Blessing in Disguise (16 page)

With Astrid helping with the bucket, they opened the door to the well house and set the bucket and basket inside. “Dinner in a few minutes,” she said to the group cleaning cucumbers and shook her head with a smile. “Look at how many you got done.” Scrubbed cucumbers filled a washtub.

“I done the most.” Trygve sloshed his hands in the water.

“Uh-uh.” The oldest Rasmussen boy, Thomas, shook his head. “My ma done the most.”

“Boys.” Slender to the point of emaciation, Elvira Rasmussen laid a hand on her son’s shoulder. “You both did good.”

“Me too, huh, Ma?” While Thomas was five, Sarah, at four, refused to be left behind.

Ingeborg wiped her brow with the corner of her apron. “Let me tell you, I’d rather be in here scrubbing than out there picking. Elvira, would you please bring in that jug of buttermilk when you come?” Ingeborg fetched the butter crock, which she handed to Astrid, and another of sour cream. “Think I’ll slice some of these cucumbers, and we’ll have them in sour cream. How does that sound?”

“Sounds heavenly.” Elvira laid a hand on her youngest—Baby, they called him—who had decided that splashing the wash water would make the time pass more quickly. “I can’t remember when we had so much good food to eat. Things were hard back in New York. That’s why we come west. Mr. Rasmussen says we will find a homestead out west. Can you believe free land?”

“Ja, well, you will work mighty hard for your free land.” She smiled at the woman on the stool. “But it’s worth every drop of sweat and aching muscle.” She reached up on a shelf for the soft cheese. “Four years since we proved up this piece. Blessing has come a long way since we homesteaded the first sections.”

Ingeborg held the door open for Astrid, and they headed for the house. In the days since the Rasmussens had arrived, she’d never heard that woman say more than three words at a time. What had gotten into her?

Good smells greeted them and the clang of a stove lid being set back in place.

Kaaren turned with a smile from checking the oven. “Good, I was about to call you. Astrid, you want to go ring the triangle so Mr. Rasmussen knows dinner is ready?”

Astrid set her crock on the table and dashed back out the door. While the ringing went on longer than usual, Kaaren and Ingeborg only exchanged smiles. Astrid did everything with a boisterous enthusiasm that frequently had to be shushed. If Mr. Rasmussen didn’t hear
that
summons, he was hard of hearing for sure.

As soon as everyone was seated, Ingeborg nodded to Trygve to say the blessing. He led the Norwegian prayer in a clear voice, and while some of the smaller ones stumbled over the words, the amen rang loud and clear.

When everyone’s plates were filled, they felt as if it had been days, instead of hours, since they ate.

A few minutes later Mr. Rasmussen mopped his gravy with a slice of bread and accepted a refill of coffee. “I was thinking that if maybe my family could stay here, I would go on out west and see if I can locate land for a homestead. Elvira here would help you around the place in exchange for their food.”

Ingeborg looked up to see a terrified-rabbit look in Elvira’s eyes before she looked down at her plate. “I guess I was hoping you would decide to stay on for a while. There’s plenty of work for you here, and it would give you a chance to get back on your feet a bit.”

The man nodded. “I appreciate that, ma’am, and don’t think I’m not grateful for what you’ve done for me and mine, but if I don’t get out there, all the good land might be gone.”

Ingeborg kept the rumors she had heard of the land quality to herself. More rocks than soil in some places, she’d heard, and less rainfall than here in the Red River Valley too. “Of course you have to do what you think best, but . . .” She spread jam on a piece of bread for Trygve while Kaaren made sure that Samuel got more of the meal in his mouth than on his head. She glanced up in time to catch the stare that Mr. Rasmussen sent to Grace and Sophie.

“They’re talking, Mr. Rasmussen,” Kaaren said gently. “Grace cannot hear, and we are all learning to use our hands to talk with Grace. We make letters with our fingers, called signs, and spell out the words.”

“Well, I’ll be. . . .” He looked back at Kaaren. “Did you make that up, the signs, I mean?”

“No, I was given a book.”

Grace laughed at something Sophie signed to her.

“She really can’t hear? Not a thing?”

“Nothing. She was born deaf.”

“But . . . but she seems so bright, so happy.” The look of disbelief he wore made Ingeborg want to roll her eyes. As if there were something wrong with Grace’s mind just because she couldn’t hear.

“Well, I better get back to the field. You want I should take the oxen out now?” he asked.

“Yes, please. And give what I said some thought, would you? I know my husband would be glad to have you working here through the winter. And maybe when Hjelmer, my brother-in-law, gets back, he could send out some feelers for land for you. He’s the banker here in Blessing and our local representative to the Constitutional Congress.”

Rasmussen pushed back his chair, belched, and stood. “Thank you for the good meal, and yes, I’ll think about it.”

When Elvira had taken the children who didn’t go down for naps back out to finish scrubbing the cucumbers, Kaaren and Ingeborg sat back down at the table with a second cup of coffee.

“If he takes her west, she won’t make it through the winter. Looks like the wind would blow right through her.”

“Maybe he would go later, find a place, and then move out there in the spring.” Kaaren dunked her cookie in her coffee. “In the meantime, we can get some meat on her bones. You think as pale as she is, she might be carrying?”

Ingeborg shook her head. “I sure hope not. She said she lost one just before they set out, and the baby before that died after living only a week. She doesn’t look strong enough to carry another.” Jealousy, sharp and hard, stabbed through her. Why was it that other women had baby after baby and she hadn’t conceived since Astrid was born?

Lord, it’s just not fair
.

Chapter 14

The Ranch
September 6

“Augusta, do you think you could eat something?”

The voice sounded as though it came from across a wide and deep valley, like those between the mountains of home. If only she knew what he said, for it
was
a man’s voice. Something smelled delicious, so she sniffed again. She could see light through her eyelids, but opening her eyes seemed to take more strength than she had at the moment. But like an obedient baby bird, she opened her mouth at the touch of a spoon. Whatever it was, it tasted as good as it smelled.

After the fourth or fifth spoonful, she commanded her eyes to open, and this time they did more than flutter. She’d been right. The sun was shining in the window. Her gaze traveled around the room and stopped at the man leaning forward with another spoonful of the broth she’d by now identified as chicken. Sherry, that’s what his eyes reminded her of, what little bit she’d had of it in her life. But dusting the bottles at one of the houses she’d worked in had let her know something of the world of drink. She opened her mouth without prompting.

Now, why in the world was he sitting here feeding her? Had she been
that
sick? Had he been caring for her all along? Vague memories surfaced of soothing voices, cool cloths, and some rank liquid that seemed to ease the coughs. She was sure she remembered a woman’s voice too.

After another spoonful she shook her head. “No more.” The motion made the room spin. She closed her eyes to stop the motion and fell asleep again before she could open them.

The woman’s voice woke her again some time later. When Augusta opened her eyes, she could tell by the shadows that much of the day had passed. She tried to lift her hand, but the effort made her shake, so she just smiled back at the brown-faced woman by the bed and kept opening her mouth whenever the spoon presented itself. Or rather, was presented by a hand that smoothed back her hair and even washed her face with a warm wet cloth.

“Mange takk.” The words came out raspy, like a door creaky from not being opened. She thought back to the lessons the man had been giving her in English. What was the right word for “mange takk”? The effort sent her back into oblivion.

Every time she awoke, either Kane or Morning Dove was right there spooning liquid into her and finally holding her up to drink from a cup. Amazing how such a thing one always took for granted, such a little thing as drinking from cup rather than spoon could be a victory. When Kane laid her back down, she missed the strength and warmth of his arm.

Such a strong and gentle man.
Perhaps
, she thought, drifting off to sleep again,
someday when God brings me a husband, he could be like this man here. Wouldn’t that be nice?

When she awoke fully again, the bedroom was empty, but she could hear men talking in the other room. From the angle of the sun and the smells drifting in, she figured they were eating breakfast. She glanced around without moving her head much. Surely there was a chamber pot here somewhere. And she needed to use it. She carefully inched her way to the edge of the bed and looked over the side. Uh-huh, right there under the bed. But how would she manage standing and sitting when she didn’t think she could even sit up?

“Heavenly Father, please help me.”

As if sensitive to her slightest sound, the door opened and Morning Dove entered. “Good, you are awake. Today I think you eat.” She set the tray she carried on the stand by the bed.

Augusta pointed to the pot and signaled her frenzy.

“Ah, I help you.”

By the time she fell back in bed, Augusta felt as though her head might float up and bounce against the ceiling. She lay sweating and gasping and closed her eyes to bring the room to a halt.

“Mange takk.”
At least I have a mind left, even if my body is failing me
. Never had an expression of gratitude been more heartfelt.

“Good. Now eat.” Morning Dove propped her patient up with one arm and stuffed pillows behind her back with her other hand. Then she helped scoot Augusta up so she was sitting.

How long have I been sick? What happened to me? Did I really awake to find Kane in my bed?
The questions chased through her mind like kittens after mice, not catching answers any better than the kittens caught their prey.

Morning Dove set the tray across her lap, and Augusta stared down at the food before her. Did she really have the strength to lift that spoon herself? The spoon shook so badly that when she got it to her mouth, it was empty.

“Here.” Morning Dove sat down in the chair and began feeding her.

“I am so sorry,” Augusta said between spoonfuls, “to cause you all this trouble for a visitor.” Morning Dove just nodded and kept on spooning.
When I get to Blessing I am going to have to find some nice gift to send these people for being so good to me
.

Her eyes drifted closed again after she drank the bitter tea that Morning Dove forced upon her.
How will I ever get strong enough to continue the journey if I keep going back to sleep like this?

“How is she?” Kane met Morning Dove coming out of the sickroom.

“Much better. Eat, drink, now sleep again.”

“That’s best, I s’pose.” He stopped at the sound of coughing.

Morning Dove shook her head at his look of concern. “She much better. You go work.”

Kane gave the closed door another penetrating stare and turned to do as his housekeeper and friend said. “You’ll call me if . . .”

“She is better.” Morning Dove shook her head as if a child of hers didn’t know when to mind.

“You know, I been thinking. . . .”

Lone Pine looked up from the bridle he was mending and waited. Finally he shook his head. “So?”

“You know, when Augusta talks, some of her words sound a lot like the German Herr Gedicks and his old mother speak. You suppose Norwegians and Germans can talk together?”

“Like Mandan and Sioux?”

“Yeah, like that. At least maybe get the gist of things.” Kane knew he had a million things to do, but he couldn’t seem to keep his mind on anything but the puzzles surrounding the woman sleeping at the house. If only he could make things easier for her, surely she’d be happier here sooner. Not that he didn’t like teaching her English, but sometimes she looked so confused. As if she expected something of him, but he had no idea what.

He tried to look at his home through her eyes. All the buildings were good and solid and kept up. Even roses bloomed by the porch. The horses and cattle were in good health. Most likely she wasn’t used to such great distances between farms and ranches, but neighbors within an hour’s ride was a far cry from when he was a boy. If only he knew what she was used to. And her name—it just didn’t sound quite right from what he remembered of her letter. Now, if only he could find the letter. He must have lost it on the way back from Ipswich. That’s all he could figure.

“Think I’ll ride on over to Gedicks’ and ask him,” Kane said to Lone Pine.