Years (38 page)

It took the boys a week to catch four rabbits. During that
time there was much whispering and secretiveness. Linnea suspected some of the girls were in on the plans, too, because every day during afternoon recess, Patricia Lommen and Frances Westgaard had their heads together with the boys, talking animatedly, occasionally breaking out in excited giggles, then quieting suddenly when a loud “Shh!” would go up from the group.

Raymond finally announced that they had all the rabbits they needed — by now they were frozen in several tightly covered pails in the snow by the coal shed — but informed Miss Brandonberg that they were saving the meal for the day before Thanksgiving, so could she set that day aside and give them a little longer dinner break than usual?

Libby Severt was somehow in on the act, too. She asked permission to take the smaller children aside for one hour of secret consultation early in Thanksgiving week. While Linnea sat at her desk, correcting arithmetic papers and trying her best not to appear inquisitive, a giggle went up from the youngsters in the back corner. She glanced up to see Roseanne and Sonny jumping up and down and clapping excitedly.

Then, with only one day to go before the event, another special request was made: they needed to use the cloakroom for a while and be left alone. Would Miss Brandonberg please stay out until they were done?

By this time Linnea was so curious it was all she could do to stay at her desk while the door opened and closed repeatedly and children came in and took things from their desks, then ran back and slammed the door. The cloak room was so cold they’d donned their jackets, yet nobody seemed to mind in the least.

At last the big day arrived and it was impossible to carry on normally with reading, writing, and arithmetic lessons. The children were simply jittering with excitement.

At mid-morning the older boys started frying rabbits in two enormous iron frying pans. Potatoes ringed the entire fender of the stove, and soon the savory scent of cooking onions filled the schoolroom. Skipp and Bent proudly marched to the cloakroom and came back with a metal corn-popper on a long handle and set to work popping corn. Jeannette and Roseanne produced a reasonable facsimile of a basket — woven by their own immature hands? — of fresh, dry cornstalks, into which the
popcorn was dumped. Several of the children took over pushing the rows of desks back against the walls. They swept the floor, then ringed the stove with fifteen plates and forks confiscated from their mothers’ pantries. A fruit jar of bright, golden butter appeared, and salt and pepper shakers.

Roseanne marched up to Linnea’s desk and announced, very soberly, “We know the Pilgrimth din’t have plates, but we—”

“Shh! Roseanne!” Libby came by and almost yanked Roseanne off her feet. A moment later the cloak room door slammed behind them.

Next, Norna came out and ran up to the big boys by the stove, whispering urgently into Kristian’s ear. Kristian, Ray, and Tony followed her back into the cloakroom and returned moments later sporting wide white Pilgrim collars made of paper, and black paper hats that made them look more like warlocks than Pilgrims.

Finally, when Linnea’s excitement was as great as that of her students, Bent and Jeannette came out of the cloakroom, marched with all due pomp and importance to “teacher’s desk,” and escorted her to the place of honor near the stove — one with a perfect view of the cloakroom door.

Libby Severt stepped out, closed the door, and announced clearly, “The first Thanksgiving.” There followed a brief recitation on the history of the Pilgrims at Plymouth Colony in 1621, then Libby took her place on the floor next to Miss Brandonberg. Linnea squeezed her hand and solemnly returned her attention to the cloakroom door.

Out stepped Skipp and Jeannette nervously glancing at each other for a cue, taking deep breaths, then reciting in unison: “Thanksgiving was to give thanks for a good harvest or for rain after a drought.” Each of them carried a sheaf of wheat in their arms. In procession they marched forward and laid the symbolic wheat on the floor within the circle of plates. When they were seated, Raymond hustled forward and whisked one bundle a safer distance from the stove, and at Jeannette’s crestfallen expression assured her in a loud whisper, “You did just fine, Jeannette.” Then he gave her a broad wink, which staved off her tears.

Linnea controlled the urge to chuckle, truly touched by the solemnity with which the children carried out their parts in the pageant.

Next came Frances, dressed in a brown blanket, with a chicken feather in her hair. “The Indians brought gifts of food,” she announced importantly. Behind her entered four other Indians in feathers and blankets. First came Norna.

“Corn,” she announced, bearing forth a lopsided basket of popcorn.

Then came tiny Roseanne.

“Nutth!” she blasted, so loud it raised an undertone of laughter. The sound faded as she solemnly came into the room with a dishtowel tied neatly in a bundle. Kneeling at the circle, she tried to untie it. When the knot refused to budge, she glanced with a trembling lip toward Patricia — obviously the play director — hovering near the cloakroom door. Patricia hustled over to lend a hand, and together she and Roseanne opened the towel, revealing a pile of crisp, brown walnut meats.

Roseanne settled down cross-legged, and the next Indian entered.

“Wild fruits.” Sonny’s offering was a wooden bowl full of quartered apples.

“And berries,” Bent ended. Another series of snickers arose as he came forward with two quart jars of home-canned raspberry sauce, explaining, “We couldn’t find no fresh berries.” The younger children covered their mouths and giggled.

Libby rose to her feet and recited, “The Pilgrims taught the Indians about God, and they all asked for thanks together, for the year had been bountiful and they had food enough to see them through till spring.”

To Linnea’s surprise, Allen Severt stepped from the cloakroom, looking completely out of character in one of his father’s white collars, which hung around his neck like a band around a chicken’s leg. He held a Bible and grudgingly mumbled his way through the Thanksgiving Psalm, then sat down.

Again, Libby began, “And they all sang—”

Over by the stove, Kristian interrupted, “And they all decided that they would sing the Thanksgiving song later so the rabbit wouldn’t be burned to a crisp.”

They broke into gales of laughter. Then Tony and Paul passed around piping-hot potatoes, followed by the fruit jar of butter. Kristian and Raymond served the rabbit, and there was cold milk for everyone. They had all brought cups from home, and Miss Brandonberg got the one from the water jug.

When the food was all served and the big boys seated, Linnea sat back and smiled at them all, tears flooding her eyes. She reached for the hands of those closest to her. Never in her life had she experienced a feeling like this. These wonderful children had done this all for her. Pride shone in their eyes. A lump formed in her throat.

As they all joined hands in a circle, she found room in her heart to love every one of them.

“I give thanks for each and every one of you dear, dear children. You’ve given me a Thanksgiving I shall never forget.” A tear trembled and rolled over her lashes, followed by another. She unashamedly let them fall. The children gazed at her in awe, and nobody seemed to know how to end the awkward moment.

Then, Roseanne, with her uncanny sense of timing, lightened the mood by informing “teacher” with all due seriousness, “Thkipp, he forgot the disheth for the rathberrieth, tho we can’t really eat ‘em.”

When the laughter died down, Linnea suggested, “Maybe we don’t need dishes if we finish our milk first and put our sauce in the cups.”

The Thanksgiving feast began, and a queasy Miss Brandonberg had her first bite of rabbit. She chewed cautiously, raised her eyebrows, licked her lips, and declared in genuine amazement, “Why, it tastes just like chicken!”

And it really did!

15

T
HEY WERE ALL
in the front parlor at Ulmer and Helen’s house, gathered around a Thanksgiving table so long the far end seemed to vanish in the distance. It was much more formal than Linnea had expected. The table was set all in white: white china on white damask linens. The only color came from a luscious ribbon of translucent jellies, relishes, and preserves that lined the length of the table and caught the sun like a strand of jewels spread upon the snow. In the center was a glorious crown of tomato aspic.

When everyone was seated, Ulmer said grace. A moment later Helen swept in, triumphantly bearing a wide silver platter of steaming
lutefisk
glistening with drawn butter.

Oh no, Linnea thought. The Curse of Norway!

It passed from hand to hand accompanied by oohs and ahs while Linnea frantically wondered where the turkey was. But no turkey appeared. She watched the malodorous steaming cod come closer with all the eagerness of St. Joan watching the firebuilder search for a match.

When it reached her, she passed it on to Frances as unobtrusively as possible.

Frances bellowed, “You mean you don’t want any
lutefisk?”

“No thank you, Frances,” Linnea whispered.

“But you have to eat
lutefisk!
It’s Thanksgiving!”

Frances might as well have hired a barker. Everyone turned horrified glances on the recalcitrant Miss Brandonberg.

“I never learned to like it. Please, just... just pass it on to Norna.”

At her left, Clara — bless her heart — was snickering. Across the table Linnea saw Theodore hide his smile behind a finger. The hostess bustled in with the next Norwegian delicacy,
lefse,
a flat potato bread that had, in Linnea’s opinion, all the attraction of a platter of gray horsehide. Every eye in the house surreptitiously watched to see if the little missy would commit her second sin of the day. But this time she took a piece and plopped it on her plate to satisfy them. She slathered it with butter and lifted it to her lips. Looking up, she found Theodore lifting his own
lefse
— wrapped around a bunk of
lutefisk.
She bit into hers. He bit into his. She crossed her eyes and made a disgusted face. He chewed with exaggerated relish, then licked his lips ostentatiously while his eyes twinkled at her from across the table. It was their first friendly exchange since the night they’d kissed. Suddenly the
lefse
tasted nearly tolerable.

When the
lutefisk
and
lefse
courses were completed — ah, bliss — the turkey and dressing arrived. It was accompanied by snowy whipped potatoes, scalloped corn, peas in thick cream, and a rich apple and walnut salad in whipped cream.

Throughout the meal Linnea was conscious of Theodore’s eyes roving her way again and again, but whenever she glanced up, he looked somewhere else.

When the meal ended she helped the women with the dishes while the men sprawled out and one by one drifted off to sleep.

When the dishes were finished Linnea peeked into the front parlor. The table had been taken down. The children had disappeared. John was snoozing in a rocker, Trigg was on his back on the floor. All was quiet except for the sound of soft snoring and the women settling at the kitchen table to chat. At one end of the horsehair sofa Lars was stretched out, eyes closed, hands laced across his stomach. At the opposite end, Theodore looked like his brother’s bookend. Between them was the only available wedge of sitting space in the room, wide enough only for a small throw pillow that nobody had nabbed.

Her eyes traveled over Theodore. His suit jacket and tie were gone, his collar and vest buttons were open, white sleeves
rolled to the elbow. His tan had begun fading; the pale strip of skin at the top of his forehead contrasted less sharply with the rest of his face than it had two months ago. His lips were parted, his chin was on his chest, his fingers relaxed, scarcely holding together as they lifted and fell with his slow breathing. He looked serene, imperturbable, even a little vulnerable.

She crossed the room, picked up the square pillow, and sat down. Theodore opened his eyes, smacked his lips, and sighed gently.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” Linnea said quietly. “This is the only place left to sit.”