Wild Heart on the Prairie (A Prairie Heritage, Book 2)

by Vikki Kestell

  O God! his heart cried. Be my strength, Lord! We need you desperately.

  Karl passed away two evenings later. Jan prayed over him in the morning and then had seen Karl watching him with pain-racked eyes, eyes that pleaded with him.

  Jan pulled the kerchief down and gripped Karl’s hand. “I will take care of your family, Bror. I promise you.” Jan choked on the words, choked back his tears. “I promise you I will.”

  Karl could not speak, but his eyes were fixed on Jan and his face grew peaceful. When his eyelids slid shut in sleep he did not wake again. Jan stayed until the sun set when Karl breathed his last.

  Jan shuddered as he thought of telling Amalie and her children, and his breast ached with every breath. He had no further time to mourn just then, for he heard shrieking from the girls’ bedroom. He ran and found Fraulein Engel struggling with Sigrün.

  She was trying to carry Sigrün from the room but his ten-year-old niece, even weakened by the sickness, fought Fraulein Engel, screaming and kicking. Concerned the girl would do herself harm, Fraulein Engel returned her to her bed.

  “What is it?” Jan cried. “What are you doing?”

  The woman ignored Jan and busied herself tucking Sigrün back under the covers, speaking soothing words to her. Soon Sigrün calmed and her head fell onto her pillow.

  Fraulein Engel gestured Jan to the door and they stepped into the hallway together. She took a breath and finally looked Jan in the face.

  “Kristen,” she said softly. “Kristen is dying.” She searched for a word Jan would understand. “Kristen døende,” she said using a Riksmaal word. “Verstehst du?” Do you understand?

  Jan reeled against the wall. He understood. Fraulein Engel had been trying to remove Sigrün from the room so that she would not witness Kristen’s passing.

  His little datter dying? How could it be? Jan knelt by Kristen’s bedside.

  The sickness had ravished her young body. Now at the end, the form under the blankets was small, her face thin, the skin waxy and transparent. Jan found her little hand and covered it in both of his. Then Sigrün was beside him, huddled against his side, keeping vigil with him.

  Kristen did not wake but slipped away quietly while Jan prayed for her and prayed for his family. When he knew she was gone, he wept—long, racking sobs to which he could scarcely give voice, for he could not breathe.

  Sigrün flung her hands about Jan’s neck and pressed against him until he opened his arms to her. She buried her face in his shoulder and clung to him as he grieved. Jan felt her hot tears trickle down his neck, but she uttered not a sound.

  Night had fully fallen when Jan awoke with a start, lifting his head from Kristen’s bed. He still held Sigrün against his chest and he could tell by her even breathing that she, too, was sleeping.

  Fraulein Engel had covered Kristen’s face while Jan and Sigrün slept in exhausted anguish. Jan hugged Sigrün to him as he stood up, but she awoke.

  She would not allow Jan to put her to bed; she clung even tighter. Jan, giving in, wrapped her in a blanket, held her near, and went downstairs to the kitchen where he found Fraulein Engel.

  She gave Sigrün a cursory examination. “Gut!” She turned to go upstairs, then stopped. She pointed to the kitchen door and Jan understood. He opened the door and found Søren seated on the steps, weeping alone in the dark.

  “Fraulein Engel has told you?” Jan asked.

  “Ja, Pappa,” he sniffed. “Is that Sigrün? Is she better?”

  “She is getting better, I think. See?” Jan stepped back from the open doorway as Søren drew near. “I’m sorry I broke the screen door, Sønn, but I still want you to stay back and safe, ja?”

  Søren gave a little wave to Sigrün who held tight to Jan’s neck. She lifted a hand in return.

  “What of Mamma?” he asked anxiously.

  “I will check on her soon.” Jan’s throat tightened, the sadness overtaking him again. Sigrün reached up and pressed a hand to his cheek. “Takk, little one,” he whispered.

  He looked at Søren. “I am sorry you are alone this night, Sønn. It is a heavy burden to bear.” Søren bowed his head, and Jan longed to comfort him, but he could not.

  “Will you go to Henrik tomorrow and tell him we need him? Amalie will need Abigael, too.”

  When Fraulein Engel came downstairs an hour later, Jan could see her weariness. Nevertheless, she took Sigrün when Jan placed her on her lap. “I must go see your Tante Elli, Sigrün,” Jan whispered. “I promise to come back.”

  Sigrün released her hold and clung to Fraulein Engel.

  Jan went first to Kristen’s room, almost to assure himself that the nightmare was true and not something the dark of night had conjured. Jan stood stock still and his heart pounded, for Kristen’s bed had been stripped bare and her body was gone.

  Jan ran to Karl and Amalie’s room. There he found Karl and Kristen’s bodies, side by side, washed, and reverently wrapped in clean sheets.

  Ah, Lord God, Fraulein Engel has done more for us than we can ever repay. Jan knelt by the bed and prayed for his brother’s wife and children. He prayed for his own family. He prayed that God would give him strength for the dark days ahead. And he prayed for Elli.

  Morning dawned. Strengthened in his spirit, he stood and went to see his wife.

  Jan and Fraulein Engel had put Elli to bed in Søren’s room. Jan placed the kerchief over his mouth and nose and cracked the door to see if Elli was awake. She moaned and called for him. “Jan! Jan!” Her voice was rough from coughing.

  “I am here, Elli. Let me give you water to drink.” He sat beside her, lifted her head, and helped her to sip.

  “It hurts too much,” she whimpered.

  “Then I will fetch warm tea with honey.” Jan moved to go but Elli stopped him.

  “Nei! Jan! Please . . . I heard so many things in the night. I . . . Jan, I heard Sigrün screaming and . . . Please tell me what has happened?”

  Jan had not intended to tell Elli about Karl . . . about Kristen . . . while she was so ill. He bowed his head now and prayed again, Lord, I need you right now. Elli needs you. I do not know how to tell her! We are hopeless without you!

  But Elli gave him the words. “Jan . . . is our datter gone to heaven?”

  Jan covered his eyes with his hand and choked on a sob. “Ja, my love. She is gone to heaven.”

  “O Jesus!” Elli cried. “O Jesus! Help me!”

  Jan would not let her grieve alone. He removed the kerchief and gathered her into his arms.

  ~~**~~

  Chapter 23

  Hours later, Fraulein Engel knocked. “Herr Thoresen, kommen sie, bitte.” She took over Elli’s care and sent Jan down to the kitchen. He opened the door and saw Norvald and Inge, Henrik and Abigael, Rikkert and Duna, and Brian and Fiona waiting a safe distance from the house for him. Henrik had his arm about Søren’s shoulders. Søren’s friend Ivan stood at his side.

  “We are truly sorry, Jan,” Henrik murmured, sorrow written across his brow. “You cannot leave the house, ja? Who do you wish to tell Amalie? ”

  Jan saw the love and kindness on his friends’ faces. “Will you and Abigael go, Henrik?”

  Henrik nodded. “Ja, we will go.” He shuffled his feet and glanced at Norvald who nodded. “Please tell us where to dig the graves, eh? We would do this for your family. Søren will help us.”

  Graves! Jan was crushed again. I must put my bror and my datter in the ground! He gazed across the yard to where the ground sloped up to the apple trees.

  He pointed with his chin. “Elli and I buried our little baby sønn just there, below the apple trees.”

  His thoughts wandered away for a moment. Norvald coughed softly, calling him back.

  “Will you mark off a place for Karl and Amalie and their family? And on the other side of the baby’s grave, for us? . . . For Kristen?”

  We hadn’t planned a cemetery, Karl and I, his thoughts rambled. Someday Karl and Amalie will lie there together. And Elli and I w
ill lie, side-by-side, near Kristen.

  “We will take care of it, Jan,” Norvald answered. He understood what Jan was asking.

  Amalie was able to grieve openly. Their neighbors and the women of the church, particularly Heidi, gathered around her and took care of the children and the cooking. The men set up an outdoor kitchen; Norvald and Ivan brought the tables and benches from the German church. And all kept their distance from the house and the sickness inside.

  While Amalie wept and mourned, her sons, not understanding the magnitude of their loss, alternately cried for their pappa or played quietly. They endured the women of the church doting on them only because watching their mother weep was too much to understand.

  Jan watched silently from the kitchen doorway. His friends, standing safely away from the porch, spoke their condolences. Sigrün, wrapped warmly, stayed glued to Jan’s side and made no sound.

  Other friends arrived as the morning wore on. Jan heard the sounds of sawn lumber and hammered nails. In the background he glimpsed Adolphe and Rakel Veicht. Adolphe stared at Jan but made no gesture.

  When the men finished the caskets, they set them just at the bottom of the steps. While Fraulein Engel put Sigrün to bed, Jan, by himself, carried Karl’s wrapped body downstairs and outside. Mothers called their children to their sides, and his friends moved their families farther back.

  With every muscle of his back and arms groaning, Jan lowered his brother slowly and carefully into the larger of the two caskets.

  “Please, Jan!” Amalie begged, straining against Henrik and Abigael. “Please let me only see my husband once more!”

  “I am sorry, Amalie,” was Jan’s weary reply.

  He returned a few minutes later with Kristen. His friends and neighbors had restrained their grief as Jan laid Karl in his coffin, but at the sight of Kristen’s tiny body they no longer could. Their open weeping nearly undid Jan. He could not see through the mist covering his eyes as he placed Kristen in the casket.

  Hammer, nails, and lids lay nearby. But he could not place the lid on Kristen’s coffin. His arms lost their strength and he could not move.

  “Herr Thoresen, let me help you,” a gentle voice spoke by his side. Jan did not understand. Fraulein Engel took Jan’s hand and they stood close to Kristen’s body. Fraulein Engel lifted the cloth from Kristen’s face so Jan could see.

  Jan blinked. It was Kristen . . . but it wasn’t Kristen. He stared longer, sure of what he saw. He inhaled, feeling life-giving air fill his lungs. Ah, Lord. She is no longer here. She is with you. He breathed again.

  Fraulein Engel led him to the lid. Jan offered a half smile to her, this woman who had faithfully followed her calling. She smiled back and nodded.

  Jan placed the lid on Kristen’s coffin. Nail after nail he drove into the fresh wood until it was fastened securely. He moved to Karl’s casket and looked a question at Fraulein Engel.

  “Ja,” she answered, and lifted the cloth from Karl’s face.

  “Amalie,” Jan called. “Come. Just you, please.”

  Amalie stumbled toward them, her grief and pregnancy making her clumsy.

  “Stand just there,” Jan instructed, pointing to a spot a foot from the coffin. “Do not touch him, Søster, I beg you.” He and Fraulein Engel stood on the other side of the coffin, away from Amalie.

  Grateful, Amalie nodded. “I thank you, Bror.”

  She gazed down on Karl’s face, so changed by the sickness, and sobbed once, covering her mouth with her hands.

  “Do you see?” Jan asked. Wonder hung in his voice. “I looked at Kristen, Amalie. She was not there! Do you see?”

  “But I want him, Jan! I want my husband!” Amalie wailed.

  “I know. My heart is breaking with you,” Jan whispered. “But you are not putting Karl in the grave, do you see? He is not here. He is already with Jesus!”

  Amalie stared and sobbed again. But her brow furrowed. “I-I think I see.” She gulped. “It is very like Karl but, no, it is not him!”

  “Can you be comforted, Amalie?” Jan asked. “Now you know it is not truly him we place in the ground this day?”

  Amalie still stared at Karl’s face. Then, resolute, she straightened her spine. “Ja. I know my ektemann, my husband, is with the Lord, as the Skriften promises us.”

  She turned to the other mourners and raised her voice. “I know he will rise again, when our Savior returns.”

  A chorus of amens affirmed her declaration. Amalie backed away and Jan placed the lid on Karl’s coffin.

  While Jan secured the lid to Karl’s coffin, he noticed Fraulein Engel call Norvald’s wife Inge to her. Fraulein Engel, from a safe distance, spoke a request. Inge nodded her agreement.

  Then Jan and Fraulein Engel retreated to the kitchen. Six men from the church carried Karl and four men, including Søren, carried Kristen. Jan and Fraulein Engel watched them climb the slope, but they would not go with them.

  Norvald paused a safe distance from Jan. “Inge and I would take Amalie and her boys home with us,” he told Jan. “Until the house is safe again.”

  “Tusen takk,” Jan answered. He went slowly up the stairs to comfort his wife.

  Elli’s fever increased during the day, and she thrashed and writhed under her covers, deep in delirium. Fraulein Engel directed Jan to bathe Elli in cool water to bring her fever down and she brought fresh, cold water to Jan from the outside pump.

  Jan did all Fraulein Engel asked; he did not leave Elli’s side, even to sleep. Still, the day ended, and at nightfall Elli remained unresponsive.

  Jan awoke abruptly in the dark but did not know why. The candle by Elli’s bed had guttered and gone out. He fumbled until he found and lit a fresh one.

  Elli was staring at him with bright, glittering eyes.

  “Elli!” Jan caught up her hand. “My love! How do you feel?”

  Her eyes closed for a moment, and Jan feared she had sunk back into sleep. Then they opened again and fixed on Jan’s face. Jan felt the smallest of pressure from her fingers in his hand.

  “Jan,” she mouthed. Jan was quick to bring a cup to her lips and bid her drink. “Jan,” she rasped, after she had taken a sip.

  “I am here,” Jan answered. Even in the candlelight, he did not like what he saw—the same waxy transparency he had noticed on Kristen’s skin, the sense that Elli’s body was emptying itself of all that was her—leaving only a mere husk in her place.

  A wave of panic rushed toward him. Don’t leave me, Elli!

  “Jan,” she mouthed again.

  “Ja, Elli! I am here!”

  “I . . . see . . .”

  Something so holy, so pure, and so sweet descended with those words that Jan stared, eyes wide, about the room.

  “See . . . him . . .” Elli breathed.

  Her gaze shifted beyond Jan, toward the ceiling, and Jan saw as her eyes cleared, the fever and pain gone. The hair on Jan’s arms rose as Elli’s visage filled with awe.

  “Oh!” A smile touched Elli’s mouth and remained, even as her spirit lifted away.

  Jan knelt by her bed, praying and weeping, until the earliest morning light lit the window of the room. He had determined that he alone would prepare Elli’s body for burial. By the time an exhausted Fraulein Engel woke for the day, he was finished.

  It was she who fell to her knees in open grief when she stepped into the room and realized Elli was gone. “Meine Tochter! Meine Tochter!” My daughter! My daughter! Fraulein Engel wept.

  Jan went down to the kitchen and stripped off his clothes, tossing them into a heap in the corner. With soap and the hottest water he could bear, he bathed his head, arms, and chest and dressed in clean clothes.

  He stepped outside and strode to the barn. Søren and Henrik were mucking out the milking stations. Henrik noticed Jan first. He paused, and a look of sad resignation crossed his face. He inclined his head toward Søren.

  Jan nodded. Henrik, tears already washing his cheeks, left the barn.

  “Søren,” Jan
spoke quietly.

  Søren turned. Jan held out his arms—he saw the exact moment when his sønn realized what his father had come to tell him. With an anguished cry, Søren ran to his father.

  Jan sent Henrik to spread the news. “We will bury Elli tomorrow,” he stated, staring into the distance. Later Jan set about building a casket for Elli.

  “Come, Sønn. We will build her a fine coffin together, eh?” He and Søren sanded and oiled the wood until it gleamed. They took the coffin into the living room and set it upon two chairs.

  Jan brought Elli’s body downstairs and placed it inside the coffin. “Stay on the other side, Sønn, and come no closer,” Jan instructed.

  Then, as Fraulein Engel had done with Kristen and Karl, Jan lifted the corner of the sheet from Elli’s face. The hint of a smiled remained on her lips.

  Ah, Lord! I can still feel your presence!

  “My Mamma is so beautiful,” Søren murmured.

  “Ja, she is,” Jan agreed.

  He sent Søren from the house and fastened the coffin closed. Then he took another bath and changed clothes yet again. Fraulein Engel gathered his clothes and tied them in a clean sheet.

  Early in the morning Jan arose and helped Søren with the chores. The smell of a fire drew both of them into the yard. They found Fraulein Engel burning every mattress in the house in the fire pit used for laundry. On the ground beside the fire were bundles of soiled clothing, sheets, and blankets.

  Jan fetched the two heavy cauldrons for her and placed them over the fire. Fraulein Engel began filling them with water.

  “She is much better today,” Fraulein Engel motioned toward the house.

  Jan saw Sigrün curled in a chair, wrapped in a clean blanket. Fraulein Engel had placed the chair under a window where Sigrün could watch her work.

  Families began arriving midmorning, and Jan realized what Fraulein Engel was about when several of the women, directed by Inge, draped new, clean mattresses on a length of fence near the house. Even as more people arrived, Fraulein Engel busied herself cleaning every bedroom, washing the walls, floors, and bare bedsteads with harsh soap and scalding water. Sigrün would live and was no longer contagious. Fraulein Engel was expunging the sickness from the house.