Years (63 page)

But it wasn’t really the chair at all. It was Theodore who made her cry, sitting upon it so wan and gaunt, dolefully formal, his legs crossed at neither ankle nor knee. The gentle breeze riffled his pant legs and fingered the hair on his forehead. He still hadn’t shed a tear, though she knew his agony was even greater than her own. But all she could do was stand at his side and squeeze his shoulder.

And then there was Nissa, listening to Reverend Severt eulogize her son, breaking down at last and turning against Lars’s broad chest for support until from somewhere a second kitchen chair was produced and she was gently lowered onto it.

The faces of John’s siblings were vacant, each of them undoubtedly reliving their own private memories of the gentle, unassuming man they had protected all their lives.

The eulogy droned on. Funny, Linnea thought, but it didn’t seem to touch on any of the important things: John, selfconsciously shuffling his feet while peeking around a cloakroom door with a Christmas tree hidden behind him; John, blushing and stammering as he asked the new schoolmarm to dance; John, winking at his partner just before playing the winning card; John, planting morning glories by his windmill; John, saying, “Teddy, he never gets mad at me, not even when I’m slow. And I’m pretty slow.”

Oh, how they’d miss him. How they’d all miss him.

The ceremony ended as Ulmer, Lars, Trigg, and Kristian lowered the coffin into the grave. When a symbolic spadeful of dirt was dropped upon it, Nissa collapsed in a rash of weeping, repeating woefully, “Oh, my son... my son... ” But Theodore sat on as before, as if part of his own life had been snuffed out with John’s.

During the hours following the service, while the mourners gathered at the house to share food, Theodore looked haggard and spoke little. When the house emptied at last and the quietude settled too thickly, Nissa sat at the kitchen table, listlessly tapping the oilcloth. Kristian went for a walk up the road with Patricia and Raymond. Linnea hung up wet dishtowels on the clothesline and returned to the tranquil house.

Nissa stared vacantly at the sunset sky, the budding caragana bushes, the windmill softly turning. Linnea stepped behind her
chair and leaned to kiss the old woman softly on the neck. She smelled of lye soap and lavender salts. “Can I get you anything?”

Nissa heaved herself from her reverie. “No... no, child. Guess I’ve had about everything a body’s got a right to expect.”

The tears stung once more. Linnea closed her eyes, leaned back, and held a deep breath. Nissa sighed, squared her shoulders, and asked, “Where’s Teddy?”

“I think he slipped away to the barn to be by himself for a while.”

“You reckon he’s all right out there?”

“I’ll go down and check on him if it’ll make you feel better.”

“He’s awful weak yet. Didn’t see him eatin’ much today either.”

“Will you be all right alone for a few minutes?”

Nissa gave a dry laugh. “Y’ start alone, y’ end alone. Why is it that in between folks think y’ always need company?”

“All right. I won’t be long.”

She knew where he’d be, probably slumped on his chair polishing harness that didn’t need it. But when she came to the door of the tack room she found him instead with idle hands. He sat in the ancient chair, facing the door, with his head tipped back against the edge of the tool bench, eyes closed. On his lap, washing her chest, sat John’s cat, Rainbow, with Theodore’s hands resting inertly beside her haunches. Though he at first appeared to be asleep, Linnea saw his fingertips move in the soft fur, and from the corner of his eyes, tears seeped. He wept as he’d awakened — quietly, undramatically — letting the tears roll down his face without bothering to wipe them away.

Linnea had never seen Theodore cry before; the sight was devastating.

“Theodore,” she said gently, “your mother was worried about you.”

His eyes opened, but his head didn’t move.

“Tell her I just wanted to be alone.”

“Are you all right?”

“Fine.”

She studied him, trying to keep her lips from trembling, her eyes from slinging. But he looked so forlorn and alone. “Did Rainbow come down here by herself?”

With an effort he lifted his head to watch his fingers probe
the cat’s fur, the look on his face so desolate and lifeless it tore at her soul. “No. Kristian went and got her. Figured she’d sit on John’s doorstep meowing for food... t... till... ” But he never finished. His face suddenly furrowed into lines of grief. A single harsh sob rent the room as he dropped his head and covered his eyes with one hand. Rainbow started and leaped away while Linnea rushed across the concrete floor to squat before him, touching his knees.

“Oh, Teddy... “she despaired, “I need so badly to be with you right now. Please don’t shut me out.”

A strangled cry left his throat as his arms lashed out to take her close. Then she was in his embrace, on his lap, holding him fiercely while his ragged sobs heaved against her breast, and hers upon his hair. Clutching, they rocked. Against her dress he brokenly uttered her name while she clung to him — consoled, consoling.

When the crying subsided, they were left limp, depleted, but feeling better and infinitely closer. A step sounded in the outer barn and though Teddy straightened, Linnea stayed where she was, with her arms around his neck.

Kristian stepped to the doorway, looking lost and lonely himself. “Grandma was worried. She sent me down here after you two.”

They’d each had their time alone. Now it was time to draw strength from others. Linnea got to her feet, drew Theodore up, and said, “Come. Nissa needs to be with us now.” She looped one arm around his waist, the other around Kristian’s, and followed by John’s cat, they walked up past the sighing windmill toward the house.

Life went on. Theodore returned to the fields alone. Nissa started putting in her garden. P.S. 28 had been closed long enough.

How fast the school year was coming to a close. May seemed to pass in a blur. There was the county spelling bee in Williston — won by Paul this year. Then came
Sytende Mai
— the seventeenth of May — the biggest Norwegian holiday of the year, celebrating the day the homeland had adopted its constitution. There were games and a picnic at school, followed by a dance, at which Linnea brought up the subject of Kristian’s enlistment.

“He’s not a child anymore.” They watched Kristian and Patricia dancing, so close a gnat couldn’t have come between them. “If he’s made his decision, I think you’ll have to let him go.”

“I know,” Theodore said softly, his eyes following the pair. “I know.”

And so the end of the school year would bring additional heartache. But, come what may, the days marched on and Linnea felt both the exhilaration inherent with term’s end and the sadness of realizing these were her last precious days as a teacher. She had been a good one; she felt no false sense of modesty about it and wished that when fall came she could somehow have both the baby and her old job back. But when she said good-bye to the children on the last day, she’d be bidding farewell to a phase of her life.

Final examinations were held, then it was time for the last-day picnic. The class had voted to hold it down by the creek so they could all swim.

The day turned out ideally — warm and sunny with little wind. Just perfect for a crew of excited children celebrating the end of school. They played games, swam, ate, explored. The boys fished downstream while the girls searched for wild-flowers and twined them in each other’s French braids.

It was near the end of the afternoon when Norna approached Linnea with a frown, announcing, “I can’t find Frances anyplace.”

“She’s with the others, picking flowers.”

“She was, but she isn’t anymore.”

Linnea glanced upstream. Laughter floated down from the small group of girls who were busily engaged in making clover rings. But Frances wasn’t with them.

Automatically, Linnea turned to the one she always seemed to turn to. “Kristian, have you seen Frances?” she called.

Kristian’s head came up. He and Patricia were sitting quietly on the creek bank, talking. He glanced around. “No, ma’am.”

“Have you, Patricia?”

“No, ma’am.”

All four of them looked at the creek. But it wasn’t deep enough here for Frances to drown. Quickly Linnea took a nose count. Her heart beat out a warning when she realized Allen Severt, too. was missing.

* * *

Frances Westgaard had been in and out of the creek four times that day. She had water in one ear that refused to be shaken out, and a bad case of shivers. Hugging herself, she made her way through the thick underbrush toward the place where the girls had left their clothes.

When she grew up, Frances decided, she was going to be a teacher, just like Aunt Linnea. She’d take her class on picnics like this all the time, at least once every week when the weather was good. And in the winter they’d cook soup, too. And rabbits on Thanksgiving and popcorn whenever the kids said they wanted it.

Her wet bathing drawers felt thick and sticky. They clung like leeches when she tried to pull them down. Hobbling around, she managed to work them to her hips, and finally to her knees, but even hopping one-footed she couldn’t get them off completely. Finally she gave up and plopped down on the scratchy grass. Her teeth were chattering, her jaw dancing as she tried to work the clinging drawers over her ankles.

“Hey, Frances, whatcha doin’?” an unctuous voice drawled.

Frances jumped and tried to jerk the drawers back up, but they were rolled up tight as a new rope. “I’m changin’ my clothes. You git outa here, Allen!”

Allen stepped out from behind a cottonwood with a smart-aleck expression on his mouth. “Why should I? It’s a free country.” Allen had had all year long to nurse his rancor for Mrs. Westgaard and Frances. Both of them had caused him embarrassment more times than he cared to count. There was no way for him to get back at his teacher, but he could even the score with this little dummy.

“You better get outa here or I’m gonna tell Aunt Linnea!” Frantically Frances fumbled with the drawers, trying to straighten them out, but Allen advanced and stood over her, pinning the wet garment to the ground between her ankles with his foot. “Oh yeah? What you gonna tell her?”

Allen’s eyes raked Frances’s bare skin and she shielded her lap with her hands.

“You ain’t supposed to be here. This is where the girls change.”

But Allen only gave a sinister laugh that struck a bolt of fear through the girl.

“Allen, I don’t like you. I’m gonna tell on you!”

“You been tellin’ on me all year, gettin’ me in trouble all the time. Haven’t you, snot?”

“No, I—”

“You have, too, and I’m gonna make you sorry... dummy!”

Before she could wiggle away Allen jumped her. The force of his body knocked her flat. She shrieked out, “I’m gonna tell!” before he clapped a hand across her mouth and slammed her head against the earth. Frances’s eyes widened with fear and her mouth opened in a suppressed scream beneath his palm.

“You tell and I’ll get you good, Frances!” he threatened in an ugly voice. “You tell and I’ll do something worse to you next time. All I wanna do now is look.”

Again Frances gave a muffled scream. She thrashed and kicked, but he was older than she and much bigger. “Frances, you shut up! You scream and they’ll all come runnin’ and I’ll tell ‘em you pulled your pants down right in front of me. You know what they do to girls who pull their pants down in front of boys?”

Terrified, Frances fell still, her heart hammering pitifully as Allen thrust a knee between her legs, trying to force them apart. But the wet drawers shackled her ankles, aiding her. Nose to nose, they struggled until Allen finally managed to wedge her knees open. Beneath him the frightened face had turned the color of chalk, only the dark, horrified eyes holding any color. Allen’s breath came in a hard hiss. He squeezed her face till her cheek sliced against a tooth and she tasted blood. Struck afresh by terror, she squirmed harder. Twisting frantically, fighting for breath, Frances felt his weight shift as he yanked her wet shirt up. Behind his hand, she screamed again. His face contorted with ugliness. “You scream and you’ll be sorry. Cuz once you do they’ll all know you been doing dirty things with me.” With the speed of a snake he shifted, got her by the neck, and squeezed, completely subduing her at last. Her fingers uselessly plucked at his stranglehold while he knelt between her legs and braced back.

The next moment he was jerked to his feet like a marionette, then a fist slammed into his face and sent him crashing against the trunk of a cottonwood.

“You filthy rotten son of a bitch!” This time the fist caught him in the solar plexus and doubled him over like a pocket
knife. In a flash he was jerked erect and hammered again. Somebody screamed. Blood flew across the grass. Children came running. Sobs filled the air. Linnea shouted, “Kristian, stop it this moment! Kristian, I said
stop!”

It ended as abruptly as it had begun.

Allen Severt held his bloody face in both hands and looked up to see Kristian spraddled above him like Zeus outraged. Linnea held a whimpering Frances in her lap. Libby Severt gaped at her brother in horrified disbelief. Raymond stormed onto the scene with fists clenched. “Get away from him, Kristian. It’s my turn!”

“Mine, too!” echoed Tony, arriving on his brother’s heels. Had the situation not been so grave it might have been humorous to see Tony, bristling mad, clenching his weak fists and squaring his skinny shoulders as if he had the power to do more than swat mosquitoes.

“Boys! That’s enough!”

“That puny little bastard ain’t gonna forget the day he laid hands on my little sister!” Raymond vowed, being restrained now by Kristian.

Transferring the weeping Frances into Patricia’s arms, Linnea leaped to her feet and confronted the three angry boys. “Watch your language in front of the little ones, and don’t raise your voice to me!” Her insides trembled and her knees had turned to aspic, but she hid it well. “Allen, get up,” she ordered officiously. “You get back to school and wait for me, and so help me God, you’d better be there when I get there! Patricia, help Frances get dried and dressed. Raymond, you may carry your little sister back to school. Kristian, button your shirt and head cross country to our place and get Clippa for Raymond and Frances. The rest of you, change out of your wet things and collect your lunch pails.”