Dakota December and Dakota Destiny (7 page)

What am I going to do?

Johanna planted another kiss on the soft fuzz of her baby’s head. Never had she felt sheets so fine or slept in such a bed with carved posts at all the corners, until she came to this house. Surely she had died and gone to heaven. But the pain in her chest let her know this was still earth. When oh when would she be able to feed her daughter as she ought?

The doctor reminded her to be patient, that the hardness would disappear in a day or two if they kept up the hot packs and let Angel nurse as long as the mother could tolerate. Thank God for that young woman in the other room who had milk aplenty for both babies. So many things she had to be thankful for! She would spend the rest of her life praising God for His boundless kindness.

A soft knock at the door turned her attention away from her worries. “Come in.”

Clara pushed the carved door open and stuck her head around it. “I wondered if you felt up to a bit of company?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Johanna tried to push herself up against the pillows. “We might as well send Angel back for a feeding, she got none from her mother.”

“Here, let me take her.” Clara bent over and picked up the whimpering child. “Oh, Mrs. Carlson, she is so lovely.”

“Can’t you please call me Johanna? I would be much obliged if you would.”

“Of course, and as you know, I’m Clara.” She disappeared into the other room where Johanna heard murmurings as the baby was given back to the wet nurse. Patience, the doctor counseled, patience. But lying here with nothing to do . . .

Johanna threw back the covers. Lying in bed wasn’t natural no matter what the doctor said. “Would you please help me to that chair?” she asked when Clara returned to the sick room.

“Uff da,
I had a feeling we wouldn’t be able to keep you down much longer.” Clara wrapped an arm about Johanna’s middle. “Just lean on me.”

“Goodness.” Johanna sank into the rocking chair and breathed a sigh. “I’m so weak. Why, I got up the day Henry was born and cooked supper that night. Whatever is the matter with me?”

“You’ve been mighty sick, near as I can tell. Fever always takes some out of a person, let alone birthing a baby.” Clara took the opposite chair. “Doc says you should stay in bed.”

“Well, the doctor isn’t here and if I lie there one more hour, I shall go out of what little mind I have left.”

“You could read.” At the arched look of her visitor’s brow, Clara smiled. “Write letters?”

Johanna dropped her gaze to her hands clasped in her lap.
Oh my, if you only knew.
But she didn’t dare share her secret with anyone. “What is it you like to do?”

“Like to do?” Johanna thought of the breathlessness crossing the room had caused. “I can knit, or mend, or do hand sewing.” Her hands fluttered, as if needing an anchor. “I need to be doing something.”

“All right. We had hoped you would be content to just rest and get well but if this bothers you so much, I will talk to Gudrun and we will come up with something. In the meantime, are you comfortable? Is there anything I can get you?”

Johanna shook her head. “Please, I don’t mean to be ungrateful. You have all been so good to me and mine, strangers that providence dropped into your laps.”

“No, I understand, I would be the same.” Clara rose to her feet. “How about if I help you back to bed for a while and when I return we can take a turn around the room? And you will eat something to make you stronger.” She raised a hand to forestall Johanna’s objections. “And, yes, I will find something for you to do.”

By Friday Johanna could navigate the upstairs but she hadn’t yet tried going down the spiraled staircase. With each dawn she indeed felt stronger. The pile of mending had disappeared under her nimble fingers and she itched to use the treadle sewing machine she found in a room down the hall. Never in her entire life had she had so much time on her hands.

Saturday evening the entire town bundled up and strolled down Main Street to the Lutheran church for the pageant. All the participants arrived an hour early to get into their costumes, except for the stand-in for baby Jesus. She was home being fed in an attempt to help her sleep through the performance.

“Are you sure you are strong enough to go?” Caleb had an arm around Mrs. Carlson’s waist as they negotiated the stairs.

“Yes, I am. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Clara followed behind them, babe in arms. “I should be there now to help my class get ready but I know Ingeborg has everything under control. It’s not often one gets to carry the star of the show. Makes me wonder how Mary felt.”

“She tucked all the things away in her heart, Scripture says. I’m sure she took them all out many times for rumination later.” Mrs. Norgaard took Dag’s arm. “To think that at one time, Jesus was no bigger than our little Angel here. Astounding, isn’t it?”

Johanna kept a tight hold on Caleb’s arm. Walking around upstairs was different from coming down stairs wearing a coat and all. She tried to hide her shakiness with a smile but when Caleb put his arm around her waist again, she knew he could see through her.

“I can carry you, you know.” His whisper was meant for her ears alone.

She shook her head. What would the townspeople have to say about something like that?

The church Christmas tree stood in the corner ready to have its candles lit, colorful packages stacked beneath its branches. Silver icicles twinkled in the light from the gas lamps and crocheted crosses shimmered white against the green branches.

Caleb looked down at Henry who had the sheriff’s pant leg clenched in one hand. Somehow they’d convinced him that Sam didn’t go to church. In the faithful dog’s place, Caleb had become the safety blanket to which the boy clung. As soon as they were all seated in the front pew, Clara nodded to Mrs. Moen who peeked out from behind the sheets turned curtains strung across the front of the church.

People continued to file in until every pew and chair was occupied and the walls became props for those left standing. When the organ wheezed to life, a hush fell on the room. The lights were dimmed but for the ones in front. Only a tiny giggle from behind the curtains told of those waiting to begin.

Clara took the sleeping Angel back from her mother and sneaked behind the curtain, to return empty-handed. “They promised to take good care of her,” she whispered after she sat back down between Johanna and Dag.

Johanna lifted Henry onto her lap so he could see better.

A man’s voice, deep and musical, began reading from the Gospel of Luke. “And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus . . .”

A draft skittered across the floor and up everyone’s legs. The congregation turned as one to see a young woman on a donkey, led by a boy with an obviously fake beard. The tap-tap of the donkey’s hooves provided a counterpoint to the reading. Part of the curtain pulled back to show the Sunday school chorus, singing a song of Mary and Joseph, their eyes shining.

“And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered. And she brought forth her firstborn son. . . .” The curtain opened to young Mary Moen, who played Mary, and Will, the blacksmith apprentice, as Joseph, laying an infant in a rough manger. The cow beside them chewed her cud and two sheep knelt in the straw on the floor.

Johanna blinked back tears. Like the family before her, she’d had her baby in a stranger’s house and had been surrounded by love and care. As the story and songs continued, thoughts of home intruded. How was he? Was he after her? She quickly joined in the hymn and closed the door on her memories. Here, for now, she and her children were warm and safe.

At the first sign of whimpering young Mary took the baby in her arms and, laying Angel against her shoulder, patted and rocked the infant like mothers the world over. Joseph knelt beside her. The donkey stomped his hoof and twitched his ear. The white-clad children had donned their angel wings to sing again as the shepherds made their way down the aisle. Finally the wise men joined the tableau, in spite of the star that stuck on its wire and refused to hang over the stable. Reverend Moen finished his reading, the organ broke into “Silent Night,” and everyone rose to sing the carol.

Johanna could feel her voice quivering. Never had she seen such a pageant. Never had the age-old story found such a welcoming heart, never had God’s Word been made so real. She looked up to see Henry in Caleb’s arms and when she swayed, felt Clara’s arm go around her waist. She rested between the two strong bodies as the curtain opened again and the actors took their much deserved bow. Angel, wide awake now, managed to free her arm from the confines of the swaddling wraps and wave as if she knew what part she’d played.

The applause finally dimmed, swelled, and dimmed again. Mary Moen left the stage and brought Angel back to her mother.

“Thank you for letting her be in our pageant. What a good baby she is.”

“Thank you.” Johanna cuddled her daughter close. She looked up to catch a sheen of what? Tears in Caleb’s eyes.

He sniffed once and nodded. “She sure is. Not often a pageant gets an Angel to play the part of baby Jesus.” His whisper made those around him chuckle.

Back in her mother’s arms, Angel fell fast asleep and slept right through the passing out of the gifts from the base of the Christmas tree. When the child still dressed in a white angel costume, with one wing slightly askew, handed a wrapped package to Henry and another one handed him an orange, the stars in his eyes shone brighter than those twinkling in the heavens.

Sitting on Caleb’s lap, he looked first to his mother and then up at the sheriff. At Caleb’s nod, Henry slid to the floor and, turning, laid his treasures in Caleb’s lap so he could open the box. Carefully he untied the string and folded back the red paper. Inside the box was a pair of red mittens and under that a tablet and two sharpened pencils with an eraser.

The smile on the boy’s face nearly split the sheriff’s heart in two. So much more he had wanted to put in that box but he knew he dared not since that would be showing favoritism. Sure as shooting, one of the more vocal of the church women would comment and make Mrs. Carlson feel bad.

He’d already figured out that staying on the right side of her pride took some real doing.

On their way out of the church some time later, he took care to let Dag shepherd the two younger women and he, with Henry on one arm, extended the other to Gudrun. He caught the flash of humor in her eyes and the slight nod of commendation. As usual, they were in cahoots to keep the gossip mill on a starvation diet.

“I want to thank you all for such a wonderful evening,” Johanna said when they had gathered in the parlor after the children were put to bed. Henry had headed for the kitchen and latched on to Sam as soon as Clara removed his winter gear. In spite of Mrs. Hanson’s tsking, the dog accompanied the child to bed, along with the tablet that he clutched to his narrow chest.

“You are more than welcome.” Gudrun smiled at her guest. “I’ve never seen a more perfect Jesus in a manger. And can you believe how motherly Mary acted?”

“With all the help she’s been to her mother in raising the younger ones, I’m not surprised. She is one capable young woman.” Clara looked up from her embroidery hoop.

“She’s just a little girl.” Dag turned from his study of the fire.

“She’s ten years old and tall for her age. Can you believe that we had a Mary playing Mary?” Caleb shook his head. “And an Angel playing the best part of all.”

“Do they always use real live animals for the pageant here?” Johanna asked. “I’ve never seen that done before.” Of course how could she tell them, she hadn’t seen a pageant in years. Not that she hadn’t wanted to, but . . .

“Mostly. It gives the children something to worry about besides their lines. That old cow of Doc’s knows the program so well by now, it could tell the kids what to do. One year the sheep got loose and took off around the schoolroom, but that was before we had finished the church. No one who saw that one ever forgot it. Mr. Norgaard, bless his soul, was reading the lesson that year. He could hardly continue he was laughing so hard. Mrs. Adamson, she’s long gone to her reward too, never forgave him for such hilarity with the holy Scripture.”

“I’m surprised they let the animals come again.”

“Took a few years but when the Moens came to Soldahl, Ingeborg kind of insisted. To keep from offending the new pastor, the animals returned to the Christmas pageant.” Gudrun shook her head with another chuckle. “Oh, the stories I could tell about Soldahl.”

“Well, I better head on home,” Caleb said with a sigh. “This has been right nice tonight.” He got to his feet. “Good night, all.”

Mrs. Carlson stood too. “One thing before you go, Sheriff.”

He stopped, waiting for her to continue.

“Is there any chance, I mean, I hate to ask but . . .” She twisted her hands and continued on a rush. “Have you been able to find my wagon yet? I need to get on the road again soon as I can.”

Caleb felt his breath go out in a rush. A quick glance around the room told him his feelings were shared. What was driving Johanna Carlson that she would risk her life, again?

“For cryin’ out loud, woman . . .”

Johanna flinched as if he’d struck her.

Caleb lowered his voice. “I—I’m sorry for shouting like that. Please, please forgive me.” Speaking softly and slowly took all his effort. Why did this woman get under his skin like this? He looked up in time to catch a half-smile on Gudrun’s face before she had a chance to banish it. Did she know something he didn’t? Well, it wouldn’t be the first time, that was for sure.

Johanna lifted her chin and seemed to grow a foot taller in the process. “I’m sorry I asked. I will go look for it myself.”

“Now, let’s take a moment to think on this,” Dag said from his place leaning against the mantel. “Mrs. Carlson, there is no way we will allow you to take that sorry horse of yours and go looking for a wagon all by yourself. You have no more idea where it might be than we do since you got caught in a blizzard.”

“I agree,” Gudrun added with an emphatic thump of her cane. “Your children come first.”

At the sound of Gudrun’s voice, the starch went out of Johanna’s spine and she dropped her head forward. “I’m sorry, you are right. But I don’t want to put you out any further. You have all done so much to care for me and mine . . .” She raised her chin again, to half-mast. “How will I ever repay you?”

“Not by running off, or at least trying to—again.” Caleb tried to snatch back the final word but it sneaked out.

“You are correct, Sheriff, there is no need to belabor the point. But as soon as the roads are passable, I must be on my way. I must.” She dropped her gaze again when she felt all eyes on her.
What have I done, will they think me mad? Or worse yet, ungrateful?

“Well, I’ll be getting on then. ‘Night all.” Caleb started for the door and Dag accompanied him.

“Good night.” Johanna looked up to see sympathy swimming in Clara’s eyes. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I hear Angel beginning to fuss. It must be time for a feeding.” Lying wasn’t usually her way of dealing with such kindness but she knew if she didn’t get out of there, she would break down. And there was no way that would happen. She didn’t want these people to have to lie for her, if and when he came.

“I have a suggestion,” Gudrun said the next morning at the breakfast table.

Johanna looked up from buttering Henry’s pancakes.

Clara paused in the act of pouring a second cup of coffee.

Mrs. Hanson nodded. “I figured you would sleep on it and come up with something.”

Gudrun dipped her head in acknowledgment. “Near as I can tell, nothing in our home has a rip or tear remaining. There is no hem not sewn back in or lace neatly stitched back in place. Am I correct?” She looked toward Mrs. Hanson first and then Clara.

“We do have the upstairs linen closet yet to go through but those things are so rarely used.” Clara looked to Mrs. Hanson.

“I went through them myself when you were doing so poorly, they are in fine shape.”

“That means you have nothing more to do, here, correct?” She eyed Johanna.

“I feel that way.”

“I have an idea your fancy work is as meticulous as your mending.”

“I try to make it so.”

“Have you ever done altar cloths?”

“No, but I’ve made tablecloths, runners for buffets and dressers, handkerchiefs. I used to make them for the local store to sell. There was a shop in town that catered to those with extra money for the finer things. The things I made all sold right away.”

“And you can also be a dressmaker?” Gudrun looked over the tops of her glasses.

“Yes, but I haven’t as much experience there. You see, I . . .” She clapped her mouth shut. She’d almost said too much.

Gudrun waited. When nothing further was forthcoming, she cleared her throat. “Let us go back to the altar cloths. I would like to donate a set to the church before I die. This has been a long-time dream of mine, but . . .” She shot a glance at Mrs. Hanson. “I am not as adept with a needle as I’d have to be, and Mrs. Hanson, bless her heart, just hasn’t the time.”

Clara covered her mouth with her napkin, then excused herself.

“I—I could do that for you? If you tell what pattern you want and all.”

“Now, isn’t that a fine idea. I’m sure Clara would love to help you and perhaps the two of you could work in some baby clothes too. I keep praying we will have little ones running around here sometime soon.” She raised her cup for Mrs. Hanson to refill. “If the word gets out that we have such a treasure here, there will be others coming to the door, asking to hire our seamstress.”

“Do you think the local general store would be interested in showing some of my things?” Johanna wished she’d kept her mouth closed. If he came looking for her, he’d recognize her handiwork. But he would never spend the money on the train and, as the sheriff had said, the roads weren’t passable yet. She should have a couple of months to work on the altar cloths. Not that she’d really need that long. Besides being precise, she had a quick hand.

“Good. Then I will order the linen fabric, I know we have nothing so fine in town. Should be here in a week or two. In the meantime, I know there is some flannel in the sewing room and plenty of fine cotton for baby dresses. You could start with those. Also we could see what is available at Miss Sharon’s.”

“Miss Sharon’s?”

“She’s the local dressmaker. I’d have suggested you talk with her but I know she recently hired a young woman to assist her. Right after Christmas is a slow time for all the shopkeepers.”

Johanna sat at the table, wondering if this were what being run over by a train felt like. Had she really agreed to do the altar cloths? And told so much about herself? She looked at the satisfied appearance of Mrs. Norgaard and knew she had.

“I think I will send a message to Mrs. Moen to come talk with us. She might even have a pattern or two we could use. I want to keep this quiet. If the Ladies Aid gets wind of it, they’ll want to put it all to vote and it would be two years from now before we could begin.” She sipped her coffee. “But then I’ve been known as eccentric so something like this won’t surprise anyone.”

Clara came back into the room. “We should go over and measure before we order the fabric, don’t you think?” She patted Henry’s shoulder. “You want to go with me to do that? It’s so bright and shiny out, you’d think summer is nearly here.”

Henry looked to his mother first and, at her nod, to the young woman behind his chair. If she hadn’t been watching, she’d have missed the brief ducking of his chin.

“Good, maybe we’ll make snow angels on the way.” She took his hand and headed for the coat rack by the front door. “We’ll be back later. I know we need some lace and more embroidery thread so I’ll go by the Mercantile.”

“And Miss Sharon’s?” Gudrun asked.

“Of course. Hurry, Henry, before they find more for us to do.”

Within the hour Johanna found herself before the sewing machine, hemming flannel into diaper squares. While she’d never used such a fine machine before, she followed Mrs. Hanson’s instructions and soon had the treadle flying.

“Dinner is ready,” Caleb announced from the doorway.

“Oh! You . . . ow!” Blood welled from where the needle stitched right into her finger.

Caleb crossed the room in three strides. He took her hand in his. “Here, let me see that.”

Bright red dotted the white flannel and now dripped into his hand. He covered the wound with his thumb and pressed. “This should stop that.”

“You startled me.”

She looked up into hazel eyes with gold dots around the iris, eyes filled with concern and something else. She’d heard that eyes were the windows to one’s soul and if that were the case, this man’s soul was as fine and strong as the hand holding hers. That soul reached out to her with love and compassion.

Love! She snatched her hand from his and looked wildly around the room, anywhere but at his handsome face. When he stepped back, she leaped to her feet and, fleeing to the other side of the table, began folding the stack of squares she’d hemmed. The space between them gave her a chance to recover her breath.

“Mrs. Hanson asked me to tell you that dinner is served.”

“I—I’ll be right down. Y—you go ahead.” She glanced down to see a bloodstain on another diaper. “Oh, no.”

“You could let me bind that up for you.” She could feel his mellow voice clear to the marrow of her bones. What was the matter with her? This had to stop. What if he felt the same way?

The thought brought a lump to the back of her throat. There was no future for anyone in loving Mrs. Johanna Carlson. There was only heartache and possibly even danger.