Years (31 page)

“Come, I’ll take you home.”

Obediently she withdrew but stared at the ground between their feet for a long time. At last she raised her head to gaze at him. The shadows couldn’t quite hide the grave question in her eyes even before she spoke it.

“Why didn’t you ask me to dance?”

He searched for an answer, but the truth was the last one he could give.

“You danced with everyone but me, and that’s why I went outside with Rusty. To make you jealous.”

“M... me?”

“Why didn’t you ask me?”

He swallowed. “We danced, didn’t we?”

“That wasn’t dancing, that was two people butting heads.” She waited, but he backed a step away. “All right then, why did you rescue me?” She advanced a step and he put his hands out to stop her.

“Linnea.” A warning.

“Why?”

“You know why, and it ain’t good for either one of us.”

“Why... tell me, Teddy, why?”

The name went through him like flash fire. “Linnea... ” He only meant to put his hands on her arms to stop her.

“Why... ” A whisper.

She was close enough that he could smell the almond on her skin again. She was insistent enough that he could feel the quivering in her arms beneath his hands. She was innocent enough that he knew, even as his hands tightened and drew her up, this was going to be one of the greatest mistakes he’d ever make.

“Because... ” He dropped his lips to her waiting mouth, and his heart was a wild thing in his breast. Her arms came up and their bodies meshed, close and warm and hard. She’s still a child. She doesn’t even know how to kiss. But her young breasts, crushed against him, her fingers on his neck, her sweet, closed, untutored lips were his for that moment. He let the feelings take him, and when common sense grew strong again, he finally found the strength to push her back.

Their breaths beat hard into the autumn night.

“It d... didn’t feel like that when Rusty Bonner kissed me.”

“Shh. Don’t.”

“Kiss me again, please, Teddy.”

“No!”

“But—”

“I said no! I shouldn’t have done it in the first place.”

“Why?”

“Have you got a couple hours? I’ll give you the whole list.” He took her elbow and turned her toward the wagon. “Up with you, now,” he ordered briskly. But his voice rattled with emotion.

“Theodore—”

“No. Please, just get in the wagon.”

They hadn’t realized they’d left their coats behind until they were headed home through the frosty night. Linnea shuddered and hugged herself. Theodore silently rolled his shirtsleeves down and buttoned his cuffs.

“You want to go back and get your coat?”

“No, just get me home.”

And though it pained him to watch her huddle, shivering, when he could have put his arm around her and kept her warm and shielded from the world, he didn’t.

By all that was holy, he didn’t!

13

I
N THE MORNING,
Nissa stayed in bed later than usual, and Theodore was headed upstairs to awaken Kristian just as Linnea was headed down for water. They both halted at once. He looked up and felt his heart race. She looked down and felt the same. In that instant they relived the impact of the single kiss they’d shared the night before, and neither could think of a thing to say. For long moments they only stared.

Her toes were bare and she held her wrapper together at the throat. She’s just climbed out from under the quilts, he realized, and his heart tripped faster at the thought.

He wore his heavy wool jacket, his nose was pink, and he hadn’t shaved yet. He’s already been out to do chores, she thought, and the sight of him, all rugged and masculine, made her toes curl over the edge of the step.

Suddenly they both realized they were standing in a narrow stairwell gawking at each other as if they’d been turned to pillars of salt. Linnea was the first to recover her voice.

“Good morning,” she whispered.

“Good morning,” he whispered back.

“You’ve been out already.”

“I did the chores alone and let Kristian sleep.”

“Oh.”

This was silly. Couldn’t they pass each other on the stairs without getting all fidgety?

“How are you this morning?” he asked.

“Tired. I didn’t sleep much last night. How are you?”

“A little slow on the draw.” He wondered what had kept her awake. Had she, like he, lain for hours thinking of that kiss? “We got home late. Looks like Ma and Kristian are in the same shape. But I better wake them or we’ll be late for church.”

Their hearts pounded harder as he moved up the stairs and she moved down. But when they finally passed each other, they made sure not so much as a thread of their clothing touched. As she reached the bottom step, he called down softly, “Linnea?”

She spun and looked up. She thought she would never grow tired of hearing him use her Christian name in that tone of voice. He stood with one hand on the knob of Kristian’s door. She imagined what it would be like if he ever came to her door that way, and quietly spoke her name as he had a moment ago.

“Yes?”

“Bonner is gone.”

But Bonner already seemed a hazy memory to Linnea, eclipsed by the imposing man above her. She could have stood all day, looking at him. But he turned away, opened Kristian’s door, and disappeared.

Inside Kristian’s room Theodore paused, staring at his boots. He remembered Linnea in her bare toes and wrapper, looking warm and tumbled and morning-mussed. It had taken fortitude to pass her on the stairs and not touch her. He sighed heavily. So damn young. Last night, when he’d hauled her out of Bonner’s arms, he’d told himself he was acting in her father’s stead, but it wasn’t strictly true. All that anger hadn’t been spawned by paternal protectiveness alone.

Aw, hell, Westgaard, you’re just a middle-aged buck who feels like he’s sipping from the fountain of youth whenever she’s around. Are you forgetting you’re a good five years older than Rusty Bonner, and you warned
Bonner
to pick on somebody his own age!

Theodore sighed and glanced at the bed. Kristian lay sleeping peacefully. His arms were thrown back and the quilt left part of his chest exposed. There was a fairly good crop of hair
on it already. Now when had that happened? Next month he’d be seventeen. Seventeen already, and — Theodore had to admit — Kristian’s seventeen to Linnea’s eighteen was far less shocking than the sixteen years separating her from himself.

He recalled Kristian’s uncharacteristic frankness in admitting he had feelings for the girl, and Theodore experienced a queer compulsion to sit on the edge of his son’s bed and confess that he’d kissed her last night and ask the boy’s forgiveness. Guilt. She’d only been here a month and she already had him feeling guilty. That was silly. Or was it? Kristian had marked her first, and had trusted Theodore enough to confide his feelings. Theodore considered the possible eventualities should his son ever find out what went on last night. Lord, suppose it got out and people started wondering what was going on over here with both father and son hankering after the same girl? Wouldn’t they blow
that
all out of proportion?

You start anything with her, Westgaard, and you’ll have one fine mix-up on your hands. She’s too young for you and you know it, so leave her to your son and act your age.

The following night, who should show up at the door but Bill Westgaard, all spit-shined and brilliantined. The men were in from the fields and supper dishes were already put away when the knock sounded and Kristian went to answer it. When Bill stepped into the kitchen it was assumed this was nothing more than a family visit. They all sat around the table and Nissa brought out coffee cups and date cake and asked after Ulmer and Helen and the rest of the family. Bill politely gave an update and dutifully partook of the snack.

They talked about the war, President Wilson’s military draft law, and how the American people were arguing about it everywhere Few thought the nation’s strength could be brought to bear on the battlefields of France in time to stave off an Allied disaster, and Theodore agreed. Bill, however, argued that with the German armies already having driven Russia to the brink of collapse and the invading German and Austrian forces now inflicting smashing defeats on the Italians at Caporetto, we had to get behind Wilson’s effort one hundred percent.

Linnea’s eyes opened wide at the men’s understanding of the happenings overseas. Even Kristian joined in the discussion, showing a vital interest in the subject of airplanes and the battles being fought in the air.

When the subject had run its course, they moved on to talk of winter trap lines, a fox that had been killing chickens in the area, and the possibilities of early snow.

They’d exhausted a variety of impersonal subjects when Bill announced, “I brought the rig. I thought you might like to go for a ride with me, Linnea.”

An awkward silence fell. Linnea’s eyes sought Theodore’s. For an instant she saw startled disapproval, then he consciously wiped it away. What should she say?

“A ride. Oh... well... ”

“We could go down along Holman’s Bridge. It’s pretty down along the creek, especially when there’s a moon.”

“It’s rather chilly.”

“I brought a lap robe,” he added hopefully.

She glanced again at Theodore. His face was carefully blank, but across his belly his knuckles stood out like alabaster.

Nissa spoke up. “Sure, you young people go. Get out for a while.”

“What do you say, Linnea?” Bill persisted.

And what could she say?

“That sounds wonderful. I’ll get my coat.”

They drove through the clear, cool night to Holman’s Bridge, and counted the muskrat mounds on the river below. Bill was enjoyable to be with, polite and easy to talk to. He inquired about her Christmas holiday, her family, her plans for next summer. She asked about his plans for the future, and was shocked to hear that he was considering signing up for the army. The war, always so remote, was growing closer and closer, it seemed. Though she hadn’t known Bill long, he was real flesh and blood, part of the Westgaard family. And he was thinking of going off to right!

“Roosevelt said it was the thing to do, for us to join the Allies and declare war on Germany. Now that we have, I’d like to do my part.”

Around here people paid more heed to Roosevelt than to Wilson.

“But you are doing your part. You’re a farmer.”

“There’s plenty of men to raise wheat. What they need is a few more to fight.”

Linnea pictured Bill in a trench with a bayonet in his hand... or in his heart... and shuddered. Guilelessly, she slipped her arm through his.

He chuckled, pleased. “Well, I’m not going yet, Linnea. I haven’t even mentioned it to my folks.”

“I don’t want you to go, ever. I don’t want anyone I know to go.”

In less than an hour they were turning into the driveway again. When the horses stopped, Bill’s gloved hand covered Linnea’s.

“There’ll be a dance again next Saturday night. Will you go with me?”

“I... ” What should she say? She found herself comparing his upturned nose to Theodore’s aquiline one, his clear green eyes to Theodore’s brown ones, his blond hair to Theodore’s plain brown. Bill’s nose seemed too boyish, his eyes too pale, and his hair too wavy for her taste. Since the advent of Theodore in her life, no others seemed to measure up. He was the one with whom she wanted to go to the dance, but there was little hope for that.

“What do you say, Linnea?”

She felt trapped. What logical excuse could she concoct for refusing Bill? And maybe going with him would stir a reaction in Theodore. So she accepted.

Bill walked her to the house as if in no hurry to get there. Beside the back door he took her shoulders and gave her a single undemanding kiss. Yet it was lingering enough that if sparks were going to fly, they would have. None did. Absolutely none.

“Good night, Linnea.”

“Good night, Bill.”

“See you Saturday night.”

“Yes. Thank you for the ride.”

When he was gone she sighed, comparing his kiss to Theodore’s. It wasn’t fair that the kiss of a grouchy man should excite her more than that of a young interested buck like Bill.