too often, but they had the love of every cowboy who rode the range at Rimfire Ranch, and the attention of every single woman in Bismarck. To get Rose to leave, he had agreed to hire a full-time nanny.