Blessing in Disguise (21 page)

He had tried to tell her that a boardinghouse would be too much, but she and the church ladies nearly tore him limb from limb.

Now, if only he could find her daughter for her.
Where is she, God in heaven? Where?

Chapter 19

The Ranch
Mid-September

If they didn’t let her get out of the house, she might go stark raving crazy.

Augusta ran her fingers through her hair, wishing she could wash it and sit outside to let it dry, the sun was that warm. After the frost two nights earlier, the weather had turned warm again, much like it did at home. She finished braiding the waist-length strands and wound the braid into a figure eight at her neck, securing the mass with hairpins from her carpetbag. The waistband on her skirt hung down around her hips. What once had been a full bust was no longer.

She stared at the face in the mirror. Hollows in her cheeks, bones like rocks under the skin of her neck—gaunt was the only word to describe her. How much time had passed, after all? She pinched the skin on her cheeks to get some color to return. Mor would call her a ghost, a spook. Never in her life had she been so sick. And to think she was stuck here with strangers taking care of her.

She could hear Morning Dove working in the kitchen. Augusta pinched her cheeks one more time and headed for the door. She would find something to do to help. Surely cooking and washing dishes were the same, no matter what language she spoke. Morning Dove would just have to get used to her helping until she could find a way to continue her trip to Blessing. Mor needed her!

But Augusta got sidetracked by the windows overlooking a creek lined with willows not far from the back of the house. Between the house and creek lay a garden, bordered by fruit trees on the east. A bench out by what looked to be the well house beckoned her. A long porch stretched the length of the building, similar to the one in front. Two willow-branch chairs sat against the wall, also extending a silent invitation.

She slipped out the door and leaned against the porch rail, savoring the air that smelled of fall. She waved to Morning Dove, who had left the kitchen and was now digging carrots and potatoes in the garden, dropping them in a basket at her feet. The fragrance of rich soil floated over to her, making her inhale deeply in appreciation.

Too much fresh brisk air in sore lungs made for a coughing fit that had her hanging on to the post for support. She waved Morning Dove away and finally was able to get her breath again. When she looked up, the Indian woman stood not five feet from her, hands on hips and a frown joining her black eyebrows. A sling on her back held her sleeping infant.

Augusta shook her head. “I am fine, or at least I will be. I am
not
going back in the house. Especially not back to my room.” She felt like adding “so there” but decided a smile might be more appropriate.

It was.

Morning Dove’s frown disappeared, replaced by a smile. “You.” She pointed at Augusta. “Come out.” She beckoned with one hand, then pointed to the garden.

“You?” Augusta pointed to herself.

Morning Dove shrugged. “Not really but . . .” She beckoned again. “Come.”

“Come?” Augusta let go of the porch post and crossed the grass to stand beside Morning Dove, who nodded. Together they walked out to the freshly dug row. Morning Dove pointed to the vegetables, naming each.

“Potatoes, carrots, turnips, rutabagas, pumpkins,” Augusta repeated after her. She picked each one up, brushing away the dirt and inhaling the earthy fragrance. Even the earth smelled and looked different than it did in Norway. She looked up to see a wedge of geese flying south, recognizing their familiar song. But never had she seen so many as she had here in this country. She looked down to find Morning Dove watching her, smiling and nodding at the same time.

“Geese,” Morning Dove said.

“Geese,” Augusta repeated.

They continued the naming of things as Augusta pulled the root crops that filled basket after basket. But it wasn’t long before she could feel the strain, her face flushing in the heat and exertion. She wiped away the perspiration from her forehead with the back of a hand.

Morning Dove picked up one of the smaller baskets and headed for the house. “Come. You sit down.”

Inside, Morning Dove pulled a chair out from the table. “Chair.” She sat down and as she did said, “Sit.” Then she repeated the action. “Sit in chair.”

Augusta did as she was told, repeating the words “sit in chair” and receiving a smile for her efforts. How frustrating this was, not being able to talk with the woman. Surely there had to be a way she could learn the language faster so she could ask the myriad of questions gushing like a rain-swollen stream in her mind.

Why, oh why hadn’t she spent the money to buy a language book? Hjelmer had told her to, Mor had told her to, and even Johann had done so. Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn. That was her, all right. Always thinking she knew best. Why hadn’t she listened? All that time on the boat and train, surely she could at least have learned some rudiments by now.

Morning Dove brought over a pan of vegetables in water and a knife. She picked up a carrot and, using the edge of the knife, showed Augusta how to scrape the dirt and skin away, then handed both to Augusta and indicated the rest.

“Thank you.” Augusta forced herself to use the English, even though “mange takk” sounded so much friendlier.

“Thank
you
.”

When the vegetables were scraped and simmering on the stove, Morning Dove handed her a broom and indicated where to sweep. Again Augusta smiled and leaned into her task. Some things didn’t need language.

By the time dinner was ready and Morning Dove rang the triangle that hung on the back porch, the two women had fallen into an easy camaraderie, sharing the tasks as Morning Dove gave words for Augusta to practice.

When the four men came in, Augusta wanted to disappear back in her room. Young Red Wing clapped his hand over his heart, and while she didn’t know what he said, the action brought heat flaming up her neck.

“Now, boy, don’t go embarrassing her thataway.”

Augusta looked over at Kane, recognizing a thunderstorm approaching and wondering who was going to get rained on. Or struck by lightning. It didn’t take long to find out. She wished she knew what he’d said to the young cowhand, but then maybe she really didn’t want to know.

Everyone shuffled to their places at the table, the bantering gone with the blistering. For that was what it had been. Even though she didn’t understand the words, the reactions made them clear. Augusta looked from the young man to Kane and back again. Surely that had not been necessary. Glaring at the older man, she set the plate of roast pork in front of the younger man and sent another glare Kane’s way. Who did he think he was anyway?

And what did it matter that she’d been a bit embarrassed by the laughing glances of the younger hands? After all, while he might be their boss, he surely wasn’t hers. She took her chair with a flounce and after grace passed the bowl of mashed potatoes to her left, carefully keeping her gaze from intersecting with that of the man at the head of the table. The fact that she was sitting at the foot didn’t register.

Halfway through the meal, she felt a wave of weariness try to drown her. She put down her fork and straightened her shoulders, sucking in a deep breath at the same time. Her eyelids felt as though pound weights hung on them, and keeping them open became the battle of the hour.

As soon as the men left, she propped her chin on her hands and let her shoulders sink. The curtains at the windows faded into a blur. She didn’t argue when Kane returned, swept her up in his strong arms, and carried her down the hall. His well-worn shirt felt soft against her cheek, and his heart thudded under her ear. She marveled at the strange desire to put her arm around his neck, but before she could act upon it, he deposited her in the middle of the bed in her room.

“Mange takk,” she murmured, turning on her side and tucking her hands under her chin.

“You are welcome.”

Was that his finger she felt trailing down the side of her cheek? She couldn’t force her eyes open to check. She heard his boots click out a tattoo on the floor as he left the room.

How would she ever get to Blessing when the bit of work she’d done this morning wore her out like this?

Kane paused at the door and looked back at the slender woman lying in his bed. She’d tried to do too much on her first real day up, that was all. While his head knew that for a fact, his heart wanted to run back and check her again to make sure she was only sleeping.

She hadn’t appreciated the dressing down he gave Red Wing, that was for certain sure.
Young pup, making eyes at my wife like that. Whatever came over him?

But Kane knew. The only women his men had seen lately were Indian squaws. Augusta’s golden hair would attract attention anywhere in this vicinity. As soon as she was stronger, he promised himself that he would go visit Gedicks and see if his mother and Augusta could understand each other.

In the meantime, he had fences to build.

When they rode back into the yard as the sun was setting, Kane glanced up to see Augusta sitting in one of the rockers on the front porch. Flames from the dying sun set her blond hair afire. The urge to warm his fingers at those flames made him almost leave his horse tied to the hitching post and go to her. When he turned back from knotting the reins, the sun had set enough that now she sat in shadows, leaving him wondering if he’d really seen such beauty or merely been out in the sun too long.

Later that evening after supper had been cleared away, he motioned Augusta to join him at the chairs in front of the fireplace. She nodded and raised one finger in the air, then pointed to the bedroom. “I’ll be right back.” He seemed to get her meaning, so she hurried to her room.

He nodded, and settling into the leather cushions of a chair made of willow branches the size of his upper arms, stripped of bark and sanded, he picked up the guitar sitting to the side.

Augusta returned, knitting needles, wool, and a partially completed sweater in her hands. She stopped and watched as he cradled the guitar in his arms and set the instrument to singing with the magic of his fingertips. The tune tugged at her heart, and she sank into her chair with a sigh of delight.

He smiled over at her, his fingers continuing to pluck the melody in a speed she couldn’t follow. She returned the smile, and her fingers took up her knitting where she had left off, turning the yarn into cables and ribbing that sang of the snowflakes and fjords of her homeland. When he finally set the guitar aside, she sighed in disappointment.

“You look so beautiful in the firelight like this. Of course you look beautiful all the time, but if I’d known what it would be like sitting here with you, I might have searched for a wife a long time ago. But then she wouldn’t have been you.”

Augusta smiled back at him and nodded at the warm tone in his voice, wishing for all she was worth to know what he was saying. Would now be a good time to ask him when he would take her on to Blessing? The thought of leaving him, this place, made her eyes want to run.

Chapter 20

Blessing
Third week of September

Now, he would make a fine-looking man for my Augusta.

Bridget caught another glimpse of the boarder when the kitchen door swung open to let Ilse return to serving the guests. Almost three weeks, and they’d not heard a word. When she let herself think about it, her heart felt near to cracking in two.

Father God, I am trusting you to care for my Augusta. Please, you’ve taken two of my sons and a daughter home to you already. Can’t you find it in your heart to bring this one back to me?
She stirred a pot of baking beans before putting them back in the oven, all the while continuing her internal conversation.
I know my children are better off with you, but this one, if she has come home to you, so be it, but if not, please keep her safe. You know, at least you could watch out for your son Hjelmer
. She gulped at her impertinence.
Father, forgive me for not being grateful for the years I had her with me. I am, truly I am. But it’s the not knowing that’s the hardest. If she is suffering somewhere . . .
She took over kneading the bread and sent Goodie out to check on the laundry steaming in the boiler over the fire pit.

Yes, I know. What could I do anyway? That’s why I am reminding both you and me that I am putting her in your hands—again. And this time I will try my best to leave her there
. The thump and push of kneading the bread started an ache in the middle of her lower back. Her thoughts turned to Hjelmer.
Please guide my son in his looking for his sister. I’m glad he has finished in Bismarck so he can continue looking. Am I showing my lack of faith for sending him out? Or am I being wise? You know, if you would just give me some sign
.