Blessing in Disguise (39 page)

“You are lucky. We just have one.” She glanced at his hands. “Do you have . . .” She had to think for a second. “ . . . bags?”

“Out on my horse.” He smiled again. “My name is John Heisted.” He waited.

Augusta nodded. “I get Ilse to help you.” She turned away, not giving him her name, though she could tell he wanted her to. Norwegian would be so much easier. Unless, of course, he didn’t understand it.

That night in bed, John Heisted’s smile came back to her. And thusly, Kane’s smile.
God, what am I to do? You know all. You knew that I was being married to Kane without my knowledge. If you hadn’t wanted that to happen, wouldn’t you have stopped it?
She lay listening to the wind howl and whine about the eaves. An early winter was going to pounce any day now, at least that’s what Uncle Olaf had said. Would God speak to her on the wind?

“So what do you want me to do now?” she said aloud.

What do you want to do?
Was it a question of her mind, or was God asking?

“You know what I want to do.” She thought again. “Do I know what I want to do?” Her whisper came so soft, the breath of it barely disturbed the air cooling from the chill windows.

She scrunched her eyes shut and her hands against her sides. “I want to see Kane. I want to ask him if he loves me.” She waited, her eyes still closed. “I want to tell him that I love him, and I want to be his wife, now and for always.”

A gentle sigh seemed to seep from the air around her and breathe peace over her mind and spirit.

The Ranch

“So how hard would it be to take the train to Blessing and look her up?” Kane spoke to the horse.

The filly shook her head and stuck her nose in the feedbox where he had dumped her oats.

“If she wanted to come back with me, fine, and if not, then I would just have to go on.” Life without Augusta didn’t bear thinking about. He brushed the horse until her coat shone. Like all the others, her winter coat was fast coming in. From the thick pelts on the animals, it looked to be a tough winter.

Which meant more time in the house. Alone.

That night he sat in front of the fire, and for the first time since she left, he took out his guitar and played all the songs he could think of. How soon would it be before he could head for Ipswich?

Blessing

“You are going to do what?” Bridget’s mouth dropped open.

“I am going back to the ranch and see if Kane feels about me the way I feel about him. Could you please loan me the money for the ticket?”

“Why don’t you just write to him?” Bridget beat around the sides of the bowl with her wooden spoon and turned the cookie dough over again.

Augusta shook her head. “He doesn’t get regular mail like we do here.” Which reminded her that he hadn’t written, and that was most likely the reason. “The ranch is too far from town.”

“Why do you want to live in such a lonely place when you have everything you need right here? You got family, friends, a job.”

Augusta shook her head. “But not Kane, and you . . .” Augusta glanced over at Henry, who was bringing in an armload of wood and winked at his new wife as he passed by.

Bridget’s cheeks pinked as she turned back to her daughter. She sighed. “I was afraid of this. My one remaining daughter, and she will be so far away I will never see her, nor my grandchildren, nor . . .” She shook her head, heaving a sigh burdened with sadness.

“Mor, with trains running, we can see each other once a year maybe.” Augusta’s smile wavered and then steadied. “I’m going, Mor.”

“I can tell.” Bridget stopped her stirring and took her daughter’s hands. “God go with you, my daughter. Come with me upstairs, and I will help you pack. Goodie can finish these cookies.”

“Augusta? Bridget?” Kaaren called from the door to the kitchen sometime later.

“Up here.” Bridget went to the head of the stairs. “Come on up.”

“What are you doing?” Kaaren stopped in the doorway. Two trunks stood open, and clothing, linens, and sundry household things were scattered all over.

“Packing. Augusta is planning on going to her young man.”

“Ah.” Kaaren sat down on the edge of the bed. “When are you thinking of leaving?”

“Tomorrow, I think.” Augusta held up a petticoat, discovered a rip in the seam, and set it on a pile of mending. “Why you come to town?”

“I have good news, and I had to tell someone while I wait for school to be out.” Kaaren withdrew a letter from her reticule. Taking the paper out, she looked up. “You want to hear this?”

“Ja—yes.” Augusta rolled her eyes. She had to think what to say all the time.

“ ‘Dear Mrs. Knutson, thank you for your quick response to our letter. As you suggested, we will bring our daughter to you for teaching at the beginning of the new year.’ ”

“Oh, how wonderful.” Bridget got up from sitting in the chair by the bed, her knees creaking as she rose. “Uff da. Such noise.”

Augusta looked from one to the other as they both laughed. When Bridget explained in Norwegian, Augusta laughed too.
There will be no one at the ranch to translate the hard things for me
. The thought made her roll her lips. She would just have to make do, that’s all.

“So we will indeed have a school for the deaf. Agnes has been suggesting that I put a notice in the Fargo paper and the Grand Forks’, maybe Grafton, too, to let people know about our signing program. I think I will do so.”

“Maybe a new school building with rooms for your pupils will be the next building for these men of ours.”

“Perhaps. I talked with Asta about coming to help me. She said she would, but I have me a feeling she’ll be married and gone by then.” She looked at Bridget. “Ilse said she would like to come and help. I know that would leave you without enough help here, so I said we’d think about it.”

“Ilse would be good at that, especially with children. She misses the children here. So do I, but . . .”

Augusta studied her mother. Wasn’t this getting to be too much for her, in spite of how much Henry and the others helped? How could she leave her?

How could she not?

Augusta took the train two mornings later.

As the clacking wheels drew her nearer, her mind kept pace.
What if he doesn’t want me? How will I find the ranch? God, you know. I am in your hands
.

The wheels clacked her words.
God, you know, God, you know, God, you know
.

She knew she was on the right train this time leaving St. Paul. This time she knew she was going south. South—to South Dakota. To Ipswich, not Blessing. And would there be a blessing?

“Ipswich. Next stop, Ipswich.” The conductor swayed down the aisle, nodding to make sure she heard him.

Her heart took up residence directly below her throat. Swallowing no longer worked.
God, you know, at least I hope you know
.

The train slowed. The whistle blew.

Please, God
.

The train stopped, steam billowing up clear to the windows.

Augusta stood, gathered her things, and whispering one more prayer, headed for the exit.

“Thank you.” She took the conductor’s hand as he helped her down the stairs and stepped to the wide board platform. Smiling up at the blue-uniformed man, she clasped her bag more tightly and looked over to the livery. Would they rent her a horse and wagon when she wasn’t sure how she would get it back?

Of course, she could be bringing it right back. She glanced down to the baggage car to see them unloading her two trunks. Nothing for it but to head for the livery stable.

But first she would send the telegram she’d promised, so Mor wouldn’t worry. She made her way into the station and waited in front of the desk.
How do I say “telegram”?

“I . . . I want to . . . write . . .” She motioned and pointed to one of the papers.

“Oh, sure, ma’am.” He pushed a pencil and paper to her.

Augusta took out the sample she and Goodie had written and passed it to the gentleman.

“Oh, good.” He read it over and named the price.

Carefully she counted out her change, smiled at him again, and walked back outside, knowing that the livery was next on her list. She glanced over at the train when the conductor called, “All aboard.” A man with broad shoulders, a dark broad-brimmed felt hat, and the walk of Kane mounted the steps.

Surely she was seeing things. The conductor set the step stool up in the doorway and swung aboard.

She had to find out. Steam rose. The whistle blew.

The man sat down by the window without his hat. Was it Kane?

Augusta ran across the wooden platform to see better.

The train wheels screeched a protest at starting another trip.

It was Kane!

“Kane!” She screamed his name.

The train rolled forward.

“Kane Moyer!” The whistle about drowned her out, so she screamed his name again.

The conductor leaned out the doorway. “You want someone?”

“The man you—that man!” She pointed at his window and, putting all the breath she’d ever used to call cows in the high meadows of Norway, called his name again.

Kane looked out the window. “Augusta!” He leaped to his feet and headed for the doorway.

The train was picking up speed, but he grabbed the bar and swung down.

“Your things, sir.” The conductor tossed him his hat and his carpetbag.

“Thank you!” Kane caught them, clamped his hat on his head, and leaving his bag, crossed the platform in two strides.

“I almost missed you.” He took her hands in his. “How come you are here? Ah, Augusta.” He wrapped his arms around her.

Augusta hugged him back. This was much easier than trying to think of the right words to answer him. His heart thudded beneath her ear. She leaned back and looked up at him.

“Where you go?”

“To find you.”

“Ah. I come here for you.”

“Good.” He tipped her chin up with one finger and discovered that her lips were even sweeter than he’d dreamed.

“Will you marry me?” he whispered in her ear. “I love you, Augusta Moyer.”

“We are marry,” she whispered back.

“I know, but I want to make sure you know what you are doing this time.”