“Since you came.” Myra turned to meet her stare. “I mean it. A mother knows these things.”
“Knows what?”
“When her kids are truly happy. I hope you come back, but I guess I hope even more that you will stay.”
“I…I have to get back to…to Chicago.” Not really. Be honest.
“If you could do anything you wanted, what would you do?”
Ragni spoke without giving it any thought. “I’d stay right here and keep on painting.” The words surprised her and caused a smile to blossom on the older woman’s face. And be sure that what I’m beginning to feel for your son is really love and not just like or lust. Am I falling in love or is this just a serious case of attraction?
Mutual attraction, if her senses had any sense.
“I need more peeling.” Ivar’s voice came toward them.
“How about if I bring you some iced tea, and you take a break?” Myra turned back to her husband, patting Ragni’s shoulder as she left.
While Myra got the iced tea pitcher out of the cooler, Ragni set up red plastic cups on a tray. They poured them full, and after Myra took cups for her and Ivar, Ragni carried the tray into the other room, where walls and ceiling now wore the white dress of fresh Sheetrock.
“Wow, you even did the log walls.”
“Looks better, don’t you think?” Matt laid down his hammer. “Just in the nick of time. I was about to expire of thirst.”
“We can start taping in here. You ever run a taper?” Paul nodded his thanks as he picked up the last cup.
“Would it surprise you to know that I have?” Ragni smiled.
“Not in the least.” The answering smile in his eyes zinged clear to her knees, knocking them weak. Like, lust, or love. The three l words. Or were they all part of one? And perhaps she just needed more time to find out.
Time she didn’t have. They were to leave on Saturday, just a week from tomorrow. If she were wise, she would leave on Friday and have time to get her life in Chicago back on track. Back on track, right. Pick up her things from AAI and start the search for a new job. If one didn’t materialize right away, she knew she could freelance. Which you could do from here. The little voice seemed to chuckle.
She watched as the men gathered up their tools to move into the next room, her thoughts scampering all over the leaving issue, dusting small footprints that had no rhyme or reason.
“The taper is out in my truck.” Matt handed her back the plastic cup. “In the toolbox, on the right-hand side.”
“Okay.”
“And while you’re out there, call Annie on the walkie-talkie, and see when they’ll have lunch ready,” Matt continued.
She almost said, “Yes sir,” but refrained. Obviously this big brother took his role seriously. She knew the women of the family, other than Myra, were up at Paul’s fixing lunch. And dinner too, if need be. The plan was to finish as much here as possible. With a new roof on the cabin, it would not be the same place she saw two weeks ago, that was for sure.
She returned with a fully loaded taper and began on the walls. She would let one of the men do the ceiling. How difficult would it be to get power in? What more would she need? She resolved to ask Ivar while they ate.
“We’re going swimming,” Erika called from the doorway.
Ragni looked up. “Have fun!”
“Be careful,” Myra added.
“Grandma!”
“Gee, that sounded almost like Mo-om.” Ragni intoned the two-syllable word in the proper teen fashion.
The kids left, giggling, and Myra laughed. “You said it right.”
Ragni’s arm had begun to ache when the taper ran out of tape, and she had to go out for more. When she returned, she shook her head in amazement at Myra and Ivar. “You two are something else. This room looks three times bigger than it did before. The floor is beautiful.”
The tan squares of vinyl had faint lines of rust that vaguely resembled the striations of marble. They looked even better than she’d thought they would—she wished she’d bought enough for the two bedrooms, too. She could put those down herself during the week since everything else she’d thought of doing was being done— in one day.
“I think we need another trip to town,” Paul said later while they were eating on the deck of his house.
“Why?” Ragni laid the remains of her hamburger down on a paper plate and wiped her mouth with a napkin.
“We didn’t buy paint, flooring for the other rooms, or insulation for the ceiling.”
“I was thinking the same thing.” Ivar leaned back in his chair.
“You need a circuit box for inside and a service box for outside. Then you’ll be ready for the power company installers to string you a line. Be easy with the power poles right on the other side of the road. Need one pole and right to the house. Got to keep it high enough for hay or cattle trucks to run under it, not like when Einer put it in years ago.”
So many things to think of. Ragni dug in her purse for pad and pencil. “I’ll start the list.”
“You’ll need exterior paint for the window trims and doors,” Myra said as she passed the platter with squares of Texas sheet cake fast disappearing from it.
That night, after another trip to Dickinson and another dent in her bank account, she wandered the house alone. Erika was staying overnight with Sarah, her closest friend in this group of cousins, and while Ragni was glad for her niece, she felt surprisingly bereft. She’d thought she would paint, but restlessness itched like a tick caught under the skin.
Ivar and Myra had finished laying the floor in the big room—as she was beginning to call the combination kitchen, dining area, and living room with its beautiful expanse of flooring. The dividing wall was Sheetrocked and taped, ready to texture and paint the next day, as were the bedrooms. Ceilings sagging with water damage were a thing of the past. Electrical outlets in the walls and receptacles in the ceilings were ready for fixtures. She’d bought the plain-Jane variety, not taking the time to choose with aesthetics in mind.
“Grandma Nilda, what would you think of this now?” On Monday, they were going to visit with Aida Gardner, who owned the paintings Ragni was dying to see. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if I could buy them and put them up here? She was almost afraid to contemplate such an idea, knowing that the disappointment would be acute if she couldn’t.
A knock at the door made her heart race.
“Its just me.” Pauls voice through the screen door sent warmth to her fingertips.
“Come on in.”
“I saw the light and thought perhaps you were painting. I can go away.”
“Nope, too restless. Come on in.” She watched as he entered and removed his hat. So many men nowadays wore their hats in the house. Her father always removed his hat and hung it on a peg by the door. As always, thoughts of her dad cut deep. So many “he’ll never again” kinds of thoughts.
Paul glanced around the room and nodded. “What a difference.”
“Isn’t it? Your family is something else.”
“I know that now. I tried to run away for a while, but like that old saw says, ‘There’s no place like home.’” He leaned his hip pockets against the counter. “Mom was really impressed with your painting. You should have heard her raving.”
“Thanks.” Ragni glanced over at the two easels. In the dimness, Storm looked nearly black. Like most things, light brought out the shadows. She closed her eyes for a moment, took in a deep breath, and let it out. She had to restart because her voice hadn’t caught up yet with her thoughts. Should she tell him?
“I’ve never painted like this in my entire life.”
The words dropped gently into the stillness. She raised her gaze to meet Paul’s.
“I thought it must always be like this,” Paul said.
Were they both talking of painting, or were there deeper currents swirling like the clouds in Storm?
I have to go back. I don’t want to go back. Back to Chicago. All jobs in my field have killer deadli
nes. That’s no longer what I want. “What do I want to do?” she asked the cabin.
“Come here.” He opened his arms, and she walked right into them. He folded her into his chest and rested his chin on the top of her head. She could hear his heart beneath her ear, steady and strong like the man himself, like the land where he lived and the God he believed in.
“I want to understand God’s plan for me,” Ragni said softly.
“I want God’s plan for you to include me.”
She smiled and leaned back to look up into his face. “Me too.” She waited a heartbeat for him to tip his head and cover her lips with his. This first kiss was friendly and comforting, an “I want to get to know you better” kiss. He lifted his mouth and cupped his hands along her jaw line. “You are so beautiful. I’ve wanted to kiss you since the first day I came to the cabin. I’ve been so afraid you’d leave before I said anything.”
“Really?” She smiled back, sighed, and laid her cheek against his chest. His heartbeat had picked up.
“If you could do anything you wanted, what would it be?” Paul asked, his arms still around her.
“Your mother asked me that same question.” Her hands found their way around his waist and met in back.
“So what did you tell her?”
She could feel another kiss on the top of her head. “I said I’d paint and…” She thought for a moment. “I can’t remember what else I said. Being this close to you is muddling up my thinking.”
“But painting came first?”
“Yes.” Well, sort of. I kind of like this too.
“Can you paint like this in Chicago?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t know that I could do it here. That’s why I quit doing more than play-painting with Erika back home. None of my work turned out the way I saw it in my head. But here my life hasn’t turned out the way I pictured it either.” At least up until now.
“You want my opinion?”
“Of course.”
“I think you should stay right here and marry me.”
She jerked back, her eyes wide and jaw hanging open. “Did you say what I think you said?”
“If you think I said you should stay here and marry me, then you heard right.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “I love you, Ragni Clauson.” His voice cracked. “For now and forever.”
“But you can’t…I mean…how do you know?” This is too soon. I’ve known you for only two weeks.
He drew her back to his chest where she could hear his chuckle reverberating within. “I’ve waited a long time to find the woman who is right for me, and now I know I have. I learned long ago, once I make up my mind, there is no sense letting grass grow under my feet.”
“Oh.” How comforting his heart sounded. Now the big question: Do I love this man? When the Yes! echoed around her brain, she felt sure it was loud enough for him to hear. Yes, her mind screamed again. Just tell him, you idiot girl. But do you know this is the real thing? Thoughts of Daren skittered through her mind. Had she really loved him or only thought so?
She sucked in a deep breath and sighed, “Yes. I think so.” Am I doing the right thing, the only thing? She waited for her heart to settle back down. The pause lengthened.
He gave her a tiny shake. “Yes, what?”
“Hmm.” She stared up at him, his smile kicking up her pulse again. “Paul, I’ve never been one to make quick decisions, and when it comes right down to it…we hardly know each other.” Her fingers ignored her words and reached up to trace the curves on either side of his mouth, something she’d wanted to do for days. “Can you give me some time to think about it? Pray about it?”
“How much time? An hour, a day?” He kissed her again, his lips lingering on hers.
She felt the warmth clear to her toes. How could she not say yes? “Yes, I love you, and yes, I’ll marry you.” For someone known to never make snap decisions, she sure was changing—big time.
“Whew, I’m glad that’s taken care of.” He kissed her again. “Now, when?”
“Can I take a rain check on that part? I mean, I have a lot of stuff to work out.” Like getting to know you better. She thought a moment longer, then reached up to stroke his face. “Did you really ask me to marry you, or am I dreaming?”
“I really did. You want to hear it again?”
“Yes.” If this was what floating on a dream felt like, she fully intended to keep afloat.
“Ragni Clauson, I love you, and I want to marry you—the sooner the better.”
“Don’t you think you should meet my family first?”
“They can come for the wedding.”
“Hmm. Isn’t the wedding supposed to be where the bride wants it?” How she loved hearing his heartbeat.
“If you want to be married in Chicago, that’s fine with me. If you want to elope, that’s finer with me. All I ask is that we don’t do a huge wedding with hundreds of people.”
“Nope, no huge wedding. But I do want a long white dress—and Susan and Erika for my attendants.”
“September?”
“Would you mind if we had the ceremony right here? In my great-grandmother’s home?”
“Not at all.”
Ragni thought for a moment. Her home, the woman I came to meet. Dear Great-grandma Ragnilda, knowing you is changing my life. I hope this makes you as happy as it’s making me.
Weddings, even simple ones, are not for the faint of heart.
Ragni stared at the boxes around her, the remnants from her Chicago apartment now sitting in a cabin in North Dakota. While she’d sold some of the bigger pieces of furniture, she’d kept things that could be used in the cabin: her drop-leaf table and chairs, her bedroom furniture that now resided in the front bedroom, the art supplies and drafting table that took up most of the back bedroom.
She’d deliberately not brought much into the living room since that would be the setting for the main event. Tomorrow. Her wedding day was tomorrow. Right now her mother, Susan, and Erika were at the motel in Medora. They would come here to stay when she and Paul left on their brief honeymoon.
She glanced at her watch. Later that morning they’d be back out here to go through Great-grandma Nilda’s boxes. Three of Nilda’s paintings now hung on the walls of the cabin, back where they belonged. Mrs. Gardner had been most generous in allowing Ragni to buy them back. One hung at the local museum along with the works of other artists of the region. Another hung at the State Historical Museum in Bismarck. In her later years, her great-grandmother had been an artist of some repute—and they’d never known that. What happened in the intervening years that would cause Eloise not to tell Judy of Nilda’s talents? Would they ever know?
Ragni stepped outside to inhale fall. She’d noticed the changes in the air even before the leaves started turning—-the cottonwoods going yellow, the juneberries picking up scarlet and orange. One of the maples across the valley now had splotches of red, along with golding green. But the fragrance caught her. Did each season have its own perfume? How to describe it? If only she could paint it. She closed her eyes. What colors, forms? She took another sip of coffee, made on the big, black range she’d slaved over and loved like a favorite chair.
While she liked Paul’s house and the huge window she’d already found ideal for painting by, here in the space permeated with her family’s history was where she most loved to paint. True, the light wasn’t the best, but there was something about this place. Sometimes she felt her great-grandmother hovering over her shoulder. She felt it so strongly she was sure that if she turned quickly enough, she would catch her smile, feel her hands guiding her own, smell the lingering fragrance of baking bread.
Paul said they could have frost any night, although it was a bit early. He said it froze sometimes before Labor Day. Paul said. Could she think of anything for more than three minutes before something he said or did or the way he looked crept in? She finished her coffee, tossed the dregs in the grass that had been mowed often enough it had begun to resemble a lawn,
and went back inside. She could have stayed in town with the others last night but she wanted her last two nights in this house all by herself.
The way she’d originally planned her vacation.
“Father God, You sure did plan things differently than I did.” Her Bible lay open on the counter. She left it open at 1 Corinthians 13, the chapter on love. The minister would read that again tomorrow. As Paul had said, their adventure in love was just beginning.
She wandered into the bedroom where her dress hung in its protective bag from a hook in the new ceiling. She planned to hang a lamp there sometime, but now her dress shimmered in the wrappings. Old-fashioned with a high neck of Belgian lace that inset the scooped neck. Rich satin puffed in leg-of-mutton sleeves, a fitted and dropped waist that formed a point, the piping setting off the pleats of the full skirt with a small train. Lace medallions edged the hemline and bordered the center seam. She’d designed it herself and had a woman in Medora sew it for her. She felt regal wearing it, like a queen.
“We’re here!” Susan’s voice came from the kitchen door.
“Ragni, where are you?” Erika hollered.
“In the bedroom.”
“We brought caramel rolls from the Cowboy.”
“Bless you.” She left off gazing at her dress and joined them around the counter. “You look like you finally got enough sleep, Mom.”
“Twelve hours surely should be enough.” Judy shook her head. “I didn’t even call the nursing home this morning.”
“I nearly broke her arm to keep the phone away from her, but who’s confessing that?” Susan took a bite of her caramel roll. “Coffee hot?”
“Right behind you.”
“How will we live here this winter without a shower?” Erika pulled the first ring off her roll. “Will I have to get up early and go to Paul’s to take a shower before school?”
“Were adding on to the house.” Susan poured her own coffee and filled cups for the others.
“You— We are?” Ragni stared from Susan to their mother.
“If we want to come here for any length of time and perhaps in the winter, we’ll need indoor plumbing,” Susan said, as if it should be obvious that a privy and no shower was not acceptable. “I mean the summer is one thing, but you can’t swim in a frozen river.”
The Brushstroke Legacy Page 31
