Fervent Charity (23 page)

“I have forgiven that man for everything—you have no idea. But not this! I’ll keep his house and do his washing...” Lena shook her head in a
no no no
to everything else that married life implied, “but he has soiled himself with that woman... I’ll never have any more children.”

Lena sobbed piteously. Her right fist was tucked hard and tight into her breast bone as if to stop the bleeding. Jordis no longer felt heartsick over Will Kaiser—she wanted to horsewhip him.

“Thank the Lord I’ve got my baby. But now, even if I wanted to go and clean other people’s houses—and that’s all I’m fit for—it’d be hard to find somebody to take me in with a baby. He’s good to her and she loves her daddy. I can’t take her off somewhere to grow up with strangers looking down their noses at her.”

A wind had picked up. “Lena, there’s a storm coming. You and Gracia ride Moon back to the house. I will follow you.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Shoot our supper.”

“That’s fine.” Lena got to her feet with resolve. “I can clean a duck as nice as anything. Give me something to do. I need something to do.”

Jordis slapped her thigh. Moon came to her. She gave Lena a boost up on the mare’s back, lifted Gracia up to her, and slid her rifle out of the soft pack strapped to Moon’s back.

When Lena was well on the trail to the house, Jordis made her way back through the marsh grass and got a big drake in her sights. She never shot females.

Chapter 16:
July 1901

D
ear Gustie,

I thought I was beyond such anger, but I am not. I am so terribly angry.

They have robbed us of everything. I thought, “What is there left for them to take?” But they have thought of something. The last thing we had of our own. Our names.

The government has now ruled that Indians must have surnames.

Indians must have surnames. I have been repeating that to myself all day. It makes me laugh and cry and want to paw the ground.

Some of us, of course, mostly those who were baptized and entered into the church registries already had two names. But they had some choice.

Now it is the law of the land.

To Owen’s credit, he was not happy bringing us this news. He left the papers with Little Bull at the Red Sand and then rode to Charity to tell me himself, and also give himself an opportunity to visit the Torgersons while he was in town. I think he is sweet on Lavonne, who is turning sixteen sometime soon. Alvinia likes him well enough, but Lena says (because of his small size, his buck teeth, and his unfortunate, high-pitched voice) that she always feels like chasing him with a broom. I hope she never says that in front of Alvinia.

I can use the law to my advantage. I was given one white name at school, and I can now add an Indian one. I chose Manyroads, but am making it one word so they will accept it. Red Standing Horse is now James Redhorse. He took the name James to honor old Jimmy Saul. My heart fell for our chief. Adding a wasichu name to Little Bull is a loss in stature. Two nights ago, the chief appeared at my door and we pored over your books. If he has to have an Anglo name, he thought it should be a good one. He found one in Shakespeare—he liked Duncan, so he is now Duncan Little Bull. Owen says he will fill out the papers Duncan Little Bull and will add a note that Little Bull is the important family name of a chief and should not be shortened. We will see how far we get with that.

We have another horse. I took in Gleeve Pruitt’s gelding. Found him wandering along the road after Dennis and Fritz took away the body. I call him Whisper. It fits him. He is a shy horse who has heard few kind words.

By now, I wanted to be at Crow Kills with you, but Dennis says I should stay around till the circuit judge comes through. It would look bad if I took off. So, here I am still, and there you are. How life conspires to keep us apart.

A note about Lena. As I wrote last time, she went back with Will, and I have since heard that Stella Ronshagen moved on west. Lena has come to visit me a few times since and never again mentioned the subject of her unhappiness. I want to warn you to expect a change in her, for I know you will, unlike some, be acutely aware of it. She is older, and there is a stiffness around her mouth. Some light has gone out of her. A softness, or pliancy, is gone. She lives now only for child and church. I think she still does not like me, although she likes me better with uncropped hair. All I would need to do to ease her discomfort is join the Lutheran church, then she would not mind me so much. It would not matter that I have not changed inside, because she now lives a life all of appearances. To the world, she is still a respectable married woman, and to Lena, being respectable is more important than being happy.

She would be surprised to know that I know precisely what she feels about me, and yet, I like her more and more. I should have trusted you. You see value where it exists. Where I see a lump of coal, you see a warm house or a diamond. Will stops by at times. They are seldom ever seen together anymore, and he is much the same as ever. I think he understands what he has done, but is at a loss as to how it happened. He comes to see the horses. I see these two people locked in a kind of misery that neither wished for, and for which they have no escape.

I hear the rattling of Iver’s cream wagon. Will close and give this to him to post.

Love,

Jordis

Dear Mama,

Gustie and I are worried about Mary. It’s nothing we can quite put a finger on. But she is always saying the Rosary. She always did pray a lot, but now she is in her own small world. If it were not that the three of us traveled together and share the same house, we probably would not notice. I don’t know how to describe her exactly, but while being sweet and friendly as ever, she is withdrawn. It is more than what I have ever seen before in a woman this near her time. One day, she was sitting out in the fresh air, looking so sad, and I asked her if she was afraid of giving birth. She said no. I thought she would say no more, so I was getting ready to leave her to her praying when she said (to the best of my memory) “You know, Betty, the Blessed Mother intercedes with her Son to forgive. But Father Nicolay told us that there has to be repentance and restitution. If you knock a hole in your neighbor’s wall, and he forgives you, that is all very well, but there is still that hole that must be filled in. There must be restitution! When he says that, his hand always comes down flat, with a crack on the pulpit. He always makes people jump.” She laughed, but I’m afraid, Mama, she is worried about things that are beyond the skills of a friend or a midwife. We don’t know what to do.

Tell Alice I think Dr. Llewellyn is very handsome!

Love to all,

Your affectionate,

Betty

My dear Betty,

A long time ago, Mary said something to me about that priest, Nicolay. That man walks around like he just stepped off the cross. As far as I’m concerned he’s just making a show, but Mary puts great stock in what these priests say. Not that we don’t listen to our pastor, but you know if he gets too far-fetched or high-horsed we can get a new one. The Catholics don’t work that way, apparently. That man has put the fear of hell into his whole parish, and to no good end I say.

Mary’s grandmother was something peculiar, too. I heard from Helen Czmosky’s mother who knew the Waldowskis back when the old grandma was still alive and Mary was still running back and forth across that slough like a little muskrat to take care of her since her father wouldn’t have the old lady under the same roof with him because she had been against him marrying her daughter. He never forgave her and that’s why she had to live alone in that shack across the way there and the only good thing about it was that it was usually upwind of his pigs and him too. I heard that he was a filthy nasty coot and not too nice to Mary either which might explain a lot of things. Enough said. And I heard from I don’t remember who that the old lady was a gypsy. Or at least back in the old country, that’s what she was. I wouldn’t be surprised—they say she had pierced ears! And her name was Hajas. I never heard a name like that before. So who knows what she filled Mary’s head with, and then on top of that whatever it was Mary had to take from the mouth of this hell-fire priest. No good comes from all that popery, if you ask me. But what you and Gustie can do about it, I don’t know. Wait and see, I guess. When she holds her baby in her arms, all this popish-gypsy nonsense may drop away.

We miss you, dear. Both you and Severn gone leaves this house with some hollow spaces. The chicks talk about you all the time and want to know when you are coming home. Daddy and I wonder too, of course, although I know it will take Mary some time to adjust once the baby is born.

Do you have enough money? Daddy is worried.

Love,

Your mama

Gertrude Kaiser lived seventy-nine years. According to Lena, it was too long. The Kaisers were a long-lived family. She had no doubt that Pa Kaiser would be alive today if someone hadn’t killed him.
Drank like a fish. Healthy as an ox. No justice in this life.

The funeral wouldn’t be till the day after tomorrow. Lena would help the Ruth and Esther Circle prepare a lunch in Ma’s house where the mourners, if there were any, could come after the service. In the meantime, Will and his brothers could see to the arrangements. If the three of them couldn’t handle burying their own mother then it was just too bad. Mary was the only one in the family who had ever cared a fig for the old bat, and Lena never could understand why. Ma wasn’t especially kind to her. Ma hadn’t been especially kind to anybody.

So Lena wanted to enjoy her one day away from all things Kaiser. Months ago she had offered to help at the Fourth of July picnic. The last two years she hadn’t contributed but a few pies. This year, she brought her pies, of course, but she also wanted to be there, in the thick of things.

The Fourth of July was a big day in Charity, a time when the whole town got together, played baseball, and ate; entertainments of various kinds were staged on the bandstand, but mostly people just took the opportunity to visit until dark; then there were fireworks and a dance. Lena had missed a lot of it last year. She didn’t want to miss it again. She wanted to be out and about and have a bit of fun. Lena liked fireworks and she loved to dance. Will would be back from Molvik’s long before the dance started. He wouldn’t miss the fireworks.

Alvinia picked her up in the morning, saying, “You look nice, Lena.” Alvinia was always good about paying a compliment, even though she had seen Lena’s one good dress a hundred times or more.

“Where’s Carl?” Lena inquired as she lifted Gracia up for Lavonne to hold in the back and clambered up to the wagon seat beside Alvinia.

“Oh, he went out early with Kermit to lay the bases for the baseball game. He closed early today.”

“Well, it’s just noon now, I expect everybody else has closed up shop too. Will used to be good at baseball.”

Alvinia nodded but said nothing.

When they got to the fairgrounds, which lay just outside the city limits west of Charity, Alvinia took Gracia with her and her children to the Bierschback house, while Lena brought her pies out to the tables and looked for something to do.

She surveyed the southwest quarter of the fairgrounds where the tables were arranged under a canopy; there had been a light shower that morning. The green and gold smell of fresh-cut hay filled the air. Hay that would now have to be dried before it could be stored. She inhaled deeply. Some enterprising souls had erected a few smaller tents with tables and chairs if the grass remained too wet to spread a blanket on. She hoped the cloudy haze would burn off by nightfall. But, if it didn’t, they could still gather under the tents and have themselves a good time. A little weather never stopped anything. The children would be disappointed without the fireworks, and so would Lena, for that matter, but plenty of cake and ice cream would make the disappointment go down easier.

The tables were gradually filling up with bowls of creamed herring, platters of sliced ham and cold chicken, lefse, boiled eggs and potato salad. There were also the pig roasts, sauerkraut and pickled pigs’ feet that the Germans were so everlastingly fond of, but she didn’t have to eat what she didn’t like. There were pickles, sauces and jams, several kinds of bread and rolls, and buckets of lemonade. One table was all desserts: her pies and the pies of other women, apple, and rhubarb mostly; kringle, cookies, donuts, cobblers, krumkake, rosettes, and cakes of all shapes, sizes, and flavors. By the steam rising from the spout, Lena judged this was a fresh pot of coffee. She took the potholder and picked it up to walk it around before it got cold.

People were settling into small groups. The yelling and cheering from the baseball game that had started at the east end of the fairgrounds drifted over to her and she smiled. It was her first real smile in a long time.

The pot was heavy so she headed for the closest group of people. Porter Vogel and his wife and their five children were nesting on a spread of blankets. Porter smiled up at her from under a wide-brimmed black hat. “Hello, Lena,” he said.

Before she could respond, he continued, “How’s your little girl? What is she now…”