When they were both seated at the table, the boy now on her lap, Caleb fetched butter and jam from the pantry, along with forks and knives. Somewhere he knew he had napkins but for the life of him, he had no idea where.
When they looked up at him, as if asking permission, he waved them on. “Go ahead, eat up whilst it’s hot.”
“Do you not say grace?”
“‘Course. But mine ain’t done yet—oh all right.” He slid into his chair. “E Jesu navn, gor ve til brod . . .” He intoned the Norwegian words his mother had drilled into his soul when he was but a young sprout at the table. At the “Amen” he rose and returned to the stove. Good thing he’d shoved the pan back or it would surely be smoking them out of house and home.
Sam took his place at the boy’s feet.
Caleb looked over just in time to see a small hand sneak a bit of bacon to the dog. The boy looked up in time to see Caleb watching him and his face went deathly white. He hid his face and as much of the rest of him as possible in his mother’s shoulder and shook his head when she offered him another bite of bread.
Caleb finished dishing up his own food and took his plate, along with the coffeepot, to the round oak table. “Can I warm yours up?” At her nod, he poured the dark liquid into both of their cups and eased into his seat. He felt the way he did when out hunting deer, as if the slightest sound would send the game leaping away, to vanish in the woods. Struggling to find words to say, he decided instead to satisfy his stomach. He felt like he hadn’t eaten for a week. All the while he called himself every name in the book and a few new ones he’d just come up with. What was the matter with him? Only that he had let a woman like this and her shy-unto-tears son make him uncomfortable in his own house.
“Thank you, Sheriff. That was very good.” Mrs. Carlson neatly placed her knife and fork across the plate. “And now if I can prevail upon you just one more time.” He nodded at the question in her eyes. “Could you please bring my horse around? We must be on our way.”
“Lady, if that don’t beat all.” Caleb started to slam his hands on the table but one look at the terror-stricken child and he toned his voice down. He shoved his hands in his waistband and tilted back in the chair.
He started again, forcing his voice to sound calm and soothing. “I have to tell you, I cain’t do that. You and these children would freeze to death before you got five miles out of town, what with the drifts and all. That north wind would blow right through you and I know you love your children more than to submit them to that.” What are you running. from? He ached to ask the question, but while he had grilled many a suspect, he couldn’t get the questions from his mind to his tongue.
“But we cannot stay here.” She looked at him, across the child’s head, one of her hands stroking the boy’s hair. “You have been more than kind, you have saved our lives, but I know what life is like in a town. People talk.”
“Not about this sheriff they don’t.” He knew she was right, that’s why he’d been planning on discussing this with Gudrun.
“Sheriff, I’m surprised someone hasn’t been at your door already,”
As if on cue, Sam let out a yip and rose from the floor at the boy’s feet. A growl and then a bark announced the visitor before the knock on the door.
“Good dog.” Caleb sent the woman a look promising further discussion, then made his way to the door.
“Merry Christmas, Elmer.” But at the look on the man’s face, Caleb went no further. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s a man been shot, Sheriff. You gotta come quick.”
“Well, I’ll be, can’t people forget their squabbles on Christmas?” Caleb muttered as he rammed his feet in his boots and thrust his arms in the sleeves of his coat. Just before grabbing his hat, he turned to the woman by the stove. “You wait here.”
Immediately chagrined at the way he snapped an order at her, nevertheless he followed his deputy out to the gate, plowing through the drifted snow and walking right over the fence on a frozen drift. Soon the entire town would know there was a strange woman over to the sheriff’s house. Elmer Hanson was a good man with a loose lip and nothing Caleb did seemed to make a difference. And Lord knew, he’d tried.
Caleb settled his Stetson farther down on his head, wishing he had grabbed the woolen-billed one with ear flaps. A day like today was no time for a Stetson. “Any idea what happened?”
“Nope, none. He was laying by the livery, half-covered by drifted snow. Looks to been there quite some time.”
“How you know he was shot?”
Elmer turned and cocked one eyebrow at his boss. “Has a hole in his chest. Tried to stop the bleeding with a rag. Didn’t look to do much good.”
“You s’pose he got lost in the blizzard?” His breath blew out in a cloud of steam. While the sun was trying to separate the clouds, it hadn’t succeeded as yet.
“Maybe he was looking for the doc and just didn’t get that far.” Elmer slapped his hands together to improve the circulation. “Man, it’s cold still. He wouldn’t a laid there long without freezing to death, if the bullet didn’t get him.”
They stepped up onto the boardwalk, making faster time when they didn’t have to plow through snow. Smoke rose from the hotel chimneys but the Mercantile, the drug store, and Swenson’s barber shop all wore their Sunday sleepiness. Even the saloon was closed in honor of the holiday. No one else had ventured out, leaving the street blanketed in pure white.
“You want me to get the doc?” Elmer sniffed, then hawked and spit.
“No. Why bother him if the man’s dead for sure? We can put him on the wagon and take him to Sorensons. Even undertakers have to work on Christmas. Terrible.” They left the boardwalk, turned the corner at the feed store, and stopped just outside the doors to the livery.
Caleb could hear Will Dunfey, Dag Weinlander’s apprentice, caring for the livery animals. The boy lived in a snug room in the barn off the blacksmith shop.
“You talk to Will?”
Elmer shook his head. “I told you, I came straight to your house.” He pointed to the body lying on the other side of a drift. “There he be.”
Caleb dropped down to his haunches. Everything Elmer had said looked to be true. “You ever seen him before?”
“Nope, never.”
Caleb studied the face frozen in death. Swarthy, black beard, big nose. Caleb thought he looked like the gypsies he’d once chased out of town. But long dead, that was for certain. “No trace of a horse or wagon?”
Elmer looked pained. “Sheriff, that blizzard wiped out anything and everything. You know that.”
“You think he was dumped here?”
Elmer shrugged. “Whyn’t we just haul him over to Sorensons and go on home. I shoulda done that without bothering you.” He gave the sheriff an appraising look. “Who’s that woman at your house? I din’t know you had company.”
“Just a stranger who got caught in the storm.” Caleb strode off around the corner of the building. “I’ll get Will to harness us a horse and wagon.”
An hour had passed by the time they got the body delivered and Will dropped the sheriff and Elmer back at the sheriff’s office tucked into a corner of the county courthouse, one street off Main. Elmer clanked the glowing cinders in the potbellied stove and added more coal.
“What you goin’ to do about him—the body I mean?”
“Guess we’ll just ask around if anybody knows of him. Maybe put it out on the wire, a description and all. Wait and see if anyone inquires about him. Can’t bury him ‘til the spring thaw, that’s for sure.” Caleb took the proffered cup of rotgut that in Elmer’s mind passed for coffee and added two spoonfuls of sugar. When he was on duty the coffee was drinkable, black the way he liked it, but his deputy made a pot and boiled the life out of it, then set the pot to simmer. The only good thing about the drink this morning was its heat. Even the steam felt good when he raised the doctored brew to his lips.
A picture of Mrs. Carlson sipping from her breakfast cup flashed through his min
d. What if she took it in her mind to leave?
“Think you can hold down the fort today? Shouldn’t be too much going on.” Caleb forced himself to stand when all he wanted to do was head for home.
“Can’t think why not. You don’t mind if I go to church though?” Privately, Caleb thought his deputy’s devotion to the Lord had more to do with the younger sister of Mrs. Jacobson, who was visiting for a time. Mrs. Jacobson and her husband ran the Mercantile, or rather she ran the store and him too. But Mary Louise had caught the eyes of most of the town’s bachelors. Not only was she pretty but she was of marrying age and not spoken for.
Caleb had been forced to point her in another direction when she set her bonnet for him. Why, he was old enough to be her father. And he told her so.
“You go on to church and have a Merry Christmas, Elmer.” Caleb nodded and left before the young man could ask the question buzzing behind his eyes. Asking him to keep his mouth shut about the sheriff’s guest would have just made matters worse.
When Caleb reached Main Street again, he debated whether to stop at Gudrun’s, the doctor’s, or just head on home. He looked up the street to see smoke coming from the Lutheran church’s chimney. Mighten be he should talk to Pastor Moen instead of Gudrun. He kept abreast of the town events nearly as well. So often people in trouble called on the Lutheran pastor, and with good cause. John Moen took exemplary care of his flock, including any strangers, strongly believing and preaching the joy of hosting angels unawares.
Like the Angel sleeping at his house. Caleb started home, but turned off the street to Doc’s anyway. Mrs. Carlson had looked a mite feverish. As he firmly believed, better safe than sorry.
Dr. Harmon himself answered the door. When Caleb explained the situation, Doc nodded, his mouth full of Christmas bread, and shoved his arms into the coat sleeves.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he hollered over his shoulder. Grabbing the black leather bag he kept by the door, he followed in Caleb’s footsteps. “Shoulda gotten out here earlier and shoveled this, but Mrs. Abramson had a bad attack last night. Thought I’d never get home. When I finally staggered in the door, all I wanted was my bed.”
Caleb nodded. “You went out in that blizzard?”
“No, they came for me just about the time it quit.” Doc looked up at his anxious friend. “What’s the rush? You said she seemed fine.”
“Just a feeling I have. First that fellow dead by the livery and now . . .” Caleb shook his head. Long ago he’d learned to trust his feelings that something wasn’t quite right. They kicked the snow off their boots against the front porch post.
Tail wagging, Sam met him at the door.
But the house was empty.
Chapter 4
The dead man couldn’t be her husband, could it?
Johanna Carlson took a deep breath to still her pounding heart. The baby in her arms squirmed, making the mother realize she’d clenched the newborn to her chest in a ferocious grip. Immediately she relaxed and set the rocker into motion.
She made herself smile at the boy staring up at her, terror rounding his eyes to saucer size.
She had to remind herself that even if this son of hers didn’t speak, she could read his reactions better than anyone. He didn’t need someone to draw him a map when he could hear what the deputy said as well as she. No child should have to live with more fear in his belly than bread. Hers had for far too long, and it looked to be continuing.
She listened closely to the sheriff’s conversation, even though he had dropped his voice. When he turned and asked, or rather ordered, her to stay, she nodded. What else could she do? Only with an effort did she keep from squirming at the discomfort of sitting in the chair. How could she possibly ride the horse after just birthing Angel? And where would they go?
“You just take it easy now,” Caleb had turned to her and said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, shouldn’t be long.”
She nodded, more to say she heard him than that she agreed. How far back down the road do you suppose the wagon is? Is it buried in the snow, not to be found until the spring thaw? If only she had started earlier in the season. But she hadn’t dared.
The dead man—who was he?
The thought that it might be—she couldn’t even say his name—Henry’s father caused her to grip the rocker furiously with one hand until the room stopped spinning.
“Come, Henry, get your things together. We must be on our way.”
The boy wrapped both arms around Sam’s neck, all the longing in the world evident in the gesture.
“Henry, son, I’m sorry but you’ll have to leave Sam behind. When we get to our new home, we will have a dog again. One that belongs just to you.” Memory of another dog put a catch in her voice. “Come now. Mabel is waiting for us out in the barn. Sheriff Stenesrude took good care of our horse last night, just like he took such good care of us.” She glanced down at the baby sleeping in her arms. “Such good care.”
She wished she could unbutton the bodice of her dress, it was so hot in the room. Perhaps she had lost more blood last night than she thought, she felt so weak. And hot. She wiped a hand across her forehead and rubbed her eyes with her fingers. Maybe a glass of water would help.
Carrying the baby in one arm and using the other to brace herself on the backs of the chairs arranged around the kitchen table, she carefully made her way to the sink and dipped water out of the bucket. After drinking, she wet a cloth that lay on the edge of the dry sink and wiped her forehead. She didn’t remember feeling so weak after Henry was born. In fact, she’d gotten up and made supper.
She stared across the room to the coat rack by the front door. It seemed better than a mile across the linoleum-covered floor.
“Henry, can you be a big boy and bring Mama her coat?
If you pull a chair over there, you can get both mine and yours down.”
Henry buried his face in the dog’s ruff.
“Henry!” Much as she hated to, she put a strong dollop of sternness into her voice.
Henry leaped to his feet, eyes wide again and searching the room as if for a place to hide. Sam followed suit, hackles raised, trying to see what was bothering the child.
“Henry, you needn’t be afraid, but I need your help. Get our coats now, like a good boy.”
Henry shot her a look full of hurt and hustled to do her bidding. By the time he’d retrieved the coats, scarves, mittens, and finally their boots, his lower lip quivered and a fat tear threatened to spill over and run down his pale cheek.
“That’s my good son,” she said with a smile. Since when did smiling and helping her boy take so much energy? She helped him with one hand, then finally put the baby down on the table to have two hands to dress both herself and Henry. When they were bundled up, she wrapped the quilt snugly around the sleeping infant and, one step at a time, made their way to the back door. Sam acted as if he were tied to Henry’s side with baling twine.
Shutting the door firmly on the dog took all her strength. She leaned against the isinglass door to catch her breath. The sun had turned the backyard into a patch of diamonds. Squinting against the fierce beauty of it all through her tears, she followed the trail through the snow to the gable-roofed barn. With each step the barn seemed farther away.
She had to lean against the wooden corner to catch her breath and let some strength return to her knees. Henry sniffed beside her. She looked down to see the tears frozen on his eyelashes.
She looked longingly back at the house. Why had she left there anyway? Was she out of her mind? The accusations rang in her brain as she struggled to shove open the heavy barn door. She rocked it back and forth, biting back the tears that threatened to run down her cheeks.
Hurry! Hurry! He won’t let you go if he comes back. The door finally gave and opened with a shriek of metal on ice. She clung to it as she struggled to get her breath back. “Go on, Henry, get inside where it is warmer.” She could hear Sam barking from in the house, so many leagues behind them
. Blinking to focus her eyes in the dimness, she ordered her trembling legs to go forward. Spots continued to dance before her. She shook her head, then caught hold of the upright post when a wave of dizziness made her stagger.
Why didn’t you stay in the house? Think, woman, think. Like voices in an argument, the words rang in her head. She tried to reason it out. If the dead man were her husband, then he wouldn’t be after them. If he weren’t, he didn’t matter. But then, Raymond might still be on their trail. They had to get away!
“You sit in the hay and hold on to Angel while I bridle the horse.” She tried to smile reassuringly but the look on Henry’s face told her how miserably she had failed. “Henry, son, you have to help me. Now sit there.” She motioned to a mound of hay by the horse’s stall. When he did, she laid the quilt-wrapped bundle in his arms. “Just hold her and you’ll both be warmer.” The words came slowly, in sympathy with her trembling actions.
She looked around the barn and spied a shabby saddle on braces on the wall, beside the one the sheriff obviously used. Without the baby, walking was easier. How could it be so hot in the barn? Was she running a fever? So far to the saddle. She tried lifting it. And tried again. With a mighty heave, she jerked it loose and fell with it to the floor. A wrenching deep inside and a telltale gush told her she was in trouble.
Staggering to her feet, she dragged the saddle to the stall, grabbed the bridle off the nail, and stumbled into the horse’s stall.
“Easy, easy.” The words came between pants. She leaned against the warm body, trying to absorb what strength she could. When she could stand upright, she stared at the horse’s back. She’d forgotten a blanket. Turning, she looked at the saddle blanket covering the other saddle. So far away. Too far. They’d have to do without. She reached down to grab the saddle. The world went black as she collapsed across the leather gear.
Chapter 5
Leave it to a woman not to obey orders.
“Maybe she’s in the other room.” Doc pointed in the direction of the bedroom.
Dakota December and Dakota Destiny Page 3
