The Brushstroke Legacy

by Lauraine Snelling

“I’m sleeping in the car.” Erika pulled her boots on.

  “Suit yourself. This is far more comfortable.”

  “Ha!”

  “Don’t run the battery down.” But Erika had already unzipped the tent and could be heard stomping toward the car. Ragni zipped the tent again and snuggled down in her sleeping bag. Looks like I’ll have plenty of time alone after all. If only I wasn’t too exhausted to take advantage of it.

  Birds sang her awake in the morning.

  Ragni lay in her sleeping bag, knowing she needed to head out to the privy but enjoying the concert. It was a new day, perhaps a time to make up for past mistakes. When she returned to the motel, she would call and talk to her father. Perhaps he’d hear her love and regret. He might enjoy the house woes too. Trying was far better than ignoring—or running—the other way. Is that my way of dealing with things that make me uncomfortable? Hmm…one of those life questions the spa coach said to watch for.

  Since she hadn’t brought her robe to the tent, she changed from pajama pants into jeans and pulled a sweatshirt over her pajama top. She unzipped the tent and slid her feet into her shoes. If Erika had slept this well, she might be in a better mood today. Right.

  Dew hung heavy on the grasses, and a spider’s night work sparkled like diamonds across the semblance of a path to the privy. No good fairies had come in the night to straighten the building. How can I brace this? she pondered while sitting inside. Tipping over would not be pleasant. She’d better not mention that possibility to Erika. What with her reaction to a little rustling outside the tent, there would be a real riot. I wonder if this is something Paul would help with—if he was serious in his offer. Back at the tent, she noticed the open flap and zipped it shut to keep out any curious critters, then headed around the car to take the bucket to the river for water. They’d use the gallon of bottled water for brushing teeth and cooking, but it would be river water for washing. That ought to make my helper happy. Ha.

  Knees wet from walking the dew-decorated path to the river, Ragni stood on the bank and stared at the buttes reflecting fire on the west side of the valley. The river whispered age-old secrets as it meandered around one bend and on to the next. She rubbed her arms and inhaled pure nectar. With the sun not yet over the hills behind her, the river lay in shadows, the golden sparkles from yesterday still sleeping.

  A movement off to the left caught her eye, and when she looked toward it, a smile split her face. A deer stood drinking upriver. If that weren’t enough, two fawns tiptoed out of the grass and stood beside their mother. The tableau sent her mind spinning back. Once, on the shores of Lake Michigan, her family had frozen just like now— enthralled with the same sight. “Wish I had a camera,” her father had muttered.

  “We’ll just have to remember.” Her mother squeezed her girls’ shoulders.

  Remember—something Dad can no longer do. “Daddy, how can I help you?” Ragni murmured. Will a letter describing this moment help? She thought a minute. It will help Mom.

  Ragni hardly breathed, in case they would hear her. The doe’s ears flicked back and forth, alert for any sound out of the ordinary, and she raised her dripping muzzle to sniff the breeze for telltale odors. She drank again, then turned and trotted back into the tall grass, where the fawns disappeared right after her.

  Ragni hugged herself. What a gift—and this was just our first morning at the cabin. Shame Erika slept through it. She dipped her bucket in the river and let it fill, then carried it back to camp, composing the letter in her mind while her hands kept busy. Once she had the gas camp stove up and running, she could heat water for washing and get the coffee perking. So different from at home in Chicago where she programmed her coffee maker the night before and woke to the smell of fresh brew. She looked around for a place to set up the stove. She’d thought to bring a folding table, but there hadn’t been enough room in the car. Even a wooden folding table the size of a TV tray would have worked. Hindsight is always twenty-twenty—one of Dad’s favorite sayings. I should have gone ahead and bought a luggage rack for the top of the car. So many things I need that now I’ll have to buy. If I’m going to fix this place up, that is.

  After ignoring the recumbent body in the front seat of her car, she took the long-handled scrub brush, swept off the front step of the house with it, and set the two-burner stove on the stoop. She pumped the propane tank, and—wonder of wonders—it fired up on the first match. Two gifts in one day, and its not even midmorning! Back to the food box in the trunk for coffee. She measured grounds into the basket, poured water from the jug into the pot, and set it on the stove. Coffee before washing. The kettle she’d brought would heat enough water for them to take sponge baths, then she’d start the cleaning water.

  No matter how much noise Ragni made, Erika slept on. Ragni even caught herself whistling, wishing she could mimic the birds that serenaded her from the fields across the road and the trees above. In the distance she heard an engine starting up and the bawling of cattle. Paul Heidelborg had still been the only traffic on the road, unless someone had driven past during the night.

  She poured herself a bowl of cereal, added milk, and sat on the rear bumper to eat. The aroma of coffee mingled with the scent of the trees above and the growing grass.

  With her cereal done, she dug out the caramel roll box and opened it to find one remaining. At least Erika didn’t eat them all— seeing as how she didn’t want any in the first place. The roll wouldn’t be bad cold, but coffee and a warm caramel roll sounded ideal. She dug out the aluminum foil and the frying pan, replaced the heating water with it, and covered it with foil. Voilà, a makeshift oven. She’d seen her mother bake a cake in a frying pan. Competent Mom, always taking care of everyone. She’d probably have the cabin half-cleaned by now.

  Shame Susan has given up camping and never taken Erika. But then Poppa filled in. If Dad were here, we’d be having fresh fish for breakfast. The thought brought a lump back to her throat. You will not have another crying fit like yesterday, she ordered herself. Although when she thought about it, perhaps the crying jag had been one of the reasons she’d slept so well. The tears may have been a long time coming— they had certainly taken a long time to stop.

  She poured herself a cup of coffee, then studied the cabin. Where to start? And how much can we get done before the trip back to town for supplies? After a few minutes, she poured a second cup of coffee and wandered back to the car.

  “All right, sleeping beauty, time to rise and shine.” She opened the car door and stared at her niece, earphones still in her ears. No wonder she didn’t hear all the noise. Ragni pulled an earphone away. “We have hot coffee and hot water for washing. You already ate your caramel roll, but mine is now warming in the frying pan. The cereal was great.”

  Erika mumbled a reply and burrowed further into her pillow. “What time is it?”

  “I have no idea. I put my watch away because I am on vacation. The sun’s been up for quite some time.”

  “Did you say coffee?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not espresso?”

  “Where would I plug in an espresso machine if I had one? Get real.”

  Erika opened one eye. “Kids are supposed to sleep in during vacation.”

  “No problem, you can skip breakfast. I’m going to eat my caramel roll with this cup of coffee and throw out the rest. Both burners will be heating water for scrubbing, so we can get right to work. We need another bucketful of water. I got the first one.”

  Erika groaned. “My neck hurts.”

  “I’ll bet it does. I slept great.” Ragni returned to the stove and examined her caramel roll. While the bottom was dark, the rest was fine. Within minutes she was licking her fingers and tossing the dregs of her coffee into the weeds. She dipped a washcloth in the hot water and held it to her face. Oh, the warmth. She could feel her skin whispering, “Ahhh,” then responding in delight as the cool breeze tickled her. Alive—that’s it. Between the spa week and now this, I can feel myself coming
alive again. She poured water from the jug into her cup and brushed her teeth. With her hair brushed and tied back, she was as clean as she was going to get.

  Humming, she tweaked Erika’s hair as she organized things in the car and trunk again, making sure all the cleaning supplies, including her list, were at hand. “Come on.”

  “I need a shower.”

  “The river is pretty cold.”

  “How am I going to wash my hair?” That brought her upright.

  Ragni shrugged. “Not, I guess.”

  “But I have to wash my hair!”

  “Put on a hat. Cleaning that kitchen will only make your hair dirtier anyway.”

  “But how are we going to get clean?”

  “You know, people lived their whole lives without showers. Women washed their hair once a week, and that’s how often they took baths. I really thought the river would be warmer and planned to bathe in it.”

  “That muddy river?”

  “Didn’t know that either, but people have been washing and swimming in it for years.”

  “You better not have thrown out all the coffee.” Erika shoved her feet in her boots and trudged off to the privy, muttering all the way. Since she had slept in her clothes, she didn’t have to dress.

  Ragni watched her. The kid can really do mad well. She shook her head. Taking a wash-basin bath didn’t sound appealing. She raised her face to the sunbeam peaking through the tree branches and tried to remember what she’d learned at some camping conference about creating an outdoor shower. Or was it Girl Scout camp? There they’d at least had showers. She remembered them well, since she’d had to scrub them more than once. Everyone took turns doing KP and latrine duty.

  The room at the motel was looking more appealing all the time. They could stay there just one night and head out here again early in the morning. If they didn’t, she’d probably have a revolt on her hands.

  Erika of the narrowed eyes and stomping feet returned to the campsite. She dug a mug out of the box, filled it mostly with coffee, added sugar, and returned to the cooler for milk. Without a word, she fixed her cereal and sat back in the car, immediately putting her earphones back on.

  Ragni filled her second pot with river water and turned the heat on high. She added the hot water from the first pot to the cold water in the bucket, poured in bleach and soap, and headed inside. Sweeping was the first order of business, starting with the ceiling. She tied a bandanna over her head and attacked with the broom, sweeping dirt and cobwebs from the ceiling and walls and bird feathers and mouse droppings off the counters. After opening the cupboard doors, she used the dry brush, adding more to the litter on the floor.

  “Pee-yew.” Erika stepped back out of the doorway.

  “I know. How about bringing up another bucket of water?”

  “With what?”

  “Oh, right. Sorry. We’ll go to town as soon as we scrub at least one wall.” She swept the mess on the floor into a pile and onto the dustpan. “Get the box of trash bags out of the trunk, will you please? They’re on the left side under the box of dishes.”

  “Add a garbage can to that list.”

  “Can’t fit it into the trunk. Maybe we can get some boxes at the grocery store.”

  Erika brought the bags in and shook one out. “That glass is going to cut this to pieces.”

  “You’re right.”

  “You could pitch the glass into that hole under the house. Might get rid of our visitor that way.”

  “Erika!”

  “Just a thought.” She set about doubling the bags, then held the mouth open for the trash, turning her face away when the dust rose. “Gross.”

  “Let’s wash inside the cupboards first—we can take the drawers outside to scrub. Then we can do the ceiling…”

  “Do we have a stepstool?” Erika glanced at her aunt to catch her shrug. “I know, put it on the list.”

  “Good thing I brought rubber gloves. Otherwise that bleach is going to burn our hands. There’s another pair in the box with the plastic bags.”

  Ragni stared at the cupboards, wondering how she was going to get up high enough to wash the top shelves. For safety’s sake, we should wait until we get a stepstool. Or should we get a stepladder? That would make more sense. She shifted her concentration to the stove. Steel wool soap pads—another thing needed for the list. She set the stove lids to the side and looked into the firebox. Rust in the oven, but the door closed tightly. A lever on the outside of the firebox operated a grate that led to a collector for ashes. She pulled out the container. At least it wasn’t rusted together. Down on her knees, she peered under the stove. Four once-chromed feet held it several inches off the floor.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Checking out the stove. Looks to be in fair shape.” Ragni stood and opened the oven door again. The thought of cooking on the same stove her great-grandmother had used looped a band of warmth around her heart. Did Mom ever fry bacon on this stove or bake cookies in this oven? When was Mom even here last? Her list of questions was growing like her supply list.

  “I read once where someone started a fire in a stove and the chimney was plugged, so the house filled with smoke.”

  “Good point. We’ll check the chimney and that pipe before we start a fire.” Ragni turned back to the counter. “Give me a boost, will you please, so I can scrub the cupboards.”

  “I’ll wash those. I can climb easier than you can.”

  Erika’s comment caught Ragni by surprise.

  “I’m not that old.” But inside, she breathed a sigh of relief. She never had liked standing on things. Not that she was afraid of heights—much—but she preferred her feet on solid ground. “So, I’ll give you a boost?”

  Erika shook her head. Levering herself up with her arms, she stood half-bent, her head almost touching the ceiling.

  “We better wait for a ladder.”

  “Just dip that brush in the water and hand it up.” Erika clung to the top shelf with one hand and grabbed the brush with the other. “Ugh.” But she scrubbed and handed the brush down for a refill. “What the… Toss me a rag, will you?”

  “What?” Ragni caught the excitement in Erika’s voice. “What is it?” She wrung out half of an old towel and handed it up.

  Erika dropped the brush in the bucket. “Cool. Someone painted a design on the back wall. It’s like old-fashioned graffiti.”

  “She was an artist.”

  “Who?”

  “My great-grandmother, Ragnilda. Mom always said I got my artistic ability from her. She’s two greats from you.”

  “Why would she paint high up like this where no one could see it?”

  “I don’t know. What does it look like?

  “Swirls and flowers with leaves. Not a picture.”

  “Have you ever seen Norwegian rosemaling?”

  “No.” Erika handed the scrub rag back down. “The colors are faded, or maybe I just didn’t get it clean enough. I’m afraid I might wash it off if I scrub too hard.”

  Ragni dipped the cloth in the water and wrung it out again to hand back up. Something of Great-grandmother’s? A thrill of joy made her want to laugh. They’d found something. “I’ve got to see it.”

  Erika wiped out the shelf again. “I’ll get down and help you up.” She jumped to the floor, her boots making enough clatter to wake whatever creature slept under the floorboards.

  “Erika, if you fall and break something…”

  “I’m not stupid. Thank you.” Disgust turned her mouth down. She dumped the rag in the bucket and cupped her hands on her bent knee. “Step here and you’ll make it up. Just like mounting a horse.”

  “Been a long time since I mounted a horse.” But she did as Erika suggested and got both knees up on the counter. Grasping the shelves, she tried to see over the edge, but she wasn’t tall enough. Nothing was easy, that was for sure. Wait for the stepladder, ordered common sense. Hurry up so you can see, argued curiosity. Hanging on to the shelves with her fingertips
, teeth clamped, she eased one foot up on the counter and pushed, lurching for the next shelf. When she was finally upright, she breathed a sigh of relief. She’d made it.

  Peering into the cupboard, she caught her breath. Sure enough, a six-inch border decorated the shelf, whorls and swirls, curlicues and flowers, roses and leaves. How difficult it must have been to paint up high like this. How tall had she been? Why not paint for everyone to see? Questions flew through her mind like a flock of squawking birds. What else would we find? More importantly, how am I going to get down?

  Just jump, said a voice.

  Oh sure, and break a leg? replied a separate voice.

  So ask for help.

  Like I want to ask Erika to help me down? Come on, get moving.

  Moving? Sure. So why can’t you move on from Daren? He’s moving on and you don’t like it. She turned to look back in the cupboard so Erika wouldn’t realize she was stuck.

  Stuck. I’ve been stuck for far too long.

  Well, what do you want? Some man to come along and lift you down? What do you want, Ragni?

  I know what I want. I want down—now! I want to get this mess all cleaned up and get back to my own life. I want to get my real life back.

  So what is your real life? The voice sneered at her. She turned around to see that Erika had left the room, probably tired of watching her aunt dither.

  Oh, just leave me alone, she ordered the voices.

  Nope, not until you say what you really want.

  “Okay, I want my father back.”

  Where had that come from? She sat down on the counter and dangled her legs over the edge. Looking down at the filthy floor, she slid forward and landed with a thump.

  Well, maybe she didn’t have her life back, but one hurdle was crossed. If all decisions took this kind of argument, she’d never get anything done. Arguing with Erika was far easier than the battle going on in her head—anytime.

  The Bronx, May 5, 1906

  Dear Mrs. Torkalson,

  Thank you for answering my advertisemint for cook and housekeeper. Hear is the train ticket for you and your dater to come to Medora, North Dakota. I will meet you at the station. I will pay you twenty dollars a month with room and bord. Write me when you will get here.