Did she remember? She wasn’t sure. She couldn’t think clearly.
“You must not give up hope. God is merciful. He will meet you at the place of your need if you will but ask.”
Where was that place? She didn’t know.
“Inga, tell me what is troubling you.”
“I must come home.”
Olaf’s grasp tightened. “Look at me.”
It took a great deal of effort, but she managed to do as he’d commanded.
“Dirk has told me what you fear. How is it this has happened? How is it you can believe God waits in heaven for his children to err so he can smite them with disaster? You have served him, Inga. You know better. He is a God of love. He loves and cares for you.”
Tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision. “I must come home.”
He sighed. “Your place is with your husband.”
“Please.”
“Has Dirk been unkind to you, dotter? Has he ever mistreated you? Is there something you are not telling me?”
“I must come home.” She let the tears fall. Hot tears, streaking her cheeks, burning her throat. “Please, Pappa, I must come home.”
He placed his arm around her shoulders and hugged her to him. “All right, Inga. Do not cry. We will find a way through this valley. I promise you.”
Astrid Linberg returned with Dirk to the farm, but while she was able to watch over the children, she could do nothing to stop the loneliness that filled every corner of the house now that Inga was gone.
“Will Aunt Inga come home soon?” Martha had asked upon Dirk’s return from Uppsala.
But he hadn’t had an answer then, nor did he have one now.
As he worked on a broken section of the fence near the barn, he kept remembering the distant look in Inga’s eyes when he’d bid her good-bye this morning at the parsonage. He wondered if he’d done the right thing, leaving her there. He’d never had a chance to prove he loved her. He’d never known for sure if she might love him, too. He felt lost without her, but he hadn’t known what else to do. She’d been retreating, one moment at a time, into some safe harbor within herself.
Sunset and Robber raised their heads, looking toward the road. Sunset nickered softly.
Maybe she’s returned! Dirk thought.
He lowered the rail he’d been about to hammer into place and turned with hopeful expectation to see who was coming up the drive. Disappointment followed. It wasn’t the pastor’s carriage. The black surrey carried strangers—a man and a woman—up the drive. Dirk stepped away from the fence and watched as the driver pulled the horse to a halt.
“Good day to you,” the man said. “This is the Bridger farm, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it is.”
The man glanced at the woman beside him. “We’re here, Allison. I told you I remembered the way.” He disembarked from the buggy and approached Dirk, hand outstretched. “I’m Harvey Trent. You must be John’s brother.”
He nodded. “Dirk Bridger.” He accepted the proffered hand.
With a quick glance, Dirk made note of the man’s appearance. Harvey Trent was of average height with a full head of stone gray hair. He looked to be in his early forties. Judging by his fine attire, he was not a farmer by profession.
“It is a pleasure to meet you at last,” Harvey said. “I’m sorry we were unable to advise you of our exact day of arrival, but travel can be unpredictable.”
Dirk frowned.
Harvey saw the look on his face. He glanced over his shoulder, then forward again. “You were expecting us, weren’t you? Hattie wrote and said any time in April would be fine.”
“Ma died in December.”
The man drew back. His voice lowered. “I am sorry, Mr. Bridger. Hattie was an admirable woman. My wife and I took a great liking to her on our last visit. Margaret was expecting Suzanne at the time.”
Dirk didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know who this guy was or what sort of game he was playing. Or even if it was a game.
“Mr. Bridger, do you know who we are?” Harvey asked, apparently reading his mind.
“No, afraid not.”
“My wife is Margaret’s cousin, Allison. We wrote to your mother late last year that we were returning to America this spring and wanted to come for a visit. We’ve never met Suzanne, and Martha was just a toddler when we were here last.” He paused, looking slightly flustered. “Your mother said nothing about being ill in her reply. We had no idea.”
“Harvey,” his wife called from the surrey, “is something wrong?”
Across time, the memory returned to Dirk, his ma’s voice whispering in his mind. Only family Margaret had in the world, other’n us, after her folks died. Nice lady, Allison Trent…Margaret’s cousin…She and Mr. Trent will be comin’ to see the girls…
Tarnation! He didn’t need houseguests on top of everything else. But what was he to do? His ma had invited them. They were family to the girls and had come to see them. He didn’t seem to have much choice.
“Why don’t you bring your wife into the house, Mr. Trent, and we’ll get acquainted? There oughta be coffee on the stove or I reckon I could make tea for your wife if that’s what she’d prefer.”
Harvey nodded. “Thank you. Coffee will be fine.” He returned to the surrey and helped his wife to the ground.
She was a handsome woman, probably in her mid-thirties, short of stature and plump, though not unattractively so. She had dark red hair which was swept up on her head and capped with a bright blue bonnet that matched her traveling dress. Even from where Dirk stood, he could see Allison Trent’s resemblance to Margaret.
Speaking softly to her, Harvey took Allison’s arm and escorted her across the yard to Dirk. Once there, he performed the introductions. “My dear, this is John’s brother, Dirk Bridger. Mr. Bridger, may I present my wife, Allison Trent.”
“This is a pleasure, Mr. Bridger.” Her voice was soft, and even more than her husband’s, it spoke of privilege and culture. “I am dreadfully sorry to learn of your mother’s untimely death. Please accept our sincerest condolences.”
“Thanks.” He motioned with his head. “Come inside.”
He took the couple into the living room, then left them there while he went after the coffee. When he returned, he found Harvey standing near the window, staring out at the fields and pastures. Allison was seated on the sofa, running a hand over one of Inga’s quilts.
She must have heard the rattle of the tray as Dirk entered the room. Looking up, she said, “This is exquisite, Mr. Bridger. Wherever did you find such a quilt?”
“My wife made it.”
“Your wife? I got the impression from Margaret’s letters, and your mother’s too, that you were not married.”
He felt a heaviness in his chest. “Inga and I wed at the end of last year.”
“Oh, I see,” she said, but there was a question in her eyes.
“My wife’s been ill. She’s staying with her parents in town.”
Allison studied him, her expression thoughtful. After a moment, she glanced at her husband. “Harvey, do come join us, dear.” She took it upon herself to do the pouring. When each of them was holding a cup, she said, “We have been wanting to come for another visit for a long time. You are aware we’ve been in Europe four and a half years?”
“I seem to recall Ma saying something about it.”
“Diplomatic service,” Harvey interjected. “But we have returned to our home in Pennsylvania. It’s good to be back in our own country again.”
Allison rested her cup on her knee, holding it with both hands. “We shall always regret not seeing Margaret and John before they died. Margaret and I were as close as sisters, I suppose because neither of us had brothers or sisters of our own.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I took her death very hard. I loved her dearly.”
Dirk understood what she was feeling. He’d loved his older brother, too. He’d never come to see John and Margaret after they moved to Iowa and started this farm, and
for that he would always be sorry.
“Mr. Bridger?”
He looked up, saw the sadness in her green eyes.
“May we see the children now?”
“Sure. I’ll get them. They’re upstairs.”
Dirk left the Trents in the living room and went to the stairway. He opened his mouth to holler for the girls, then decided against it, climbing the stairs instead. Before he reached their bedroom, he heard Astrid reading aloud, and he felt a sting of longing for his wife. Astrid sounded so much like Inga.
When he stepped into the open doorway, all three looked up.
“Someone downstairs t’see you two,” he said to his nieces.
“Aunt Inga’s come back?” Martha asked excitedly, jumping to her feet and smiling for the first time today.
He remembered feeling the same way not more than fifteen minutes ago when the Trents had arrived. Then, in his mind, he heard Inga say, Nej, I have not returned.
When would she be back? How long before she returned from that hiding place within herself to the people who loved and needed her most? And what if she never returned?
His throat ached as he answered the girl, “No, it’s not Aunt Inga.” He held out his hands. “It’s your ma’s cousins, Mr. and Mrs. Trent. Come on now. They’re eager to meet you.”
He recognized Martha’s obvious disappointment because it mirrored his own. Fortunately, Suzanne was more curious about their visitors and had already forgotten her sister’s question. The littlest one hurried to take his left hand. Martha came a little more slowly to take his right. Then the three of them descended the stairs together.
When they stepped through the doorway into the living room, Allison rose from the sofa. “Oh my,” she said softly. “They’re the image of Margaret.”
Martha’s grip tightened on Dirk’s hand as the older woman approached them.
“You must be Martha.” Allison leaned forward. “I am your mother’s cousin, Mrs. Trent.” She shifted. “And you are Suzanne. What a darling you are.”
Suzanne was rarely shy, but this time she tucked herself behind her uncle, never letting go of his hand.
Allison cast a glance over her shoulder at her husband, and Harvey responded to it by crossing the room to stand at her side.
“Hello, young ladies,” he said to the girls, bowing at the waist and giving them a wink.
“Hello,” Martha muttered, unimpressed.
Suzanne remained silent, moving farther behind her uncle.
“Why don’t we all sit down?” Dirk suggested.
“A wonderful suggestion.” Allison held out her hand to Martha. “Come and sit with me. I have stories to share about your mother when she was a little girl, not much older than you.”
Martha looked at her uncle, and he nodded. Then she did as her cousin requested.
Watching them, unease settled firmly around Dirk’s heart.
Over a supper Allison Trent insisted on preparing, she and her husband entertained the family with stories of their travels in Europe and England, as well as Allison’s tales of escapades with Margaret when she was a girl. Little by little, the children warmed to their newfound cousins. In truth, there seemed no reason not to like both Allison and Harvey. They were friendly and good-humored, and they seemed genuinely interested in everything about the girls. Still, Dirk was bothered by their visit and knew he wouldn’t rest easy until they were gone.
The feeling stayed with him throughout that evening and the following day as he observed Martha and Suzanne showing the Trents their room and their toys, the swing and their favorite animals. The feeling dogged his heels while he went about his work. It lingered no matter what he did to dispel it.
When he went to the parsonage to see Inga two days after the Trents’ arrival, he tried talking to her about Margaret’s cousin, tried sorting out the reasons for his feelings. At one time, Inga would have been able to reassure him. At one time, she would have given him sage advice. But now she merely listened with a distant look in her eyes and said nothing in return. He wondered if she even heard him. She seemed to be drifting farther away from him, away from reality. She was getting worse since coming to the parsonage. Worse instead of better, and there seemed to be nothing he could do to stop her.
Dirk returned to the farm, his heart heavy with worry for Inga, the Trents almost forgotten.
It was a delightful evening, nearly two weeks after the Trents had first arrived at the Bridger farm. It was the kind of evening when the air was rich with the fragrance of spring. After the children were in bed, the adults sat in companionable silence on the porch, watching the sunset, Harvey smoking his pipe and Allison sipping tea.
Dirk was thinking about Inga, eager to visit her again the next morning. Yesterday she’d looked at him, and he’d felt like she’d actually seen him. Really seen him for the first time in weeks. It had given him hope, something to hang onto. He missed her. He loved her. He wanted her home.
Allison broke the silence. “It is tragic, the loss of a child.”
Dirk was jerked abruptly from his thoughts.
“It is something a mother never forgets.”
He didn’t bother to answer. He hadn’t discussed Inga or her illness with the Trents in all the time they’d been at the farm. He didn’t intend to now.
“Astrid told us about her sister,” Allison explained.
Dirk wished Astrid hadn’t said anything, but he wasn’t sure why. He’d stopped feeling uncomfortable with the Trents more than a week ago. He’d actually been enjoying their visit. The only thing that would have made it more enjoyable was if Inga had been there, too.
“Harvey and I had a little girl of our own,” Allison continued, her voice soft. “She was born in Austria. Her name was Lisette.” She looked up at the sky. “She died before her first birthday. It was pneumonia that took her from us. I wanted to die myself. So you see, I do understand.”
Dirk thought about saying he was sorry, but before he could do so, Allison changed the subject.
“Margaret always talked about her brother-in-law, the adventurer. She told us about all the places you planned to explore in your travels. It must have been difficult for you, returning here to raise Martha and Suzanne with only your mother’s help. It must not have seemed very exciting.”
He shrugged, feeling that odd uneasiness returning.
Allison glanced at her husband.
“Dirk,” Harvey said, “my wife and I have been talking things over and we think we could be of service to you.” He sounded every bit the diplomat.
“Of service?” Dirk questioned.
“Yes. You see, the Trent family home near Philadelphia is large and has been empty for too many years. It is a perfect place for children.”
He frowned. “I suppose you mean Martha and Suzanne.”
“We know John and Margaret intended for their daughters to remain here with you and your mother.” Harvey looked at Allison. “But now that Hattie is dead and your wife is ill—”
“The girls aren’t goin’ anywhere.” Dirk rose from his chair, glowering for emphasis.
Harvey stood, too. “Hear me out.” When Dirk said nothing, he continued, “I inherited a great deal of wealth from my father, and I’ve done well in my own career. We’d like to share our good fortune. It seems we shall have no more children of our own, but we would love Margaret and John’s daughters like they were ours. We can give Martha and Suzanne a life few others enjoy. They would travel. They would go to the best schools. They would wear the finest clothes and know the best people. They would never know want of any kind.”
Allison touched Dirk’s arm. “You have been a wonderful uncle to them, Mr. Bridger, and it’s clear they adore you. But we would love them, too.”
“I’m sure you would love ’em,” Dirk began, trying to keep his voice calm, “but this is their home. This is where John and Margaret wanted them to be.”
Harvey stroked his chin thoughtfully. “There is more we are prepared to offer.”
“Whatever it is won’t change my mind.”
“We would like to underwrite your expeditions.”
“My expeditions?” His gaze moved from Harvey to Allison and back again.
“That’s right. We’ll provide whatever funds you need, for as long as you need. Enough for you and your wife. You’ll be able to pursue the adventures you always wanted. Go around the world. Visit exotic places.”
Dirk shook his head, disbelieving what he heard.
“And,” Harvey went on, “if your wife’s health does not allow her to accompany you, we will see she receives the best specialized medical care money can provide.”
Allison rose from her chair. “At least think about it, Mr. Bridger.” She looked at her husband. “I believe it is time we retired for the night.”
“Do give it some thought,” Harvey said. Then he took Allison’s arm and the two of them went inside, leaving Dirk alone on the porch.
Oh, he would think about their incredible offer, all right. He’d think about it and little else.
Twenty-three
Karl slept with his head resting against the wall of the passenger car. Fatigue etched his youthful face. Thea felt a twinge of guilt, although she refused to recognize why she would feel that way.
She was seated across from Karl, watching him as he slept and wondering what the future held in store. Even more, she wondered what she felt for Karl, the boy who had made her laugh, the young man who had introduced her to the pleasure of his kisses.
What had happened to those feelings? She was confused so much of the time. Nothing had gone as she’d imagined it would.
With a sigh, she turned her gaze out the window at the darkness.
They were going home. At last. They would arrive in Des Moines before dawn, and they should reach Uppsala before lunch. It would be good to be home. Karl had resisted for a while, but in the end, he had given in to her—as she’d been certain he would. She knew he loved her. Karl had always tried to give her whatever she wanted. She knew he wanted her to be happy. And she would be happy, once things were as they used to be.
Except—she was beginning to realize—things would never again be as they used to be. She was going home with a husband. She was a married woman now. When her sisters saw her, they wouldn’t look at her the same way they had before. Neither would her parents. Her pappa would give her that stern look of his. His gaze would be filled with disappointment but with love, too. Mamma would cry, of that Thea could be certain, but they would be tears of joy for a daughter returned. And tears of joy for her new son-in-law, too. Thea’s parents would welcome Karl into the family, into their home. They would forgive the young couple for eloping, but things still wouldn’t be the same as before.
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