by Erica Vetsch
The sun had come out and chased away the chill of the morning, and she stopped to admire the crisp colors, the blue of the sky, the golden grain and the bright dresses of the women. She could see clear to the horizon all around, as if she stood in the center of a huge dome. There was definitely room for the imagination here on the prairie, an expanse for the mind that she hadn’t found in the city.
The smells of grain and dust and wood smoke surrounded her, and a cloud of dust and soot hung over the field. A steam engine puffed away, powering the threshing machine, which clattered and banged. Savannah spotted Elias right off. He stood atop the stack of cut grain, pitching bundles into the machine’s maw. The thresher clanked and rocked, stalks disappearing inside, bright straw coming out the back and grain pouring into bags from a chute along the side.
Mr. Parker picked up a tin cup from one of the baskets and held it out to her. “I see you survived the morning so far.”
She poured his coffee, careful not to spill. “I did. It’s been most entertaining. But tell me, how does this all work, Mr. Parker?”
“Call me Ian.” He stepped to her side so she could pour coffee for others and still listen. “There are a couple of harvester teams cutting the grain in the field. Then there’s four wagons behind those. Men pitch the stalks into them, then pile it up here.” He pointed with his coffee cup toward the bright mound. “Elias is the stack man at the moment, so he pitches the stalks into the thresher.”
At that moment, Elias jabbed his pitchfork into the stack and slid down the side. He dusted himself off and resettled his hat before sauntering over. A man at the steam engine flipped a lever, and the belt linking the engine to the thresher stopped flapping, the gears quit grinding. At once, Savannah could hear better.
Mr. Parker continued. “As you can see, the steam engine provides the power to the thresher, which separates the grain from the chaff. The grain comes out the side there, and a couple of men fill the sacks, a couple more sew them and a couple more stack them on the wagons for a trip to the barn.” He accepted a slice of coffee cake from one of the ladies. “The straw and chaff blow out the far end, and there are some stackers there. Bedding, insulation, new straw ticks—there’s plenty of use for good, clean wheat straw.”
“So many men. I had no idea.” Savannah tried not to track Elias’s progress through the crowd toward her. She poured cup after cup for others as he stopped to chat and joke before finally picking a cup from the basket and making his way to her side.
“Ah, just what I need.” He held his cup under his nose and breathed deeply. “You have a good time with the ladies?”
“Yes. Everyone’s been so nice. I wondered at the amount of food they were preparing, but seeing the size of the workforce, I’m thinking we didn’t make enough.” She poured another cup for a young man with white-blond hair and ruddy skin.
“There are a couple dozen men here. Two came with the thresher, and the rest are neighbors. If a farmer had to pay for a crew this size, he’d lose money growing grain, but when all the neighbors pitch in and share the cost of the thresher and cover the labor, it works out well. But you can see we need everybody. The schoolboys are driving the wagons, keeping the grain sack pile supplied and packing down the straw stacks.” He pointed to Rut and Synove, who were carrying a basket of yeast rolls between them, offering them to the men and dispensing smiles and food in equal measure. “Even the girls are pitching in. I think it’s good, makes everyone feel a part of the community. We all need each other out here.”
“I realize everyone needs to lend a hand, but I miss the school time. So many of the children are so far behind. I’m praying for a quick harvest so they can get back to classes before we lose all the progress we’ve made.” Savannah poured more coffee. The line of men stretched to six deep, and each one smiled and bobbed his head.
“Takk, frøken.”
She smiled and nodded, and then turned to Elias. “I know takk is thank you, but what is frøken?”
“It means ‘miss.’ Thanks, miss.” His brows came down as he eyed the line of young men. “Seems like you’re drawing a bit of attention from the bachelors.”
The next man stepped up, smoothing his mustache with one hand and holding out his coffee cup with the other. Savannah was sure she’d already served him twice. Her coffeepot was almost empty. He took the last half cup and asked Elias, “Spør henne om hun vil være på dans, og hvis vi kan reservere danser akkurat nå?”
Elias’s lips flattened. “They want to know if you’re coming to the harvest dance, and if so, can they reserve their dances with you now.”
Heat started up her neck and into her cheeks, and she rued her fair complexion. She hadn’t sought the attention, and yet it was flattering, a balm to her wounded heart after Girard’s defection and the callous reason behind it. The ring had been left on her dressing table in Raleigh, and she’d sent instructions to Aunt Carolina to return it to him. It felt as if Savannah was finally closing a chapter of her life and perhaps opening another.
The men waited expectantly.
“I don’t know what to say.” She implored Elias with her eyes, putting her hand on his arm. “I don’t even know how the dance will be conducted. Are we supposed to arrive with a partner, or does everyone just show up? I’ve never attended a harvest dance before.”
“Courting couples will be partners, but everyone else just shows up. There aren’t any fancy dance cards or anything like that. The men just ask the ladies to dance every time the music starts.” He shrugged. “I’ll let the men know that you aren’t taking reservations.”
Elias drew them aside, and Savannah went to put her empty coffeepot into one of the baskets. Agneta and Mrs. Parker were busy packing up the containers and crocks. The food had all disappeared, and the men were drifting back toward their workplaces.
“You are...how do you say it...popular.” Mrs. Parker held up her coffeepot and gave it a slosh. “I did not run out of kaffe like you.”
Agneta nodded. “Pretty girl like...honey for bees.”
Savannah blushed again and shook her head at their teasing. But she felt good. If they could tease, they must like her.
Elias scaled the heap of harvested grain, and as he stood there, silhouetted against the sky, broad-shouldered, lithe-limbed, so sure of himself, her breath quickened. She knew he hadn’t changed his mind about her being unsuited for her position, but how did he feel about her as a person? Did he like her at all?
And why did she care? She wasn’t interested in him or any man. Not romantically, for certain.
But as a friend? She hefted a basket onto her hip and began the walk back to the farmhouse. She wouldn’t mind having Elias as a friend.
* * *
The night of the celebration, Elias kept off to the side, holding his glass of raspberry cordial and watching the dancers as they whirled by...or rather watching one dancer when he could catch a glimpse of her in the crowd.
Savannah stood out like a rose in a cabbage patch, drawing plenty of attention. The moment she’d stepped out of the Halvorsons’ wagon, his brain had turned to mashed millet, and it hadn’t recovered.
The night was half-over, and he had yet to approach her for a dance. Not that it mattered. She hadn’t lacked for partners. Seemed as if everyone had given her a turn on the dance floor. He looked up at the rafters of Larson’s barn, breathing in the smells of hay and grain...and rain. Almost the moment the last bushel of wheat had been sacked and stowed, a steady rain had begun to fall, so the dance and dinner had been moved inside for the evening.
She went by in the arms of Knut Dotseth, and before they’d made it halfway down the floor, Jespar Rosedahl cut in. Her skirts, the color of new spring grass, belled out, and she smiled up at Jespar.
Elias’s guts knotted, and he took a slug of cordial.
Lamplight gleamed on her fair hair, and
her cheeks glowed, whether from the exertion of dancing or her enjoyment of the company, he didn’t know. What he was sure of was that he’d never seen anyone so beautiful. Not even Britta could hold a candle to her.
“You gonna quit lollygagging around and ask her to dance, or are you going to let all the other young bucks enjoy her company?” Pa elbowed him. “She sure is setting up a stir, isn’t she?”
“I noticed you danced with her.” Elias made his tone desert-dry.
“And she said I danced real well, too.” Pa preened. “Said I was light on my feet and easy to follow.”
“What did Ma think of you dancing with the schoolmarm?”
“She’s the one who told me to do it. She also said you hadn’t danced all evening, not even with her. I suggest you remedy that before the night is out. Won’t do for you to hurt your mother’s feelings.” He took Elias’s glass. “Stop glowering like a dog in a manger. You don’t want to dance with the schoolmarm, fine, but don’t begrudge the other fellows who have more gumption than you. Your face looks like you drained the vinegar barrel. This is supposed to be a party.”
Elias scowled. He wasn’t a dog in the manger, he didn’t care who she danced with, and he wasn’t glowering. “Fine. If it will make you happy.”
A bell rang as the song ended, and Pa nudged him again. “You waited too long. It’s time to eat.”
The floor cleared, and folks lined up for the buffet. Through some fancy maneuvering Elias managed to wedge his way into the line just behind Savannah, much to the obvious chagrin of several of the single men surrounding her. But Tyler had put Elias in charge of looking after the new schoolteacher. He couldn’t shirk his duties, could he?
She picked up a plate and some napkin-wrapped cutlery. As Elias bent to get his own plate, the scent of her perfume captured him. Lying in a field of wildflowers must smell that way.
He’d never seen her eyes so bright. “You look as if you’re enjoying yourself.”
That had come out more accusing than he’d intended. He winced and shrugged.
“More than I thought I would. The music is fine, and everyone is friendly and nice. I find it difficult to believe you all have enough energy to dance, what with all the work you did this week. I didn’t work half as hard, and I’m getting tired.” She studied the great array of items on the table. “What should I eat? I don’t recognize most of these foods.”
“I’ll help you out.” He told her what each dish was, putting some on her plate when she nodded. They got to the end of the table, where two final dishes waited. “Now, these you have to try. True Norwegian delicacies.”
“What are they?” She eyed him and then the platters.
“The first is lefse, a potato flatbread. It’s delicious.” He put one of the rolled pieces on the edge of her plate. “You put butter and sugar on them, or some of this.” He pointed to the lutefisk, a pale, almost gelatinous mass of fish fillets. They must be from Mrs. Soderberg. She was well-known in Snowflake for her love of the lye-soaked whitefish.
Savannah’s little nose wrinkled as he held up a piece of the fish. “Oh, no. I don’t think so.” She moved her plate out of his reach.
“Now, you don’t want to disappoint the cooks, do you? They’re all watching to see what you’ll do, whether you have the right stuff to be an honorary Norwegian.” He teased her, jiggling the fish.
She gulped, glancing at the row of matrons behind the table who were keeping the dishes filled. They whispered behind their hands, and Elias noted the mischievous gleams.
Savannah must’ve noticed them, too. Her chin came up in a familiar gesture. “Just a tiny piece then.”
Elias relented. “You don’t have to. I was just teasing. Lutefisk isn’t to everyone’s taste. Nobody would blame you if you didn’t eat any.”
Holding her plate toward him, she said, “I’ll try it. My aunt Carolina would never let us say we didn’t like something, especially something we’d never tried. She made us say ‘I have not yet acquired a taste for this.’”
“I’m liking your aunt Carolina more and more.” Elias cut a small wedge of the fish and put it on the rim of her plate, careful not to let it touch anything else. “Let’s find some seats.”
His pa waved his long arm, motioning them over. Several pairs of jealous bachelor eyes followed Elias and Savannah across the room to where his parents had saved them seats at one of the trestle tables. The men might’ve been frustrated, but they weren’t daunted. Elbowing and crowding, they managed to find seats close by, near enough to watch and listen.
“Having a good time, Savannah?” Pa scooted out the bench a bit so she could sit.
“‘Savannah’?” Elias asked. Since when did Pa use her first name?
“Yep, she gave me leave to call her that instead of Miss Cox. And I told her she could call me Ian if she wanted.” Pa grinned.
“And I am Tova.” Ma bobbed her head. She wore her traditional Norwegian skirt, blouse and vest. An embroidered woolen cap covered her graying hair. Many of the ladies had opted for their traditional outfits, heavily embroidered, with silver brooches and clasps and buckles.
Elias reached over and squeezed her hand. “You look beautiful tonight, Ma.”
She blushed, and Pa laughed, putting his arm around her. “The most beautiful woman here. No offense, Savannah. You look lovely, too.”
“No offense taken. I’ve been admiring the pretty dresses. The colors are so cheerful.” Savannah placed her napkin in her lap. “And the embroidery is very fine. Perhaps you can show me some of the stitches sometime.”
Buttering a piece of lefse, Elias said, “The traditional dress is called bunad. Ma is wearing one from her home region of Valdres. There are lots of different styles of bunad, depending on where you’re from in Norway.”
The young men around them called out the regions they were from, showing off their vests and hats and jackets with much laughter and shouting.
Elias glanced at his own attire, a plain white shirt and dark trousers, and shrugged.
“I feel as if I have so much to learn, living here, but every little bit helps me understand my students better.” Savannah poked her lutefisk with her fork, eyeing it. “How do you eat this?”
“Here.” Elias leaned over, tore a piece of lefse off her portion and forked the bite of lutefisk onto it. He folded up the edges and gave it to her.
She took it, apprehension wrinkling her brow.
“Elias, did you goad her into trying that? Don’t let him tease you, Savannah.” Pa stabbed a meatball with his fork and used it to point at Elias. “Son, that’s playing mean. She probably doesn’t even know what lutefisk is.”
“Now, Pa, don’t scare her. She said she’d try it.” Elias wrapped his own larger portion in a piece of lefse. “We’ll do it together.” He gently bumped his knuckle against her hand in a mock toast.
Benches scraped back, and Savannah’s admirers crowded around, laughing and waiting to see what she would do. Jespar leaned against Elias’s shoulder, and Knute crowded him on the bench.
She gulped, then closed her eyes, popped the bite into her mouth and chewed.
Immediately, her eyes opened wide and she froze. Blinking hard, she chewed another time, her lips trembling. Elias sank his teeth into his lutefisk, laughing. “Yum. Good, isn’t it?”
Savannah reached for her water glass, gulping and coughing. Her eyes teared up and she breathed hard. Everyone erupted into laughter.
Pa refilled her glass from the pitcher on the table, chuckling. “You’re a brave one, lass, I’ll give you that. Most non-Norwegians take one smell of that awful stuff and run.”
She reached for a bit of lefse and ate it quickly, as if trying to cleanse her mouth of the residual taste. “Oh, my. That was...unique.” She patted her lips with her napkin, shooting Elias a glare.
“Your aunt Carolina would be proud.” He finished his lutefisk quickly. He despised the stuff, but couldn’t show cowardice in front of Savannah. He caught his pa’s eye and winked. Pa laughed back, clearly in high spirits now that the grain harvest was over.
Laughter and talk swirled around them. Most of the discussions were in Norwegian, and in true Norwegian fashion, most of it, among the men anyway, centered on politics. But Jespar and Knute and the rest hung around, trying out their broken English, strutting like tom turkeys trying to get attention. Savannah was gracious and kind, maybe too kind. Did she like their antics?
Britta had relished being the center of attention, playing the young men one off the other, especially Elias. She could flirt and tease and get a man’s dander up better than anyone he had ever met, and he couldn’t resist her.
Until she’d up and left town without a word, abandoning her pupils and disillusioning Elias.
His appetite waned, and he pushed his plate away.
When the music started again, Pa leaned forward. “I’ll take care of your plates and such. Elias, why don’t you take this gal out onto the dance floor before some of these eager young fellas cut in?”
Nicely done, Pa. Now I have to ask her.
Elias rose and held out his hand, his heart banging like a barn door in a high wind. “Savannah?”
* * *
Savannah placed her hand into his, and a tingle shot up her arm and fizzled in her chest. He held her steady while she stepped over the bench. All evening she’d waited for him to cut in, to claim her for a dance, any dance, but he’d stayed on the sidelines. Even now, she had a feeling he would’ve liked to back out, but good manners forbade him.
Perhaps he didn’t dance? Was that the reason he hadn’t joined in? If so, should she let him off, claim to be tired and sit this one out?
Before she could make up her mind, Elias put his hand on the small of her back, raised her other hand in his and swung her into a waltz. Her mouth dropped open. He was so light on his feet, the pressure of his hand guiding her perfect and his sense of rhythm and timing excellent. Her dancing instructors back home couldn’t have done better.
