Robin Lee Hatcher - [Coming to America 02] (10 page)

He gave her a small nod, as if she’d actually spoken. Then he whispered, “I love you, Martha. I love you and Suzanne, and we’re gonna be all right, the three of us. I swear to you, we’re gonna be all right.”

Strangely enough, he almost believed his promise. For just that moment, as he watched Inga smile gently at them from across the room, he felt a spark of hope.

When Inga opened the door the next morning and saw her parents standing on the porch, she felt a great flood of relief. Until then she hadn’t realized how heavy her burden of worry for the Bridger family had become.

“Oh, Pappa, I’m so glad you are here.” She kissed his cheek. Then, fighting unexpected tears, she embraced her mother. “Mamma.”

“We have come to see Mrs. Bridger,” her pappa said. “Dr. Swenson brought your message yesterday.”

Inga nodded. “She will be glad you have come. Let me have your coats, and then I will take you to her. Mr. Bridger is out in the barn, but the children are in with their grandmamma now.”

A few minutes later, she led the way to Hattie’s room. “Mrs. Bridger, my parents have come to call.”

The ailing woman turned her head on her pillow. “Reverend and Mrs. Linberg.” Her voice was weak. “What a nice surprise.” She smiled. “Do you see what my granddaughters have made for me? A garden of daffodils.”

It was good Hattie had explained the patches of yellow and green fabric which had been pinned to the walls and the curtains. Only a very few of them resembled flowers. But it hadn’t mattered to Hattie. She’d been delighted with them when she’d awakened this morning and discovered them there.

Bernadotte Linberg crossed the room to admire the cheery display, then she looked at the children. “This is a wonderful gift you have given your grandmamma.”

“It was Miss Inga’s idea,” Martha volunteered.

Her mother glanced up. “I am not surprised.” Then she asked the girls, “Will you show me how you made them?” She held out her hands. After only a moment’s hesitation, Suzanne and Martha slid off the foot of their grandmother’s bed, took Bernadotte’s hands, and accompanied her from the room.

Inga had seen similar scenes in the past, and she knew this was her mother’s way of leaving the pastor alone to pray with Hattie. As her father pulled a chair close to the side of the bed, Inga stepped out of the bedroom and closed the door. Then she turned and followed the children and her mother into the kitchen.

Martha was showing Bernadotte the paper pattern they had used to trace the flowers onto the fabric. “Miss Inga made these, but I did all the cuttin’.”

“Will you show me?” Bernadotte asked again.

Martha glanced over her shoulder.

Inga nodded. “You know where I keep the sewing scraps.”

Martha darted out of the kitchen, Suzanne not far behind. Inga smiled as she listened to the thunderous footsteps on the stairs.

“How are you faring, dear?”

She looked at her mother, her smile fading. “I did not know it would be this hard.”

“You have come to care for this family.”

“Ja,
that is true.”

“Dr. Swenson says Mrs. Bridger does not have long. Perhaps a few days at most.”

“Ja.
We have tried to prepare the children.” She turned toward the kitchen window. She thought of Dirk, of the way he had held Martha last night, of how much she had wanted to hold both of them in her own arms.

“It is a difficult time for a family to go through. I’m glad you are able to help them.” Bernadotte sat on one of the
kitchen chairs. “But I will also be glad to have you at home again when your time here is done.”

Inga had walked over to the window and was staring out at the barn, wondering what Dirk was doing, wondering if she should go out and tell him her parents had arrived. “I have promised Mrs. Bridger I will stay as long as I am needed.”

“Inga, you cannot stay after Mrs. Bridger dies.”

She turned to meet her mamma’s gaze. “But I must. The children—”

“You cannot live in this house without at least the semblance of a chaperone. I realize Mrs. Bridger has been ill, but her presence protected you from those who would gossip. However, it would not be seemly for you to remain after she is gone.”

Panic was the only way Inga could have described what she felt. It hadn’t occurred to her, although it should have, that convention would demand she return to her own home after Hattie’s death. “Mamma, what will Mr. Bridger do with the children if I do not stay? I will be needed more than ever.”

“I am sorry for them, of course, but this cannot be helped. We are to avoid even the appearance of evil.”

The girls returned at that moment, and Inga was glad for the interruption. She needed some time to collect her careening emotions. She’d known she wouldn’t be able to stay forever, but she hadn’t expected to be forced to leave so soon. And although she’d used the excuse of Dirk’s need for her help with the children, Inga knew her panic had much more to do with her own need to be near him.

Bernadotte appeared to be paying close attention to Martha as the child explained how they had made the daffodils, but Inga caught the occasional worried glances her mamma sent her way. She could only hope she wouldn’t guess the full extent
of Inga’s feelings, or she might very well insist her daughter return to the parsonage that very day.

Hattie Bridger’s prayer was answered. She lived to see one more Christmas. She was there when Martha and Suzanne saw the dolls Inga had made for them and when Dirk removed the wrapping paper to reveal the Jules Verne novel. She was there to see the sunshine melting icicles hanging from the eaves outside her window and to admire one last time the garden of daffodils that had been so lovingly made for her. She was there to eat a few bites of the Christmas goose and sample the Swedish porridge. She was there to hear the family sing her favorite Christmas carols.

As dusk cast a blue-gray shadow over the snow-covered farmland, she held her son’s hand and told him one more time that she was proud of him, that she loved him. She kissed her granddaughters on their rosy cheeks and bade them to be good. She told Inga she was glad she’d been given these weeks to know her and thanked her for all she had done.

Hattie Bridger died just as darkness announced the end of Christmas Day.

T
wo days after Christmas, they buried Hattie Bridger beside her elder son and daughter-in-law. The sky was gray, the wind plaintive, the temperature icy and bone-chilling.

Considering the weather, there were a lot of people at the funeral: their neighbors, Sven and Frida Gerhard; Dr. Swenson; the Dolks and their strapping twin sons, Vilhelm and Valdemar; Erik and Josephine Hansen; Reverend Linberg, who conducted the short service, and his wife and daughters.

And Inga was there, holding Martha’s and Suzanne’s hands, and somehow sharing a gentle strength with Dirk, even in her silence.

Dirk had done most of his mourning in the days before his mother passed on, and after the funeral, he observed the remainder of the day as if from a distance, never feeling quite connected with any of it. Inga, always gracious and efficient, played the role of hostess, greeting those who had come to pay their respects and condolences, accepting their platters of food, hanging up their hats and coats.

It was late in the afternoon by the time the Linbergs, the last to leave, began gathering up their things. Dirk thanked the pastor and his family for their kindnesses, but secretly, he wouldn’t be sorry to have the house silent again.

Then he turned and saw Inga coming down the stairs, wearing her coat, her two youngest sisters carrying her trunk between them.

“Inga?” he asked. “You’re going?”

“I am sorry, Mr. Bridger. We must leave before it gets any later or we will be driving in the dark.”

“But why? Where are you going?”

Her eyes widened as she drew closer. “I told you I cannot stay, Mr. Bridger. Don’t you remember?” She glanced toward her parents. “Pappa won’t allow it.”

Dirk looked at the pastor. “Why not?”

It was Inga who answered. “Because I am an unmarried female, and you are an unmarried man.” She blushed when his gaze swung back to her.

Had she told him she would be leaving? He didn’t remember the conversation. If she had, surely he would have tried to persuade her to stay. How was he to manage without her? His nieces loved her, and they would need her more than ever now.
He
would need her.

But when he turned toward her father a second time, he realized it would be fruitless to plead with him. The pastor would never allow his daughter to remain in a situation that might lead to gossip and scandal, even though there would be no basis for either. It wouldn’t have mattered to Reverend Linberg that nothing untoward had ever been shared between Dirk and Inga. Not so much as a touch or a kiss.

Perhaps Dirk had thought Inga pretty a time or two. Perhaps he had even felt a tug of desire. But those had been momentary, passing thoughts. Nothing he would have acted upon.

Inga leaned forward, her hand reaching out but not quite touching him. “You will let me know how the children are when you come to town?”

“Sure. Of course.” What was he going to do? He couldn’t manage the farm and the house and the children all by himself. Martha wasn’t old enough to cook the meals or clean. She wasn’t old enough to keep a proper eye on Suzanne.

“I told the girls good-bye when I was upstairs. They are in their room.” Inga’s voice dropped almost to a whisper. “You need to go up to them.”

How could she walk out this way, when they needed her so much? Dirk had come to depend upon her. How could she pretend to care about his family and then just walk out?

Reverend Linberg opened the door. “Come along, everyone. It’s getting late.”

“We are sorry for your loss, Mr. Bridger,” Bernadotte said before walking through the open doorway.

One by one, the Linberg girls followed behind their mother, each offering parting words of comfort. Inga, the last to go, hesitated a moment in front of him, as if she would say something, too. Then, bowing her head, her gaze on the ground, she followed after the others without speaking. As she passed her father, who remained beside the door, the pastor bid Dirk a final farewell, then departed, closing the door behind him.

With real despair, Dirk turned toward the stairs, wondering again how he was going to manage.

“Whatever is the matter with you, Inga?” Thea demanded. “All you have done for three days is stare out that window and sigh. You cannot possibly miss those little girls that much.”

“But I do miss them that much,” she answered. She missed their uncle even more.

“Well, I know Pappa is glad to have you back where you belong. He couldn’t find anything in his office while you were away.”

Back where you belong.

Inga wandered to the window and looked down at the snow-covered garden behind the parsonage. She could feel the cold through the glass, but her heart felt colder still. If she could have spoken to either of her parents about what she was feeling, about her love for Dirk Bridger, she knew they would have told her to pray for God’s will to be done. Only she didn’t want to pray that way. For what if what she wanted wasn’t God’s will? She wanted Dirk. Never had she wanted anything more.

“Inga?” Thea placed her hand on Inga’s shoulder. “You aren’t listening to me.”

“I am sorry.”

“What about Karl? Have you given it more thought? How I am to reach him?”

She shook her head even as she felt a spark of resentment. It would never occur to Thea that Inga might be heartbroken by her separation from the man she loved, just as Thea was herself. It would never occur to any of her sisters that Inga might want to be married, to be held and kissed by a husband, to have children and a home of her own. Everyone simply assumed her future was in the parsonage, helping her pappa. She knew they didn’t mean to be cruel or thoughtless. After all, it had always been what she expected, too. But it
was
cruel and thoughtless, and it
did
hurt.

She might have told Thea everything right then if they hadn’t been interrupted.

“Inga, you have a caller,” Astrid announced as she entered the bedroom. “It is Mr. Bridger.”

Her heart jumped wildly. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror, wishing she was wearing one of her newer gowns, wishing she had done something different with her hair, wishing…

“Gunda went to get Mr. Bridger some coffee.” Astrid took a step backward into the hall. “Pappa is with him now.”

“I will go right down.” Inga swept passed her sister, only barely restraining herself from breaking into an all-out run.

It was difficult to think above the pounding in her chest. Her breaths came in tiny gulps, and her legs felt unsteady as she descended the stairs. Her careening emotions only worsened when she stepped into the parlor doorway and saw him, seated on the sofa.

Dirk glanced up, then rose to his feet. “Hello.”

He looked wonderful. So darkly handsome. So strong and so tall. It seemed years-eons!-since she had seen him.

Tears sprang to her eyes, and she blinked them away. Pasting a smile on her lips, she moved into the room.
“Goddag
, Mr. Bridger. How are you? How are Martha and Suzanne?”

“That’s why I’m here,” he answered obliquely. He glanced toward her father, then back to her. “I was hopin’ I might speak with you in private, Miss Linberg, if that’d be all right with the pastor.”

Inga’s excitement over seeing him faded somewhat, concern replacing it. Something was wrong. She should have realized it before. Why else would he come?

She looked at her pappa.

He nodded. “I have work to do on my sermon.” Olaf picked up a sheaf of papers. “Come along, Astrid. Let’s join Gunda in the kitchen. I could use some of that coffee.”

A dozen possibilities of what could have brought Dirk to the parsonage raced through Inga’s mind as her father and sister left the room. Could one of the girls be ill? Had there been an accident at the farm? Certainly, judging by Dirk’s expression, whatever had brought him here was serious.

Once they were alone, he pointed toward the sofa. “Mind if we sit down?”

“Has something happened to one of the girls? Suzanne, has she-”

“No. They’re both right enough, I reckon. I left ’em with Mrs. Gerhard while I came to town.”

Her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “And you? Are you well?”

He pointed at the sofa again and waited until she was seated before answering, “I’m okay.”

She relaxed slightly. “I am glad to hear it.”

Dirk raked his fingers through his hair as was his habit. “I don’t quite know how to go about sayin’ what I came here to say, Miss Linberg. I’ve never been much good with words. I guess the best way is to just get it said.”

“Ja
, that is true.”

He drew a deep breath. “The truth is, Miss Linberg, things aren’t goin’ very well at the farm. The girls miss their grandma, and they miss you, too. I’m a lousy cook, so nobody’s eatin’ like they should. The house is a mess. Laundry’s piled up. Truth is, we need you.”

Her heart fell. “Oh, Mr. Bridger, I wish I could help, but Pappa would never—”

“I’ve come to ask for your hand in marriage, Miss Linberg. I’d like us to get married right away. Tomorrow, if you’re willin’.”

She caught her breath, and her eyes widened as she stared at him in disbelief.

“Look, I know there’s no love shared between us, but I think we get on well enough together. I’m not askin’ you to…well…to share my bed. It wouldn’t be a marriage in that respect, if you know what I mean.”

She didn’t know exactly what he meant, but she had a vague notion. She nodded.

“We could go on, like it was before Ma died. You’d still have your own room. The girls are right fond of you, and I know you’d always be good to them.”

“Mr. Bridger, I—”

“I respect you, Miss Linberg, and I promise I’d never treat you ill. The work would be as hard as ever, but I think we’d manage well enough. You and me, we both want different things than what we’ve got now. I’ve always had a hankerin’ to travel, and I expect there are things you’d like to do, too. If you’d stay with us until the girls’re old enough to take care of themselves, that’s all I’d ask. I promise you here and now that I wouldn’t leave you in need when the time came for partin’. The farm, it’ll go to the girls and the men they decide to marry, but I’d find some way to see that you were compensated fairly for the years you’d be givin’ up.”

“That wouldn’t be—”

“No, that’d only be fair. And I’d swear before whatever court or judge was necessary that we’d had us a celibate marriage so you could get yourself an annulment. There wouldn’t be the scandal of divorce. I’d take all the blame on myself so no one could point any fingers at you. It wouldn’t be for all that long, you know. Suzanne’s nearly four now. In another eight years, maybe ten, she’d be—”

“I accept, Mr. Bridger.” Inga waited a heartbeat, then added, “I will marry you.”

The room stilled. Only the ticking of the mantelpiece clock could be heard. Inga fought the urge to cry, not knowing if it was for joy or sorrow. She supposed it was for both reasons. She loved him. There was nothing she wanted more than to be his wife and to love him until the day she died. But he had proposed in order to have a housekeeper and a woman to care for his nieces, not because he wanted a wife, and knowing the truth hurt more than she thought anything could.

“Are you sure?” he asked softly, his dark eyes searching hers.

Actually, she was certain the wiser path would be to reject his offer. She knew Dirk longed for many things, just as he’d said. She understood the hopes he harbored. Marriage, a wife, a family had never been part of those dreams of the future. She was setting herself up for more heartache. But the children needed her, she rationalized. Dirk truly could not manage without someone to help him. And marriages were often made for exactly this reason. Widowers with children often sought new brides simply to have a woman to raise the offspring they already had. Women frequently married for nothing more than security. Sometimes they married complete strangers.

Dirk was no stranger. Dirk was the man she loved. If she married him, there was always the chance he might one day come to love her, too.

“Inga, are you sure?”

“Ja
, I am sure…Dirk.” It felt strange to use his given name, despite how often she had secretly thought it. “But I have a request.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I would not have anyone know this is a marriage in name only. While it was never my plan to marry, Mamma…she will want to think I marry for love.”

“Sure.” He shrugged. “I don’t reckon it’s anyone else’s business but ours, yours and mine, for now. Later…Well, we’ll see to that when the time comes.”

Ours. Yours and mine.
Wonderful words, if only they meant what she longed for them to mean.

Dirk stood. “I guess I need to speak to the pastor.”

She rose, too, and impulsively took hold of his hand. “We will do it together.”

As she looked up at him, Dirk briefly thought about kissing her. He wasn’t a complete fool. Even a proposal for a mar
riage of convenience should probably be sealed with a kiss. It wasn’t as if he didn’t think kissing her would be pleasant. Actually, he imagined he’d enjoy it. But before he could act on the impulse, Inga took a step away from him, pulling him along with her.

At her father’s study, she rapped on the closed door, then leaned in close and said, “Pappa, may we come in?”

“Ja
,” came the muffled reply.

Inga glanced over her shoulder. She gave Dirk a fleeting smile, then turned the knob and opened the door.

Olaf Linberg was seated behind his desk, holding a steaming mug of coffee to his lips. As they approached him, Dirk saw the surprise in the other man’s eyes when Olaf noticed their joined hands. Dirk’s grip tightened, and Inga looked at him. He realized then that she was nervous, perhaps even afraid of what her father’s reaction would be.

“Pappa, we—”

“Reverend Linberg,” Dirk interrupted, “I’ve asked your daughter to be my bride, and she’s done me the honor of accepting. We’d like your blessing, sir, and want you to perform the ceremony.”

Olaf’s gaze flicked back and forth between Dirk and Inga. “Marriage?”

“We’d like you to marry us tomorrow, Reverend.”