Dakota December and Dakota Destiny (5 page)

“She’s going to live . . . isn’t she?” Caleb heard his voice break. What was the matter with him? After all, as sheriff he’d seen all manner of life and death. He hardly knew this woman.

But the other side of him, the heart side, chided him gently.
No one could go through a birthing with a woman like you did and not care about her. Maybe there is more to this than you know.

Caleb ignored that soft prompting as he had the other. “I mean, she has two small children to take care of. They need her.”

“Now, Caleb, you think I don’t know that?” Doc Harmon rubbed the top of his bald head. “But helping her live at this point is more in the good Lord’s department than mine. I’ll do what I can and the best you can do is get down on your knees and pray.” He picked up the woman’s wrist and counted her pulse. “We do the best we can and then leave it in God’s hands. That’s all.”

The sheriff winced. He’d rather go break up a fight in the saloon.

“You’ll keep me posted?”

“Of course. You going over to Gudrun’s?”

Caleb nodded. “They’ll have an idea what to do for her, and the young’uns.”

“Ask her if she knows any of the women with extra breast milk. We need to keep that Angel girl alive ‘til her mother gets better. Shame I haven’t delivered any babies for some time.”

Comforted that the doc spoke in terms of Mrs. Carlson getting better, Caleb left him to his ministrations and walked back to the kitchen. Mrs. Harmon had Henry sitting on her lap, albeit a mite stiffly. Sam sat as close to her knee as possible.

“I’ll be back later.”

Henry’s eyes filled with tears. He squirmed to get down.

“No, you stay there. Sam’ll be right with you. I need to talk to a friend of mine and then I’ll be back. Your mother is in the bedroom back there if’n you want to go see her.” He shifted his gaze to Mrs. Harmon. “How’s the little one?”

“Sound asleep, the little lamb.” The soft and fluffy woman shook her head. “But when she wakes, we better have something here to feed her. Her tummy needs mother’s milk, not cow’s milk.”

“Uh-huh.” The sheriff could feel a burning about his ears. All this talk about milk and such, you’d think he’d never had a child of his own. He clapped the Stetson on his head and departed by the front door. Right into another driving blizzard. “Weather tain’t fit for man nor beast. Leastways, this one ain’t as bad as the first.” He swung aboard the horse waiting by the gate. As far as horseflesh went, this one lacked some. He dug his heels into the bony ribs and the horse struck off at a teeth-cracking trot until it had to slog through a drift. When it stopped in the middle, the sheriff groaned and dismounted. Muttering all the while, he plowed his way to the front of the horse and broke the trail.

“Come on, horse, pick up your feet.”

By the time he reached the big house with gingerbread trim now hidden behind whirling snow, he wasn’t sure who was more tired, him or the horse.

He tied the animal inside the carriage house and followed the path that had been shoveled once this day up to the back door of the mansion.

“Landsakes, Sheriff, I thought sure you gived up like any sane man would on a day like this.” Mrs. Hanson, queen of the kitchen and confidante of the aging Mrs. Norgaard, brushed a trailing tendril back into the bun that seemed to loosen even more. Her always rosy cheeks bloomed brighter from the heat of the stove. “Come in, come in.” When he stopped to kick snow off his boots, she took his arm and pulled him past the door to the back porch. “If there ain’t been snow on my floor before today, I’d be after ye but right now get over here by the fire and warm yourself. I’ll tell herself that you’re here.”

“What’s all the commotion?” Dag Weinlander strode into the room, hand outstretched. “Caleb, good to see you again.” He was a man who made most men feel short, but Dag’s heart outreached his handshake. Hair the color of summer mink lay close to his head and framed his square jaw with a rich, well-trimmed brush. His blue eyes crinkled at the edges in lines familiar with laughter.

Caleb knew that laughter had not always been Dag’s wont. Clara, his wife and a fairly recent import from Norway, made certain he experienced the joys he’d so long done without. “I need to talk with Gudrun and Mrs. Hanson, no secrets against you or nothing.”

“Well, since this is Christmas and a time for surprises, I’ll let you get by with such, this time.” He clapped a hand on Caleb’s shoulder, pointed to the coffeepot Mrs. Hanson had set at the table, and left. “I’ll find my womenfolk,” he said over his shoulder.

“Now there’s a happy man.” Mrs. Hanson nodded and finished pouring the coffee. “You start with this and I’ll get the cinnamon rolls out. I know that’s what you really come for.” She bustled about the room, setting things out on a tray and glancing over her shoulder, question marks all over her face.

“It’s not a secret,” he finally said, the cup warming his hands. “Just thought I’d only have to say it once.”

“Have anything to do with that woman birthing her baby at your house last night?”

“Now how did . . . ?” Caleb shook his head. “I mighta knowed you’d a heard already. Ain’t nothing in this town sacred?”

“Come on in.” Dag motioned from the door. “They’re waiting for you.”

Caleb picked up the coffee-laden tray and followed his host, leaving a spluttering Mrs. Hanson to bring up the rear.

As soon as they were all served to Mrs. Hanson’s satisfaction, Mrs. Norgaard, in her usual manner, drove right to the point. “You’re here about that woman and babe, correct?”

Caleb nodded, still amazed at the efficiency of the town grapevine even in the midst of a snowstorm. He told them the entire story from Sam’s first bark. “She’s mighty sick and Doc says she may get worse before she gets better.” He forced himself to sit still on the horsehair sofa. “I promised the boy his mother would get better, didn’t know what else to do.” The boy’s eyes still haunted him.

“Doc believes she will pull through then?” Gudrun sat in her normal position, back ramrod straight, not even the buttons of her dress touching the back of the chair. Black pointed-toe slippers peeked from the hem of the matching watered silk dress.

“I—he . . .” Caleb sucked in a deep breath. Leave it to Gudrun to cut right to the heart of the matter. “He didn’t say that.”

“I see.”

“What about the children?” Clara Weinlander asked after passing the china plate stacked with cinnamon rolls. Dag took one and passed the plate to Caleb. When the sheriff shook his head, Dag offered the plate again.

Caleb smiled his thanks and bit into the still warm pastry. Mrs. Hanson could open a bake shop of her own and he would be her first customer—every morning. He finally looked up at the younger woman. “That’s a good question.” Should he tell them his suspicion that Mrs. Johanna Carlson was running from something—or someone?

“You might as well tell me the whole story.”

How could such a diminutive and elderly woman make him feel as if he’d just got caught with his hand in the cookie jar? And with such few words too. He should take lessons from her. He shook his head. “I wish I knew the whole story. There’s been no mention of a mister and none to say she’s a widow. To be honest, we ain’t had much time for talking, we was busy with other things if you get my drift.”

“The children, Caleb, who will feed that baby if her mother has milk fever?” Clara leaned forward.

“I don’t rightly know. Doc, he was hoping you’d a heard of someone. Not everyone calls the doctor.”

“You could bring the children here, we have room for a wet nurse. Surely there is a woman who would like to earn some extra money.”

“Well, now, far as I know, there ain’t no money available.”

“Now, Caleb, you know there’s always money here for those who really need it,” Gudrun stated, looking at him over the tops of her gold-framed glasses.

“‘Poor but proud’ was no doubt quoted with this woman in mind. I can’t see her accepting help gracefully.”

“Graceful or not, she’s in no position to argue. We’ll deal with her sensibilities in due time.” Gudrun raised the bell on the round table beside her chair. “Mrs. Hanson will have rooms ready in an hour or so. We’ll expect you back with the children before supper which you will eat with us.”

Caleb looked over at Dag for support but the man just smiled and shrugged his massive shoulders. After all, what could one do when Gudrun got on her high horse—but set the spurs to your own mount and do your best to keep up?

As Gudrun decreed, by suppertime all had fallen into place. A young woman from the German community just south of Soldahl and her baby were made comfortable in an upstairs room. Her already merry eyes twinkled even more at the sight of two cradles beside a grand four poster bed. In short order she ensconced her month-old son in one and put Angel, after a long overdue feast, to sleep in the other. Henry, with Sam stuck to his side, hadn’t left the kitchen, cowering in the warm alcove behind the black and chrome cook stove. He’d managed to put away a couple of sour cream cookies, making sure that Sam got his share, and a glass of milk. Sam licked away the milk mustache which Mrs. Hanson ignored for the time being.

She tisk-tisked her way about, preparing the evening meal. “I sure do hope you like chicken and dumplings. ’Course you prob’ly don’t have no room left after them cookies but I reckon Sam there will eat what you don’t.”

“We don’t think he is hard of hearing, you know. He just don’t talk,” Caleb said softly when he entered the room.

“Oh.” She lowered her voice.

Caleb nodded and went to squat in front of the boy’s hideout. “Henry, I just checked and your ma is doing about as well as can be expected. You come now with me and we’ll join the family in the dining room.”

Henry shook his head. Sam whined at the stranglehold around his neck.

“Well, now, I sure do think that would be the polite thing to do and all. Your ma would want you to be polite.”

The boy looked from the sheriff to the dog and back.

“Mrs. Norgaard, she don’t take to dogs in her dining room, I don’t believe. Sam will stay here waiting for you.”

The boy’s hold tightened. Sam gazed at Caleb with imploring eyes.

“Easy there, son, you’re about cutting off his wind.” The boy released his hold enough to get a quick lick on the cheek.

“You coming, Caleb?” Dag opened the kitchen door. “Oh.” He nodded and tongue firmly in his cheek, left. A minute later, he returned. “Bring the dog.”

Caleb rose to his feet. “Come on, Sam.”

Sam wriggled and stared after his retreating master. He whined. Caleb slapped his knee. “Come on, Sam.”

Toenails tapped on the linoleum floor. The dog whimpered.

“Henry, you can see Sam wants to come. Why don’t you do him a favor and let him mind me?” He waited for what seemed like an hour, especially since he was holding his breath. He released it when the boy shifted to his knees and then rose to his feet. Fist still tangled in the fur of the dog’s neck, he stopped at Caleb’s side.

Caleb’s heart turned over at the fear swimming in the boy’s eyes. Someone had hurt this child right bad. If only he could get his hands on the swine, he wouldn’t hurt any more children, that was for certain. “Not to worry, son. They like little boys here.”

Henry took in a deep breath and let it out in a ragged sigh. When Caleb extended his hand, the boy put his in the sheriff’s. In fact, that worthless polecat of a man wouldn’t get a chance to hurt anyone else ever again.

Caleb lifted Henry up on the stack of books and a pillow set atop a chair, then took the seat beside the boy. Sam thumped his tail, when Henry looked down at him, and licked the boy’s hand. Then he stretched out, muzzle on his paws, enjoying a respite from child care.

“Henry, my name is Mrs. Weinlander and I’ll help you with your supper if you need it.” She looked up to catch Caleb’s gaze when the boy flinched away. She smiled reassuringly at the child. “You just nod when the serving things come by.”

Dag asked them all to bow their heads for grace and asked the blessing on the meal, including a petition for the healing of Mrs. Johanna Carlson.

Caleb heard the small sniff from beside him at the mention of the sick woman’s name. He added a request of his own for the small family facing such trials.

As each dish made the rounds of the table, Henry looked first to see what Caleb took and then nodded at Clara. She put small servings of chicken and dumplings, green beans cooked with bacon, a sweet pickle, and buttered one of Mrs. Hanson’s homemade rolls.

Conversation flowed along with the good food as each of the adults cast surreptitious glances at the boy eating so carefully but cleaning up every morsel on his plate. Clara refilled his plate when he looked up at her and then toward the platters and bowls.

His mother taught him good manners, Caleb thought, feeling proud as if he’d had something to do with it. He didn’t let on that he’d seen the bits that made their way to the dog on the floor. When Gudrun caught his eye, he knew she’d seen too. With the wisdom of years, and the heart of a woman of God, she said nothing.

“Mrs. Hanson, you could come cook for me any day.” Caleb wiped his mouth with a napkin and watched Henry do the same.

“You know you’re welcome here any time.” Gudrun made as if to rise. Caleb leaped to his feet and pulled her chair back. “We will have our coffee in the parlor.”

Henry’s eyes turned dinner-plate size when he saw the evergreen tree nearly hidden by all the decorations in front of the bay window. He stopped in the arched doorway.

Caleb watched as the child stared up and down the tree and then over to the mantel where fat candles nested in pine boughs and cones, finished off with big red bows at either end. The swags on the windows and the garlands that framed every door also received his full attention. Caleb knew what was going through the child’s mind. Until he came to Gudrun’s house, he had never seen such magnificence either.

Clara came and knelt in front of the boy. “Would you like to come see the tree with me? I like looking at things up close so I can really see them. I’ll even show you my favorite ornament.”

Henry looked up at Caleb, his eyes asking for permission.