Years (17 page)

He waited, feeling a curious weightlessness in his stomach, an expectancy that thrust up against the underside of his heart. Her blue eyes were wide and timorous. Two bright splashes of color highlighted her cheeks. The moment seemed to expand
into an eternity, but then her lashes swept down. She swallowed and her lips fell closed. Disappointed, he passed through the room without uttering a word.

She spent the afternoon in her room, correcting papers and planning the week’s classes. Downstairs, Nissa retired to her bedroom for a nap. The house grew quiet, the rafter room stuffy. Outside, the sun disappeared and the sky took on a green-gray tinge while off to the north, thunder groaned softly.

Immersed in misery and feeling less self-righteous by the hour, Linnea found her concentration straying from her school-work. She glanced at the window, noting the changing weather. Her thoughts wandered for the hundredth time to the fight she’d had with Theodore and the resulting antagonism neither of them seemed able to end. Having no one to discuss it with, she decided to tell Lawrence.

“Remember Theodore? Well, I’m afraid he and I are still at odds. We’ve had a terrible fight, and now he won’t talk to me or look at me!” Dressed only in her chemise and petticoats, Linnea confronted her reflection in the mirror, pressing a hand to her breast, fingertips touching the pulse in her throat while an expression of utmost dismay covered her face. “What am I going to do, Lawrence?” She paused, fluttered her fingers and replied, “Well, I suppose we’re both at fault. He’s being bull-headed and I... well, I was terribly nasty to him.” Suddenly her back arched and her chin came up defensively. “Well, he deserved it, Lawrence. He’s such a stubborn moose!” She flung herself away, taking care not to bump the commode this time. “He thinks the rest of the world is at fault for wanting a higher education than he, and all the while he’s tak
—”
She stopped abruptly and turned back toward the mirror. “Well, yes, I... I... ” She flung her hands up, disgusted with Lawrence’s unwillingness to place the blame where it belonged. “So I called him dense! So what?” She moved to the stack of papers she’d been correcting and fiddled with the corner of one, then swung around, wide-eyed. “Apologize? Surely you don’t mean it! Why, he’s the one who should be apologizing to me!”

At the first grumble of thunder Theodore turned toward the edge of the field. His backside was planted on solid metal, and in the middle of a wheat field he was a sitting duck in an electrical storm. A pale streak of yellow lit the gray horizon
again, and he counted the seconds till the thunder reached his ears, then flagged the others in behind him.

He checked his watch. Four o’clock, and this would be the first day in well over three weeks they’d knocked off early. The break would do them all good, though if the rain came, it would cause delays in drying the wheat they’d already cut.

Back at the house Theodore left Kristian behind to water the horses. He stepped into the empty kitchen and crossed immediately to the stove to check for warm water. With the teakettle in hand he paused, cocking an ear. Now who in blazes could be here visiting with her in her room? He listened for another voice, but none came. There were pauses, then the soft muffled tones of the girl’s voice. From a downstairs bedroom came the soft snuffle of Nissa’s snoring, and with a puzzled glance at the ceiling, Theodore tiptoed to the stairway, the teakettle forgotten in his hand.

“I just don’t know what I’d do without you, Lawrence. You’re
...
well, you’re absolutely the best friend I’ve ever had. Now be a dear and fetch my shirtwaist. It’s suddenly grown quite chilly.”

Theodore waited, but after that all was still. He heard the sound of her footsteps and his eyes followed them along the ceiling.
Lawrence? Who in thunder is Lawrence? And what was he doing in her room?
Again he cocked his head, waiting for a male voice to answer. But minutes passed and none came. What were they doing that could be done so quietly? Theodore poured water in the basin and scrubbed up as quietly as he’d ever done in his life, still curious, listening. But soon Kristian came in from the barn, slamming the screen door and awakening Nissa, who tottered out, hooking her glasses behind her ears and commenting on the brooding weather.

Theodore turned, drying his face and whispered, “Who’s up there with her?”

Nissa stopped in her tracks. “Up there? Why, nobody.”

“Then who’s she talking to?”

Nissa listened intently for a moment. “She ain’t talkin’ to nobody.”

“Oh, I thought I heard voices.”

It didn’t strike Theodore till he was on his way to the tack room that Ma had said
ain’t.
Slipping both hands inside the bib of his overalls, he took on the appearance of a wise old
monk as he walked along and corrected, “She’s
not
talking to nobody.”

The clap of the screen door and the conversation from below brought Linnea back to reality. Suddenly she became aware of how dark it had grown outside. Bracing her palms on the window frame she peered out and saw a flicker of lightning off to the north. So the men had come in early and wouldn’t be going back out after the milking.

She plunked down on the edge of the bed and linked her fingers as they dangled between her knees. Flicking her thumbnails together, she studied them morosely.

“You’d better be right, Lawrence,”
she said, then rose to tidy herself up.

She need not ask where Theodore might be; somehow she knew. The lightning had drawn nearer and the first knives of rain were riveting as she scurried to the barn. The outer door swung open soundlessly. As it closed behind her, she paused, letting her eyes adjust to the gloom. The long row of windows to her left gave off only the vaguest light, but enough to reveal that the barn was kept as fastidiously as Theodore’s private little domain at the near end. Its door was open, spilling a flood of orange lantern light across the hem of her skirts.

She saw only half of Theodore’s back. After church he had changed into overalls, but had left his white shirt on. It stretched taut over his shoulders, crossed by striped suspenders as he bent forward in the old chair with his elbows resting on widespread knees. He held something in his hands and appeared to be polishing it, his shoulders rocking rhythmically. He bent, dropping a hand to a can between his feet, and she tiptoed one step farther, bringing him fully into view. She watched the play of muscles in his arm below the rolled-up sleeve as he resumed his task. A strip of black leather dangled from his fingers and, as he worked it, its hardware set up a repetitive
ching.
The room was close, warm, and smelled of saddle soap and oil and horses.

He looked so at home in it, everything as tidily in place as when she’d inspected it before. But he looked lonely, too. His hands stopped moving, but he sat on as before, as if absently studying the rag in his hands. She held her breath and remained stark still. She could hear him breathing and wondered what
he thought as he sat in solitude with his head bowed low.

“Theodore?”

He flew from the chair and spun to face her, sending the can skittering and the chair balancing on two legs. Even before it settled to the floor again he was blushing.

“Am I disturbing you?”

He’d been sitting there thinking of her, and having her appear silently behind him was disturbing, yes. Her hands were clasped behind her back, bringing her breasts into prominence, and even though he kept his eyes skewered on hers, he caught the wink of her gold watch hanging almost to the fullest part of the left one.

“No.”

“I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I didn’t know you was standing there.”

“Were.” It was out before she could stop it, and she bit her inner lip.

“What?”

“Nothing.” It was her turn to blush.

Silence fell again, strained, as when they’d met and passed in the kitchen earlier.

“May I come in?”

“Oh, well.” He waved the rag nervously, once. “Yeah, sure. But there ain’t much... ” He shifted feet. “Isn’t much room in here.”

His correction made her feel as uncomfortable as he. “Enough for one more?” she asked. When he made no reply, she eased into the room, affecting a casual air, with her arms overlapped behind her waist, glancing up at the wall wreathed with leather. “So this is where you spend your spare time.”

“There ain’t... ” He tried to think up the right term, but somehow his mind seemed jumbled with her in the room. “No such thing on a farm.”

“Mmm... ” She perused the neatly hung harnesses, ignoring his grammar this time. “So what were you doing?”

“Polishing tack.”

“Oh. Why?”

He stared at the side of her head as she tilted it to study things high above her. What a question. And
she
thought
he
was dense?

“Cause if you don’t, the sweat from the horses’ll rot it, and
if that don’t get it, the fumes from the... the fumes from out there will.” He nodded toward the main part of the barn.

“Really?” She turned to face him, wide-eyed. “I never knew that before. That’s interesting.” Theodore had never before considered it interesting, only true. “But then, I guess you know absolutely everything there is to know about running a farm.” She strolled farther into the room, and he watched, fascinated, unable to fathom why she’d come here. She ambled to the sawhorse, reached out to brush the sheepskin liner, and suddenly changed her mind.

“Oh! I almost forgot.” She turned, producing a mousetrap from behind her back. “I have an unwanted guest at school. Kristian found the trap for me, but I’m afraid I didn’t have much luck setting it. Could you show me how?”

He glanced at the mousetrap, then back at her, and she thought for an infinitesimal moment that he was going to grin. But he didn’t, only thought for the second time in three minutes that for an educated woman she had her dense spots, too.

“You don’t know how to set a mousetrap?”

She shrugged. “My father always did it in the store, so I never had to try before. Nissa sent some cheese in my lunch pail one day, but I kept springing the fool thing and I was scared I’d break a finger.”

“Whatstore?”

“My father owns a mercantile store in Fargo. The mice love to chew holes in the flour sacks.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “I thought your father was
&
lawyer.”

She stared at him speechlessly, caught in her own lie. She dropped her eyes to the mousetrap, and when at last she spoke, there was contrition in her tone. “It was a fib. You... you rattled me so badly that day that I had to think up something quick, because I was... ” She looked up appealingly, then dropped her eyes again. “Because I was afraid you weren’t going to take me with you and I didn’t know what else to say to change your mind.”

So little miss righteous wasn’t so righteous after all. But her cheeks were stained as bright as peonies and she concentrated on the mousetrap as if afraid to raise her gaze again. Her fingernails were neatly buffed and trimmed and she scratched at the stamped ink design around the edge of the wood.

He extended one wide palm. “So give it to me. It will be
something new, me teaching you something.”

Her head came up; and their eyes met. To her relief, she found in Theodore’s a hint of amusement. She placed the mousetrap on his palm, and he stretched to pluck the lantern from its ceiling hook and took it to the workbench, presenting his back. But now that she’d come this far, she was reluctant to stand too close to him.

He looked back over his shoulder. “Well, are you coming?”

“Oh... yes.”

They stood side by side, and she thought she had never seen hands so big as she watched them set the trap. He produced a tiny square of leather to use in place of cheese. “First you bait it. Here.”

“Well, of course, there. I’m not
that
stupid.”

He looked down. She looked up. They both came very close to smiling. She noted that he’d removed the celluloid collar from his dress shirt, which was open at the throat, and that for a man he had extraordinarily long eyelashes. He noted that the depths of her blue eyes held tiny flecks of rust, almost as bright as the burnished glow of the lanternlight reflecting off the gold watch on her breast. They forced themselves to concentrate on the lesson at hand.

“Hold it down flat and force the bow back to the other side.”

“Force the bow back,” she repeated and looked up again. “It’s called a bow?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?” He made the mistake of glancing into her eyes again, and the trap snapped and bounced off the top of the bench onto the floor.

She started giggling and he felt his face heating up.

“I
can do it
that
well,” Linnea teased. She bent over and retrieved the trap, then handed it to him with an expression of mocking tolerance.

Flustered, he took it and began again — found the square of leather, put it in place, and forced the bow back. “Put the locking bar into place beneath the little lip... ” Carefully he withdrew his hands. “There.” He was relieved to see he’d done it right this time. He reached to pluck a screwdriver from an orderly can of tools and tripped the trap with it. “Now you try.” He slipped the screwdriver back into the can and pushed the trap her way.

“All right.” He watched her hands perform the lesson, thinking
of how the trap, if accidentally sprung, could bruise and probably break a finger that small. But she managed beautifully, and soon the baited trap lay on the workbench between their four hands.

Outside the storm had strengthened. In the little square of window their faces were reflected against a blue-black sky, while the tack room grew distractingly silent all of a sudden. The scent of leather, horses, and old wood sealed them in securely.

“Theodore?” She said it so quietly it might have been an echo. Rain was pelting against the window, but inside it was bright and dry. But not as dry as Theodore’s throat, which suddenly refused to work as they both continued staring at each other’s hands. “I didn’t really come here to learn how to bait the mousetrap. I figured it out by myself on the second try. It was just an excuse.”