The Brushstroke Legacy

by Lauraine Snelling

  Sincerely,

  Joseph Peterson

  Ragnilda Torkalson read the letter for the third time. So she would have a new position, in the West, where no one would know the story of her life. Where she and three-year-old Eloise could start anew and where the clean air might help her frail little girl grow healthy. But what did she know of North Dakota? She glanced at the letter in her hand. What did she know of this man? He could write, although some of his words were misspelled and he used the pencil with a heavy hand. He was a man of few words but he tried to be polite. How large was his farm? What did he grow? Where was Medora? But most of all, could she trust him? The thought stopped her. You know better than to trust any man—until he earns it.

  She dug out the newspaper where she had read the advertisement. She’d been keeping it hidden under her clothing in the chest of drawers in the small bedroom she shared with Eloise. Finding people to work for who allowed her to keep her child at hand had never been easy.

  And now she was taking a huge gamble by leaving a position, where she was content and treated well, and heading out west. The ticket in her hand said this was so. How to tell these people who had been kind to her that she was leaving? And even though she hadn’t seen her own family in some time, they were a lot closer now than they would be when she’d moved halfway across the continent. After all, Brooklyn wasn’t far from the Bronx.

  “I’ll never see them again.” She spoke the words softly so as not to wake her sleeping daughter. “Unless I quit here and go visit before I leave—but I need every dime I can earn. I can’t go out there without any money.” She thought about the small cache she had hidden away for emergencies. Usually the emergency ended up being a doctor’s call for Eloise.

  “She needs clean air, sunshine, and plenty of milk and red meat. The dampness is hard on her lungs, and she doesn’t get outdoors enough.” The doctor might as well have been prescribing a trip to the moon. They lived in the basement of a row house that had no yard. Since Nilda cooked and cleaned all day, the best she could do was have Eloise sit out on the front stoop the relatively few minutes that the sun shone through the elm trees that lined the street. She’d threatened her daughter with a trip to the coal room if she moved from that spot, since Nilda could not take the time to sit there with her. It wasn’t that her employers were unfeeling, but there was too much for one person to do. At least, because she was the only household help, they paid better than any of her other positions—not that she’d had many.

  “I’ll tell the missus in the morning that we’re leaving.” With that decision made, she undressed and slid into the bed, being careful not to disturb Eloise. If she woke and started coughing, neither one of them would get much sleep this night.

  Perhaps she would have been wiser to send her daughter to her aunt’s house outside the city like her mother suggested, nay ordered. But Nilda had put her foot down for a change. She was not giving that baby away to be raised by someone else and visited when she had a day off. Keeping her had not been easy, but since when was life supposed to be easy? Even the Father’s Word said that life would be hard. Nilda suspected that extra money went a long way in making life easier, but not necessarily happier. Working for wealthy people had shown her that.

  Her last thought before sleep claimed her brought a frown to her wide forehead. Is there a church in Medora?

  In the morning she braided her mousy hair and pinned it into the coronet she always wore. She tied a clean white apron over her black serge skirt and plain white waist. Plain—a word she always used to describe herself.

  She left Eloise sleeping and prepared breakfast for the family. Since this was Friday, she served the cinnamon buns she’d made the day before, as well as baked eggs and sliced ham. The menu rarely changed, each day having its own morning routine. The morning paper lay folded beside the master’s plate, as it did every morning.

  Mistress would sleep late and have her breakfast served on a tray—Friday was the only day she allowed herself this luxury. They would have company for supper, both their sons and wives, along with the three children who were old enough to be served at the same table as the adults. So Nilda would spend the day cooking and making sure the house was just right.

  She would tell Mistress the news when she took her tray in. Would a week be long enough to find new help, or should she say two weeks? While her hands went about doing the regular chores, her mind wandered ahead to the new job.

  The pay’s not that much better than here, so why should I move? For Eloise, that’s why. Her health is worth any sacrifice. You have made the right decision.

  She kept that thought before her as she set the tray in place, made sure all was as it should be, and then made her announcement.

  “But I thought you were happy here.” Mistress looked at her as if she’d been slapped.

  “I am. You have been good folks to work for, but you know what the doctor said.”

  “You could take Eloise to the park more.”

  “There is no time.”

  “What if we brought in day help to do the heavy cleaning? Wouldn’t that give you more free time for her?”

  But you cannot afford that. Nilda knew the state of the family finances, or at least what the master had told her one time when she found him holding his head in despair, the ledger open on the desk before him. He’d not told his wife, only pleaded with Nilda to make what economies she could. And she had. Making the most of what one had was a family trait, born and bred into the children from the time they could walk.

  “I am sorry, Mistress, but I must do what I can for her.” She didn’t say, She is all that I have, but that phrase governed her life.

  Mistress shook her head, setting the ribbons on her mob cap to fluttering. “We will never find someone else as good as you.” She stirred sugar into her tea and took a sip. “I will notify the agency and have an ad placed in the paper. You will give us two weeks, you said?”

  “Ja, I will. Is there anything else I can get you right now?”

  “No, this looks delicious as always. I have a full day planned, and the children are coming. They will be sad to hear this news too. You’ve become like a member of our family, you know.”

  Nilda smiled and nodded. They had been good to her.

  Two weeks later, Nilda made sure that the trunk was packed with their meager belongings. She dragged it to the door to be loaded on the conveyance that would transport them to the train station in the morning. Since they would be leaving before the family arose, she met with them the previous evening in the library after the kitchen was cleaned from supper. When the new help arrived later in the day, she would find the kitchen spotless with the next meal ready for the oven.

  “Thank you for the extra in my pay,” she said to the master, who smiled and nodded.

  “I wish it could have been more,” he replied. “You have taken such good care of us. Hasn’t she, Mother?”

  The mistress nodded. “If you are not happy out there on the edge of the frontier like that, you must let us know, and we will send you a ticket to come home.”

  “Yes, that is most assuredly so,” the master agreed. “You are always welcome here.”

  “Thank you.” Nilda nodded to each of them. “God bless you both.” She turned and left, fighting the lump that blocked her throat and made any further words impossible. Was she daft to be embarking on a trip such as this?

  Awaking Eloise before morning left the child fretful and rubbing her head.

  “Come, little one, we must hurry so we don’t miss the train.” Fear clenched her stomach in a tight fist. Please don’t get sick now. Lord help us.

  “Stay here, Ma.” Eloise leaned her head against her mother’s shoulder.

  Nilda pulled the little girl’s nightdress over her head and folded it to place in the carpetbag. “You will like the train ride, like when we go to Mor’s.”

  “Go see Bestamor.” A smile tried to find its way to her pale blue eyes, in spite of the croaky voice.r />
  Nilda buttoned the black wool dress made from one of her old skirts. Over it, she tied a white pinafore with pink daisies painted around the skirt and on the bodice.

  “There now, let’s button your shoes.” Holding Eloise on her lap, she used the hook to slide the buttons through the holes and then set Eloise back on the bed with an extra hug. All the while her mind ran over the things she had packed. If only she could put some of the paints and brushes in the trunk, but they didn’t belong to her—even though she used them whenever she could steal a minute away.

  Moments like painting the cheerful flowers on a pinafore or violets on a teacup reminded her of the joys of life. Her painting and worship, not that she separated the two, always brought her joy. Eloise coughed, and Nilda made sure that she had the cough medicine handy in her carpetbag, along with some lemon drops for Eloise to suck on. She’d fixed sandwiches to last the day, along with cookies, cheese, and a small jar of canned fruit. Would the new help know how to preserve the peaches and apples from the fruit vendor like she had?

  This is no longer your concern, she reminded herself, though she’d been awake half the night thinking of reasons not to go. They’d only been waiting by the door for a few minutes before the man with the buggy knocked to take them to the station. Relief poured through her when none of the family roused. She didn’t want to go through goodbyes again.

  Traveling west at such amazing speeds, seeing farmlands, woods, cities, and meeting interesting people would have been far more enjoyable if Eloise felt better. And if apprehension weren’t creating a hollow in her middle that the Mississippi River could have flowed through. Nilda rarely second-guessed her decisions, knowing that she prayed beforehand and expected God to live up to His promises for safety and guidance.

  Why were things so different this time?

  She listed the ways. The distance. There was no going back, even though she’d been told she could come back. She’d never met the man. That loomed large as a mountain at night when she couldn’t sleep for rocking Eloise, trying to keep her from coughing. On top of it, the farther west they rode, the further away God seemed. Her prayers grew more desperate, pleading for a sense of comfort, for an awareness that He heard her. She repeated Bible verses she learned as a child, in Norwegian, even though she rarely spoke the language of her homeland any longer. “I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.” She said that one over and over through the hours of darkness. “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.” She greeted the dawn with that one.

  The extra money that the master had given her went for food after their supplies ran out; just another thing to worry about, she who prided herself on not worrying. Lord God, have I done the right thing? Where are You? You said You would hide us under Your wings. Can You see us on this train heading west, or did You stay in New York?

  Relief warred with fear when she heard the conductor announce that Medora would be the next stop. She gathered up their things and packed everything back in her carpetbag before washing Eloise’s face with spit on a cloth, combing her hair, and rebraiding it.

  “You must look your best to meet Mr. Peterson.”

  Eloise shivered. “Are we going home?”

  “No, we won’t go back home; this will be our new home.” So many times in their traveling days, they’d had this discussion, with Eloise too tired and weak to even enjoy watching the world race by.

  Eloise laid her head against her mother’s chest. “Tired.”

  “Ja, I know.” Nilda smoothed her daughters hair and kissed her forehead. “But tonight ve vill sleep at our new house, on a farm.” Since Norwegian was her mother tongue, her accent deepened with her anxiety as they neared their destination. She couldn’t help it.

  “Medora.” The conductor stopped beside her. “Will you need help getting off the train?”

  “Ja, I tink so.” Carrying both Eloise and their bags would be more than she could manage. “Mange takk, ja, thank you.” Speak English! Stand up straight! Put a smile on your face! Her orders to herself helped her hold her daughter securely and manage the steps as she left the train. She smiled at the conductor as he offered his arm to help her down.

  “I set your bags right over there.” He pointed to the small mound on the platform. “Your trunk will be off shortly.”

  “Ja, ma—thank you.” Her knees felt weak as mashed potatoes now that they were no longer on the swaying train. A man brought her trunk over and set it with the other things.

  “There you go, ma’am.” He tipped his hat at her.

  “All aboard!”

  She’d heard that call so often on the journey. Now all she wanted to do was get back on the train and head on west. Or wait until the eastbound train came through and board that.

  “Ma?”

  “Ja, little one?”

  “I’m thirsty.”

  “I have some water in our bag. As soon as…” Where was Mr. Peterson? He said he’d be here to meet them. With screeching wheels and a roar of steam, the train edged out of the station. In the distance she could see a plume of dust along the ribbon of brown that cut across a green field. Galloping horses pulling a wagon eased to a stop before crossing the tracks. When the driver stepped from the wagon, he settled a fedora hat securely on his head and strode toward her. Seeing his black hair and wild beard, she thought of the trolls of her childhood. Not that he was ugly, but he was so big—he seemed to be ten feet tall.

  She glanced down at the child standing beside her. Eloise, her eyes round as saucers, turned and reached her arms to be picked up, then buried her face in her mother’s shoulder.

  “Mrs. Torkalson?” The voice was deep, coming from a chest that strained the buttons on a worn shirt that hadn’t gotten acquainted with a washtub in some time.

  “Ja.”

  “I am Joseph Peterson.” He dashed the hat from his head and crushed it to his chest.

  “I am pleased to meet you.” Was being polite akin to lying? If only her knees would stiffen, she might be able to hold herself and her daughter up.

  “Your things?” he asked, pointing to her trunk.

  “Ja.”

  “Good. We go.”

  She felt a trickle of warm fluid over the arm holding Eloise. The child had wet herself. The man was big enough and gruff enough to scare an adult, let alone a shy little girl. What had she gotten them into? Lord, don’t You live in North Dakota?

  “We need to take everything out of the car so we have room for the supplies.”

  “Store it in the house? What if mice get into it?” Erika’s voice held an edge of hysteria.

  “Not during the day they won’t.” Ragni hoped she sounded more knowledgeable than she felt. There had been enough mice droppings in the kitchen to fertilize a large garden.

  While Erika grumbled under her breath, she began unloading the car. “If a mouse gets into my sleeping bag…”

  “Put your things in the tent along with mine. With it zipped, critters can’t get in.”

  “What if someone steals our stuff?”

  “How much traffic have you seen go by?”

  “It only takes one.”

  “Now you sound like your mother.”

  Erika glared at her and carried the final box into the house.

  Ragni checked her purse to make sure she had the list along. Even though they had heated river water and washed up earlier, the thought of a shower made her skin sigh. No, they could tough it out one more night—then the motel and showers.

  They met Paul in his truck before they got to the turnout to his place. He waved them to a stop and leaned out his window.

  “I just came to ask if you needed real food by now and if you would like to come for supper tonight.”

  “Why, how nice.” Ragni glanced over at Erika who shrugged. “Thanks, what time?”

  “Oh, come anytime, sixish. Got something brand-new to show you, if you like horses, that is.”

  Ragni could feel Erika’s interest liven up the
car like an electrical current. “What can we bring? We’re on our way to town.”

  “Medora?”

  “No, Dickinson. We need real supplies.”

  He thought a moment. “Nothing. I think we’re fine. Have a good one.” He nodded and, looking over his right shoulder, backed the truck until he could turn into his driveway. The beep of the truck horn was as good as a wave.

  “Wonder what the new thing is?” Ragni asked not really expecting an answer.

  “Everything is new when you’ve not seen it before.”

  “Good point.” She flashed Erika a smile. At least she’d not disappeared into her iPod already.

  Up ahead, dirty white cows grazed along the road, so she slowed down.

  “You think those belong to Paul?”

  “Mr. Heidelborg.”

  “Oh, for…” Erika threw her a look black enough to match the cows’ legs. She shook her head. “Whatever.” But when they drew near the pond—it looked more like a large mud hole—that Ragni had noticed on the way down, Erika gasped. “Look, that little calf is stuck.”

  Ragni eased her foot from the accelerator to slow the car down. The calf bawling and the cow nudging it confirmed her niece’s assessment.

  “We have to help it.” Erika opened her car door before Ragni came to a full stop.

  Ragni hit the brakes. “Be careful, that cow doesn’t know you.”

  But Erika leaped from the car and pushed her way through the weeds on her way to offer assistance.

  “Easy, girl, let us help you.” Her crooning voice, meant to calm the situation, met a mother who had no intentions of letting anyone touch her baby. The cow let out a bellow and headed toward Erika, muddy water flying in all directions.

  “Erika, get back here.” Ragni yelled loud enough to be heard in Medora.

  “But the calf…”

  “It’ll be fine for now. We’ll go get Paul.”