The Brushstroke Legacy (12 page)

“You need to be polite,” Ragni whispered in Erika’s ear as they followed him.

“I will.”

Within minutes they had the rest of the meal on the table and took their places. Paul reached out with both hands. “I’ll say grace.”

Ragni barely hesitated before placing her hand in his and reaching for Erika’s. Why did he have to be one of those hand-holding grace people? Her palm felt on fire. If he felt the same, their hands
might burst into flame.
Concentrate on the words, woman, not the hands.
The slight squeeze he gave her at the “amen,” made her swallow before looking up.
Whew.

“Erika, I’d be honored if you’d try at least a few bites of steak.” His smile would be difficult to ignore. “I can cut one of these in half.”

Erika nodded. “Thank you. I just never thought… I mean…”

“And I’m so used to kids who grew up ranching, it never entered my mind you’d not know.”

Ragni passed the bowl of baked potatoes—baked in the oven, even. She’d gotten so used to baking potatoes in the microwave she’d forgotten about crispy skins and dry, mealy white insides.

“I didn’t think to ask how you like your steaks, either. Sorry. I try to get them with a bit of pink still in the center.” He passed the platter toward Erika. “Help yourself.”

Ragni stared at the size of the T-bone steaks. She didn’t know they came that big. And there were three of them. When Erika took one small piece Paul had cut, Ragni took the other piece.

“You sure?”

“Paul, I could never eat a steak that big. And this looks perfect, just the way I like mine.” She glanced up at Erika who was fixing her baked potato. Ragni used the salad tongs to fill her salad bowl and passed it on. “Everything looks so good.”

“Probably anything looks good after eating out of a cooler.”

“Sure beats the hot dogs we were going to have.”

Paul chuckled. “Pass the ranch dressing, please.”

“How many horses do you have?” Erika asked while handing it to him.

“Got about ten head. A hundred head of cows, couple hundred
steers. Small spread. My dad had this place until he had a heart attack and decided to retire. I’d been ranching with him until then.” He cut into his steak. “Neither of my brothers wanted to stay here, so I took over the family ranch.”

“Do you have sisters?”

“One, she lives in Dickinson. Her husband owns a feed store there. They have a small spread outside of town.” He took a bite of steak and chewed with obvious appreciation. “We have a big do here on the Fourth of July. You’ll have to come—if you’re still here, that is.”

“We head home on the sixth.” Ragni took another bite of steak. “This is so good.” She noticed that Erika’s was nearly gone too.
Good kid, I’m proud of you.

“How about if I bring the lawn mower over and knock down that grass for you?”

“That would be wonderful, especially since I didn’t get a weed whacker.”

“Safer that way. Snakes like cover.”

Erika paused and put her fork back down. “A snake wouldn’t burrow under the house, would it?”

“No, why?”

“‘Cause something dug a big hole under the ramp.”

“Really? I wonder what. I’ll look at that when I come by. Anything else you need?”

Erika, don’t say anything. If he thought it was dangerous, he’d come right away
. Ragni breathed a sigh of relief when Erika shook her head. Where had that assurance come from? It wasn’t as if she knew the man well. But he would come immediately. There was something about him that said he’d do his best to make sure those around him
were as safe and comfortable as he could make them. A fully armored knight on a white horse galloped through her mind, his banner of white with a blue cross on it fluttering in the breeze. Now, that was a surprise.

Ragni thought of the stepladder they had tied to the new luggage rack. Would it be high enough for her to get on the roof to throw off the dead branches and see if it needed repair? She drew the line at roofing. Fixing a window, fine. She’d gotten instructions on that, and she’d picked up the needed putty and brads. Cleaning, no problem, but not roofing.

“If that roof needs to be repaired, could you recommend someone I could hire?”

“That roof needs to be replaced and most likely new sheeting put down. Herb Benton in Medora might be able to fit you in. Easiest way would be to use metal roofing like I have on this place. Long as you keep a good roof on ’em, these old log houses can last forever. Roof goes and it’s not long before the rest does.”

“I see. Is he in the book? We’re staying at the motel tomorrow night, and I could call him then.”

“I’m sure he is. Look under Roofing or Construction. He does most anything.” Paul thought a moment. “Like I wrote your mother, I’d be glad to buy the land anytime you want to sell.”

Ragni glanced over at Erika, who shook her head slightly.

“Well, it’s not my decision to make. I’ll talk with Mom and see what she says. After all, it’s hers.” Why did the thought of selling the old place make her feel like she was losing something precious? She’d only been here two days.
Get a grip, woman. It’s just an old dilapidated, ramshackle cabin.

“There it is.”

“That house up there?” Nilda stared across the flat river valley to see where Mr. Peterson pointed. From this distance as they came down the last grade, the house looked like it might sink into the ground at a loud clap of thunder. Long and low, half dark logs and half light, it fit her idea of cabin more than house. She’d seen pictures of cabins in books; before he’d added on to it, it must have been all one room.

I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills…
The verse floated through her mind. The hills and buttes around the valley more than fulfilled the Scriptures. Surely God had brought her here, and here she would make the best of it.
Please, Lord, let this become home.

When the wagon wheels bounced across more ruts, she felt as if her bones had been shaken to the point of turning to mush. Joseph Peterson had not uttered one word all the way from town. Miles across these hills and valleys were surely longer than miles on city streets.

The acid odor of urine rose from her sleeping daughter in waves. They’d not stopped at a necessary before their ride from town, and now Nilda needed one too. That must be what the small building was
for. She laid her cheek against Eloise’s forehead. Warm. Was it just from the weather, or was she getting sick again? At least she’d weathered the long train ride.

“Is there a doctor in Medora?” She hated to break the silence with a question like that, but the enormity of the distance from what she called civilization nearly swamped her. What had she done?

Mr. Peterson shook his head. “Closest is Dickinson.”

But then what has the doctor ever been able to do for her that you haven’t learned how to do yourself?
The question calmed her fear. That was true. She knew how to make a steam tent and if this weather was the usual, there would be plenty of sunshine. If she couldn’t buy the cough medicine, she would make her own. The doctor had given her a recipe, and she had bought laudanum to use in an emergency.

When they came out on level ground, she saw a house with barn and corrals off to the right. So they had neighbors, even though they weren’t close. Not that she’d ever had time to be a neighbor, but the thought brought comfort.

“Little Missouri River over there.” Joseph again extended his hand.

“Your house is near to the river.”

“Ja.”

“You have a garden?”

“Nei.
But if you want one, we dig it.”

A garden. I’ve always wanted a garden.
The first house where she had worked had flower gardens and kitchen gardens. Her mother always had a garden. Nilda’s memories were of planting seeds and waiting for the leaves to poke through the soil, of picking peas and digging carrots, eating sweet corn right from the garden without even cooking it. Could those things grow here?

“Where would I get seeds?”

“At the store in Medora.”

“Good.”

“Shoulda said something.”

“I didn’t think of it.”
I don’t want to cause trouble, but what will we eat all winter if we don’t have potatoes and vegetables put by?

He waved his arm, indicating the fields off to their left. “We cut for hay.”

“I see.”

“Can you milk a cow?”

“I vill learn.” There came her accent again, and she sounded like her mother.
Milk a cow! He never said I’d have to milk a cow.
Her heart stuttered at the thought.

“I bought a cow for her.” He nodded to the sleeping child. “She needs milk. We have chickens.”

The enormity of what he said burst like a sunrise in her mind.
He bought a cow so Eloise could have milk!
He might be a man of fierce demeanor and few words, but the heart beating in that broad chest could recognize the needs of a frail little girl.

Nilda smiled at him.
“Mange tusen takk”
. Many, many thanks. Why did it sound friendlier in Norwegian?

As they drew nearer the cabin, she noticed the corrals and a squatty barn on the other side of it. The road rolled past, snaking on along the river and up the hill not half a mile away. Tall trees bordered sections of the river, but none shaded the cabin. Cattle lay in the shade of the trees; some stood, tails swishing against the flies.

He pulled the team to a halt near the one step stoop, wrapped the
reins around the brake handle, and climbed down. Then he came around the wagon and held up his hands to take the child.

If she wakes in his arms, she will be terrified. But I can’t climb down over that wheel with her in my arms. What to do?
“Come.”

With a sigh and a prayer, she handed him her daughter and nearly leaped out of the wagon. “Here, I’ll take her. Thank you.”

Eloise rubbed her eyes and leaned closer to her mother, one glimpse of the man making her whimper.

“Hush, all is well. We are at our new home now.”
Home, please Lord, let this become home.
After the places they had lived, it looked more hovel than home.

She opened the door with one hand, holding Eloise on her other hip, and stepped into the room. A door on the far wall, recently cut into the log wall, led to the addition. Since she saw no beds, she figured everyone would sleep in the addition. He’d said she would have a room of her own, and she hoped he’d lived up to his word. Surely the new section was large enough for two bedrooms.

“Through here.” He followed her in with their trunk on one shoulder and the two bags in his other hand.

“Ah…” Her face heated up like a sunburn. “The necessary?”

“Ja, out the door, to the left. You see the outhouse.”

“Oh. Of course.” She smiled her gratitude. “Come, Eloise.” She went out the door and followed the path to the privy. When Eloise clung to her neck rather than sitting down inside, she unwrapped the little girl’s fingers and lowered her to the bench. “You must use this. I will hold you tight.”

“No, Mama, no.”

“See, I will go first.” When she’d settled her skirts again, she lifted Eloise onto the seat and held her securely. “You must do your business here for now, and I will find a chamber pot. But now you go like a big girl.”

Eloise sniffed. “Stinky here.”

Nilda smiled and nodded. “Ja, it is so. We will wash you up, no more stinky.”

Eloise walked beside her mother back to the house, clinging to Nilda’s hand as if to a lifeline. Mr. Peterson came out the door as they reached it, and Eloise hid behind her mother.

“I put your things in your room. My hired hand, Hank, shot grouse for supper. You can clean them?”

“What are grouse?”

“Wild birds, like chickens. In the sink.”

“Ja, I will clean them.”
Lord above, can you teach me even this?

But her eyes must have shown her confusion for he shook his head.
“Uff da,”
he grunted, returning to the kitchen. “I show you.”

“I need to get an apron.” She stepped through the doorway into the next room where their things waited, Eloise following close behind.
And I need to catch my breath.
She gazed around the room. A window had been cut in one log wall and a door in the next dividing wall. Clearly they’d made two bedrooms out of the new addition. She opened her trunk and took out an apron.
So much for cleaning Eloise up first.
Turning quickly, she nearly knocked her shadow over.

“Come, we must hurry.”

Nilda removed her hat and pulled the apron with crossed straps over her head—careful not to dislodge the bun at her neck—and tied
the apron strings in back. Surely he would go about his business so she could change out of her traveling dress later. She turned to Eloise. “You come sit on a chair, so no one steps on you.”

Mr. Peterson was honing a knife on a whetstone at the dry sink sunk in a counter under the kitchen window. Behind him, a cast-iron stove took up a good portion of the wall with a filled woodbox to the side. A series of shelves under the windows on either side of the door held foodstuffs, as did the counter under the other window. Plain but functional. She refused to let herself think back to the lovely kitchen she’d left behind. Cabinets with doors, a full pantry, running water, two ovens in a stove fueled by gas. The house had gaslights, and they were talking about electricity, indoor plumbing.

“Have you ever plucked a bird?”

“No.”

Within minutes he had the first grouse plucked and cleaned out, then soaking in a pan of cold water. She eyed the other three in the sink.

“Can you do it?”

“Yes.” She took the bird and pulled off a handful of feathers.
I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me
—
even pluck a grouse.

“Pull against the shaft, like this.” He showed her again. Indeed, his way was easier. When the bird was bare skinned, she remembered what he had done and cleaned out the innards.

He plucked the third bird while she took care of hers. He nodded when she finished. “Supper will be at six. Hank will milk the cow tonight.”

“Don’t you want dinner?”

“This is enough.” He picked up a sandwich made of two pieces of bread with meat between and walked out the door.

“Wait, where do I get water?”

“At the pump.”

“Where?” She joined him at the door so she could see where he was pointing.

“Over there at the windmill.” He pointed up the road. There a wooden tower with a spinning wheel creaked and sang. “It pumps water. There is a pump with a handle for when the wind is not blowing.” He looked down at her. “You know how to pump?”

“I will learn.”
Oh Lord, I have so much to learn.

His quiet snort made her stiffen her spine.
So he will not take time to show me around. I will manage.

He shook his head, returned to the sink, and emptied the water bucket into the reservoir on the right side of the stove. “Come.”

Nilda scooped Eloise up on her hip and hurried after him. Dust puffed from his boot heels slamming into the dirt road. Trotting after him carrying her daughter made her chest pump and her heart thunder. By the time she reached him, she set Eloise down and put her hand to her throat in an effort to calm herself. A trickle of moisture ran under her corset, and she wished she’d had time to change.

He’d hung the bucket over the spigot and now pumped the curved iron handle up and down. Soon she heard a gurgle in the pipe and then water gushed into the bucket. “You pump till the water comes. Here.” He motioned her to take the handle.

Nilda stepped up onto the platform and pushed down on the handle. He had made it look so easy, but it took some strength. The water slowed, then regained its force.

“You stop pumping
before
it runs over.”

“I’m sorry.” She let the handle settle. “I should have…”

But he’d already strode off toward the low shed that housed the machinery.

What kind of man is he?

“Ma?”

Nilda turned to her daughter after watching the man’s broad back, crossed by suspenders, leave them behind. “Ja?”

“I’m thirsty.”

She took the tin cup from a hook on the wooden frame and dipped water for Eloise to drink. The urge to pump again just to see the water swirl in the bucket and run over the edge, darkening the dusty boards underfoot, made her smile. Somehow she would find time this day to clean up both her daughter and herself. A basin bath it would be, but right now, even that sounded refreshing.

She lifted the bucket from the spigot and, taking Eloise’s hand, walked back toward the house.
It’s a shame that the well isn’t closer to the house. And how do I keep things cool so the food doesn’t spoil?

There would be no man driving a wagon down the street to sell his ice and haul a chunk of it on his shoulder to the icebox in the pantry. Another thing to learn. But with a cow they would have milk. She knew how to churn butter, and sour milk was good for cooking too. Sour cream cake and pancakes, biscuits and cookies. This far from town she would have to think ahead; there would be no morning strolls to the market for the day’s meats and vegetables.

Back at the house, she set the bucket on the counter and led Eloise back to their bedroom. “You get your clothes off, and I’ll bring a basin of water back here so we can wash.”