The Brushstroke Legacy (9 page)

“I read once where someone started a fire in a stove and the chimney was plugged, so the house filled with smoke.”

“Good point. We’ll check the chimney and that pipe before we start a fire.” Ragni turned back to the counter. “Give me a boost, will you please, so I can scrub the cupboards.”

“I’ll wash those. I can climb easier than you can.”

Erika’s comment caught Ragni by surprise.

“I’m not that old.” But inside, she breathed a sigh of relief. She never had liked standing on things. Not that she was afraid of heights—much—but she preferred her feet on solid ground. “So, I’ll give you a boost?”

Erika shook her head. Levering herself up with her arms, she stood half-bent, her head almost touching the ceiling.

“We better wait for a ladder.”

“Just dip that brush in the water and hand it up.” Erika clung to the top shelf with one hand and grabbed the brush with the other. “Ugh.” But she scrubbed and handed the brush down for a refill. “What the… Toss me a rag, will you?”

“What?” Ragni caught the excitement in Erika’s voice. “What is it?” She wrung out half of an old towel and handed it up.

Erika dropped the brush in the bucket. “Cool. Someone painted a design on the back wall. It’s like old-fashioned graffiti.”

“She was an artist.”

“Who?”

“My great-grandmother, Ragnilda. Mom always said I got my artistic ability from her. She’s two greats from you.”

“Why would she paint high up like this where no one could see it?”

“I don’t know. What does it look like?

“Swirls and flowers with leaves. Not a picture.”

“Have you ever seen Norwegian rosemaling?”

“No.” Erika handed the scrub rag back down. “The colors are faded, or maybe I just didn’t get it clean enough. I’m afraid I might wash it off if I scrub too hard.”

Ragni dipped the cloth in the water and wrung it out again to hand back up.
Something of Great-grandmother’s?
A thrill of joy made her want to laugh. They’d found something. “I’ve got to see it.”

Erika wiped out the shelf again. “I’ll get down and help you up.” She jumped to the floor, her boots making enough clatter to wake whatever creature slept under the floorboards.

“Erika, if you fall and break something…”

“I’m not stupid. Thank you.” Disgust turned her mouth down. She dumped the rag in the bucket and cupped her hands on her bent knee. “Step here and you’ll make it up. Just like mounting a horse.”

“Been a long time since I mounted a horse.” But she did as Erika suggested and got both knees up on the counter. Grasping the shelves, she tried to see over the edge, but she wasn’t tall enough. Nothing was
easy, that was for sure.
Wait for the stepladder
, ordered common sense.
Hurry up so you can see
, argued curiosity. Hanging on to the shelves with her fingertips, teeth clamped, she eased one foot up on the counter and pushed, lurching for the next shelf. When she was finally upright, she breathed a sigh of relief. She’d made it.

Peering into the cupboard, she caught her breath. Sure enough, a six-inch border decorated the shelf, whorls and swirls, curlicues and flowers, roses and leaves. How difficult it must have been to paint up high like this.
How tall had she been? Why not paint for everyone to see?
Questions flew through her mind like a flock of squawking birds.
What else would we find? More importantly, how am I going to get down?

Just jump
, said a voice.

Oh sure, and break a leg?
replied a separate voice.

So ask for help.

Like I want to ask Erika to help me down? Come on, get moving.

Moving? Sure. So why can’t you move on from Daren? He’s moving on and you don’t like it.
She turned to look back in the cupboard so Erika wouldn’t realize she was stuck.

Stuck. I’ve been stuck for far too long.

Well, what do you want? Some man to come along and lift you down? What do you want, Ragni?

I know what I want. I want down
—
now! I want to get this mess all cleaned up and get back to my own life. I want to get my real life back.

So what is your real life?
The voice sneered at her. She turned around to see that Erika had left the room, probably tired of watching her aunt dither.

Oh, just leave me alone
, she ordered the voices.

Nope, not until you say what you really want.

“Okay, I want my father back.”

Where had that come from?
She sat down on the counter and dangled her legs over the edge. Looking down at the filthy floor, she slid forward and landed with a thump.

Well, maybe she didn’t have her life back, but one hurdle was crossed. If all decisions took this kind of argument, she’d never get anything done. Arguing with Erika was far easier than the battle going on in her head—anytime.

The Bronx, May 5, 1906

Dear Mrs. Torkalson,

   Thank you for answering my advertisemint for cook and housekeeper. Hear is the train ticket for you and your dater to come to Medora, North Dakota. I will meet you at the station. I will pay you twenty dollars a month with room and bord. Write me when you will get here.

  Sincerely,
Joseph Peterson

Ragnilda Torkalson read the letter for the third time. So she would have a new position, in the West, where no one would know the story of her life. Where she and three-year-old Eloise could start anew and where the clean air might help her frail little girl grow healthy. But what did she know of North Dakota? She glanced at the letter in her hand. What did she know of this man? He could write, although some of his words were misspelled and he used the pencil with a heavy hand. He was a man of few words but he tried to be
polite. How large was his farm? What did he grow? Where was Medora? But most of all, could she trust him? The thought stopped her.
You know better than to trust any man
—
until he earns it.

She dug out the newspaper where she had read the advertisement. She’d been keeping it hidden under her clothing in the chest of drawers in the small bedroom she shared with Eloise. Finding people to work for who allowed her to keep her child at hand had never been easy.

And now she was taking a huge gamble by leaving a position, where she was content and treated well, and heading out west. The ticket in her hand said this was so. How to tell these people who had been kind to her that she was leaving? And even though she hadn’t seen her own family in some time, they were a lot closer now than they would be when she’d moved halfway across the continent. After all, Brooklyn wasn’t far from the Bronx.

“I’ll never see them again.” She spoke the words softly so as not to wake her sleeping daughter. “Unless I quit here and go visit before I leave—but I need every dime I can earn. I can’t go out there without any money.” She thought about the small cache she had hidden away for emergencies. Usually the emergency ended up being a doctor’s call for Eloise.

“She needs clean air, sunshine, and plenty of milk and red meat. The dampness is hard on her lungs, and she doesn’t get outdoors enough.” The doctor might as well have been prescribing a trip to the moon. They lived in the basement of a row house that had no yard. Since Nilda cooked and cleaned all day, the best she could do was have Eloise sit out on the front stoop the relatively few minutes that the sun shone through the elm trees that lined the street. She’d threatened
her daughter with a trip to the coal room if she moved from that spot, since Nilda could not take the time to sit there with her. It wasn’t that her employers were unfeeling, but there was too much for one person to do. At least, because she was the only household help, they paid better than any of her other positions—not that she’d had many.

“I’ll tell the missus in the morning that we’re leaving.” With that decision made, she undressed and slid into the bed, being careful not to disturb Eloise. If she woke and started coughing, neither one of them would get much sleep this night.

Perhaps she would have been wiser to send her daughter to her aunt’s house outside the city like her mother suggested, nay ordered. But Nilda had put her foot down for a change. She was not giving that baby away to be raised by someone else and visited when she had a day off. Keeping her had not been easy, but since when was life supposed to be easy? Even the Father’s Word said that life would be hard. Nilda suspected that extra money went a long way in making life easier, but not necessarily happier. Working for wealthy people had shown her that.

Her last thought before sleep claimed her brought a frown to her wide forehead.
Is there a church in Medora?

In the morning she braided her mousy hair and pinned it into the coronet she always wore. She tied a clean white apron over her black serge skirt and plain white waist.
Plain
—a word she always used to describe herself.

She left Eloise sleeping and prepared breakfast for the family. Since this was Friday, she served the cinnamon buns she’d made the day before, as well as baked eggs and sliced ham. The menu rarely changed, each day having its own morning routine. The morning paper lay folded beside the master’s plate, as it did every morning.

Mistress would sleep late and have her breakfast served on a tray—Friday was the only day she allowed herself this luxury. They would have company for supper, both their sons and wives, along with the three children who were old enough to be served at the same table as the adults. So Nilda would spend the day cooking and making sure the house was just right.

She would tell Mistress the news when she took her tray in. Would a week be long enough to find new help, or should she say two weeks? While her hands went about doing the regular chores, her mind wandered ahead to the new job.

The pay’s not that much better than here, so why should I move? For Eloise, that’s why. Her health is worth any sacrifice. You have made the right decision.

She kept that thought before her as she set the tray in place, made sure all was as it should be, and then made her announcement.

“But I thought you were happy here.” Mistress looked at her as if she’d been slapped.

“I am. You have been good folks to work for, but you know what the doctor said.”

“You could take Eloise to the park more.”

“There is no time.”

“What if we brought in day help to do the heavy cleaning? Wouldn’t that give you more free time for her?”

But you cannot afford that.
Nilda knew the state of the family finances, or at least what the master had told her one time when she found him holding his head in despair, the ledger open on the desk before him. He’d not told his wife, only pleaded with Nilda to make what economies she could. And she had. Making the most of what one had was a family trait, born and bred into the children from the time they could walk.

“I am sorry, Mistress, but I must do what I can for her.” She didn’t say,
She is all that I have
, but that phrase governed her life.

Mistress shook her head, setting the ribbons on her mob cap to fluttering. “We will never find someone else as good as you.” She stirred sugar into her tea and took a sip. “I will notify the agency and have an ad placed in the paper. You will give us two weeks, you said?”

“Ja
, I will. Is there anything else I can get you right now?”

“No, this looks delicious as always. I have a full day planned, and the children are coming. They will be sad to hear this news too. You’ve become like a member of our family, you know.”

Nilda smiled and nodded. They had been good to her.

Two weeks later, Nilda made sure that the trunk was packed with their meager belongings. She dragged it to the door to be loaded on the conveyance that would transport them to the train station in the morning. Since they would be leaving before the family arose, she met with them the previous evening in the library after the kitchen was cleaned from supper. When the new help arrived later in the day, she would find the kitchen spotless with the next meal ready for the oven.

“Thank you for the extra in my pay,” she said to the master, who smiled and nodded.

“I wish it could have been more,” he replied. “You have taken such good care of us. Hasn’t she, Mother?”

The mistress nodded. “If you are not happy out there on the edge of the frontier like that, you must let us know, and we will send you a ticket to come home.”

“Yes, that is most assuredly so,” the master agreed. “You are always welcome here.”

“Thank you.” Nilda nodded to each of them. “God bless you both.” She turned and left, fighting the lump that blocked her throat and made any further words impossible. Was she daft to be embarking on a trip such as this?

Awaking Eloise before morning left the child fretful and rubbing her head.

“Come, little one, we must hurry so we don’t miss the train.” Fear clenched her stomach in a tight fist.
Please don’t get sick now. Lord help us.

“Stay here, Ma.” Eloise leaned her head against her mother’s shoulder.

Nilda pulled the little girl’s nightdress over her head and folded it to place in the carpetbag. “You will like the train ride, like when we go to
Mor’s.
”

“Go see
Bestamor.”
A smile tried to find its way to her pale blue eyes, in spite of the croaky voice.

Nilda buttoned the black wool dress made from one of her old skirts. Over it, she tied a white pinafore with pink daisies painted around the skirt and on the bodice.

“There now, let’s button your shoes.” Holding Eloise on her lap, she used the hook to slide the buttons through the holes and then set Eloise back on the bed with an extra hug. All the while her mind ran over the things she had packed. If only she could put some of the paints and brushes in the trunk, but they didn’t belong to her—even though she used them whenever she could steal a minute away.

Moments like painting the cheerful flowers on a pinafore or violets on a teacup reminded her of the joys of life. Her painting and worship, not that she separated the two, always brought her joy. Eloise coughed, and Nilda made sure that she had the cough medicine handy in her carpetbag, along with some lemon drops for Eloise to suck on. She’d fixed sandwiches to last the day, along with cookies, cheese, and a small jar of canned fruit. Would the new help know how to preserve the peaches and apples from the fruit vendor like she had?