The hail had beaten his wide-brimmed felt hat down around his ears. Several hailstones the size of walnuts rested in the crown of his hat.
Augusta stared at him, her eyes wide and her mouth trembling. The ground lay white around them, and hail bounced like popcorn on a hot stove. Mor had written of hail like this, but Augusta had really thought her mother was exaggerating a bit.
She hadn’t been.
With her arms clenched tightly around her raised knees to keep her skirts covering her modestly, she turned to look at the man who rejoined her under the protection of the wagon bed.
“It will be all right. The hail doesn’t usually last long.”
The sound of his voice and the smile he gave her did bring a modicum of comfort. If only she could understand what he said. When he smiled, kindness radiated from his face, his crinkled eyes warmed, and the cleft in his strong chin deepened. She allowed herself to study the man sitting cross-legged beside her. His dark hair with warm glints reminded her of the mink pelt one of her brothers had trapped once. Instantly, the full memory returned—the silky warmth of the fur and intricacies upon intricacies of color, just like this man’s hair. Would it feel the same? She almost flinched with such an unseemly thought threading her mind. What could she call him? Surely not “that man” or “hey, you.” She had an idea he had given her his name back at the station, but with all the worry about where she was and where her trunk had gone, his words had flown past her like birds before a hawk.
She returned to her study. His shoulders were broad enough to match those of her Bjorklund male relatives, and he was tall enough to make her look up to him. Since she’d been given extra height for a woman, at five foot nine she’d been called a giant when she was growing up. But the teasing had stopped when she could jump farther and run faster than most of her schoolmates. If her mor had known of her unladylike behavior, she’d have been scolded for sure. But then that wouldn’t have been unusual either.
When he stared back at her, she felt heat blooming up her neck, so she rested her cheek on her dark skirt. Right now she was grateful for the wool of her skirt and her fitted jacket. How could it have gotten so cold, so fast? What a strange country this was.
Where was Blessing?
She hesitated to ask him again, since every time she mentioned it, he only nodded and said something that included the word “blessing.” Oh, Lord, never did I think to be in such confusing circumstances. Now, I know you see all, and this country is yours just like my homeland is. And I know you know where I am and what is going to happen, but could you please, in your mercy, share a bit of this information with me?
She stared out at the hail-covered ground, anywhere to keep her gaze from wandering back to the man beside her. Was it getting lighter? Surely it must be. Surely if one of those balls of ice touched her cheek, it would melt in a flash.
Kane’s thoughts turned to prayer as he in turn watched her. Oh, Lord above, she, this wife of mine, is so lovely, far beyond what I dreamed of or deserve. Your mercy is indeed higher and wider than I can comprehend. Now, if you could, please give me a hint as to how to talk with her. See, she looks at me and then away. She is not only lovely, but modest too. And I have a feeling that while she is dressed so fashionably now, she isn’t afraid of hard work, and on the ranch there will be plenty of that. See how she takes this hailstorm in her stride? She is not cowering or crying. She followed my swift instructions without a qualm, even though she didn’t understand what I said. Oh, God, my God, how gracious thou art to me a sinner, albeit right now a very happy one.
He followed her gaze at the world beyond the wagon wheels and smiled reassuringly when she glanced at him. “Yes, the storm is passing. We’ll be on our way soon.” He hoped they would get another hour or two of travel in before it grew too dark.
Within a few minutes he began to hitch the team back up, then turned around to see her striding off to the west, kicking up drifts of hail as she strode so purposefully. He started to call her back and then stopped. Of course. Why hadn’t he thought? And there weren’t even very many bushes for her to hide behind. He finished hooking the traces back to the hooks on the ends of the singletrees and, whistling under his breath, scraped hailstones out of the back of the wagon so they wouldn’t melt and ruin the supplies.
When she returned he touched a finger to the brim of his hat and helped her back up on the wagon seat. When I was learning Mandan, how did we do it? He thought back. One word at a time, that’s what, so I guess we start now. That’ll be one way to pass the hours.
He turned to her and pointed to his chest. “I am Kane.”
She smiled back at him.
He pointed to her. “Now say your name.”
Her eyes clouded like the sky bowl above when the wind blew up from the west. She shrugged.
“I am Kane.” He spoke more slowly and louder.
Her brows straightened into a flat line, then she nodded and pointed to him. “I am Kane.”
He resisted the urge to laugh and pointed to his chest again. “Kane.”
She nodded. “Kane.” So what did the other words mean? Oh, of course. She pointed to herself. “I am Augusta.”
“Augusta?” Now it was his turn to look confused. But I thought your name was Asta. At least that’s the way I read your signature on the letter. Perhaps she is like me and not using her given name but just a part of it. After all, Thomas was my father’s name also, and who wants to be called Elkanah when my Mandan friends couldn’t pronounce it anyway?
Much to her relief, he smiled again and repeated their names, pointing to each as he said them. So she did the same. When she looked back at him, his smile had warmed by twenty degrees, just like the sun that was peeking out to turn the hail into slush and trickling water.
She quickly looked out over the horses’ broad rumps, then down to her hands clenched in her lap. Why did the sight of his warm, gold-flecked eyes make her want to fan her face?
“Augusta?”
She turned back to look at him.
He lifted his hat. “Hat.”
Ah, he was trying to teach her his language. “Hat.” She pointed to her own, the soft velvet somewhat worse for having been pummeled by the hail.
The cloud flitted over his face this time before he smiled and nodded. “Hat.” He touched his and then hers.
Now it was her turn to smile and repeat both words. He continued with more words—shirt, boots, wagon, horses. He decided to stay away from pants and skirt. Some things were better off left alone.
When a crow flew over, he pointed to that, again naming it and wishing he could figure a way to tell her that the word she was learning didn’t apply to all birds. The sun setting behind the sandhills made him twitch the horses to a trot. He’d better be looking for a place to camp.
Augusta turned the words over in her mind, mentally pointing to each of the things they’d named and reviewing. Wait until they got to Blessing. Such stories she would have to tell her family. Getting to Blessing reminded her that she hadn’t a stitch of clean clothes with her. They were all packed in her trunk, wherever in all this vast country her trunk had gone. What she wouldn’t give for one of her cotton dresses instead of her wool traveling outfit. At least she had her hairbrush and a comb in her carpetbag.
When the man beside her pulled on the right rein and turned the horse off onto what could somewhat be called a road, she looked at him, wishing she could ask what he was doing.
“Whoa.”
The team stopped, and as soon as the harness ceased jingling, she could hear what sounded like water running. She looked at Kane and raised her eyebrow.
He nodded. “You heard right—water. Over there.” He pointed to some rocks and trees dead ahead. He stepped down from the wagon and went about unhitching the horses, talking to them while he freed them from their traces. He stopped between the two at their heads and raised his voice to say her name.
“Augusta.”
“Ja?”
He
beckoned with one hand and held the horses with the other. “Come.”
With a shrug she climbed down from the wagon seat and walked with him between the rocks to see a cattail-rimmed pond fed by a small creek that gurgled around the rocks and clumps of grasses.
“Oh.” She clasped her hands to her breast. Water. Finally more than a dipperful at a time. Perhaps he would let her wash, and she could brush her hair and make herself presentable for when she finally got to Blessing. Surely it couldn’t be much farther.
She refused to let herself think of her mother’s description of land so flat you could see for miles in any direction. That surely wasn’t what she was seeing. But they would get there soon. Most assuredly they would get to the wide flat land soon.
Kane stuck his hands in his back pockets as he let the horses drink. He’d let them graze while he started a fire and got their supper going. He had plenty of food, having picked up supplies in Ipswich, and there was still bread, cheese, and part of the cake left from their basket dinner. Maybe if he set a snare, they would have fresh rabbit for breakfast. He pulled the horses’ heads up before they drank their fill, since they were a bit warm from the trotting, but he had wanted to get to this spot where he knew there was water and grass and deadwood for a fire.
“You want to wash?” He pantomimed scrubbing his face and hands, pointing to the water at the same time.
Her smile kicked him in the gut.
“Ja.”
Her nod made him wish he could offer more, like a privy and a bathtub and a real bed. And himself. At that thought, he hustled the horses back to the wagon and divested them of their harness before hobbling them in a nearby patch of grass.
Augusta returned to the wagon and reached in the back for her bag. Taking the bar of soap and a washcloth and towel, she made her way back to the creek. While the water felt chilly, it wasn’t cold, and after laying her jacket across a rock, she knelt and dipped in the cloth. She closed her eyes in bliss and held the dripping cloth up to her face.
Later, washed at least partly, her hair combed and rebound in the bun at the base of her neck, and her jacket tossed over a bush to air, she sat across the fire from the man she only knew as Kane and watched as he turned ham steaks in the pan and stirred some potatoes he’d sliced for frying. If, she decided, there is a man for me in this new land, I would like him to be like this man here. While Elmer had been good-looking in an icy Nordic way, this man radiated kindness, like the fire radiated heat. Here he was taking her all the way to Blessing and cooking her supper besides.
She sighed in contentment. The thought made her smile. It had been a long time since she felt this elusive feeling, how long she didn’t dare contemplate. Out here in the middle of who knew where, far from anything she’d ever known, with a man she couldn’t even talk with, she felt contented. How Mor would chuckle at that.
“This is ready.”
She looked up and met the smile that danced in his eyes like the golden flames before him. A tingle ran down her spine and up again, even making its way to her fingertips. She nodded, and when he came around the fire with a plate for her in his hand, her hand shook taking it.
What in the world was going on with her? She studied her hand like some strange specimen that surely belonged to another.
“Mmm.” She inhaled the smoky fragrance of the meat and, as usual, nodded and smiled to show her appreciation. “Mange takk.”
“I have a feeling that means thank you.” Kane returned for his own plate and came around the fire again to sit beside her. “You are more than welcome.” That smile of hers could turn a man inside out. How in all the mercies of heaven had she lived this long without being married? What was the matter with those Norwegian men?
He continued the lesson in language as they ate, identifying plate, fork, ham, potatoes, and coffee, along with the cup that contained it. When he poured her a cup of hot coffee, she smiled as though he’d just given her a priceless gift. Blowing on the hot liquid, she studied him across the rim.
As Kane caught her looking at him and watched the light dancing in her eyes, he forgot what he was doing until the sizzle of overflowing coffee caught his attention. At the same moment, his finger registered that hot coffee had splattered on it.
He set the cup down with a clatter and stuck his finger in his mouth to cool it. “Ow!” When that didn’t help a whole lot, he splashed his hand in the water bucket.
He could tell by the way she had averted her eyes and was now being careful not to look at him that she was fighting back laughter.
“That was hot!”
A tiny giggle escaped her clenched lips. Actually it was almost a little snort but decidedly ladylike.
“Go ahead. Laugh if you want.” He tried to look wounded but failed utterly. When he saw her shoulders shaking, he started to laugh himself.
He shook the water off his hand and stuck his finger back in his mouth. That did it.
Her laugh played like dust motes dancing in a shaft of sunlight, airy and phosphorescent and with perfect aim. His heart constricted, and it was all he could do to breathe.
Yes, he had a wife, and yes, he had hoped and prayed he would love her easily, but so soon? He took a seat beside her on the blanket he had spread on the ground, and they both sipped their coffee, listening to the night sounds and the crackle of the fire. While his arm ached to circle her waist, his mind screamed, Too soon. Don’t rush!
Obeying his mind took great self-control—and a walk around the fire to put the supper things away. With a long spoon he tucked some coals in the cast-iron spider to start the fire with in the morning, then unfolded two quilts and two elk hides. He spread the quilts over the hides to keep the moisture in the ground from seeping up and under the wagon in case it rained.
He wanted to put them together in one bed. He knew he had the right, for after all, they were married, but something told him not to. The same something that had said “Don’t rush” a bit earlier. He’d waited thirty-five years for a wife, and a few more hours or days wouldn’t hurt.
“I’m going to water the horses again and give them some oats, so if you want to . . . ah . . . well, the bed’s ready. Take either one.” Without waiting for an answer, he strode away as if a pack of starving coyotes were yipping after him.
Augusta sat by the dying coals and watched him get all flustered. She figured from his actions that one bed was hers, her only concern being the proximity of the two bedrolls under the wagon. But then the wagon bed was not big enough for them to be too far apart.
Should she ask him to sleep under the stars instead? And maybe get hailed on? She decided against that. After all, there was space between them.
After heading the opposite direction and wishing for an outhouse with an actual seat, she returned before he did and took off her shoes, tucking them under the quilt farthest from the fire. Then, with her legs bent underneath her, she undid the net that confined her hair and finger-combed it over her shoulder so she could begin braiding it. The wagon bed above didn’t give her enough room to brush the waist-length waves well, but even so, the nightly ritual added to the sense of peace.
She had the quilt well tucked around her shoulders as she faced the other way when he came to bed.
Even so, every nerve end she owned stood at attention and saluted as he tugged off his boots and, with a deep sigh, settled into the other bed.
“Good night, Augusta.”
“Ja, god natt.”
Long after he’d settled into the even breathing of sleep, she lay wide awake, hearing every rustle and sigh, listening to the horses graze, and finally, tucking her head under the covers to get away from the pesky mosquitoes.
The fragrance of boiling coffee brought her awake when the sun was just cracking the eastern horizon. She turned on her side and watched the man squatting beside the fire. He was turning something in a pan that smelled delicious. Someday, she thought, half praying, I’d like a man like Kane to be my husband. That is, if marriage is what you ha
ve in mind for me, Lord. After all, you’ve taken two almost-husbands from me already. Someday, ah yes, someday.
Throwing back the covers, she adjusted her skirts around herself before crawling out from under the wagon. How had he gotten up, started the fire, fetched the water that she could see steaming at the side of the crackling blaze, and cooked breakfast all without her hearing a thing?
She smoothed her hair back, fearing she looked like one of the trolls in Norway emerging fresh from a life under the bridge. Come to think of it, the bed of the wagon did look something like a bridge.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning.” She repeated his words back, they being so similar to the Norwegian she was sure she knew what he meant.
“Breakfast is almost ready.”
She smiled and nodded in return. Oh, to know what he said. He lifted the pan and motioned her to sit. Ah, so that was it. She smoothed her hair, tucking strands into the braid again, and stooped back under the wagon for her jacket that she had rolled carefully and placed under her head for a pillow. The air felt like fall had sneaked in overnight. After shaking out the wrinkles as best she could, she slid her arms into the sleeves and took her seat.
“Coffee?” He raised the pot.
“Ja, please.” Now if he would just teach her the words for please and thank you.
This time his fingers touched hers when he handed her the full mug of coffee. Like a flash, her arm was warm clear to her shoulder. “Mange takk.”
“You are indeed welcome.” He smiled at the question that crossed her face.
When she nodded, he continued. “Mange takk.” He pointed to her. “Thank you.” He pointed to himself.
“Thank you.” She nodded with another smile, this one wider than the last. Now if he would just tell her the word for “please.” How did one ask for words like this? She blew on her steaming coffee, grateful for something in her hands to keep busy.
By the time they’d finished breakfast, put out the fire, and harnessed the horses, the sky had filled with long Vs of honking and quacking waterfowl on their migration south. The wild song made her stop brushing her hair and watch in wonder. Never had she seen such numbers of flying birds at one time.
Blessing in Disguise Page 7
