Robin Lee Hatcher - [Coming to America 02] (15 page)

They found the two women in the kitchen, sitting at the table. From upstairs came giggles and laughter—six girls, counting the Bridger two, having a grand time.

“Josephine, my love,” Erik said as he strode across the room, “you will be glad to know the mare is doing well.” He planted a kiss on her cheek.

“I told you it was so before you made Mr. Bridger come to see her,” his wife replied with a smile.

“That you did.”

Inga watched the interplay between the Hansens, then turned her eyes toward Dirk, who was also watching the couple. A wave of pure, unadulterated envy washed over her. How she would love it if he would look at her the way Erik looked at Josephine! Then she was immediately ashamed. She had so much, and yet she always wanted more.

First pride. Now envy. What had happened to Pappa’s sensible daughter?

Dirk’s gaze swung to meet hers. Her heart thumped. He hadn’t rejected her. Why wasn’t she satisfied? Why wasn’t that enough?

“I have you to blame for Mr. Hansen’s latest obsession, Mr. Bridger,” Josephine said to Dirk, interrupting Inga’s thoughts.

Dirk looked away and smiled at the other woman. “I doubt that.”

Josephine rose from the table and went to the cupboard. “Once he had the name of that Thoroughbred farm in Kentucky, he never stopped talking about going there and buying some horses until he had done it. Now all I hear about is that mare and her foal.” She filled two mugs with coffee. “Except when he is talking about the yearling and the races that colt will one day win.”

“I’m hoping Dirk will help me with the training when the time comes.” Erik poured cream into one cup, followed by sev
eral spoonfuls of sugar. Then, leaning against the counter, he blew into the cup to cool the beverage while holding out the other mug toward Dirk.

“I’ll be glad to help,” Dirk answered. “You know that.”

“Ja
, I know.” Erik looked at Inga. “Your husband should have a stable full of horses of his own. He is quite an expert.”

Dirk shook his head. “I’m no expert, and there’s no room in the Bridger barn for anything as useless as a racehorse would be. What we need is a new team of workhorses.” He glanced at Inga. “Speaking of the barn, we’d better get a move on. It’ll be milking time ’fore we get home.”

“I wanna story,” Suzanne demanded as Inga tucked the blankets tightly around her.

“Tell us another one from Sweden,” Martha chimed in.

“All right. Just one.” Inga sat on the edge of the bed. “This is the story about the little, little old lady. Once upon a time, there was a little, little old lady who lived in a little, little cottage. And in this cottage she had a little, little table. She also had a little, little barn. And in that barn she had a little, little cow. She also had a little, little milk pail.”

The children giggled softly.

“One day she went to the little, little barn and milked the little, little cow into the little, little milk pail. Then she took the little, little milk pail with the little, little milk and went into the little, little cottage and placed it on the little, little table.”

“That’s like Uncle Dirk,” Martha said. “Only he’s not little, little. Uncle Dirk’s tall.”

Inga smiled as she continued with the story. “She also had a little, little cat that said ‘Meow.’ And when the little, little old lady went to get a little, little plate to filter the little, little milk, the little, little cat jumped up onto the little, little table and finished all the milk.”

“The little, little milk!” Suzanne exclaimed.

Inga nodded, then frowned dramatically. “But then the old lady cried, ‘Shoo!’ And the cat ran away to the forest and never returned again.” She kissed Suzanne’s forehead and said, “The end.” Then she stood, leaned over, and kissed Martha’s forehead, too.

“It should be so easy t’get rid of those pesky cats,” Dirk said from the doorway.

Inga looked up, his presence causing her heart to quicken, as was always the case.

“Didja hear the story, Uncle Dirk?” Martha asked.

He walked into the bedroom, crossing to stand beside the bed. “The little, little story?”

Both girls giggled.

“Yeah, I heard. Aunt Inga’s a good storyteller, don’t you think?”

“Uh-huh,” they answered in unison.

“It was not my story,” Inga demurred. “It is a children’s story from Sweden.”

Dirk kissed the girls as Inga had done moments before, then straightened and turned. “But you tell the little, little story very, very well.” He grinned.

Her heart flip-flopped and her stomach felt all fluttery. A silly overreaction to something so simple as a smile, yet it was the way she always reacted to him.

He turned down the lamp, plunging the bedroom into darkness. Then he took hold of Inga’s arm and said, “Good night, girls. Sleep tight.”

“Don’t let the bedbugs bite,” Martha responded, then giggled again.

Inga didn’t feel like laughing. She felt utterly breathless as her husband drew her out of the children’s bedroom and along the shadowed hallway to his own.

Moonlight filtering through the window and a lamp on the dresser, turned low, revealed her white nightgown lying across the foot of the bed. She knew Dirk had put it there. He hadn’t changed his mind, as she’d feared he might.

“Inga,” he said, his tone serious. “How much do you understand about procreation?”

Heat rushed up her neck and into her cheeks. “Only a little,” she answered. “Mostly what I have guessed.”

“There are things you need to know.” He closed the door behind him. “I don’t want more misunderstandings between us.” He proceeded then to explain things she had not known before—had never even guessed—including the steps he would take to prevent a child of their union.

She told herself she wouldn’t mind. She loved Dirk, and for now, he wanted to be with her. It would have to be enough. Only now she thought of the day he would leave her, and secretly wished she would have his child with her when that day came.

Was that such a terrible thing to want?

L
ate February treated Iowa to a glimpse of springtime, turning the top layer of snow on the roads to slush and melting it from the barren tree branches. The sun shone bright yellow in a cloudless blue sky, a welcome treat after more weeks of gray and gloom.

Although Dirk told Inga the respite from winter would be temporary, she was nonetheless buoyed by the change in the weather. It seemed a reflection of the hope and happiness that grew a little stronger in her heart with each passing day.

It was on one such balmy Wednesday that Inga drove the sleigh out to the Hansen farm and asked Erik if he would help her with a surprise for Dirk’s birthday in March. After obtaining his promise of help and some needed information, she went into Uppsala and stopped at the general store, where she purchased supplies and left three more quilts with Mrs. Dolk. Inga herself was surprised when the proprietress paid her for several more recent sales. She could scarcely believe the good bounty coming her way.

Her spirits soaring, she decided to surprise her parents and sisters with a weekday visit. But her entrance into the parsonage’s parlor wasn’t noticed at first.

“But, Olaf, we cannot simply do nothing. Think what might become of her.” Her mamma hid her face against his shoulder and sobbed.

Pappa, looking strangely helpless, patted his wife’s back. “Do not cry. We will find her.” Then he spied his eldest daughter, standing in the doorway. “Look, here is Inga.”

“What is wrong, Pappa?” she asked, alarmed by the tearful scene.

“It is Thea. She has run away. She has gone to join Karl in New York City.”

She dropped her gaze to the floor, afraid he would see her guilt in her eyes. “Oh.”

“Why would she do this?” Mamma lamented as she crossed to where Inga stood and embraced her. “Why would she run away from her home?”

“Because she loves Karl,” Inga replied softly, “and she was afraid Pappa would not let them marry if she told you Karl was coming. That is all she has wanted for a long time. To be with Karl.” When she lifted her gaze, she saw that it was too late to hide the truth of her collaboration from her pappa.

“You knew she was going to do this,
dotter?”

“Ja
, Pappa. I did not know when, but I knew she would go.”

“And you did not tell me?”

“I could not. I promised Thea.”

“Is this how you honor your pappa and your mamma? By deceiving us?”

“Nej
, Pappa,” she whispered, “but it is how I keep my word to my sister. Thea loves Karl, and she wants to be his wife. He will take good care of her.”

“He is a
boy!”
her pappa shouted. “How can he take care of her?”

Inga shook her head. “He is a man, Pappa.”

“Thea thinks only of herself. She doesn’t know what it means to be a wife.”

“Then she will learn. She will grow up. She will have to.”

“Did you think of the danger she could be in before you gave her your promise?” her father demanded, accusation making his voice harsh. “Didn’t it occur to you she could fall into the hands of evil men? A young girl, traveling alone. What if something were to happen to Karl before he arrived in America? Did you think of that? Thea would be alone in New York without family or friends.” He pierced her with his gaze.
“Nej
, I can see by your face that you didn’t think of such things.”

“Thea will be all right,” Inga insisted. “God will look out for her. I am sure of it.”

Olaf paced the length of the parlor, his hands clasped behind his back. “I do not know what has come over you, Inga. You and your sisters.” He stopped and glared at her. “You have forgotten the way you were raised.”

“We have not forgotten, but we are no longer children either.”

Her pappa threw up his hands in surrender. “You have broken your mamma’s heart, that is what you have done. Wait until you have children of your own. Then you will understand.” With that, he strode out of the room.

Children of my own.
She would never understand, if that was what it took.

She gave her head a tiny shake, driving off the depressing thought, then took her mother by the arm and led her to the sofa. “Sit down, Mamma, and I will tell you what I know of Thea’s plans.” Carefully, she detailed everything she knew about Karl’s trip to America, the promise of factory work he’d received before leaving Sweden, and Thea’s plans to meet him upon his arrival.

When Inga was finished, Bernadotte nodded sadly and said, “I should have guessed she would do this. Thea was
always swept up in her own grand dreams. She has never been sensible like you.”

I am not so very sensible, Mamma
, she thought.

“Your sister thinks too much of her own appearance and her own comforts and too little of the feelings of others. I fear it will not go well for her, so far from home.” Bernadotte sighed. “Thea is spoiled and vain. She doesn’t know that life is often hard.”

“Karl loves her, Mamma. Of that I am sure. He knows her faults and loves her despite them. Such love is rare, I think. She is blessed to have found such a man.”

Her mother turned a questioning gaze on Inga. “And you,
dotter?”

“Me?”

“Are you blessed?”

She thought of the many nights she had lain in her husband’s embrace. Did he love her with his heart? She could not be sure. Sometimes, she thought so. Other times…

“Inga, are you happy?”

She forced a smile.
“Ja
, I am blessed, too, Mamma. I am happy.”

“Married nearly two months already. It does not seem possible.” Bernadotte dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief before asking, “Have you been sick in the mornings?”

Inga drew back in surprise. The past few mornings had been wretched. Cooking breakfast had been agony. “How did you know?”

“Oh, Inga.” Her mamma gave her a tight hug. “I am so delighted. This will soften your pappa’s heart and make him forget his anger.”

She was confused, and her face must have shown it.

Bernadotte took hold of both her hands. “Don’t you realize what it means?”

Inga shook her head.

“Your monthly flow, it is late?
Ja?”

She thought about it, then nodded.
“Ja
, a little. Perhaps a week or two.”

Her mamma squeezed Inga’s hands. “My darling
dotter
, you are going to have a baby.”

“A baby?” She shook her head again. That was impossible. Dirk didn’t want a baby. He had told her how he would prevent it. How could this be?

Suddenly she was flooded with such exquisite joy she could scarcely contain it.

“Your pappa cannot stay angry now,” Bernadotte repeated, grinning all the while. “To think. I am going to be a grandmamma.”

“You mustn’t tell anyone yet,” Inga said hastily. “Not even Pappa. Not yet.”

“But, Inga—”

“No one, Mamma. I want…I want to keep it a surprise. I…I want to wait to tell Dirk on his birthday.” In truth, she wanted to keep it a secret so she might enjoy it a little while longer. She wanted to savor it before she had to tell her husband that what he’d wanted most to avoid had come to pass.

There was a chance, she told herself, that when he knew she was carrying his child, he might come to love her. Perhaps then he would want to stay with her forever. She knew it was only a slim possibility, but she clung to it tenaciously.

An hour later, she set off for home, the melody in her heart singing along with the runners on the sleigh.

A baby. A baby of her own. Dirk’s baby to love and cherish, to nurture and watch grow. A child who would love her in return. A son with his father’s dark hair and eyes. A boy who would grow tall and strong and become a man of integrity, like his father before him.

Thank you, Father God. Thank you for this miracle. It must be of you for Dirk has done everything a man can do in order to avoid creating a child. But you had a different plan it seems, and I am grateful, my Savior, for the blessing you have poured out upon your handmaiden. Thank you for bringing me to America and to Iowa. Thank you for sending Dirk to see Pappa. Thank you for my new family, for my husband and my children and the baby who grows within even now. My heart sings with joy, O God. Let all that I do please you, my Lord.

She smiled, thinking that Dirk would have to recognize God’s hand in all of this. He would realize they were meant to be together and that they were meant to have a family. At last he would realize he loved her.

Yes, it would be perfect to tell him on his birthday. It would be one more surprise. Wasn’t a birthday the perfect day for surprises?

With every
clackity-clackity-clackity
of the wheels on the tracks, Thea grew a little more frightened, a little more unsure of herself. The woman seated next to her had a sour odor that made Thea’s stomach roll, and the man seated directly across from her was drooling as he slept, his head resting on the seat back.

Thea was sure it would be better when she was in New York, better when she was with Karl again. Tomorrow she would meet the steamship that was bringing her bridegroom to America. Soon after they would be married. Then everything would be perfect, just as it was meant to be for the two of them.

Mrs. Karl Gustav…Fru Gustav…Thea Gustav…

In a pouch, secured beneath her bodice and tied around her waist, was the last of the money Inga had given her, along with the address of a reputable rooming house for unmarried young women. Thea hadn’t asked Inga how she had obtained such an address. She’d simply trusted that her eldest sibling
would be able to solve her problems, as had been so often the case throughout her life.

She felt a sudden pang of missing her older sister, and she wished Inga hadn’t married Dirk Bridger. She wished she’d been free to accompany Thea to New York City. She didn’t doubt she would have been able to convince Inga to do it. Inga might be the levelheaded, sensible one of the Reverend Linberg’s five daughters, but she was also the most sentimental and soft-hearted when it came to members of her family. Thea had always known how to use those traits to get what she wanted from Inga.

But maybe it was for the best Inga was in Uppsala. She would be able to calm their pappa. By now he would have found Thea’s note. By now he would be furious because of her disobedience. Inga would be able to convince Pappa to forgive Thea.

Although, when she thought about it, there was nothing for him to forgive. This was
his
fault. If he’d let her marry Karl while they were still in Jönköping, she wouldn’t have had to run away. She could have had a Swedish wedding with all the trappings, just as she deserved.

The woman beside her snorted and coughed, then spit into a rag of a handkerchief. Thea wrinkled her nose in dismay and looked the other way.

This was not the romantic adventure she had envisioned, but everything would be all right once she was with Karl. Once they were married, her life would be perfect.

His wife grew prettier every day, Dirk thought at supper that night. There was a special softness about her expression. He couldn’t help wondering if he was the cause, at least in part, of the pretty glow in her eyes, the gentle sweep of her smile.

It surprised him that he wanted to be responsible for it, but he realized he did. He liked thinking he might make her happy.

“Tell me what you did in town today,” he said as he scooped more potatoes onto his plate. “You must’ve spent a long time at your parents’.”

Her gaze flicked to him, then away.
“Ja
, I was there for some time. All is in turmoil. Thea has run off to New York to marry Karl Gustav. He is a boy…I mean, a
man
she knew in Jönköping. Pappa thought they were too young to wed. He is very angry.”

“Hmm.” Dirk had a hard time imagining the minister angry. Stern, perhaps, but not angry.

“Ja
, and with me, too.”

“Why you?”

“Because I helped her. I gave her some of my quilt money to pay for her train fare.” A becoming blush painted Inga’s cheeks. “Thea loves Karl. She belongs with him. He will be good to her. When she asked for my help, I could not deny her.”

He chuckled softly. “It seems you’re more of a romantic than your pa thinks you are.”

She looked up, and in that instant, he saw the depth of her emotions, the largeness of her heart. The knowledge hit him like a fist in the belly, leaving the breath knocked out of him. It scared him, the sheer power of her love for others.

She smiled as he continued to stare. He remembered thinking—on the day he’d hired her to work as his housekeeper—that the last thing he’d needed was a bona fide saint living in his house. But it wasn’t that Inga was a saint. It was simply that she cared about others. Deeply, truly cared. She loved openly and freely. She’d loved his mother. She loved Martha and Suzanne.

She might even love him.

He supposed he’d already known, at some deep level, that it could happen. What he didn’t know was how he felt about it. He had loved his parents and his brother, but they had died, leaving him bound to a life and a place he didn’t want. If Inga were to love him, would her love do the same?

But how could it, he argued with himself, as long as he didn’t love her in return?

He thought of the sweetness of their union and wondered if he could avoid more entanglements to his heart. He’d made it clear to her in countless ways that he had no intention of staying. But leaving her, he realized now, might not be so easy. He had fallen into a tender trap. He knew desire often faded over time. Would his dreams fade, too?

Or would it be too late by then to matter?

Thursday, February 24, 1898

Uppsala, Iowa

Dear Mrs. Keene,

I am writing because I hope to purchase a Thoroughbred filly as a gift for my husband on his birthday. I obtained your address from Erik Hansen who purchased some horses from you last year. I do not have a great deal of money and so cannot expect to choose from the best of your stables, but I am hoping we might come to some arrangement for an animal of sound breeding, preferably a filly. Mr. Hansen assured me that you were fair in all your dealings with him and that I might expect you to be the same with me.

Would you be so kind as to write to me if you have any foals for sale and detail what you might be asking for
them? I would be most grateful to you for a quick reply as time is short before my husband’s birthday.

Yours most sincerely,

Mrs. Dirk Bridger