Dakota Dusk (5 page)

“Yes, I—”

Mrs. Sampson leaned back just a trifle.

“I would be sorry to see the education of Willowford’s children suffer even the smallest of disruptions, wouldn’t you?” Rebekka asked.

Mr. Larson nodded.

“I hear there’s a shortage of teachers coming out of Normal School the last couple of years.” Mrs. Sampson nodded sagely. “The folks of Willowford do appreciate having a trained teacher over in the schoolhouse.” While unspoken, her “for a change” rang through the quiet of the room.

Mr. Larson rubbed his forehead again. “Now, look. This is the way we’ve always done it. And it’s worked. Now, why should we change?”

“Remember that incident one night last summer?” Mrs. Sampson tossed the question out, casually, as if she were pitching a pebble into a pond.

Mr. Larson’s lower face matched his forehead. He closed his eyes. “Oh, my.”

“Now, the ways I see it, Miss Stenesrude would be much closer to the school, were she to live in my house. Beings we’re just across the creek from the schoolhouse.”

“But we have no money.”

“And that way she could go over on cold mornings to start the stove earlier. Keep Willowford’s children warmer, you might say.” Only a groan rose from the other chair.

“You can be sure I would do my part for the children of my community and give you a real good rate. In fact, it might be that Miss Stenesrude would be willing to help me out some, to help pay her expenses, you know.”

Mr. Larson leaned forward. “I’d have to clear this with the rest of the school board, you realize.”

“Like you did the well?” Mrs. Sampson smiled, but the whisper penetrated to the bone.

“I take it this would be agreeable to you?” Mr. Larson turned to Rebekka. At her nod, he continued. “When would you like me to go with you to pick up your things at Strands’?”

“We’ve already done that,” Mrs. Sampson said, “I know you won’t regret this, Lars. You’ve made a wise decision and the fewer people who know about this, the better. Don’t you agree?”

Mr. Larson mumbled something as he pushed himself to his feet. “Let me see what is keeping Elmira with that coffee.”

Rebekka breathed a sigh of pure relief. She hadn’t had to lie. But on the way home, she was surely going to ask Mrs. Sampson what had happened last summer.

By Monday morning Rebekka felt like she’d lived at the widow’s boardinghouse all her life. While she’d had a nightmare on Saturday night, Sunday night she slept through and woke up to face the new day with joy and a sense of adventure.

Rebekka felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth as she lay in bed relishing the peace and loveliness surrounding her. While dancing in the early morning breeze, the sheer curtains struggled against the ties that looped them back. When she planted her feet on the braided rug, she resisted the urge to dance along with the curtains. Stretching her arms over her head to banish the last yawn, she crossed to the window and knelt to place her crossed arms on the sill.

“This is the day that the Lord hath made, I will rejoice and be glad in it.” Her verse was certainly easier to live up to today than it had been in the days past. “Thank You, Father, for bringing me here to live. It’s been so long since I felt like I had a real home. What would it be like to have a home of my own?” She thought of the Larsons, their fine home on the hill, and their towheaded brood. Would she ever have a home like that? Was there a man out there somewhere who would invite her to share his home? Who would love her with the kind of love Christ talked about? Whom she would love the same way?

A robin pipped his early morning love song to the heavens from the tree in the corner of the backyard. Rebekka searched the branches until she saw him, his red breast puffed out and beak open wide. “Hope you find her, Mr. Robin,” she whispered. “Everyone needs that perfect mate.” She swallowed the lost feeling that crept over her and pushed herself to her feet.

“How silly, mooning around like that.” She scolded herself all the way through her morning wash and even while brushing her hair. Long, wavy strands that shaded from wren brown to deep sienna snapped in the electricity from her brush, creating a cloud about her head that reached halfway down her back.

She smiled at the heart-shaped face in the minor. What would it be like to wear her hair free but for two combs to catch it back from her face? She laughed at the sight of her hands trying to harness all that wildness. What was the matter with her this morning? She wet the brush and slicked the unruly strands straight back and into their usual braid and the braid into its coil at the base of her head.

She checked the mirror again. There now, the schoolmarm was back in control where she should be. The old-maid schoolmarm who would always teach other peoples’ children to the best of her ability.

She quickly made up her bed and, picking up the slop jar, made her way downstairs for breakfast.

The feeling of anticipation returned as she crossed the bridge that spanned Bryde Creek. The creek flowed full and brown, swelled with runoff from the spring rains. At the sound of her feet tapping on the planks, Rebekka gave a little skip and four quick heel smacks to add to the stream’s spring song. Soon the summer would be here and what would she do then?

She continued the thought. Eight more days of school and then the big picnic. Everyone was already having trouble studying and the older boys had left weeks earlier to help with spring planting. Other years she had returned to stay with her mother in Minnesota, but since her mother died, she had no family—no immediate family that is. Somewhere she might have relatives on her father’s side, but no one knew for sure. Her mother had a sister somewhere, but they had lost touch through the years of her father’s dragging them from pillar to post and back again.

“And that’s what being married gets you,” she warned the creek. “So stay the way you are.” Her heels clicked a rhythm of their own as she headed on toward the schoolhouse. She looked around to see if anyone had heard or seen her—talking to the creek no less. Surely they’d think she’d been addled by the sun or something. Definitely not a good example for a teacher to set.

She looked over her shoulder, a grin peeking out around her admonishments. So was the creek male or female and was it really single? Or would you call it a marriage when two creeks flowed together and then into the river? She shook her head. Maybe she had been addled by something. Or maybe she’d been around her pupils too long. Those were the kinds of questions she encouraged from them.

She’d written the instructions for the first lesson of the day on the blackboard before some pupils arrived giggling at the door. Rebekka put all thoughts of her own questions out of her mind and concentrated on her pupils. She checked the small watch she wore pinned to her plain white blouse. Ten minutes until school began. “Mith Thtenthrude,” a small charmer with two missing front teeth lisped. “Our cat had kittenth.”

Rebekka squatted down to be on eye level. “How many did she have?”

Emily wrinkled her forehead and began raising fingers until she showed four on one hand and one on the other. “Five.”

“Very good. Is she taking good care of them?”

“Yeth. Thee had them in Bernie’th bed.” She clapped her hands over her mouth to stifle the giggle. Her blue eyes sparkled, and when Rebekka laughed with her, they both looked back to see Bernie plunking his lunch pail down on his desk. Emily whispered between her fingers. “Bernie wath mad.”

Rebekka rose to her feet and checked her watch again. “Bernie, would you be so kind as to ring the warning bell?”

Bernie nodded his pleasure and scampered out to the cloakroom, where the heavy rope hung from the bell tower. As the bell pealed its warning across the town, she could hear the children shouting and laughing as they ran toward the school.

Yes, this would be another high-spirited day and there was so much she wished to teach them before the end of the year. She waited for them at the door as they lined up, boys on one side and girls on the other, starting with the youngest in front and ending with the oldest. The boys’ line was regrettably short since all those over twelve were helping their fathers in the fields.

“Bernie, the final bell.” She waited while the tones rang out again. It was precisely eight o’clock. “Elizabeth, will you lead the morning prayer?” At the girl’s nod, Rebekka opened the Bible she carried. “Today we will read from Psalm Twenty-three. ‘The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.’ Now, let us repeat that together.” All the voices raised in unison at the familiar verse. At Rebekka’s nod, Elizabeth bowed her head and waited for the shuffling to cease. Her musical voice joined with the bird choruses from the trees planted on each side of the school.

“Father in Heaven, we thank Thee for this day. Thank Thee that we can go to school and learn so many things. Please help us to do our best.” Elizabeth paused, then finished swiftly. “And let everyone come to the picnic. Amen.”

Rebekka rolled her lips together to keep from smiling. She and every child there knew Elizabeth was hoping that James Johnson would be in attendance. Elizabeth and James had been making eyes at each other for the last year.

“Thorlief, will you lead the flag salute?” At his answering grin, she turned and led her charges into the schoolroom.

When all the feet ceased shuffling, the boy’s voice began, “I pledge allegiance to the flag . . .” At the finish, they all took their seats and folded their hands on their desktops.

Rebekka sat down at the piano and sounded the opening chords for “America the Beautiful.” As the voices rose in song, she felt shivers run down her back. The children sang so wonderfully.

After the singing, she walked to the front of the room. “Today we’ll start with reading. Take out your books, please.”

By the end of the day, Rebekka felt like she’d been whipped through the eye of a hurricane twice. After the last child departed, she had yet to sweep the floor and wash the blackboards. These were all chores the older boys did when they were in attendance, so she missed their presence doubly. She also needed to work on her lesson plans for the rest of the week.

When she finally closed the schoolhouse door, she sank down on the steps and wrapped her arms around her knees. At least she didn’t have to walk two miles home again like she had done for the last month. And other places had been farther. She breathed in deeply of the soft air, content to be right where she was at that very moment.

Rebekka was as ready as her pupils were for the school picnic.

They’d planned games and contests for every age group from the three-year-old race to the horseshoe pitching for the older men, with the school board providing awards. Everyone in town and the surrounding area was invited.

That Saturday dawned with a thundershower, but by ten o’clock, the sun shone brightly and folks began to gather. Trestle tables had been set out and they groaned under the array of food brought by the women.

Rebekka stood on the steps and surveyed the colorful crowd. If numbers were any indication, this would be the very best school picnic that Willowford had ever seen. Only one cloud floated on her horizon—would Adolph Strand have the gall to appear? She checked every wagon and buckboard that drove up and tied up in the grove down by the creek.

“Anything else you need?” Mr. Larson appeared at her side.

“No, nothing. Just enjoying the excitement. The children have been looking forward to this day nearly as much as Christmas.” Rebekka returned a wave from a newly arrived family. “Thank you for the prizes you brought. And also for the extra gifts. It means so much to the little ones to be part of the school program.”

“Well, you met my two. They’d be crushed if everyone got something and not them, so I brought plenty. We’ll save the leftovers for next year.” He picked a stalk of grass and nibbled on the succulent stem. “Ah,” he muttered as he chewed the stalk and spit out the tough section. “Umm,” he started as he studied the toe of his dusty boot.

“Yes?”

He looked up at the tops of the trees bordering the creek. “There . . . ah . . . been any problems, I mean anyone hanging around or anything?”

Rebekka could recognize the flush creeping up Mr. Larson’s neck because it matched the one on her own. “No, no problem. And thank you for your concern.” She bent down to answer a question from one of her young students, grateful for the distraction.

When she stood up again, Mr. Larson was striding across the schoolyard.
Bless you,
she thought.
You really care and yet it is so hard for you to show it.

By late afternoon parents were loading tired and even some sleeping children into the wagons, gathering up their things, and heading home to do evening chores. If the enthusiasm of those departing meant anything, the picnic had indeed been the success Rebekka dreamed.

Now it was time to close the school for the summer. Since several of the women had already helped clean while the children were running three-legged and sack races, the building had the smell and sound of summer slumber. The last remaining pupils policed the yard, cleaning up every scrap of paper, and then charged off to their homes.

“Bye, Miss Stenesrude. See you in the fall. Have a good summer.” The calls went back and forth. Mr. Larson locked the door for the final time and pocketed the key.

“What are you figuring to do this summer?” he asked as they stopped at the rail fence bounding the schoolyard.

“I don’t rightly know, besides helping Mrs. Sampson, that is.” She looked up at him with a smile. “But I’m sure the good Lord knows. He promised to provide.”

“Ja, that’s right.” He tipped his hat. “Be seein’ you then.” He started off, then turned. “You want a ride back to town?”

“No, thank you. I like the walk.” She waved him off and, after picking up her bag loaded with books and papers, ambled toward the boardinghouse. When she paused on the bridge and looked down, the creek had retreated to its summertime ramblings, burbling over stones and babbling around tree roots. The song it sang seemed to promise good things ahead.

Even though she was tired from the rigorous day, Rebekka found herself smiling with the stream and singing its song on her way home.