Dakota Dawn Read online

  He waited while Ingeborg finished translating.

  I can go home to Norway was Nora’s first thought. I would have a place to work was her second, and I won’t have to give up these babies was the third. At least not for a time, she amended. She closed her eyes, the better to think. But marriage! An annulment?

  Her gaze flew to Reverend Moen’s face. “Will this work?”

  John rubbed his nose with the index finger of his right hand. “A marriage can be annulled only if it is not consummated.”

  Nora felt her cheeks flame at the thought. Surely Mr. Detschman understood that . . . that they would not share a bed.

  “You and the children will share the big bedroom downstairs, where it is warm. I will fix a bed for me upstairs.” Carl ducked his chin and stammered over the last words. “I mean, this marriage would be because . . . to . . . ah . . . save your reputation.” His voice deepened to a growl. “That is all I have to offer.”

  Nora nodded that she understood. And what he was offering was enough for her. Since Hans had lied and died, she wanted nothing to do with North Dakota farmers. She would dream of returning home. This seemed to be a sensible solution.

  “What do you think, Ingeborg?” Nora risked looking at her friend.

  “I don’t know.” She looked from her husband to the man still standing, his hand now resting on the back of a chair. “You and the children can stay here for as long as you need.”

  When Carl understood her response, he shook his head. “I cannot lay such a burden upon you. You have already been good to me beyond duty.”

  “Let us eat our dinner and think about this plan of yours,” Reverend Moen said. “You have not proposed an easy thing.”

  Nora let the conversation at dinner flow around her like a river around a big rock. It wasn’t that she did not understand half of it, she just needed the time to think.

  What would her mother say? Surely I would be home almost before they could send a reply. All I need tell them is that I am caring for two small children for a farmer here who lost his wife. An annulment is like the marriage had never been.

  And I can go home soon. Back to the mountains, with green forests and white rushing rivers. Back to my family . . . Clara and Einer; Gunhilde and Thorliff. And little Sophie—she won’t be all grown-up before I see her again. She pictured each of them in her mind.

  Halfway through the meal, Peder began his waking whimpers. By the time Nora had a bottle warmed, he had progressed to red-faced demand.

  Nora picked him up and whisked him off for a diaper change. Then, she took her place in the rocker and silenced him with the nipple. As the baby sucked, she let her mind roam back across the ocean again. But it refused to stay in Norway.

  Instead, she thought of the baby in her arms. If she did not stay, who would care for him? And little Kaaren. She was still waking at night, calling for her mother. Would her father be able to care for her . . . and do all his farming, too? Spring planting would come and then how would he manage?

  Her mind flitted to the man himself. He was so stern. Was this his usual way or was it due to his great sorrow? His children needed some love and light in their lives.

  Of course, he could leave them with the Moens, like Ingeborg had suggested, but what if Nora went to work somewhere else? How could Ingeborg handle her home and all the children by herself?

  After letting her thoughts race like a fox after rabbits, she tipped her head back. Father God, what would You have me to do? Her thoughts quit their scampering. She had prayed earlier for Him to work something out, hadn’t she? Was this it?

  When Peder finished eating, she rose and walked back to the table. “Ja, I will do this.” She nodded as she spoke. “Carl Detschman, I will marry you.”

  “Today?”

  She stared at him. Had she understood? She looked to Ingeborg for confirmation.

  “I don’t see what the rush is,” Reverend Moen said, shaking his head. “Next week—”

  “No. If we are going to do this, we will do this now.” Carl kept his gaze on Nora’s face.

  Nora took a deep breath and let it out, along with all her hesitations. “Now.”

  “Let me warm up the church first.” Reverend Moen rose to his feet and reached for his coat.

  “No!” Nora cried, then repeated more softly, “No, we’ll be married in the parlor, not the church. Since this wedding doesn’t count anyway, I do not want the ceremony to be performed in the church.”

  “If you are certain.” John hung his coat back up.

  Nora nodded. She kept her gaze on the part in Kaaren’s hair. She could not look up at Carl, not right now.

  Although the ceremony was spoken in Norwegian, Nora heard the words with only the top part of her mind. The rest of her floated in a fog. She gave the proper answers when the Reverend Moen asked her to, but she never looked above the Bible clasped in his hands.

  “I have no ring,” Carl said, as he held Nora’s hand. “But if you like, I will buy one the next time I come into town.”

  “No. That is not necessary.” Why was there a lump in her throat? After all, this ceremony meant nothing. They really were not married—were they?

  Carl and Reverend Moen loaded Nora’s trunk into the wagon while the women gathered up all the children’s things. Nora repacked her carpetbag and carried it downstairs to the front door.

  “I can’t believe this is happening.” Ingeborg took Nora’s cold hands in hers and held them together. “If you need anything, remember your big sister is always here to help you.”

  Nora tried to smile around the quiver in her chin—Ingeborg was anything but big. Leaving here was almost as hard as leaving home.

  The women wrapped Peder in his blankets and then an extra quilt before following the men out the door. Carl had spread hay in the back of the wagon and, with extra quilts, made a nest for his family. Nora placed her hand in his and, using the runners for a step, joined Kaaren in the box. Ingeborg handed Peder in to her.

  Carl swung up on the high board seat and unwound the reins from the whipstock. “Thank you, for everything.” He tipped his hat to the Moens, who stood by the side, arms around each other.

  “Come and visit when you can.” He clucked to the team. With a flick of the reins, the horses started forward, the iron sled runners creaking in the snow.

  The good-byes rang on the clear air. Nora waved from her shelter. Kaaren waved one last time, then snuggled down into the warm nest of quilts. She leaned her head against Nora’s arm and, tipping up her face, smiled broader than Nora had yet seen.

  The smile sent angels of joy dancing in Nora’s heart. Surely she had made the right choice. She smiled back, then tucked the quilts more closely about them with her free hand. With the sun on its downward slide, the temperature was already dropping. She edged the long scarf draped around her neck up and over the hat she had pinned so securely in place. Hats like hers may be fashionable, but they were not worth anything in a snowstorm.

  Carl hunkered down in his seat, offering little of himself to the wind. He flicked the reins again, bringing the team up to a smart trot. The way the sun was sinking, they would barely be home just before dark. He had not planned on spending so much time at the Moens’.

  Oh Anna, he cried in the confines of his heart, have I done the right thing? Little Kaaren needs you so desperately and so do I. The house is empty without you. I’d rather sleep in the barn where at least there is some noise with the animals.

  He covered his nose with the red scarf wrapped around his neck. “Come on, boys. Let’s get home.” The harness jingled soprano while the hooves thudded bass. The runner creaked in counterpoint, but the symphony was lost on the man hunkered on the driver’s seat. He wandered in a frozen, desolate land where music and laughter were outlawed.

  How would he talk with this woman he was bringing home? Granted, he had learned some Norwegian since coming to Soldahl, and Norwegian and German had some similarities, but she had to learn English—he would i
nsist. His daughter would grow up speaking English—no people would laugh behind her back. He remembered the cruelty of children, especially at school.

  He shivered against the cold. But the cold within him was deeper than any weather could bring.

  Nora, snuggled down in the bed of the wagon now turned sleigh, was nearly asleep when a halt jerked her upright. A dog leaped and barked beside them. They were stopped in front of a square, two-storied house, the kind that dotted the prairie like toys tossed out by a giant hand. A snowdrift reached like a dragging scarf clear up to one second-story window. She craned her neck around the rumps of the steaming horses to see the red hip-roofed barn, silo, and other outbuildings. A tingle ran up her spine. Mr. Detschman owned a fine farm.

  Kaaren stirred from her sound sleep. “Are we home, Pa?”

  “Yes, little one, we are.” He leaned over the edge of the box and lifted his daughter out. “Here.” He handed her a parcel. “Bring this into the house.”

  When Nora held out the quilt-wrapped baby to him, he took her arm instead and steadied her as she clambered down to the shoveled walk to the house, the infant clutched to her chest. She would have liked to have taken a few moments to look around, but dusk was on them, tinting the snow the bluish gray of eventide. She hurried up the path to open the door for Kaaren.

  When she glanced back, Carl was throwing robes over the horses. He must plan on unloading my trunk right now, she thought. I should go back and help.

  Peder squirmed in her arms. No, the baby came first. And it would not be long before the entire world would know that it was feeding time. Maybe the water in the stove’s reservoir would still be warm enough to heat the bottle.

  “Ma! Ma?” Kaaren yelled into the stillness of the empty house as soon as the door opened. “Ma, where are you?” She ran from room to room, calling, until she collapsed against the bed in the room off the kitchen. “Ma-a-a-a. I want my ma.”

  Nora felt like joining in the little girl’s tears. How could she help this precious little one? And the baby who needed her, too—right now, if his uttering’s were to be quieted.

  Where in heaven’s name was their father?

  She followed Kaaren into the bedroom and laid Peder in his quilts in the middle of the bed, unwrapping him only enough to allow him to breathe easily. Then, she scooped Kaaren up in her arms, holding her tightly while she cried. While she could not speak the language, words loaded with love and comfort could be felt by anyone. Could she be the mother they needed?

  When Kaaren’s sobs turned to sniffles, Nora set the child on the bed and, taking her hand, patted Peder’s chest. “You do that,” she said, depending on sign language. “Be good to your brother. Good, good.” She nodded and smiled her approval as Kaaren gently continued the patting. “Keep on, more.” Nora backed from the room, all the while smiling and nodding, and headed for the stove.

  The reservoir water was still plenty warm, so Nora searched through the lower cupboards to find a small pan. She filled it half full with water, then went back into the bedroom for one of the baby’s bottles of milk she had brought from Ingeborg’s.

  Nora could tell Peder was tired of being patted. His whimper had turned to a howl, so she picked him up. While rocking him in her one arm, she set the bottle into the warm water with the other hand.

  “I do not know how all those women managed with just one arm for so many years,” she muttered as she continued to lift the stove lid, add coal, replace the lid, open the damper, and comfort the hungry baby. “Your supper will be ready soon. Shhhhh.” She swayed with the soothing rhythm that had been passed down through the centuries from woman to woman.

  Kaaren wandered into the kitchen and hid her face in Nora’s skirt, clinging to the fabric as if that, too, might be taken from her. Nora patted the little girl’s hair with her free hand.

  Where was their father?

  With the baby finally nursing contentedly in her arm, Nora relaxed in the rocking chair. Kaaren stuck to her side like a barnacle on a rock. I suppose I should make supper, Nora thought as she rocked, but what? You would think Carl would be here to show me where things are. That would be the decent thing to do.

  She looked around the room. We could eat eggs if he has chickens. Is there any bread? Even toast and hot milk would be enough, at least for Kaaren and me. She studied the white painted cupboards, the sink with a bucket below to catch the water. A red, long-handled pump was bolted to the outer edge. How wonderful, to have water piped into the house.

  Lace curtains with red tiebacks brightened every window, both the smaller one above the sink and the double-sashed one on the other side of the round oak table. As in all homes, the large, black, cast-iron stove took up much of the space.

  If the remainder of the house is as comfortable as the kitchen, Nora thought, I’ll love working here. And soon, I’ll be able to take the ship back to Norway.

  With the baby fed, burped, changed, and put to bed in the cradle by the bed in the other room, Nora picked up the kerosene lamp she had lit, took Kaaren by the hand, and went exploring. The parlor, with both doors closed, was freezing, as was Kaaren’s small bedroom in the back of the house. The little girl picked up a rag doll, hugging it to her.

  “Come along. Let’s go back to the kitchen where it is warm.”

  To keep from wasting the heat, Nora closed all the doors behind them. Back in the kitchen, she found a door in the stair wall with a well-stocked pantry on one side and stairs down to the cellar on the other.

  Kaaren stood in the doorway, one finger in her mouth and dragging the doll with her other hand. But she never took her gaze off the woman opening drawers and doors.

  “Bread, good,” Nora nodded as she talked to herself. “Jam.” She gathered the items in her arms. “Butter.” She opened a door on the end wall that was screened to the outside. “Ah, milk. But it’s frozen.” She handed the bread to Kaaren. “You carry this.” Then she picked up the jug of milk. “Supper will be coming soon.”

  She set the milk to thawing in a pan of water on the stove while she sliced bread and set it in the toaster racks she had found hanging on the back of the warming oven. Then, opening the lid on the stove, she laid the rack over the burning coals. By the time the bread was browned, Nora felt toasted as well.

  With the milk that had thawed and some toast with jam, Nora and Kaaren set themselves in the rocking chair and started to eat. Nora began the game. “This is . . . ?” She pointed at the bread.

  “Bread. This is bread.” Kaaren nodded and took a bite.

  Nora pointed to the rich, red jam. “This is . . . ?”

  “Jam.” They grinned at each other as they chewed and swallowed.

  First, they named the milk, the cup, the plate; and each time, Nora repeated the sentence. When they were finished eating, they remained in the chair, rocking slowly. Nora began humming a song her mother used to sing. When she was humming, she did not have to think about Carl Detschman or to where he had so rudely disappeared. If he was out doing chores, as was most likely, he could have come in the house first and showed her where things were kept. Kaaren settled back against Nora’s chest and soon closed her eyes. Before long, the small body slumped in sleep.

  Nora had almost drowsed off when the thud of boots, kicking off the snow against the steps on the porch, startled her awake. She started to get up then thought better of it. If Carl Detschman wanted any supper beyond bread and milk this night, he would just have to sing for it.

  Chapter 7

  Peder demanded to be fed every two hours—all night and all the next day. By the third morning, Nora felt like she had been trampled by six teams of horses. If Carl had heard the baby crying, either night or day, he ignored it. That might be possible at night, since he was sleeping upstairs, but during the day? Granted, he was never in the house except for meals but . . .

  The day before, Nora had passed the disgusted stage and now she was bordering on anger—if only she had the strength to even spark. She leaned her head agains
t the door of the cupboard. Kneading bread took more power than she had thought—anything took more energy than she could summon.

  Right now, the baby was sleeping. If she could only get Kaaren down for a nap, then she could sleep, too.

  The thought of sleep nearly overwhelmed her. “But first you must finish the bread.” Lately, she had found herself talking to herself more often than not.

  She and Kaaren still played the naming game, but it was not the same as having a real, live, grown-up to talk with. Mr. Carl Detschman, though, spoke only in grunts; and language between them was not a barrier—there just wasn’t any. How would she ever learn enough English this way?

  She slammed the dough over on the floured surface and pressed it hard with the heel of her hand. Roll the dough in, press and turn, roll the dough in, press and turn. The rhythm continued.

  At night, the temperature would fall to well below zero, so she kept both Kaaren and Peder in bed with her to keep them warm enough. During her nocturnal feeding forays, she would dream of warmer weather and how nice it would be if she could sleep straight through to spring.

  She thumped the bread one last time, molded it into a round, and poked the dough with her finger. When the dough sprang back, she placed it into an earthenware bowl, covered it with a dish towel, and set the bowl on the warming oven to rise. After stirring the beans that were baking in the oven, she removed her apron and slung it over a chair.

  “Come, Kaaren.” She reached over to take the little girl’s hand. “We’re going to take a nap, you and I.” She put her finger to her lips. “And we must be very quiet so Peder can sleep longer, too.”

  Kaaren put her finger to her lips and silently climbed up onto the bed. She scooted over to the other side, then sat on her knees. “Sing?”