And yet his feelings were confusing and perhaps not merely neighborly. He pulled himself upright when he questioned where they were leading him.
You are but an old farmer and she is a rich, young woman, Jan Thoresen! he scolded himself. There is nothing there for you. Nothing.
Christmas drew near and so did the end of the school’s first term. The school recital was rare entertainment for their little community. The program was scheduled for the Saturday before Christmas Eve, and Amalie’s children were wild to perform their parts well.
Jan looked around the simple schoolhouse—filled to capacity with the parents of school children and the children themselves that afternoon.
You are hoping your neighbor will come, is that it? he accused himself in a scorching tone. And then he saw she had come with the McKennie clan. Jan leaned against a wall where he had a good view of the platform—and of his neighbor.
Why are you doing this? his mind shouted.
Because I enjoy watching her, he answered honestly. I enjoy watching her experience new things and . . . watching her learn to live again after . . . After what? Yes, after receiving new life in Christ, but also after . . . something else. Something tragic?
What do you really know about her? he asked himself. Jan began to list what he knew of his neighbor and question what he did not know of her.
Ja, she has been married, he knew, a widow. A contrary thought struck him. Struck him hard.
She has money. What if, instead of a widow as we’ve assumed, she has fled a disastrous marriage? What if she is married still?
Jan swallowed, trying to moisten his suddenly dry throat. Could she be married still?
Why should that bother you, old man? he sneered. Nevertheless, he was disquieted. How do I find out more? he pondered. Does she have children? If so, where are they? Where is her family—her parents and siblings?
The recital concluded and Jan could remember nothing of it except Arnie’s animated rendition of “The Charge of the Light Brigade.” It had been well done—if not quite conventional—a poem immortalizing a recent war Jan had not heard of, in a place Jan did not know.
The following day was Christmas Eve. Amalie, Sigrün, and Uli were in a fever to finish the Christmas cooking and baking. Jan spent his free time in the barn working on secrets that would only be revealed Christmas morning.
They had invited Fru Brünlee to join them Christmas morning, but she had already accepted an invitation from the McKennies. Jan had to squelch the momentary annoyance—perhaps even resentment—he had felt toward Brian and Fiona when Amalie told him their neighbor had declined their invitation.
“Hrmph,” He was using a fine rasp to smooth the wooden train set he had built for the younger boys.
He growled again as he glanced at the trivet sitting on his bench. He’d carved the design from solid wood and rubbed it until it glowed in the lamplight. Sigrün had been delighted when he’d asked her to paint colorful rosemaaling designs on it.
It was to be a gift from the Thoresen family. But when would they have an opportunity to give it to her?
“Hrmph!” He still wasn’t feeling altogether charitable toward the McKennie clan.
That afternoon, Uli peered through the kitchen window toward their neighbor’s house. “Onkel,” she said as he came in the door, preoccupied and slightly sullen. “Why can we not carol at Mrs. Brownlee’s house this evening? I would like to be Saint Lucia and wear the crown of candles!”
Jan paused and considered her words. Why not indeed? He looked to Amalie.
“Ach! Why did we not think of this sooner?” she complained.
“Can we do it?” was all Jan wanted to know. Uli and the boys were clamoring for their mother to agree.
“Ja, sure we can,” she smiled. “We will just give her some of your candy and cookies, eh?”
The boys were instantly crestfallen but Uli just laughed. “Mamma! We have been baking for days! We have plenty.”
“Ja, we have plenty,” Amalie laughed with her. “I am teasing. But Jan, we must take her lutefisk, too, don’t you think?” The house was soaking in the pungent odor of the traditional Norwegian treat.
Lutefisk! Of course! Jan smiled. A perfect gift!
An hour after dark Jan and Søren hitched the bays to the Thoresens’ sleigh. Amalie and the girls, their arms full of treats and gifts, climbed in with Søren, who would drive. Jan and the boys trudged through the snow alongside the sled.
The sleigh bells jingled merrily across the bridge and through their neighbor’s yard. In front of her front door they piled out and organized themselves. Amalie placed the crown of candles on Uli’s head and Jan lit each taper.
Søren had to keep shushing the boys who were giggling and cutting up. Each of them carried some small package of cookies or candy; Jan carried the still-warm lutefisk wrapped in brown paper. His nose crinkled with appreciation.
Then they were ready and trooped up the front steps to their neighbor’s door. Jan led them in a traditional carol in Riksmaal and they sang with happy hearts.
When Fru Brünlee opened the door to their singing, she smiled her welcome. She was framed by the light behind her and for some reason Jan lost his breath. The carol ended well, but Jan had stopped singing.
“Oh, how lovely!” Fru Brünlee exclaimed.
The children pushed forward, eager to deliver their packages, and she waved them all inside. Amalie, Sigrün, and Jan came behind them.
“But what is this?” Rose demanded of the children. “Explain it to me.”
“I’m Saint Lucia!” Uli bragged. “See my candles? We’re looking for my new eyes but we found you instead!”
The boys laughed and hooted at Uli’s description.
Søren added, “It is Norwegian tradition to visit one’s neighbors between Saint Lucia’s day—the thirteenth of December—and Christmas to bring candies and sweets. You are our only close neighbor so here we are—even if we are nearly late!”
Amalie and Fru Brünlee undid the packages; their neighbor exclaimed over each gift of cookies, candies, and cakes, and she promptly handed them around. Jan offered her the lutefisk and laughed as she wrinkled her nose.
“What is it?” She eyed it with suspicion.
“Lutefisk. Ver special,” Jan explained. He cut the cord with his pocketknife and unwrapped the package. The Thoresens sniffed appreciatively.
“Ver special for Christmas,” Jan explained, but he could not keep his eyes from twinkling. He could tell she hated the smell—and would die before she admitted so.
“Try, please?” The odor was having an unpleasant effect on Fru Brünlee. She forced herself to try the offered bite. He laughed—until he saw her nauseous expression.
Jan re-wrapped the fish. “Lutefisk not for ever’one. We take home and eat more, eh?”
“Thank you, anyway.”
Then the children offered their present.
“I’m sure I didn’t expect a gift,” she protested.
“Open it! Open it!” they urged.
Jan could tell she liked it. She rubbed her fingers over the gleaming wood and gently touched the painting.
“Sigrün did the rosemaaling,” Uli said proudly. “And Onkel carved the wood.”
“It’s truly beautiful—thank you all, very much!” Her pause was only the briefest. “Now I have a gift for all of you.”
Jan was surprised, but the children clapped their enthusiasm. Their neighbor reached under her bed and pulled out a small box. She set it on the table and invited them to look.
Kjell lifted the lid. “Oh!”
The other boys and Uli crowded up to see. The box was lined with shells, starfish, coral, and sea horses—things the children had never seen.
“What are they?” Uli breathed.
“Let’s take them out and see,” Fru Brünlee suggested. Carefully they removed the items and laid them where they could be seen. They listened attentively as she described each piece, where it came from, and what it was l
ike in the ocean before it died or washed up on a beach.
“However did you collect them all, Mrs. Brownlee?” Karl asked. He was holding a large red starfish.
She cleared her throat and answered calmly. “My son collected them over the last four years. It was a hobby of his, but I knew you had never seen anything like them so I asked my mother to send them to me for you. Do you like them?”
“Yes’m!”
Jan had listened intently to the conversation. So, Lord, now I know a little more, eh? She has a mother and I think she has lost a son.
When he watched her struggle and master her emotions, a kindred compassion surged in his breast. Ah, I know. I know your pain, Fru Brünlee. I know.
As the Thoresens took their leave, their neighbor gave each of the children a candy cane and a hug. She hugged Sigrün and Amalie and shook Søren’s hand. Last of all she shook Jan’s hand.
“Merry Christmas, Mr. Thoresen.”
“Ja, and a ver Merry Christmas for you,” Jan answered. Then he whispered. “And I denk you.”
She did not understand.
“Denk you for special gift to children,” he repeated. “Ver special.” He pressed her hand and bowed. And then she did understand.
She ducked her head to hide the sudden moisture, but he saw it, just for an instant, gleaming on her lashes.
~~**~~
Chapter 40
Winter days were short and nights were long. In the evenings, Jan and Mr. Letoire now had time to work on Jan’s English. Jan made an attempt to include Amalie in the beginning, but she had no real interest. Before long it was only Jan and the schoolmaster bending over books at the kitchen table.
English was not Jan’s only preoccupation in the dark evenings.
Ach! What will Amalie think if I wear a hole in this carpet? Jan thought and grimaced. From the window in their living room he could see all of Mrs. Brownlee’s house and yard. From there he could see her coming from and going to the house to her chores. And he’d found himself drawn to this window . . . regularly.
Like every morning. And every evening.
He shook his head. I cannot be entertaining such thoughts, he chided himself. He stared again at the little house across the fields and across the creek.
Such thoughts? What thoughts? What thoughts could he possibly be thinking?
He stared deeply into his heart and frowned. He only knew that the vague sense of responsibility for a neighboring woman alone on the prairie was growing . . . into something more.
He rubbed his face hard. A blizzard was coming soon. He could feel it in his bones.
He glanced at the house again and saw the woman, wrapped against the cold, heading for her little stable. No doubt to feed and water her stock. She has taken to her responsibilities better than I expected.
Jan cocked his head and listened. The wind was shifting. Picking up. He glanced back across the fields. She was at the pump now, filling a bucket. She glanced up and stared into the distance.
Søren unexpectedly joined him at the window. “Do you think she knows a blizzard is coming?” he asked. “I can see the cloud. It is southwest of us, coming fast. Surely she will see it, too.”
Jan shook his head. “I don’t know.” He tore himself away from the window. “Are we ready for it?”
“Yes, Pappa. The boys and I have taken care of the stock. They have plenty of feed and water for now. The barn and sheds are closed up.”
As Jan nodded his approval, a gust of wind slammed the farm house. He wanted to go back to the window and make sure their neighbor was safe in her house, but Søren was there, watching. Instead Jan made for the kitchen to wash up.
The season of blizzards was upon them. As inconspicuously as possible, Jan kept an eye out for Mrs. Brownlee from the window in the living room. Each time a storm screamed across the prairie and fell upon them, Jan felt an uneasy need to know that his neighbor was tucked, safe and secure, within her home. And he was glad after each storm that he and Søren had insisted on certain improvements to Abigael and Henrik’s house—particularly the new roof and strong doors.
Many times as evening fell he saw the lamplight flare in her window. Jan imagined his neighbor reading or cooking in the tiny but snug house. The picture he drew in his mind made him smile.
The last Saturday in February another storm pummeled their community. As the family arose Sunday morning, there was no thought of going out in the blinding snow and wind for church. After the men and boys took care of the milking and the stock’s needs, the family settled in for a day of quiet indoor activity.
Jan stared through the window but could see nothing of his neighbor’s house. The winds had scoured a high drift of snow against the barn, and he could not even make out the shapes of their sheds through the swirling snow.
Jan frowned. Lord, please help our neighbor, eh? She will be sorry to miss church today.
The weather began to abate early Tuesday morning, but as soon as the Thoresens finished the milking, the bruising roar of another storm was upon them. The pounding of wind-blasted snow lasted until Friday afternoon.
By then Jan was surly and anxious for Fru Brünlee. Uli, unknowingly, offered a way to allay his worries.
“Onkel, look at the sunshine on the snow!” she shouted. “Can we go for a sleigh ride? Please?”
Jan opened his mouth to snap a crotchety “no” and caught himself. An audacious idea—a perfect idea!—had entered his mind.
“Bundle up, little one, ja? It may be bright, but it is very cold!” He pulled on a heavy wool sweater and buttoned his long coat over it. He twined a scarf around his neck and covered his head with a thick wool cap.
Then he had Little Karl help him carry the sleigh out of the barn and hitch it to the bays. He surreptitiously glanced across the fields but saw no activity at his neighbor’s house other than a wisp of smoke curling from the stovepipe.
A few minutes later he and Uli were flying down the frosty track toward the bridge. The sleigh’s bells rang brightly in the icy air. He pulled up in front of Mrs. Brownlee’s house and was a bit disappointed when she did not step out to welcome them. Wouldn’t she have been alerted by the happy, jingling sound of sleigh bells?
“Let us knock on her door, Uli, shall we?” Uli bounded up the steps and he followed behind her. She was already knocking on the door when Jan joined her.
They waited. After a few moments their neighbor answered the door and Uli bounded inside, announcing joyously, “Mrs. Brownlee! Onkel is taking me for a ride; do you want to come?”
Their neighbor said nothing, only nodded her response. Jan followed Uli inside and closed the door while their neighbor, wordlessly, went for her cloak, bonnet, and gloves.
Jan cocked his head. Something was not right with Fru Brünlee.
He studied her and saw dull, puffy eyes and a forced smile. Were those tears drying on her cheeks?
Their neighbor, as if she were swimming in thick fog, slowly dragged on her hat and gloves. Uli frowned and looked up at her onkel, concern on her young face.
Jan stepped forward to assist as Fru Brünlee fumbled with her cloak. Unconsciously she sniffed and rubbed her cheek with a gloved hand.
Jan looked from Uli to Fru Brünlee. Without warning he grabbed Uli and “whiskered” her cheek, sending her into a fit of laughter. The sound of Uli’s cheerful laughter seemed to wake their neighbor from her stupor.
“Sun is ver shining today, Mrs. Brünlee,” Jan said in a light tone. “Ver gud day drive, ja?”
He hustled Uli and Fru Brünlee outside and into the sleigh, wheeled the team around, and raced up the hill. From there they flew across the snow-crusted upper fields of her property.
Uli screamed in delight and Jan did not discourage her, noticing that his neighbor was waking and taking note of the scenery flying by. Jan drove for miles, letting Uli’s chatter and the fresh air do their work.
His little niece sang “Jingle Bells”—many times—and Fru Brünlee joined in. Jan was
relieved to see her smile and sniff the snowy air. Later when Uli fell asleep between them, Jan and his neighbor rode, at a more sedate pace, in companionable silence.
“Vinter most gone, now.” Jan wanted her to know that the worst was over. “March haf many nice days; some storm too, but most getting nicer.”
Fru Brünlee sighed. “I guess I don’t care much for winter out here, but I can’t say I wasn’t warned.”
Jan didn’t care for the edge of defeat he heard in her response. He shrugged. “Vinter ver hard, all. Must busy. Must outside some and also vit’ people.”
“I know. I just haven’t been able to see anyone recently. I guess I let it get me down.”
“Not eat gud, also?”
“Hm? Oh. Food hasn’t tasted good to me lately.”
He knew he was risking a cold rebuff, but still he gently suggested, “Mrs. Brünlee, body belong God; must take care for him, ja? Take care mind, too.”
“Your English is improving, Mr. Thoresen. Have you been working on it?”
Jan chuckled in silence. How deftly she turned the subject! Now this was his neighbor!
Glancing sideways at her Jan answered carefully, “Ja, am learn some.”
The sun was low on the horizon when Jan and Uli returned Fru Brünlee to her home. The dog she had named “Baron” ran between them and jumped up on her skirts, refusing to be ignored.
Jan snorted. She had developed an affection for the ugly mongrel but had certainly not trained him well.
Over Baron’s yips, she thanked him for the ride.
“I take Uli Monday,” Jan mentioned quietly, staring out over the snow-laden fields. “You like come too?”
“Yes, I would. I would greatly enjoy it.”
It was during the long winter and over the course of several sleigh rides that Jan began to pray . . . not just for his neighbor, but about her.
~~**~~
Chapter 41
Jan had given in completely. He enjoyed watching his neighbor—surreptitiously, of course—and was always glad when Amalie announced Fru Brünlee would be coming for Sunday dinner.
Wild Heart on the Prairie (A Prairie Heritage, Book 2) Page 29
