That evening Amalie asked question after question about their new neighbor. Jan quirked an eyebrow at Søren, turned his eyes toward his plate, and abandoned his sønn to trying to recall—and satisfactorily repeat—every detail of what Fru Brünlee was wearing, where she was from, what her plans were, whether she would be coming to church in the morning, and so on.
Søren glowered at his father, but Jan was paying careful attention to his potatoes, pretending he didn’t see his sønn’s accusing looks. That is until, after several minutes, when he realized that the table had gone silent and an unanswered question hung in the air.
Jan glanced up. Amalie was leveling her own stony look at him and Søren wore a smug grin. The children giggled behind their hands.
“What?” Jan shrugged his shoulders. “What is it, Amalie?”
“I said I was hoping to ask Fru Brünlee to Sunday dinner tomorrow.”
“Oh?”
“I asked if it would be all right with you, Jan Thoresen, but your potatoes seem to be of uncommon interest this evening.”
The boys guffawed and Uli giggled aloud, not even trying to hide their glee. It wasn’t often that Mamma’s ire was directed at Onkel Jan!
Jan flushed. “Of course, Amalie.” He looked around the table. “Well? Is everyone finished? It is already time for us to clear away the food and read God’s word, eh?”
The children quickly turned their attention to their plates.
~~**~~
Chapter 35
Fru Brünlee did come to Sunday dinner the next day. Søren introduced Amalie to their neighbor before church began and, at a nudge from Amalie, offered the dinner invitation, which the woman accepted. In spite of the language barrier, Amalie also, in her own inimitable way, appropriated their neighbor’s company during the service.
As was their routine, Jan sat at one end of a pew with a row of Thoresen children between himself and Amalie. What was not usual was the presence of Fru Brünlee sandwiched between the children and Amalie. Even with the children as a buffer, he could hear her clear voice during the singing.
As it lifted sweetly, Jan paused and listened. Something hopeful and vibrant clung to her voice, but perhaps something sorrowful at the same time.
Jacob’s message that morning was powerful, and Jan sensed the Holy Spirit working through it. His sermon ended with these words: “Pray with me now: Lord Jesus, I ask you to forgive me and receive me as one of your lost sheep. I turn away from other gods, other desires, other paths. I will follow you. I will listen for your voice and live for you. Thank you for dying for my sins! Amen.”
The Thoresens filed out, but Fru Brünlee remained seated, lost in prayer.
When she finally emerged from the church house, the Thoresens and McKennies gathered around her, hugging and exclaiming in joy.
“You’re born-again now, Miss Rose! Praise God for his lovingkindness! We’re seein’ it all over your face. Sure an’ it’s like glory in your eyes!” Fiona said with tears.
Fru Brünlee didn’t answer, but she hugged Fiona, she hugged Brian and Meg. Amalie squeezed her enthusiastically and Søren shook her hand. Sigrün simply smiled at her.
Jan stood a little to the side. His heart was happy for what had occurred, but he had no English words to convey his good will.
“I don’t know what to say,” Mrs. Brownlee finally managed. “I never knew God was so . . . so . . .”
Jan shook her hand. All he could manage in English was, “God is gud, ja?”
Sunday dinner was pleasant and, as on every Sunday, Jan led a discussion of the pastor’s message. He was mildly surprised at how engrossed Fru Brünlee became as Søren translated the conversation.
So! She has a new heart, now, Lord. She will be hungry for your word, eh? Jan mused as he, Søren, and the boys left the table for their chores.
“I think it will rain soon, Pappa,” Søren predicted. They both studied the dark clouds moving toward them.
“Ja, I agree. I will have the boys bring the cows in early.” Jan stopped and turned back. “Fru Brünlee has never seen a real farm, eh? Do you think she would like to see the milking?”
Søren shrugged. “I don’t know. I will ask her.”
Søren returned shortly with their neighbor. That she was delighted and curious was evident: Her head swiveled back and forth and her eyes tried to take in everything—and she had many questions. Jan chuckled over her enthusiasm. She seemed to be particularly enthralled with the goats, so he milked one and offered her a cup of the warm, frothing milk.
And put his foot in his mouth.
“Make fat.” Jan nodded at Mrs. Brownlee’s thin waistline.
Her gray eyes narrowed. “Thank you for the milk,” she replied politely. She rinsed and hung the cup on its hook and walked away.
Jan shrugged. “A temper that one has,” he huffed to no one in particular.
An hour later he saw that the rain Søren predicted was not far off. He went in search of his sønn. “Please tell Fru Brünlee that you will drive her home so that she does not get soaked in the rain that is almost here, eh? We can keep her horse and buggy overnight.”
Søren repeated Jan’s words, but Mrs. Brownlee flatly refused. “Tell your father thank you, but I was just about to leave, and I can handle getting a little wet. I had better go and say goodbye to Mrs. Thoresen.” Her annoyance was scarcely hidden.
Søren shrugged at his father and Jan shook his head.
She is stubborn, too! Jan added to his inventory of their neighbor. He and Søren followed her into the house.
After Fru Brünlee thanked Amalie for dinner—thanks that took many minutes and apparently had to include praise for their home, their kitchen, Amalie’s dishes, and the fine meal—and after the exchange of embraces, she leveled her gray eyes on Søren and Jan. “Will I be seeing both of you tomorrow?”
“Yes, you can count on us,” Søren answered.
Jan, convinced a wise man should keep his mouth closed, shook her hand silently.
He and Søren watched Mrs. Brownlee drive down the road. Within moments the rain was pouring, and her buggy was soon lost in the mist.
“Well, she is soaked now,” Søren observed. He and Jan exchanged bemused looks and both of them shrugged their shoulders.
“I don’t think I understand women,” Søren muttered.
His father just snorted.
Jan and Søren, toting their tools and lunch pail, returned to work on Mrs. Brownlee’s house Monday morning. The night’s heavy rain had leaked through the roof, so they stripped off the old shingles and rotted boards, tossing them to the ground below.
Fru Brünlee did not waste her time while they labored, Jan observed as she heated water outside and scrubbed her clothes. I doubt she has ever done her own laundry either, he opined, recalling her soft handshake.
By the time her washing was on the line, the men were cutting and nailing down new lumber on the roof. At the end of the day Jan was satisfied with their accomplishments. Søren informed their neighbor that they would return to shingle the roof in the morning.
The list of improvements was shrinking, and Jan’s concern was lessening. He and Søren were surprised to see Brian McKennie pull up in his wagon, his mule tied to the back.
“Good day t’ ye!” Brian called. Brian and Jan shook hands. “’Tis plowin’ Miss Rose’s garden t’day I will,” Brian informed them. “My Fiona will b’ teaching her th’ plantin’ on the morrow.”
Jan nodded and looked at Abigael’s old garden. Neglected for going on two years, the plot was overgrown with prairie grass. While Jan and Søren worked inside, Brian would have his hands full plowing and clearing the garden by himself.
Jan and Søren worked steadily, finishing the walls and starting the shelves and cupboards for Fru Brünlee’s cooking area. Søren ran in and out of the house fetching materials for Jan.
“She’s following Brian, breaking up clods,” Søren reported with a snicker.
“Eh?” Jan was engrossed
in cabinetry making.
“And I bet she’s never walked in dirt in her life!” Søren added, laughing.
At lunch time the four of them relaxed under the cottonwoods along the creek bank. At least the men did. Fru Brünlee sipped water. Jan could see she was already exhausted—and yet was eating nothing! He arched his brows at Brian but kept his opinions to himself.
I won’t make that mistake again! he vowed. He still had a picture of her driving away, back ramrod straight, in the drenching rain.
Brian finished the plowing soon after lunch, loaded his plow into the wagon, and headed home. An hour later Jan felt compelled to check on his neighbor.
He discovered her curled on the prairie grass, sound asleep. Her hair, usually so tidy, had fallen out of its pins. Pieces of grass stuck out of her loose braid.
I wonder if she knows ants are crawling on her dress? Jan chuckled to himself.
He looked over the garden plot. Brian had plowed less than half of what Abigael usually planted, but what he had turned over would produce more than enough food for one person. Fru Brünlee, however, had cleared only about half of the plowed area.
Jan realized his neighbor had awakened and was trying discreetly to tidy her hair. He nodded but didn’t say anything to her as she straightened her back, wincing in pain. Instead, Jan called to Søren in the house.
Jan pointed to the garden. “We should help her finish this, eh? Otherwise I don’t think she will be ready tomorrow when Fru McKennie comes to help her plant it.”
Søren smiled and called to her, “Well, Mrs. Brownlee, would you like some help ‘bustin’ sod’? The three of us can get it done before chore time.”
Their neighbor looked relieved and thanked him. “I really would appreciate it—and I’ll pay you, of course.”
Jan shook his head emphatically. “No,” Søren replied. “For the carpentry you can pay, but not for just being neighborly.” Jan saw her thinking on Søren’s words, her brows puckered.
Jan and Søren worked quickly, shaking and removing the clumps of prairie grass and leaving the dirt in the garden spot. They hoed, broke up the clods, and tossed out rocks.
“Take your rake now and level it out,” Søren instructed. They were packing up to leave. “When Mrs. McKennie comes tomorrow, she’ll help you get it planted.”
“Thank you both so much again,” Fru Brünlee responded in gratitude. She was smiling, so Jan and Søren smiled back.
She has a nice smile, Jan thought, in spite of that temper! He whistled as he and Søren hiked across the fields to their barn.
~~**~~
Chapter 36
Jan and Søren finished the repairs Fru Brünlee required with three days to spare. Jan had a never-ending list of tasks waiting for him at home—practical and needful tasks he should put his time and energy into. Yet as he recalled the porch drawings Fru Brünlee had made, he also recalled her disappointment. Disappointment she had quickly covered.
I can build that porch, Jan considered, tugging at his chin. Three days will be long enough. Søren need not spend his time helping with it.
So he built the veranda—just as his neighbor had sketched—across the front and down one side of her little house.
Well, she had her heart set on it, he rationalized later. Now she can sit there watching the sun come up in the morning. In the evening the sun will paint color and shadows across the prairie. She will have much pleasure from that veranda!
I liked building it for her.
He shrugged uncomfortably as he admitted to the pleasure building it for her gave him. He was turning those thoughts over in his mind when another thought distracted him—the watering system he and Søren had helped her build before they finished the repairs. It had been interesting watching her, novice that she was, planning it out, he and Søren following her instructions.
She played in the mud and water like a child—and tried hard not to like it.
He snorted a laugh. Yes, I enjoyed that, too, he mused, but most of all he had liked giving her Snøfot . . .
The inspiration had come to him the morning he was going to start on the veranda: With her own goat, she can have fresh milk every day! he’d realized, and learn to make her own gjetost. He’d shared the idea with Uli, and they had chosen Snøfot together, by far the prettiest of their goats.
His neighbor had been overwhelmed when Uli had presented the dainty goat to her. He’d seen that Rose—Jan frowned and corrected himself—Fru Brünlee—had been deeply touched by the gift.
She approached him with Snøfot dancing on the lead behind her. “Mr. Thoresen,” she’d said seriously, “I want to thank you.”
He hadn’t lifted his eyes from his tape measure and scrawled notes. Perhaps he’d been afraid that she would say her thanks and then quickly excuse herself and go about her business. So he had kept his eyes on his work but inquired, nonchalantly, “You like?”
“Yes. Yes, I do. I don’t have any idea how to take care of her, but she is the loveliest creature I’ve ever owned!”
Jan had struggled to understand as usual, but he’d caught part of it. “Uli teach.” He gestured at the yard, still keeping his eyes on his work but in truth racking his brain to form intelligible words in English. “Snøfot eat grass, all here. Make gud milk.”
And he had finally turned to her, letting her know that he expected her to keep her end of the unspoken “bargain.” “You get fat, ja?”
A shadow had crossed her face and he realized he had—again!—used that offensive word. Apparently “fat” was not the proper word to convey health and wellbeing in English!
You are an ignorant fool, Jan Thoresen! he berated himself.
But Fru Brünlee had shaken off the offense. He watched the short struggle as she weighed his good will against his misspoken words.
She had responded with an honest, “I will try. Thank you, really.” Then she had offered her hand.
He had nodded, shaken it, and turned back to building the veranda, the feel of her soft hand still tingling in his.
Not at all like Elli’s firm, strong hand.
The thought—the comparison—startled Jan.
Almost as soon as Fru Brünlee accepted Snøfot as a gift, coyotes found and followed the goat’s scent to her small stable. Jan and Søren heard about Fru Brünlee’s newest problem from Brian the following Sunday.
“Should I be getting a gun,” she says t’ me, with eyes that big,” Brian spoke out of the side of his mouth, shooting a backwards glance toward Rose Brownlee.
Brian had just repeated the tale “Miz” Brownlee had related to him: Coyotes had circled and tried to get into her little barn in the night. She had found their tracks in the morning.
“Nay, tis a dog ye mus be havin, says I,” Brian added, “boot she was nay likin’ th’ sound o’ that, I tell ye!”
As Søren translated Brian’s story, he and Jan couldn’t help but turn and stare at their neighbor across the churchyard.
Fru Brünlee, correctly deducing that they were talking about her, glared back and then straightened, lifted her chin and, with what Jan was certain was a sniff, turned her back on them.
Ach! She is in a fine mood! Jan smothered a grin. He and Søren listened to Brian finish and they agreed with him.
“You are right. She needs a dog,” Søren nodded. “Doesn’t your Connie still have some pups?”
Now Brian chuckled. “Aye, surely. She is havin’ two left that I would be givin’ Miz Brownlee th’ choice of, boot when I says so, her mouth was lookin’ like she’d bit int’ a persimmon!”
It was too vivid a picture. All three of them chuckled and Jan clapped a hand on Brian’s shoulder, still grinning.
Ja, I can see that! he laughed to himself. Then he sobered. Something still had to be done.
“She must be made to see reason about a dog,” he stated. Brian and Søren gaped at Jan, both conveying, “and who will be making her do that?”
Jan snorted. Apparently the task would fall to him.
“You gif dog Fru Brünlee?”
Brian nodded. “Aye. That I will.”
The next morning after chores, Jan saddled one of his bays. He didn’t ride astride often, but it was a lovely day for a ride, and he thought Uli would enjoy the errand. They headed toward the McKennies’, Uli chattering and bouncing behind him on the horse’s broad back.
As they crossed the bridge and climbed the knoll, Jan spied his neighbor working in her garden. She did not see them.
On the return trip from Brian and Fiona’s place he and Uli crested the rise and looked down toward Fru Brünlee’s home. Sprawled across the horse in front of Jan was one of Brian’s half-grown pups.
Jan shook his head. The young dog was going to be a handful. He wondered how his neighbor would react when she saw the pup.
This time, as they trotted down the track and into her yard, Fru Brünlee did notice them. She waited as they rode toward her.
“God-dag, Fru Brünlee,” Jan called. He swung Uli down and dismounted.
As Jan had hoped, Uli immediately ran to their neighbor. Jan could not understand all Uli was chattering to Fru Brünlee, but the woman always brightened when his little niece was around.
Ja, I’m counting on that, Lord! Jan prayed with a grimace.
Jan tied a rope to the dog’s collar and set him on the ground. He tried to see the dog through his neighbor’s eyes and was not encouraged: The pup was an ugly mongrel, all legs and huge paws, clearly with a great deal of growth ahead.
Jan led the dog to Mrs. Brownlee. The dog pulled at the rope and growled at him until Jan jerked firmly. Then the dog turned suspicious eyes on Fru Brünlee.
She eyed the dog with equal distaste, and Jan suddenly had to bite the inside of his cheek. He remained a silent but amused observer of Uli and Fru Brünlee’s exchange.
“Put your hand out to let him smell you,” Uli suggested.
“Will he bite me?” Fru Brünlee asked.
Uli looked surprised. “Why would he? He’s only mad at Onkel for making him lie quietly on the horse.” She held out her hand to the dog. “See?”
Wild Heart on the Prairie (A Prairie Heritage, Book 2) Page 26
