“Rose!” Jan choked on his words and his love poured out. He could not stop—he babbled words of endearment in his native tongue, not knowing if she could hear them, knowing she could not understand them.
“Rose! Little Rose!” he called her urgently.
In his arms, her body shuddered. “Help me,” she moaned.
Alive! O thank you, God, she is alive!
She moaned again and her head twisted against his chest. “Please! Don’t let me fall in the river . . .”
“Nei, Rose, I not let you fall,” he murmured and pressed her closer to his chest so his warmth would comfort her.
Forever, he cried to God. This is what I want, Lord! To forever hold her and comfort her!
Brian appeared with a torch. In the light Jan looked down on Rose’s face to assure himself that she was truly alive. Her face was so cold that her cheekbones shone like polished white marble in the flickering light. Jan carried her across the yard and into the house, surrendering her to Fiona and Meg.
They were ready with towels, dry clothes, and hot bricks to tuck into the bed. Fiona, her face sober with worry, gently shooed him away.
Jan stepped into the other part of the house and saw Grader, his arms and legs still tied to a chair. The man watched Jan with anxious eyes.
Jan’s chin dropped to his chest and he prayed. O Lord, I surrender this unruly heart to you. Totally. I hold nothing back.
He looked at Grader again. The man was terrified for his life.
Jan began to string halting words together in English. “I sorry,” was his first quiet, awkward sentence.
He wanted to say, I was wrong! It is not my place to condemn! but “Please to forgiving me,” was as close as he could manage.
Grader’s mouth opened a little. He did not answer.
Jan licked his lips, searching and desperate for right words. “I forgiving it to you,” he said, meeting Grader’s gaze.
Jan swallowed hard. “You.” He pointed at Grader, who flinched. “You asking da Lord Jesus. He forgiving it to you, too.”
Grader stared at Jan, perplexed. Jan wasn’t surprised—he knew how pathetic his attempt to tell him that Jesus would forgive him had been! But perhaps Grader would, somehow, understand.
And then . . . Grader’s eyes misted over. He dropped his gaze to the floor and a sob caught in his throat.
Jan nodded and started toward the door. Tusen takk, Lord.
He closed the door behind him.
~~**~~
Chapter 44
Jan wandered through the barn and out into the acres of young, green cornstalks. O Lord, how in the world did I get here? How did I manage to fall in love with this woman—and I cannot even have a conversation with her, let alone tell her all that is in my heart! I am a pathetic fool, Lord.
It had been days since he had spoken to his neighbor. He stopped walking and stared across the corn and across the creek. But, O Father, how I need her! She is like a cool, soaking rain on my dry, parched heart. She is like your grace when I am weak.
A desire deeper than any he’d ever known gripped him. O God, I need your wisdom. I need your help.
He saw his son stride across the barnyard, his long legs eating up the distance, a youthful “bounce” in his walk. Ah, to be young again with so much energy! Jan chuckled.
No sooner had the thought passed through his mind than another obstacle raised its head. Jan grabbed his head with both hands. Ach! And she is so much younger than me! What could she possibly see in me? I’m almost old and used up.
He listed all the reasons Rose could not return his love: There were such vast differences in their backgrounds and language! She was wealthy and cultured; he was, well, only a farmer! She was young and lovely; he was at least twenty years her senior!
Jan wondered, not for the first time, how he could discover Rose’s age. Was there ever any good way to ask a woman how old she was? Jan ran his hand through his hair in frustration—again.
I’m not getting any work done today, Lord, he groused. How can I work when I feel that my future is in that little house over there and I cannot reach out and talk to her?
Jan saw Søren take the steps to the kitchen two at a time. He smiled. Oh, if I had only applied myself to learn English like Søren had years ago . . . If only I could speak it as naturally as he can! If only—
No.
An implausible idea crept into his head. A daring idea. Jan turned it over and considered it from all sides.
But Søren would never . . . would he?
Jan heard the kitchen door slam all the way across the cornfield. Søren bounded down the steps toward the barn.
Jan’s eyes narrowed. He was halfway to the barn before he realized he’d made up his mind. He didn’t care what Søren felt! He would harden his heart against Søren’s protests and his sønn would obey him in this.
“Søren!” Jan shouted the name. “Søren!”
“Yes, Pappa. What is it?” Søren was mucking out the milking stations. Karl, Arnie, and Kjell, each busy with their own chores, stuck their heads out curiously.
“Come. You and I will take a bath. Clean clothes.”
Søren gaped as though his far had grown a second head. “Pappa? It is only Tuesday. We bathed already this week, ja?” Karl, Arnie, and Kjell, hearing the word bath, scattered.
“We will bathe again. Now. In one hour we will be clean and ready.” Jan turned away without further explanation.
“But Pappa? Where are we going?” Søren was talking to Jan’s back—he was already halfway to the house.
Amalie! Jan nearly panicked. Amalie will want to know what I am doing!
Then Jan remembered. Ah, yes! Amalie and Uli are at a quilting. Good! His sister-in-law would not be asking any questions.
Jan put two large pans on the stove, filled them with water, and built up the fire. He was dragging out the heavy hip bath when Søren, still baffled, dragged himself through the back door.
“Go. Fetch clean clothes,” Jan said, ignoring Søren’s questions. While Søren was in his room, Jan ran to his room in the barn to lay out his own clothes but halted, caught momentarily in a conundrum.
Should he wear his suit? Wouldn’t that be most appropriate? Jan’s hands trembled as he reached for it. Sweat was already beading on his forehead. He was suddenly anxious!
This is madness! he thought, almost talking himself out of the whole thing. Then he thought of Rose and he could not bear another night of wondering, of aching.
He looked again at the suit. No. He was already nervous enough. Just ordinary clothes, but clean and fresh smelling.
Forty-five minutes later, with both of them clean and dressed, Jan sat Søren down at the kitchen table and told him. There would be no turning back now.
“Sønn, in a few minutes we are going to Fru Brünlee’s. I will ask her . . . to marry me.”
Jan couldn’t believe the words had come from his mouth, but Søren jumped out of his chair. “I knew it! I knew it! I knew there was something going on!” He grinned at his father and punched him in the arm. “She’s great, Pappa. I am so happy for you!”
Jan stared steadily at Søren. He would not allow his nervousness to show. “Just so. I am glad you approve.”
“So what do you need me for? You don’t want me there, messing up your big moment!” Søren, still grinning, babbled on. “You know, Ivan and I thought something was up at Sigrün and Harold’s wedding, especially when you were singing and—” He frowned. “Say, why did I need to take a bath and clean up, anyway?”
“Sit down, Sønn,” Jan commanded. When Søren sank onto his chair, Jan leaned over the table and looked him in the eye.
“I do not speak the English well, do I?”
Søren shook his head. “No, but I’m sure you and Mrs. Brownlee will—”
“—And I have not the way of flowery speech, have I?” Jan pressed, waving him off.
“Yes, but—”
“—And you speak the English just like an
American, eh? Even just as well as Fru Brünlee, ja?” Jan’s eyes bored into Søren’s.
“Well, of course, but I—” Søren stopped. He stared back at his father, the worst possible thought popping into his head. His eyes widened.
“No, nei, nei, nei, Pappa! You could not want me to, you don’t mean—”
“—Søren, you will help me in this, ja? I need you to do this important thing for me.”
Søren was shaking his head. “But Pappa!” He was almost whining.
Jan ignored him. “Søren, you will tell her, Fru Brünlee, I am speaking for my father. You will say, Please do not think of me; only listen to my words as the words my father says to you. You will say exactly what I say to her and tell me exactly what she tells me back. You will do this for me.”
Søren, his mouth an incredulous “o,” wagged his head back and forth in protest. Jan skewered him with relentless eyes. “You will do this for me,” he repeated.
When Jan could be put off no more, he and Søren set out across the young cornfield toward the creek. Søren dragged his feet and muttered dark things under his breath.
Jan ignored him. He was giddy—no; flushed with fear! Then almost sick with worry—then elated. His hands felt clammy, his throat tight, closed off.
Rose was watering her flowers and saw them coming; Jan’s breath caught as she raised her hand in happy greeting.
Rose! You are so beautiful! he marveled.
She welcomed them, and Søren managed a choked “hello,” but Jan could not squeeze a sound out. O Lord, I am a pathetic man! he moaned within himself.
Neither Jan nor Søren offered a reason for their visit, and Søren looked everywhere but at their neighbor. Eventually she invited them inside and put on a pot of coffee.
Jan sat down and folded his arms—to keep her from seeing his hands shake! He schooled his face. Søren, growing more distressed as the coffee perked, said as little as possible.
Rose cleared her throat. “Amalie is fine?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Søren managed.
“Has anyone seen Harold and Sigrün recently?”
Søren nodded, choking on something unintelligible. Rose gave him a sharp look.
She asked a few more questions; Jan caught just two or three words every sentence. When she turned her back for a second, Søren sent a pleading glance toward Jan. Jan frowned back and jerked his chin in Rose’s direction. She was saying something . . .
“. . . sometimes watch the calves playing in the morning. They are so frisky . . .” Her hands trembled as she placed cups and saucers on the table.
Søren stared at his feet and Jan stared at Rose. Ach! I have made her nervous! Is she frightened? He frowned. Lord, that is not my intention! O Father! I need your help!
Jan could not move. He was frozen. Then Rose glanced from Søren to Jan and Jan watched her, hoping for a sign. She set out the cream and sugar, poured the coffee, and pulled her chair up to the table.
With as much calm as he could muster, Jan sugared his coffee. Sugar, no cream. When he finished stirring it he spoke to his son. “Please begin, Sønn.”
Søren sat up straight and ran his hand through his hair in distraction. Rose smiled fondly at Søren.
Ja, she likes my family well enough, doesn’t she, Lord? Jan thought.
But Søren looked like his stomach hurt, and Jan saw Rose shoot him a quizzical look.
“Ah, Mrs. Brownlee, I, ah . . .” He turned pleading eyes on Jan who stared back.
“As we discussed, Søren,” Jan insisted. He took a sip of his coffee.
“Mrs. Brownlee,” Søren began again, “I am here as my father’s, ah, spokesperson. He wants to talk to you and is making me, I mean using me to translate.” He sighed again. “I’m sorry—this isn’t very comfortable for me, but, well anyway . . . you understand.”
But Jan saw that Rose did not understand!
“Sønn, you are confusing Fru Brünlee!” Jan hissed. “Sit up straight as we discussed, ja?”
Søren straightened and repeated formally, “From now on, please disregard me. I’ll be saying what my father says, and you may answer him through me.”
Fru Brünlee nodded, but she was obviously perplexed.
“Mrs. Brownlee, (this is my father speaking), the first time I saw you in church, I realized you were different from other women I knew. You had a hunger for God on your face. You were searching for him with all your heart.”
Rose startled and she shifted her gaze to Jan. Their eyes locked and Jan, for the first time, spoke his heart directly to her as Søren translated his words.
“You were also grieving. I knew that because I, too, have grieved for loved ones. I saw it in you and I prayed for you. When we came to work on your house I saw you had character, determination, and a dream. You worked hard for your aspirations. You wanted to be the whole woman God created you to be, and I admired you for that. I tried to help you any way I could. I wanted to be your friend.”
Jan paused. Søren paused. His neighbor, her face inscrutable, waited.
“Are we friends?” Jan asked, daring to hope for more.
“Why, yes. Yes, of course,” she stammered.
“Gud,” Jan replied. “Mrs. Brownlee, I have been alone for a long time now. The Bible says it is not good for a man to be alone—”
Jan frowned as Søren choked on the translation of his words. “I think it is not good for a woman either.”
Are you hearing my heart, dear woman? Can you see my love for you? Jan could scarcely breathe as his eyes sought hers again.
“Once before I tried to speak of what is in my heart, the day at the river. But I blundered and you were still hurting and couldn’t hear. Then when we couldn’t find you the night Baron came to us for help, I knew, I knew then that we must come to an understanding.
“I am your friend, but now—” Again Søren stumbled as he translated the intimate words. “But now I want to have you as my most precious friend. I must know if you could find that possible.”
Unflinching, Jan’s gaze held hers. And he waited, hoping against hope. Several minutes passed during which Jan died a thousand deaths.
And then Fru Brünlee frowned and looked away.
Jan swallowed. She does not feel the same as I do! O Lord, please help me if I must live without her!
Still turned away, Rose sighed, and Jan hardened himself against the rejection he knew was coming. With his last vestige of self-control, he held himself still, impassive.
She frowned again and whispered, “Søren. Would you please leave us? And thank you.”
Søren fled the house without a backwards glance. Rose got up and went to the stove, lifted down another cup, and filled it with fresh coffee. And still she did not speak, did not look at him!
Jan waited. She seated herself and stirred cream into it, but she would not look at him. As though ignoring him, she quietly sipped it.
Minutes passed; her coffee was gone. Still she sat, waiting.
Could she be waiting for him? Waiting for him to speak . . . directly to her?
His throat was closed and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He could not even swallow!
“Rose,” he breathed. Rose! Oh, how I love the sound of your name on my lips!
She glanced up, looking for . . . something? Then her eyes dropped again to her hands, her sweet hands! folded around her cup.
The silence lengthened.
Dear Lord, what am I to do? What am I to say?
Somehow he managed to speak her name once more. “Rose.”
Her eyes were focused on the table, but a single tear dropped onto the tablecloth. Another hung on her cheek.
Have I hurt you, my love? Jan’s heart twisted at the thought. He lifted his work-rough hand slowly toward her face and touched the tiny droplet.
And he finally found the words. “I luf you, Rose.”
She lifted her head and looked for . . . confirmation? Assurance?
Knowing he was risking everything, J
an relaxed his vigilance and allowed his eyes to echo his heart.
Rose and Jan stared, heart to heart. What he saw made him tremble. And hope!
He pushed back his chair and stood to his feet, hand outstretched. Still she hesitated.
Finally he whispered, “Rose. Vill you come . . . to me?” He held his hands steady, outstretched to her.
She touched his offered hand, and he drew her up, into his embrace. Once she was in his arms, the dam in his soul burst and he was stroking her cheek and her hair, saying everything he felt but could not put into English. Jan shuddered and closed his eyes against the emotions that rushed into his heart.
She looked up; he bent down to her.
What will she answer, Lord?
“I will,” she whispered back.
Jan’s heart soared and he could breathe again. He kissed her, tentatively, and kissed her again. O Lord, I thank you! Jan prayed and rejoiced.
Jan wrapped her small hand in his and led her outside where they sat together on her front steps.
“Rose.”
“Yes, Jan?”
He kissed her hand and held it close. “My Rose.”
“Yes, Jan.”
~~**~~
Chapter 45
Sunday before service, Jan steered Pastor Medford away from the others. “Pastor, haf gud news.”
Jacob Medford smiled. “Tell me!”
In spite of his clumsy words, Jan was able to convey his happy announcement. He watched, impassive but secretly delighted, as Jacob’s expression slid from blank surprise . . . to dumbfounded . . . to astonished joy.
The next thing Jan knew, his friend and pastor was pounding him on the back and shaking his hand. Jan grinned like a schoolboy.
Still grinning, he looked for Rose. She was watching and hid a giggle behind her hand.
My Rose! was all Jan could think as he saw his love reflected in her eyes.
As the service began, Rose took a seat next to Amalie as she often did. Today, however, instead of the children between them, Jan took the seat on her other side. Harold and Sigrün were seated in the pew in front of them; Søren sat on Harold’s other side.
My rightful place! Jan’s heart thrilled. From now on we will share all things! And he could see the same acknowledgment on her sweet face. It was all he could do not to take her hand and hold it possessively in his!
Wild Heart on the Prairie (A Prairie Heritage, Book 2) Page 32
