Dakota Dawn Read online

  Nora shook her head. “Sleep.” She lifted the quilt and motioned to Kaaren to get under it. Kaaren flung herself back onto the pillow and lifted her feet, shoes still buttoned on, into the air.

  “This is a shoe.” Her eyes sparkled with anticipation.

  “No. Sleep, not play.”

  Kaaren spoke more insistently. “This is a shoe.”

  Nora put her finger to her lips. “Shhhh. Ja, this is a shoe but now we sleep.” She snuggled down and tucked the quilt around their shoulders.

  Kaaren lay flat on the pillow, her eyes wide open.

  Please, little one, Nora pleaded silently, go to sleep. I am so tired my eyes won’t stay open. Under her breath she began to hum a song her mother used to sing.

  Nora felt the warmth of the quilt steal over her. The little body next to her relaxed, along with hers. Her hum grew jerky until it faded away to nothing.

  Somewhere in another world she heard a door close.

  “Pa!” Kaaren flew out from under the covers and slid to the floor. “Pa!” Screaming voice, thundering feet.

  Peder set up his own welcome, also at the top of his lungs. Nora lay there with her eyes closed. Maybe Peder would go back to sleep. Maybe Carl would take his lively daughter outside with him for a while. Maybe. She was too tired for any more maybes.

  She pushed back the quilt and swung her feet over the side of the bed. Head in her hands, she waited for Peder to settle down again, but his demands grew louder.

  “I’m coming.” She slid her feet into her carpet slippers, pulled herself to her feet, and walked over to the cradle to pick up the hungry baby. With the baby in one arm, and pushing a strand of hair back into her braids with the other hand, she entered the kitchen to find Carl pouring himself a cup of coffee.

  “I’m going into Soldahl,” he said in German, slowly so she could understand. “Don’t worry about the cows if I return after dark. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

  “I go, Pa? Please?” Kaaren wrapped both her arms around his leg, her face raised in supplication.

  “No.” He shook his head. “It’s too cold outside for a little girl like you.”

  Nora stopped her bottle preparations and turned to look at him. He had spoken more words in the last two minutes than he had done in the last three days.

  As he made his way to the door, Kaaren still clung to him. “Now, be a good girl. You can watch out the window.” He stood her on the chair so she could see out.

  Her lower lip quivered. A tear stood like a bead at the edge of one brilliant, blue eye. “Pa-a-a.” The one word held all the woe of a little girl left behind.

  Nora dug a cookie out of the jar. “Here. Your pa will be home soon.” She placed the cookie in the limp hand and caught the child in a hug. Together, they watched the driver and team trot down the lane. Peder’s cries increased in volume.

  After feeding the baby, Nora punched down the risen bread dough and placed it on the cupboard where it would not rise so quickly. Then, she set the boiler onto the stove to start heating some water to wash the diapers. She could barely keep up with the baby’s clothes. Once the diapers were boiling merrily, she set the boiler to the cooler side of the stove and, taking Kaaren by the hand, headed back for the bed. This time, there would be no interruptions.

  Kaaren scrubbed a fist across her eyes to rub out the last of her tears and then turned onto her side and was asleep before Nora had finished settling the quilt.

  “Thank you, Heavenly Father.” Nora breathed the prayer as sleep claimed her.

  By the time Carl returned from town, dusk had blued the snow. Nora was slicing bread when she heard the jingling of the harness. Was that joy she felt leaping in her midsection, just because the lord of the manor was home again? Well, maybe not leaping but more like stretching.

  She shook her head at her silly thoughts. Her mother’s words echoed for her. “Of kindness there is no equal.” Calling Carl Detschman lord of the manor might not be kind, but it was true—wasn’t it? The way he gave orders and without a smile—not even for his little daughter who needed love and laughter so desperately. But perhaps he had never been a smiling person. Many Norwegians were like that, too. Handsome, yes, but smiling, no.

  She pinched off a small piece of crust and put it into her mouth. I wonder what it would take to make Lord Carl smile? The thought lasted until Carl entered the house, bringing in cold air, a sack of supplies from the store, and—

  “There’s a letter for you.” Without even looking at her, he handed her the envelope.

  “Mange takk.” Nora’s eyes devoured the handwriting—a letter from her mother. An ache in her chest made Nora press her lips together. She ignored the burning behind her eyes and tucked the beloved envelope into her apron pocket. She would save it for later, when she could read it alone. For now she must get supper on the table quickly so Carl could do his chores.

  That night, after Carl had gone up to bed and the children slept, Nora poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table where the light from the kerosene lamp was the strongest. With trembling fingers, she slit the envelope open and withdrew two sheets of paper.

  She was almost afraid to begin reading. What if it was bad news? She shook her head and took a sip of coffee.

  Dearest Nora,

  I take pen in hand to tell you how much we love you and miss you.

  Nora put her head down on the table and allowed the tears to flow. The ache had grown to a roaring pain that tore at her heart and soul. How she missed those beloved faces. She could see her mother at the kitchen table, writing so carefully on the precious paper.

  When she was able, Nora dried her eyes with her apron and read on. All were well. Her older brother, Einer, was courting one of the Kielguard daughters. They had all been out skiing. Father and the boys had been up in the forest cutting wood. Ice fishing had been good. How were she and Hans? Did she like North Dakota?

  Nora wiped another tear from her eye. How surprised they would be when her letter arrived—shocked would be more like it. She read the letter again and sighed. Life took strange turns and twists—and when you least expected it.

  Nora tried to catch a yawn but, instead, it nearly dislocated her jaw. If only she could stay awake long enough to write back. But, there was as much chance of that as a fox turning down a juicy chicken. She adjusted the stove damper, blew out the lamp, and made her way into the bedroom.

  Please, Peder. Sleep longer. This had become her consistent prayer and plea, and tonight was no exception. She knelt at the edge of her bed and tried to pray, but even in so cramped a position, she nearly nodded off. Nora was asleep as soon as she pulled up the quilt around herself.

  For the next week, Peder continued his demand for being fed every two hours and sometimes he screamed instead of sleeping between feedings. Nothing Nora did made him content. While he was not sick, he was not content, either.

  “Hush, hush, my little one,” Nora crooned one night in the wee hours when she would have much preferred sleep. She had tried singing to and walking the colicky baby, rubbing his back and then trying the rocker for a time. But she had been so tired that night she had even fallen asleep in the rocker with him and woke up in the morning, cold and stiff, when Carl came down the stairs to head for milking.

  “I . . . I’m sorry,” she whispered as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

  He glanced her way but without looking into her face. With a barely perceptible nod, he turned back to the stove, added coal from the bucket, and opened the damper to bring up more heat.

  She watched as he made his way out the door, looking like he carried a ten-ton load of coal on his shoulders. “Uff da,” she shook her head. “What will become of him?” Even she, who did not know him, could see that the light in his eyes had gone out.

  Nora stiffly stood with Peder in her arms and carried him to the bedroom. Together, they went to bed and—Peder started to whimper.

  By the end of the next week, Nora could concentrate only on putt
ing one foot in front of the other. Feed the baby, prepare a meal, wash the diapers, feed the baby—when would she be able to add sleep to the routine? At the same time, Kaaren grew fussy, her temper popping out in unexpected places.

  Carl had just come in the house for dinner when his daughter tripped over the edge of the rug and banged her knee. “Uff da,” she said with a scowl.

  “Speak in English,” Carl ordered over his shoulder. He turned from the sink with dripping hands. “We speak English here.”

  “Nora doesn’t.” The little girl stomped her foot.

  Nora hid a grin in baby Peder’s blanket. She had understood what was said that time.

  “Nora?” asked Carl.

  “Ja.” She turned to Carl with a look that dared him to say more. Carl changed his mind. “We’ll talk later,” he spoke in German, slowly.

  That will be a change, Nora thought as she filled the soup bowls at the stove. When she leaned over to help Kaaren with her bread, she heard the little girl muttering very, very softly.

  “Uff da, uff da, uff da.” Her bottom lip stuck out and her eyebrows met each other in a line that Nora knew meant trouble.

  “Nora, can I speak with you in the parlor?” Carl spoke slowly and nodded to the closed room.

  With his back poker-straight and his hands clenched, Carl led the way into the freezing room. “Now.” He stepped around her and closed the door. “Kaaren must speak English. No Norwegian.”

  Nora crossed her arms across her chest. She could feel her jaw tightening. She straightened her tired back and suddenly she did not feel quite so weary. “Ja!”

  “You must learn to speak English.”

  “Ja!” Nora shook a finger in his face as all her mother’s preaching against the evils of her daughter’s temper flew right up the chimney with the smoke.

  “Ja! You tell me to speak English! How I would love to; if only I could! Who is there to teach me? A three-year-old who is just learning to talk?” Nora tried to slow her words down so he could understand her, but it was like stopping a freight train. “I thought you would teach me—ja, you do not even talk. You don’t talk to me. You don’t talk to Kaaren. Maybe you talk to your cows!” With that, she spun around, yanked open the door to the kitchen, stomped through, and slammed it shut in his face.

  The resounding crash woke Peder, who began to wail. Kaaren stared at her, eyes wide and chin quivering.

  “Uff da!” Nora picked up the baby and carried him off for a change of britches. She heard Carl leave, gently closing the door behind him.

  She sank down onto the bed, the fury draining away as quickly as it came. What had she done?

  Silence hung in the air that night at supper and Nora could feel Carl watching her. Now she knew what a mouse stalked by a cat felt like.

  Every morning Nora promised herself she would write to her family. At the end of each weary day, though, the letter still lived only in her mind.

  One night, it seemed like she and her unhappy burden paced all night. Finally, she collapsed into the rocking chair. When she awoke, a quilt swaddled her from neck to toe. Carl. He did this, she thought. Warmth beyond that of the quilt seeped clear to her fingertips.

  But her head ached, her nose dripped, and her eyes felt like they were glued shut. When she put Peder down in the cradle so she could begin the mush for breakfast, she started coughing.

  The next morning, both Peder and Kaaren had runny noses and whiny voices. Nora coughed, Kaaren coughed, Peder coughed—and wailed.

  By the next morning the baby’s throat was so scratchy he could hardly cry. Nora had the kettle steaming on the stove. But, when she leaned her head over it and tried to inhale deeply, her coughing cut her off. If only she had some of her mother’s special cold mixture.

  The dog, barking outside, drew her to the window in time to see a horse and sleigh pulling to a stop in front of the door. Who could be calling?

  Nora looked around the room. Dishes were still on the table; diapers were simmering on the stove; there was nothing in the house to serve with the coffee; her hair was not combed; the children were sick. She looked down at her dirty apron. What would they think of her?

  While she took off her apron with one hand, Nora tried, with the other hand, to tuck some loose strands of hair up into her braids. She had finished neither when the knock sounded on the door. Reaching out with a trembling hand, Nora turned the glass knob.

  “Oh, Ingeborg, I—a-a-achooo.” The sneeze blew so hard it plugged her ears. She reached to get her handkerchief from her apron pocket, but the apron was dangling over the back of a chair. “Cub ind.” She tried to smile but instead, at the sight of a smiling, friendly face, Nora collapsed into tears. She shut the door, groped in the pocket of the apron, then, in desperation, held the entire apron to her face.

  “Oh, my dear, my dear. You look done in. How long have you been sick? How are the children?” All the while she murmured soothing sounds, Ingeborg patted Nora’s heaving shoulders.

  Kaaren stood, wide-eyed, in the center of the tumbled room.

  “Here, now. You sit down in this chair and I’ll get you a cup of coffee.” Ingeborg pushed Nora down onto the chair. On her way to the cupboard, she removed her hat. With two cups of coffee in hand, she sat down in the chair next to Nora. “Now, tell me all that’s happened.” As Nora talked, Ingeborg removed her heavy wool coat and beckoned for Kaaren to come sit on her lap.

  Nora poured out her miseries—the baby’s eating every two hours, the colds, and, because of the coughing, her fear of the fever.

  “And what about Carl?” Ingeborg smoothed the strands of hair off Nora’s flushed, hot face.

  “Him? I never see him. Only at mealtime. He never says anything. Only scolds me when Kaaren does not speak English.”

  “Me say ‘Uff da.’” Kaaren nodded solemnly.

  “Oh, you sweetie.” Ingeborg hugged the child and kissed her cheek. “I could eat you up.”

  Kaaren smiled until a cough choked her.

  “Well, I know what you need.” Ingeborg stroked Nora’s arm. “Bed. You wash your face and go crawl into bed. I can stay until late afternoon. I think some rest without worrying is what Dr. Harmon would order.”

  “Are you sure?” Nora croaked around the lump in her throat.

  “I’m sure.” Ingeborg slid Kaaren to the floor and then stood up. She took Nora’s hand and pulled her upright. “Go, now.”

  “Peder . . . ?”

  “I can see where you have things. We’ll do fine. Now, go.” Nora did not need to be told a third time. She poured water from the reservoir into a basin, washed her face and hands, and stumbled into the bedroom. She took time to put on her nightgown and then crawled under the covers.

  “Thank you, Lord,” she mumbled before sleep claimed her.

  The next thing Nora heard was a woman’s voice singing. She blinked her eyes, wondering where she was. And who was that singing? She lifted her head and looked around the now-familiar room. What was she doing in bed at this time of day? She lay back down, her eyelids too heavy to hold open.

  Next, she heard a baby crying. “Peder, I’m coming.” She sat up and pushed back the covers. This time she felt awake. This time she remembered that Ingeborg had come to visit—and she was sleeping away their precious minutes together.

  “Just in time for a cup of fresh coffee.” Ingeborg greeted Nora’s entrance into the kitchen with a wide smile. “You sit right here,” she pointed to the rocker, “and we can talk some before I have to leave.”

  “Kaaren and Peder?”

  “Both sleeping. You’re right about that little one. He does not eat much at a time but he wants his bottle every two hours.” She handed Nora the steaming cup. “Maybe it’s the cow’s milk that does not agree with him. Carl says he cries a lot.”

  “How would he know?” Nora felt ashamed as soon as she had said the words.

  “Tell me, dear, how are things between you and Carl?”

  At the kind words, Nora swallowed bac
k the tears that threatened to flow. She rubbed a finger around the rim of her cup. “He won’t even look at little Peder. He hardly talks to Kaaren but then, when could he? He’s never in the house. I do not know where he keeps himself all the time. Has a lot to do down at the barn, I suppose.”

  She leaned back in her rocking chair and, with a push, started the soothing rhythm. “Ingeborg, what am I to do?”

  “Well, one thing I know. The only thing worse than a stubborn Norwegian is a hardheaded German. Right now, I’d say the man is grieving for his young wife and angry at God for taking her.” Ingeborg sighed. “I think death is harder for our men than for us. They feel helpless, like they failed. And what can anyone do?”

  “Ummm.”

  “Give him time and love.”

  Nora stopped the rocking with a thump. “Love? Remember the agreement? I’m going back to Norway as soon as I can.”

  “Now, now. I’m talking about the kind of love God asks us to give any suffering being. You have an abundance of that kind of love. I’ve seen it in all you do.”

  “Oh.” Nora again pushed with her toe.

  “Can you do that?” The question came softly.

  Nora aimed a halfhearted smile at her friend. “It would be easier if he were around more.”

  “True. But perhaps that will change.” Ingeborg pulled herself to her feet. “Well, supper is in the oven and the bread will have to go in pretty soon. I hung some of the diapers outside so they can freeze overnight.”

  “How can I ever thank you enough?”

  Ingeborg took both their cups to the sink. “Just get better. Everything else will work out in God’s good time.”

  The dog barking and a jingle from a harness announced a visitor.

  “That must be my John now. He wanted to visit some of the members that live out in the country and that’s why I could come today.”

  “How ashamed I am. I never even asked how you came to be here.”

  Ingeborg smiled and patted Nora’s cheek. “Let’s just give God the thanks that He brought me here for you.”

  After Reverend Moen and Ingeborg left, the special glow that Nora felt around her heart remained. What a good friend she had. The special feeling stayed through the suppertime and after feeding Peder. Carl even played with Kaaren before Nora put the little one to bed. When she came out of the bedroom, he was sitting at the table, reading in the lamplight.