Years (35 page)

A gentle knock sounded on her door.

“Yes?” she answered weakly.

“Miss Brandonberg, are you all right?” It was Kristian — thoughtful, considerate Kristian.

“Not exactly.”

“Can I do anything for you?”

“I’m afraid the heart stew already did it.”

“Are you really sick?”

She drew a deep lungful of air. “Close.”

Looking at her closed door, Kristian couldn’t help smiling. “Grandma says to tell you if it’s bad, you can take some peppermint extract.”

“Th... thank you, Kristian.”

“Well, g’night then.”

“Good night.”

That night, as he lay in bed, Theodore couldn’t help smiling again at the memory of Linnea’s face when she heard what she was eating. It was times when she appeared youngest that he was most attracted to her: when she balked at strange foods, when she stood looking down at an ice hole with her scarf tied tightly beneath her chin, when she stood in a middy dress with her arms crossed behind her back, when she caught her hair up in a crisp wide ribbon and let it fall free over her high collar. And, of course, when she looked at him across a dimly lit kitchen with innocent blue eyes that refused to admit the obvious reasons why the two of them must fight the attraction they felt for one another.

Since that night there’d been no further opportunities to be alone with her. Thank heaven.

But at bedtime, when he lay flat on his back staring at the ceiling, he pictured her in the room above. Sometimes he allowed himself to imagine what it would be like if she were thirty, or even twenty-five. The thoughts made him miserable. He ended up rolling to his stomach, groaning into his pillow, wishing for sleep to clear his mind of forbidden wishes.

Linnea’s thoughts were far different. As the days went by, she found their age difference mattering less and less. Theodore’s maturity only made him grow more desirable in her eyes. His body, fleshed out, honed by years of hard work, held far more attraction for her than the thin ones of younger men. The pair of creases that bridged his eyes only added character to his attractive face. And she knew how to make him laugh
so they’d disappear. Though he didn’t know how to read, he had knowledge of things that mattered more than written words: of horses and crops and weather and machinery and the thousand things about farm life she found fascinating. The few times she’d shared these with him only made her want to share more.

She thought of him sleeping below her, and remembered the night he’d kissed her. She closed her eyes and let the feelings sweep through her vibrant young body. Kissing her pillow no longer sufficed as a substitute for the real thing, and she was bound and determined to have more of the real thing.

On a night in mid-November the entire Westgaard family piled into Theodore’s house for an impromptu card party. In no time at all the house was overrun with relatives. The adults set up several tables in the kitchen while the youngsters holed up in Kristian’s and Nissa’s rooms and the front parlor. While the children giggled, played paper dolls, or organized card games of their own, Linnea was invited to join in the adults’ game of “smear.”

In it, bids were announced as each hand began. Partners went for designated points: high, low, jick, jack, joker, and total game points. Linnea ended up as John’s partner and sat across from him at a table of four, Lars on her right and Clara on her left.

As the cards were being dealt, she asked, “What’s jick?”

“Left jack,” John answered, scooping up his cards. “You never played before?”

“Oh, yes, but we never had anything called ‘jick.’”

“Opposite jack of the same color as trump,” he explained succinctly. She blinked at John, surprised. When play commenced she saw immediately that though he was slow at most things, cards wasn’t one of them. Together they made an unbeatable team. In no time at all she and John were creating a sensation by winning nearly every hand. They took the first game easily, and as the evening wore on they remained consistent winners.

Between games, Ulmer passed out tiny glasses of a transparent liquid, placing one at Linnea’s elbow, just as he did at everyone else’s. She sipped and gasped, then fanned her open mouth.

“Aquavit,” John informed her, grinning over his cards.

“Ah... ah... aquavit?” she managed, catching her breath. “What’s in it?”

“Oh, a little potatoes, a little caraway seed. Pretty harmless, huh, Lars?” Linnea caught the devilish grin that passed between the two brothers. John tipped up his glass, downed the potent Norwegian liquor in one gulp, and closed his mouth tightly for a full ten seconds before breathing again.

Linnea expected to see the top of his head blow off. Instead, when he finally opened his eyes, he smiled appreciatively and nodded in satisfaction.

As the night rolled on, the glasses were refilled time and again, and though Linnea drank far less than the men, she mellowed at the same rate as everybody in the room. She couldn’t say when the mood went from mellow to silly, then from silly to boisterous. But it all seemed to work in rhythm with the accelerating excitement over the card game. They whooped and hollered and leaped to their feet on big plays. Often a card would be played with a slam of the fist that sent the table jumping clear off the floor. Then everyone would roar with laughter or cuss good-naturedly.

Behind Linnea, Trigg bawled, “Damn you, Teddy, I figured you had that jack hiding someplace!” Linnea looked over her shoulder to see Theodore smiling like a new moon, his face flushed from the liquor, a hank of hair coiling down his forehead.

He caught her eye as he played another winning card and gave her a broad wink while scooping up the trick.

She spun to face her partner again, but she spun too fast and the room became a little bit tilted. The bottle labeled
LINJE AKEVITT
made the rounds again. By this time Linnea realized she was pleasantly drunk, and two-thirds of her students were in the house to witness it! She stopped imbibing, but the damage was already done. She giggled often and seemed to be observing everything through a golden haze.

Still, she and John continued winning. At the end of one close hand, Lars leaned his chair back on two legs and bellowed at Nissa, “Hey, Ma, we could use a little heart stew over here!”

Linnea’s head snapped up — at least she thought it snapped, but everything seemed to be moving in slow motion now.

Without even looking up, Nissa called, “Why? You got
somebody you wanna get rid of, Lars?”

Obviously, they had all heard of her green-faced flight from the supper table, and she wondered who’d spread the tale. She focused on Theodore, but he wore a tight-lipped grin. “All right, who’s the loudmouth?” she demanded.

“John,” Theodore accused, pointing a finger at his brother.

“Theodore,” John accused, pointing back.

They all began chuckling, and suddenly the whole heart-stew episode became hilarious to Linnea. She giggled and giggled while the whole kitchen broke into an uproar of laughter.

It had been years since Linnea had laughed so much. When they let down their hair, these Westgaards really knew how to have a good time. She felt as much a part of the big, boisterous family as if she bore their name.

Midway through the evening everybody stretched, took a nature break, then returned to form up new tables.

“What do you say there, Heart Stew, you wanna take me on?”

Linnea turned around to find Theodore at her shoulder, grinning, the lock of hair still trailing down his forehead, his eyes dancing mischievously.

She lifted one brow cockily. “You think you’re good enough... ” She paused before adding, “Teddy?”

He pressed a hand to his chest and looked injured. “Me! Good enough? Why, I been playin’ smear since before I had whiskers.”

“Since before you had whiskers?” She gave a mock frown and pursed her lips. “Tsk! Tsk! Tsk! What a 1-o-o-ong time! You’re probably too good for me. And anyway, Trigg has already asked me to be his partner. But have a chair and we’ll give you a chance to beat us.” She pulled out the one at a right angle to hers. “Come on, Trigg. Let’s show this big talker who knows how to smear whom!”

The playing began again. With Theodore so close, Linnea was conscious of his every movement. Occasionally he sipped aquavit, studying her from the corner of his eye. Sometimes he rested his elbows on the table, other times he tipped his chair back on two legs, knees splayed, considering his cards. Then he’d narrow his gaze, studying her over his hand as if to determine her next play before making his. Occasionally he’d flip a card out as if there were no question that it would take
the trick. And sometimes she’d come back with a better one, loudly snapping the corner of her card on the table before pushing the trick toward Trigg to collect.

Linnea and Trigg took four games over Teddy and Clara’s two. When the games ended, Theodore tipped back and called to John, “I get Heart Stew for my partner next week, John.”

“I don’t think so,” John called back. “I found her first.” Under cover of the noise and confusion of pushing chairs and clearing the tables, Theodore and Linnea exchanged a brief burning glance, then she murmured, low enough for only his ears, “Yes, he found me first,” and turned away.

They cleaned away the cards and spread out lunch on the great oak table, and all the while she felt Theodore’s eyes on her. “Lunch” was a regular feast: deep-fried cookies called
fattigman,
tasty cheese known as
gammelost,
and a suspicious-looking entry they referred to as
blodpose.

Turning up her nose, Linnea inquired archly, “And what does
blodpose
mean?”

She directed the question to Theodore, expecting some teasing retort. Instead, he only sipped his coffee and glanced away. John answered instead. “She caught you this time, Ma.”

Chuckles sounded, but Theodore remained sober. “What does it mean?” Linnea asked, clutching John’s arm.

“Blood sausage.”

“Blood sausage!” She groaned and did her best swooning heroine, grabbing her stomach and pitching forward across the table dramatically. Everyone laughed except Theodore.

When the lunch was cleared away, the adults collected their sleepy children, tucked them in the hay-filled wagons, and headed their horses home.

Kristian, who’d been tippling on the sly, immediately disappeared upstairs to escape the close scrutiny of his grandmother. Nissa made “the long walk” out back in the cold, and when she returned, Linnea did the same.

On her way back to the house, she tried to puzzle out the abrupt change in Theodore’s mood. But her mind wasn’t working well. She dropped her head back and sucked in deep breaths, trying to neutralize the effects of the potent aquavit. But in spite of the food, coffee, and fresh air, her head was still light and buzzing.

Back in the house the lamp had been left on the kitchen
table for her. Not trusting herself to carry it up the steps in her tipsy condition, she lowered the wick until blackness settled over the room. As she tiptoed toward the stairway, Nissa’s bedroom door opened, casting a pale gold splash of lantern light across the living room and into the dim recesses of the kitchen.

“Nissa?” Linnea inquired softly.

“No.”

Linnea drew a sharp breath and held it as Theodore appeared around the doorway and stopped in her path. His feet were bare and he’d removed his outer shirt. In the muted glow the top of his underwear became a pale blur. She made out the silhouette of his suspenders, trailing beside his knees as they had that day by the school well, and the neck placket of his underwear, with several buttons open. His face was in shadow, but she sensed belligerence in the wide-set feet, the stiff arms at his sides.

“Oh, it’s you.”

“You weren’t really expecting Nissa anyway, were you?”

“I wasn’t
expecting
anyone!” She edged around him and stalked toward the stairs, but hadn’t touched the first step before he spun her around by an arm.

“Oh, weren’t you?”

In the dark confines of the narrow landing, their chests almost touched. His grip was bruising.

“What’s gotten into you all of a sudden, Theodore, you’re hurting my arm. Let go!”

Instead, he gripped it tighter. “Little missy, if you can’t keep level-headed when you drink aquavit, maybe you should stick to milk. It’s better suited to somebody your age anyway!”

“My age! I’m eighteen years old, Theodore Westgaard, how dare you treat me like a child!”

“Eighteen, and all grown up, is that it?” he mocked.

“Yes!” She spit in a whisper, enraged at being unable to shout at him, but afraid of waking the house. “Not that you’ve noticed!”

He laughed derisively, his voice low. “Just because you left home and wear a bird-wing hat and drink aquavit doesn’t make you grown up, little missy.”

“Stop calling me that! I told you before—”

“What was the idea of flirting with John tonight?” Two
hands clamped her upper arms and drew her almost to tiptoe. “He’s not very bright, don’t you know that? But just because he’s not doesn’t mean he hasn’t got feelings. So what do you think you’re doing, teasing him that way? And if he falls for your shenanigans, then what? He’s not like other men — he won’t understand when you tell him that you were only fooling.”

“You’re crazy! I wasn’t flirting with John!”

“Oh, what would you call it then? All that hanging on his arm and being his partner and claiming John found you first?”

She suddenly saw how it must have looked to Theodore. “B... but I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“That’s not how it looked. That’s not how it looked at all.” He gave her a little shake that further threatened her equilibrium. “A lesson, huh? What happens when a little girl tries to act like the grown-ups and drinks too much aquavit.”

She neither fought nor conceded, but let him grip her arms until she knew there’d be a string of black-and-blue marks on each. She sighed. “Oh, Theodore, you’re so blind,” she said softly, resting her fingertips against his chest. “When will you see that I’m not a little girl any more than you’re an old man?”

His hands fell from her as if she’d turned into a living torch. She grabbed the front of his underwear to hold him. Beneath her knuckles his heart knocked crazily. “Admit it, Theodore.”