The Brushstroke Legacy (30 page)

“Draw four,” Erika said, pointing to the card she’d just played.

Apparently this conversation has ended
, Ragni thought.
It’s a good start, though, isn’t it, Lord?

By the end of the Fourth of July celebration, it looked to Ragni like Erika had gotten over her crush on Paul, thanks to Ryan. Ragni felt inundated by family, friendly family—family who welcomed her and Erika with only slightly raised eyebrows and then open arms. Half of them volunteered to come help fix up the cabin, the fences, and the outbuildings, starting the next day.

“We’ll make a picnic of it,” Myra said with a laugh. “Just leave all the food and organization to me.”

“But I…”

“We haven’t had a good project to work on since Annie bought her place. You think they do a good job on those television programs, well, wait until you see the Heidelborgs in action.”

“You might want to figure out what you want done in case you need more supplies,” Paul said, nodding toward his mother. “She absolutely loves doing things like this.”

Ragni looked from son to mother and over to Paul’s father who was talking with several other men. While he wore the look of health problems, his laugh held the same warmth as Paul’s. What a vibrant family. She thought of her own father, no longer vital in life, but still so in her memories. Memories she needed to hoard since they could no longer be renewed.

Why would they all come help some stranger from Chicago who’d never bothered to visit the old family home before?

Paul handed her paper and pencil. “I’d suggest you start making a list. My dad is an expert at many things—laying flooring is one of them.”

“But he…”

“I know. But don’t let appearances fool you. His motto is ‘I want to wear out, not rust out.’ He just doesn’t move as quickly or work the long hours he used to.”

Ragni swallowed. “How will I ever repay all of you?”

“Oh, I have an idea.” His smile made the heat rise from her chest and blossom on her cheeks.

Nilda stood admiring the jars of beans she had canned.

“Ma?”

“Ja. What do you need?”

“Big snake outside!” Eloise beckoned to her mother.

Nilda blinked at the thought that flitted through her head.
Oh, dear God, keep my daughter safe.
She headed out the door like her skirts were on fire.

“See.” Eloise pointed at a snake coiled in the sun at the end of the row of carrots. It wasn’t the type of garden snake they were used to seeing, that was for sure. But was it a dangerous one? Mr. Peterson had warned her of poisonous rattlesnakes, but so far she’d neither seen nor heard one. He’d said there were other kinds of snakes, too, that were great at killing gophers, mice, and rats—in fact, the rattlesnakes helped in the same way.

So
—
what to do?
“Run down to the barn and see if Hank or Mr. Peterson are about.”

Eloise flew off, her bare feet sending up puffs of red dust from the road. Nilda made no move toward the snake, not wanting to frighten
it away, but something inside her shuddered at the sheer size of it. Even if it wasn’t dangerous, it certainly looked it.

Mr. Peterson came running from the barn. Obviously he was not taking chances either. Hank, with Eloise on his shoulders, followed after.

“Stay back.” The big man walked softly from the other side of the house.

“I am. Is it a bad one?”

Mr. Peterson stopped beside her, close enough that she could feel the heat of him in her upper arm and around her heart. She glanced up to see consternation and perhaps even a touch of fear on his face, a face that up until now had revealed very little emotion.

“Had you gone closer, it would have rattled its tail. That’s how they warn others of their presence. Sometimes they slither away when they’re startled, but sometimes they strike.” He paused. “Thank God Eloise came to get us and didn’t go see for herself.”

“Sometimes there is value in fear and caution,” Nilda said meekly. The thought of her daughter confronting such a creature made her dizzy. She’d seen women faint before, but she always figured their corsets were drawn too tight. She’d not known fear could make one dizzy. But it had to be fear because she did not wear a corset.

Mr. Peterson picked up the hoe leaning against the house and took a couple of steps into the garden. The snake reared its head and the buzz of the rattles announced what kind it was. “See, what I meant?” He advanced on the snake, hoe raised, and struck as the snake reared back to do the same. Three chops and the creature lay writhing, headless, and dead. Mr. Peterson dug a hole with the hoe
and buried the head, then picked the carcass up by the tail and brought it back to show them.

“The Indians say this is good eatin’, but I’ve never taken a cotton to it,” Hank said. “I’ll skin it though—will make a nice belt or something. Big one.”

Nilda laid a hand to the base of her throat. Although the snake and hoe battle had been so swift she could hardly see it, her heart had nearly leaped out of her chest. She looked at Mr. Peterson. “You might have been bitten!” She knew the tone of her voice was sharp as the hoe, but she had no control over it. “Why didn’t you shoot it from a distance?”

He looked at her and shook his head. “Why waste a good bullet on a snake?” He leaned the hoe back against the house. “’Sides, might have missed with a gun. Hoe works plenty well.” He started for the barn, then stopped and smiled at Eloise. “Good girl.”

The anger drained out of Nilda as if a cork had been pulled from a bunghole on a barrel. While he didn’t understand her fright, he cared for Eloise.
Bless the man.
She turned to Hank who stood watching her, a slight smile on his wrinkled face.

“Do snakes come in a herd or a flock or…”

“Nope.” He shook his head and gave a little jump that made Eloise giggle and clutch his chin. “They travel alone, unless you stick your hand in a nest of babies in the early summer. But you done right in sending the little one here to find us. Now you know what one looks like.”

Stick my hand in a snake’s nest?
She nearly gagged. Her knees buckled, and she grabbed at the wall to remain upright. She swallowed
and swallowed again.
I will not faint. I will not faint.
She willed herself to be strong.

“Ma?”

“Ja, I am all right.”

“You sit down, be good for you,” Hank cautioned.

“No, I…” She sucked in a new breath that finally cleared away the fog veiling her eyes. “I never knew, I mean…” For the thousandth time, she thought of how different life on the frontier was from life back east. No one had told her—but then, had she questioned anyone before she answered that advertisement?

Hank swung Eloise to the ground. “Back to work.” He leaned down and spoke to the girl face to face. “You watch out for snakes. Good girl.”

Nilda and Eloise returned to the house, and Nilda tried to take her mind off the garden scene by baking a cake. Some time later she heard hammering from the barn. Was Mr. Peterson putting the snakeskin up to dry like he did the coyote pelt? He’d said he would tan the skins this winter when there was no field work. Still so many things to learn about.

That evening when she and Eloise went out to care for the chickens, she found the hens pecking at pieces of meat covered in flies. She scattered the oats and gathered the eggs, talking to the chickens, laughing when Eloise brandished her stick at the rooster.

Later at supper, Mr. Peterson announced that the men would be going to town in the morning.

“Before we start harvesting the oats.” He paused from cutting his meat. “Would you like to go along?”

“Me?” Nilda smiled, delight like a warm river suffusing her from her toes to the top of her head.

“You will need warm clothes for winter.” He nodded to Eloise sitting beside him. “And Eloise. She is growing.”

And paints. Perhaps my paints will be there.
Hank had said he’d ordered some for her, but they’d not come in yet the last time the men went to town.

She forced herself to sit calmly through the wagon ride to town, admiring the scenery Mr. Peterson pointed out, laughing at Eloise’s antics in the back of the wagon, and dreaming of painting with real colors rather than the black and red-brown and all the combined shades she had created herself. She studied her list again.

“Hank, did you tell me you could make buttons out of antlers?”

“Yes, I have six.”

“How big would they be?”

He held up his hand. “A bit bigger than my thumbnail.”

“Coat-sized? For Eloise?”

“That would do.”

She crossed
coat buttons
off her list. She really had no need for new clothes, other than aprons. Hers were worn nearly to shreds. Life on the plains was harder on aprons than life in the city. She’d make them out of calico, not the white cotton she’d given up starching some time earlier.

When she thought back to how perfect her aprons had to be to
serve company in the dining room, she felt as if she was remembering another world, not the reality of her life before coming west. Back where manners were most important, the mantels dusted so that white gloves would not soil when used to test the cleanliness, where the silver was polished on a regular basis and the windows washed until they shone.

She never could have dreamed of a place like this, or a man like this. She stared up at his back, his shoulders broad beneath a shirt that she had mended and ironed. Hair that curled about her fingers when she cut it, and a hat that looked as if moths had enjoyed many a banquet at its expense.

“Mr. Peterson, you need a new hat.”

“Indeed, you say.”

“Indeed I do.”

“And does Hank need a new hat too?” Mr. Peterson asked.

“That he does.”
Only not as severely as you do.

“I want a hat!” Eloise looked up from the sticks she was arranging and rearranging.

“Put a hat for Eloise on that list.”

“Hat like Mistah P?” Eloise pointed to Mr. Peterson.

Both men laughed, Hank turning to grin at the little girl. “No, a pretty hat for you.”

“I will knit her a hat as soon as I have some yarn.”

“You knit too?”

“Ja.”
Not well, but I will learn again
.

“I s’pose you want me to buy sheep now too?”

“No, yarn will do.” She stared at the broad back above her. From the tone of his voice, she suspected he was teasing.

At the store Mr. Peterson helped her climb down over the wheel. When she smiled her gratitude, she caught a new look in his eyes, real warmth that sent a shiver up her arm. Taking Eloise by the hand, they entered the store, just like stepping into a new world. She inhaled the wonderful plethora of aromas: dill pickles, aged cheese, leather boots, saddles and harness that hung on the walls, bolts of dress and coat goods, cinnamon, ginger, and molasses. Some smells were so faint as to be elusive; others, like kerosene, were strong enough to wrinkle one’s nose. Every inch of wall, shelf, floor, and ceiling displayed merchandise that if not already needed might be necessary in the future.

“Good morning, ma’am. How can I help you today?” A stained apron that was hung on strings broken and retied in knots faithfully displayed a slight paunch that almost matched the storekeeper’s drooping jowls. But his smile, despite its missing front tooth, seemed genuine.

Nilda smiled back at him and glanced around the store again. “You seem to have about everything imaginable.”

“And if I don’t have it, you can order from the Sears and Roebuck catalog right there on the shelf. Your order comes in on the train, and you pick it up, right here at the store.”

Nilda glanced around to locate Mr. Peterson. Not seeing him, she stepped closer to the clerk. “Do you have painting pigments that were ordered a while back? Hank…” she paused, trying to remember his last name.

“You mean Joseph Peterson’s hired man?”

“Ja, that is him.”

“You must be the woman that came from New York to be his housekeeper, then.”

“I am Mrs. Torkalson, ja.”

“Glad to meetcha. I am Hanson.” His voice would have carried clear across the street. “Welcome to Medora.”

“Thank you.” Why did she feel as if she were on display? She glanced around to see two women staring at her and talking behind their hands. No smile of welcome relaxed their lips. No nods of greeting tipped their hats.

“Come along. I have your order behind the counter.” He marched off, leaving Nilda no recourse but to follow. While he rang up the purchases, she kept a lookout for Mr. Peterson, then paid her money and quickly hid the package in her bag.

“Candy, Ma?”

“No. Come, let’s go see about wool for a coat. Your other one will be much too small, you have grown so.”

“Shoes.”

“Ja, those too.”

She chose wool for a coat, flannel for nightdress, cotton for dresses and aprons. As the man cut the pieces, she found thread and elastic and lace, then searched for yarn. When she couldn’t find any, she walked back up to the counter to ask.

Mr. Peterson, his neck bright red, straightened from signing something at the counter. “We will be leaving as soon as the wagon is loaded.” Where had the pleasant ring to his voice gone? Instead, she saw again the man she had met at the station those weeks, nay months before. What had caused the abrupt change this time?