“Amen,” everyone said.
“‘Dearly Beloved: Forasmuch as Marriage is a holy estate, ordained of God, and to be held in honor by all, it becometh those who enter therein to weigh with reverent minds, what the Word of God teacheth concerning it. The Lord God said: It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him an help meet for him…’”
A help meet. Wasn’t that what Dirk had asked Inga to be? Wasn’t that what she had been to him for several weeks? He glanced sideways at her. She was staring at her father, listening intently, her expression solemn.
“‘…The Apostle Paul, speaking by the Holy Spirit, saith: Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the Church, and gave himself for it…’”
She deserved to be loved. She deserved better than he had offered her. But he’d offered all he had to give.
“‘Into this holy estate this Man and this Woman come now to be united. If any one, therefore, can show just cause why they may not be lawfully joined together, let him now speak, or else forever hold his peace…’”
Was he doing the right thing? Was this marriage fair to her? Shouldn’t he have tried to find someone else to work for him rather than asking Inga to give up her freedom?
“‘Dirk Bridger, Wilt thou have this Woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor and keep her in sickness and in health, and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?’”
He drew a deep breath. “I will.”
Inga heard the deep timbre of his voice, and her gaze was drawn to him. One month before, he had stood in this parlor and asked her father for help. In the brief weeks since, she had lived in his home, had watched him lovingly care for his mother and his nieces. She knew the goodness of his heart. He would comfort and honor her. He would care for her in sickness and in health.
But would he ever love her as he had just sworn?
“‘Inga Linberg, Wilt thou have this Man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love him, comfort him, honor and keep him in sickness and in health, and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?’”
“I will.”
Her pappa took hold of her right hand and placed it into Dirk’s right hand. At the touch, her heart began to race, and light-headedness overtook her.
Olaf looked at Dirk. “Repeat after me. I, Dirk…”
“I, Dirk…”
“Take thee, Inga…”
“Take thee, Inga…”
“To my wedded wife…”
“To my wedded wife…”
She fought unwanted tears as she listened to his vows. And when it was her turn to repeat them, her voice was so soft, Dirk had to lean toward her in order to hear. She wondered if he would guess how desperately she meant each word, not certain if she wished he would or not.
Her pappa blessed the wedding ring, then gave it to Dirk. As her groom then slipped it onto the third finger of Inga’s left hand, he said, “Receive this Ring as a token of wedded love and troth.”
Inga stared down at the simple gold band. Wedded love. If only…
“‘Forasmuch as Dirk and Inga have consented together in holy wedlock, and have declared the same before God and in the presence of this company, I pronounce them Man and Wife: In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost, Amen. What God hath joined together, let not man put asunder.’”
As her father then began his closing prayer, Inga opened her eyes and observed her husband.
My husband.
It was done. She was married. She was his wife, and she wanted to remain his wife forever. She wanted to lie beside him in his bed. She wanted to love him in all seasons, to love him in every possible way. She wanted to raise his nieces and to bear his children.
He had told her she would have her freedom one day, but she knew she would never want it. She was bound to him in a way she had never imagined possible. A way he would probably not understand.
What God hath joined together, let not man put asunder, her pappa had said, and to those words, she added her own silent prayer: Father God, let him love me.
Olaf’s hands clasped Dirk’s and Inga’s. “’The Lord bless thee and keep thee. The Lord make his face shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee. The Lord lift up his countenance upon thee, and give thee peace.’”
And everyone said, “Amen.”
For the briefest of moments, Inga’s gaze held her husband’s, and she thought he might kiss her. Then the solemnity of the ceremony was over. The guests pressed forward, joyous voices filling the room. She was kissed and hugged by everyone except Dirk, and she let her tears spill over, hoping no one would guess how truly bittersweet they were.
Twelve
It began to snow as the Bridger sleigh, carrying the newlyweds and the groom’s nieces, pulled away from the parsonage, accompanied by shouts of good wishes from friends and family.
“Oh, isn’t it pretty?” Astrid said to Thea who was standing by her side on the porch. “What a perfect way for it to end, riding off into a gentle snow like that.”
For some reason, Thea didn’t feel like agreeing. Ever since Pappa had begun the ceremony, her mood had grown darker and darker.
It wasn’t right for Inga to be the first to wed. True, Inga was the oldest, but Thea was the prettiest. It had always been Thea who had the suitors sipping coffee in the parlor in Jönköping. Even after she’d made it clear she’d given her heart to Karl Gustav, the other boys had still come calling. And she, of course, had been flattered and had flirted right back with them. It would have been rude to do otherwise.
Besides, it had been harmless, for she never would have truly betrayed Karl.
Karl Gustav had owned Thea’s heart since she was a girl of fourteen. That her pappa opposed the match when they’d declared their intention to marry only added to the romance of their young and desperate love, only made their furtive kisses more exciting.
She gave her head a tiny shake as she turned and went inside. There was no reason to be jealous of Inga. Dirk Bridger could not possibly love her the way Karl loved Thea. Karl was leaving behind family and country for her. Now that was love.
Of course, she’d never doubted he would do so. No other girl in Jönköping could have convinced him to stay in Sweden and forget Thea, for Thea, as everyone always said, was unforgettable. When she went to New York City to be with Karl, her sisters and all the other girls in Uppsala, Iowa, would be pea green with envy.
The Dolk twins came to stand on either side of her, one bringing her punch, the other bringing her cake. She smiled at them and batted her pretty blue eyes and giggled when they vied for her attention. She did so enjoy being the center of attention. Pappa had scolded her more than once for her actions, telling her she was vain and that vanity was a sin. But how could that be so? Thea had not made herself beautiful. She had been born that way, and she could do nothing to hide it.
Yes, she’d been silly to waste even a moment of jealousy on Inga. Poor Inga would never inspire young men to acts of passion the way Thea did, and Dirk Bridger, although quite handsome, was much too old-almost thirty!-to have ever caught Thea’s attention.
She decided to enjoy the remainder of the celebration. In only two months she would be far away from this place and these people. She would have a husband of her own, a husband who loved her more than any woman had ever been loved before.
Which was just as it should be.
They rode in silence for a quarter of an hour before either bride or groom said a solitary word. Dirk was the first to speak.
“Sorry we had to leave so early.” He slapped the reins against the backsides of the horses. “The milking won’t wait. Not even for a wedding.”
“It is all right,” she whispered. “I did not mind leaving.”
She looked behind her at the backseat o
f the sleigh. Cuddled up beneath several blankets and a large fur, Suzanne slept, her head cradled in her sister’s lap. Martha looked ready to nod off, too. Inga understood. She felt exhausted, worn out by a day filled with warring emotions.
Dirk glanced at the lead gray sky. “Looks like the old year is gonna end with another good snowstorm.”
“It would seem so.”
“Ma always sat up to watch the new year come in. She said she liked to think ahead to what it might bring.” He paused a moment, then added, “Sure wish she could’ve lived to see another one.”
We could sit up together and watch, Inga thought, but she hadn’t the courage to say it aloud. Perhaps, if Dirk really thought of her as his wife…
Tears burned the backs of her eyes and her throat, much to her dismay. It seemed all she had done for the last twenty-four hours was cry, and she was tired of it. No one had forced her to marry Dirk Bridger. She’d wanted to marry him. She’d wanted to be with him.
She swallowed hard, then drew a deep breath and said, “This new year will be a good one. You will see.”
The rest of their trip home passed in silence, accompanied only by the whish of the runners gliding over the road. Snow continued to fall, large, wet flakes that drifted and cartwheeled toward earth, landing on the noses and eyelashes of the sleigh’s occupants.
When they arrived at the farm, Dirk put away the horses while Inga ushered the children into the house. The moment she stepped into the large kitchen, she knew she was home. She smiled in earnest as a glimmer of hope lightened her heart.
The mood stayed with her as she prepared the family’s supper. It stayed with her as she put away her things in the same bedroom she had vacated less than a week before. It stayed with her as she tucked the children into their bed and told them a bedtime story. It stayed with her right up until the moment Dirk announced he was going to retire for the night.
They were in the living room. A fire blazed in the fireplace, chasing the chill from the room. Inga was working on a new quilt, as much to give her hands something to do as for the enjoyment she usually took in her craft. Dirk had been standing at the window for a long while, staring out at the blackness that disguised the whirling snowstorm.
“I reckon I’ll turn in,” he said as he turned around.
She glanced up, her heart suddenly pounding like a bass drum. Her mouth and throat were dry, and her chest felt tight, almost painfully so.
Dirk took a step toward her. “Reckon I ought to thank you again for what you’ve done.”
She shook her head, unable to speak.
“The girls were happy today. They’re glad to have you back.”
Inga laid her quilting piece on top of the basket. “I am glad to be back as well.” She rose from the chair and faced her husband.
Dirk watched the firelight play over her hair, turning it from pale blond to red-gold. She had changed out of her wedding dress and was wearing an earth-toned blouse and skirt. He suspected he’d seen them several times in the past, but if so, he hadn’t noticed before how the color infused her complexion with a golden glow. Nor had he remembered that the shape of her mouth—pink and moist and slightly parted—was somewhat like a bow on a Christmas package.
The silence of the house reminded him they were alone except for two sleeping children. She was his wife. Perhaps…
But he’d promised her an annulment one day, and he’d promised himself freedom down the road. If he took her innocence, both of those promises would be broken.
He wondered then if Inga knew the bitter taste of unrealized dreams. What had she wanted and lost before settling for a loveless marriage? What if…
But what-ifs were the same things as hopes and dreams, and he was better off not to entertain them. It wouldn’t be fair to either one of them. He didn’t want Inga to be hurt because of anything he did or said, and he didn’t want to fool himself into thinking things were different than they were.
Raking his fingers through his hair, he turned his back to her. “The storm’s getting worse. I’d better check on the livestock one last time. You don’t have to wait up for—”
“Would you mind if I came with you?”
He glanced over his shoulder.
“I would like to be of help,” she added.
He shrugged. Wasn’t that why he’d asked her to marry him? So he’d have help with the farm? “Sure. If you want. Get your coat.”
A few minutes later, they went out into the storm and walked side by side toward the barn, leaning into the wind as blowing snow stung their cheeks. The temperature had plunged since milking time. Dirk suspected it had fallen well below zero. He thought of the book he’d once read about the Sandwich Islands and wondered briefly what it might be like to spend New Year’s Eve on the sands of a South Sea island instead of on a dairy farm in a blizzard.
The wondering of a fool, he chided himself.
When they stepped inside the barn and he closed the door behind them, the sounds of the storm became muffled. The barn seemed warm, at least at first. Dirk lit the lantern that hung near the tack room, turning the flame up high. Then he walked toward the nearest stall.
He muttered an expletive when he saw Flower moving in restless circles. The cow had chosen this night to give birth.
“Is something wrong?” Inga asked.
“No.”
Inga came to stand beside him. She looked first at the Jersey, then at Dirk, a question in her eyes.
Leaning his arms on the top rail, he said, “She’s going into labor.”
“What must we do?”
He glanced over at his bride, thinking, Good thing this wasn’t supposed to be a real wedding night. Then, he answered, “Nothing, if we’re lucky.”
He didn’t bother to add that he was seldom lucky.
The laboringJersey lay down in the straw with a plaintive blat.
“She’s gonna get serious now,” Dirk said as he entered the stall and knelt beside the cow, running his hand over her swollen side.
Inga stared down at man and beast and wondered at the gentleness Dirk displayed for an animal he professed to despise. “How long will it take?”
“Maybe another hour. Could be less. Could be more.”
Flower’s breathing grew heavier. She lifted her head and nipped at her side, then flopped back down with a groan.
“Easy, girl,” Dirk whispered. “How come you always choose the coldest night of the year to do this? Stupid cow.”
Inga watched with a sense of anticipation and apprehension. She had never witnessed a birthing, neither animal or human. Her mother wouldn’t have allowed it. “Have you been through this many times before?” she asked Dirk.
“Many times. Cows, horses, litters of pups. It goes with farming and ranching. A few years ago, I worked on a horseracing farm in Kentucky. Got to be present for the delivery of more than a dozen Thoroughbred foals that spring.” Dirk sat back on his heels, his palms resting on his thighs. “The horse is a breathtaking creature. Especially the Thoroughbred. They’re like a great work of art, the way they’re formed. Of everything I’ve ever done, I enjoyed that work the most. Feeding them. Training them. Riding them.”
She knew what he said was true. She could see it for herself in his expression, in the faraway look in his eyes. “Was that where you were when your brother was killed? Kentucky?”
His brows drew together in a frown. “No. I’d moved on by then. I was riding range in Montana.” He shook his head and chuckled humorlessly, then muttered, “More blasted cows.”
“But if you loved the horses so much, why didn’t you stay in Kentucky?”
He met her gaze. “Because it was time to move on. I wanted my chance to see the world, to see it all, more than I wanted anything else. I didn’t want to put down roots. I wanted to roam.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a sardonic smile. “I think I’ve bored you with that story once before.”
“You did not bore me,” she protested softly.
“What a
bout you? Tell me about where you came from?”
“Sweden?”
“No. Well, yes. Tell me about your hometown.”
“Jönköping?”
“Uh-huh.”
Inga brushed stray wisps of hair away from her face as her thoughts traveled across an ocean. “It is a pretty place in the south of Sweden. The town sits near a large lake called Vättern. There is much industry in Jönköping—the match factory, which is quite famous, a big paper mill, carpentry shops, machine factory, and the breweries. And churches. There are many churches. The hills around the lake are green and beautiful. Some of them are covered in orchards. Sometimes in winter the lake freezes over, but not always.”
“You must miss it.”
She didn’t miss it when she was with him. “I was glad to come to America,” she whispered. “You see, I wanted an adventure, too. Like you.” Dirk was her adventure, though he did not know it.
Flower grunted, acted as if she might try to rise, then fell back again.
“I think the calf’s coming.” Dirk leaned forward for a better look. “Yeah, this is it.”
Inga forgot everything else as she watched the cow slowly but steadily push her calf into the world, aided by Dirk’s careful ministrations. It was an amazing thing, watching a new life begin. She forgot to be embarrassed or frightened or whatever it was her mother would have expected her to be. She could only be awed by the miracle of it.
As if giving birth were nothing at all, Flower raised up from her side and started to lick her offspring clean.
A short while later, Dirk said, “Watch.” His voice was low and soothing.
The calf, a female, slick and dark, legs poking out like matchsticks, attempted to rise. She fell down with a thud. Flower nudged her calf gently with her muzzle. Again the newborn struggled to her feet. This time she managed to take a step before toppling over.
Dirk chuckled. “You’ll get it right yet, little one.”
“She will stand so soon?”
“Yeah. Amazing, isn’t it?”
“Ja.”
In silence, they continued to watch until the calf not only stood and stayed upright but began to nurse as well. Then Dirk let himself out of the stall. As he shut the gate, he yawned. “I wonder what time it is?”
Robin Lee Hatcher - [Coming to America 02] Page 13
