Years (9 page)

A shiver went through her, and she remembered Theodore’s admonition as they’d confronted each other at the train depot.
“Teaching school is more than just scratching numbers on a slate, missy! It’s a mile’s walk, and the winters out here are tough!”

So he hadn’t been just trying to scare her off. His warning held merit. She gazed out across the waving wheat, trying to imagine the high plains denuded of all but snow, the arctic wind whistling out of the northwest, and fourteen children depending upon her for their very lives while they waited for help to come.

There’d be no solace to be found in fantasy then. She would need to keep her wits sharp and her head calm when and if that ever happened.

But it was hard to imagine, standing on the steps with the sun warming her hair and the striped gophers playing hide-and-seek in their holes and the meadowlarks singing and the finches feeding on thistle seeds and the grain waving slowly.

Still, she decided, she’d speak to Theodore immediately about the coal, and to Nissa about storing some emergency rations at the schoolhouse... just in case.

4

T
HERE WERE TIMES
when Linnea remembered there was a war, but these were chiefly spawned by irritation or romanticized fantasy. Irritation when she had to do without the things she liked best such as sugar, bread, and roast beef, and romantic fantasy whenever it happened to beckon: soldiers kissing sweethearts good-bye as the train pulled from the station... those sweethearts receiving soiled, wrinkled letters filled with crowded words of undying love... nurses with red crosses on their scarves sitting at bedsides holding wounded hands...

Walking home from school that day she thought of the conflict going on in Europe. President Wilson had beseeched Americans to go “wheatless and meatless” one day each week to help keep supplies flowing to France. Glancing around at the endless miles of wheat and the large herds of cows in the distance, she thought, “How silly, when we’ll never run out!”

As always, even such a brief reflection on war was too distressing, so she put it from her head in favor of more pleasant thoughts.

The gophers and prairie dogs were hard at play, their antics delightful to watch as they scurried and chattered among the brown-eyed Susans. Stepping along at a sprightly pace, Linnea considered her new class list, which she’d found inside the
teacher’s grade book. Kristian hadn’t been exaggerating when he said most of them were his cousins. Of the fourteen names on the list, eight of them were Westgaards! She couldn’t wait to ask Nissa about each of them, and hurried along, eager to get home.

But before she was halfway, she realized her new congress shoes were far less practical than they were dapper. It seemed she could feel every pebble of the gravel road through her soles, and the elevated heels only served to make her ankles wobble when she stepped on rocks.

By the time she was trudging up the driveway, her feet not only hurt but the left one had developed a blister where the tight elastic joined the leather and rubbed her ankle bone. Nissa saw her hobble up and came to the kitchen door. “The walk a little longer than you ‘spected?”

“It’s just these new shoes. They’re still rubbing in spots.”

Nissa eyed them speculatively as Linnea climbed the steps and entered the kitchen. “Purty’s fine, but sturdy’s better out here.”

“I’m beginning to see that,” Linnea agreed, dropping to a kitchen chair with a sigh of relief. She lifted her ankle over her knee and winced.

Nissa stood with hands akimbo, shaking her head. “Got a blister, have ya?” Linnea looked up and nodded sheepishly. “Well, git ‘em off and I’ll take a look.”

It took some doing to get them off. They were tighter than new cowboy boots, fitting securely well above the ankle. By the time Linnea had tugged and squirmed out of them, Nissa was chortling in amusement. “Don’t know what you’d do if you had to get out of them things fast. You got others?”

Linnea’s expression turned woeful. “I’m afraid not.”

“Well, ‘pears we better get you some straight up.” She hustled off toward her bedroom and returned with a pair of heavy knit slippers of black wool and a Sears Roebuck and Company catalogue.

“Now, let’s see that there blister.”

To Linnea’s chagrin, it was while Nissa was off fetching some gauze and salve to put on the blister that the men returned to do the milking. She was sitting with her bare foot pulled high up onto her lap, tenderly exploring the fat, bubbled blister when she felt somebody watching her.

She looked up to find Theodore standing in the door, one corner of his mouth hinting at amusement. She dropped her foot so fast it became tangled in her long skirts and she heard stitches pop. Color flooded her face as she covered one foot with the other and gazed up at him defiantly.

“Came for the milk pails,” was all he said before moving into the kitchen and crossing to the pantry. Nissa arrived from her bedroom with a tin of ointment and went down on one knee before Linnea. Theodore stepped out of the pantry and asked, “What’s wrong with her?”

“She got—”

“I have a blister from my new shoes!” Linnea retorted, suddenly not caring that her face was blazing red as she glared at Theodore. “And I’ve also got a Teacher’s Certificate from the Fargo Normal School that says I’m quite capable of interpreting questions and answering them for myself, in case you’re interested!” Angrily she grabbed the ointment and gauze out of Nissa’s hands. “I can do that myself, Nissa, thank you.” With an irritated twist she took the cover off the tin, wedged her foot sole up, and disregarded her audience while applying the unguent.

Theodore and Nissa exchanged surprised glances. Then Nissa pushed herself to her feet, handed over a needle, and advised dryly, “While you’re at it, better bust that thing before you cover it up.”

Linnea accepted the needle, raising her eyes no farther than Nissa’s hand before tending to the unpalatable task. Nissa looked at her son and found him watching Linnea with an amused crook at the corner of his mouth. When he glanced up, his eyes met Nissa’s and he shook his head — hopeless case, his expression said — then left the house with the milk pails swinging at his sides.

When he was gone, Linnea’s heel hit the floor with an exasperated
klunk
and she glared at the door.
“That
man can make me so angry!” Suddenly realizing she was speaking to Theodore’s mother, she mellowed slightly. “I’m sorry, Nissa, I probably shouldn’t have said that, but he’s... he’s so exasperating sometimes! I could just... just... ”

“You ain’t hurtin’ my feelings. Speak your piece.”

“He makes me feel like I’m still in pinafores!” She threw her arms wide in annoyance. “Ever since he picked me up at
the station and stood there almost laughing at my hat and shoes. I could see he thought I was little more than a child dressed up in grown-up clothing. Well, I’m not!”

“Course you’re not. This here’s just a misfortune, that’s all. Why, anybody can get a blister. Don’t pay no attention to Teddy. Remember what I told you about bullheaded Norwegians and how you got to treat ‘em? Well, you just done it. Teddy needs that.”

“But why is he so... so cross all the time?”

“It goes a long way back. Got nothin’ to do with you at all. It’s just his way. Now you best get that padding on and let me go get some sandwiches made for them two. When they come in they don’t want to waste no time.”

While Nissa made sandwiches, Linnea told her all about Superintendent Dahl’s visit, then read the list of names from her red book while Nissa filled her in on each one.

The first name on the list was Kristian Westgaard, age sixteen.

“Kristian I already know,” Linnea said. “How about the next one — Raymond Westgaard, sixteen?”

“He’s my oldest son Ulmer’s boy. Him and Kristian’ve always been close. You’ll meet Ulmer and his wife Helen and all the rest at church tomorrow. They live the next township road over.”

Linnea read the next two names. “Patricia and Paul Lommen, age fifteen.”

“Them’s the Lommen twins. They live just the other side of Ulmer’s place. Sharp as whips, them two. Always fierce competition between ‘em, which is natural, being twins and all. Patricia won the country spelling bee last year.”

Linnea noted it beside the name before reading on. “Anton Westgaard, age fourteen.”

“That’s little Tony. He belongs to Ulmer and Helen, too. He’s shy like his uncle John, but got a heart the size of all outdoors. Tony had rheumatic fever when he was younger, and it left him a little weak, but he’s got a good head on his shoulders nevertheless.”

Linnea noted his nickname, and a reminder about his health.

“Allen Severt, fifteen.”

“Allen’s the son of our local minister. Look out for that one. He’s a troublemaker.”

Linnea glanced up, frowning. “Troublemaker?”

“I sometimes think he knows he can get by with it because there’s only one person gets more respect around here than the schoolteacher, and that’s the minister. If the teachers we had in years past had taken him to task like they should’ve, and told Reverend Severt some of the monkey business Allen’s been up to, he might not be such a handful.”

“What sort of monkey business?”

“Oh, pushing the younger ones around, teasing the girls in ways that aren’t always funny — nothing that could ever be called serious. When it comes to the serious stuff, he’s crafty enough to cover his tracks so nothing can be pinned on him. But you watch him. He’s mouthy and bold. Never cared for him much myself, but you form your own opinion when you meet him.”

Promising to do just that, Linnea went on to the next name. “Libby Severt, age eleven.”

“That’s Allen’s sister. She pretty much gets ignored, cause Allen sees to it he gets all the attention in that family. She seems to be a nice enough child.”

“Frances Westgaard, age ten.”

“She’s Ulmer and Helen’s again. She’s got a special place in my heart. Guess it’s because she’s slower than the rest. But you never saw a more willing or loving child in your life. You wait till Christmas time. She’ll be the first to give you a present, and it’ll have plenty of thought behind it.”

Linnea smiled, and sketched a flower behind the name. “Norna Westgaard, age ten.”

“Norna belongs to my son Lars and his wife Evie. She’s the oldest of five, and she’s forever mothering the younger ones. Farther down your list there you’ll find Skipp and Roseanne. They’re Norna’s younger sister and brother.”

Nissa became thoughtful for a moment before going on as if answering some silent question. “Least I think Roseanne is starting school this year. They’re good kids, all of ‘em. Lars and Evie brought ‘em up right, just like all my kids brought their own up right.”

Linnea smiled at the grandmotherly bias, lowering her face so Nissa couldn’t see. The next name on her list was Skipp’s, and she bracketed his name with those of his siblings while noting that besides Skipp there were two other eight-year-olds
on her list — third grade would be her biggest. “Bent Under and Jeannette Knutson.”

“Bent belongs to my daughter Clara. She’s my baby. Married to a fine fellow named Trigg Under and they got two little ones. Expectin’ their third in February.” A faraway look came into Nissa’s eyes, and her hands fell idle for a moment. “Lord, where does the time go? Seems like just yesterday Clara was going off to school herself.” She sighed. “Ah, well. Who’s next?”

“Jeannette Knutson.”

“She’s Oscar and Hilda’s — you know? The chairman of the school board?”

“Oh, of course. And I have two seven-year-olds. Roseanne and Sonny Westgaard.”

“Cousins. Roseanne I already told you belongs to Evie, and Sonny is Ulmer’s. He’s named after his pa, but he’s always gone by ‘Sonny.’“

Linnea’s notes were growing confused, just as she was. Her face showed it.

Nissa laughed, set a plate of sandwiches on the table, and returned to the stove, wiping her hands on her apron. “You’ll keep ‘em straight once you meet ‘em all. You’ll be callin’ ‘em by their first names in no time, and know which family they come from. Everybody knows everybody else around here, and you will, too.”

“So many of them are your grandchildren,” Linnea said with a touch of awe in her voice.