Dakota December and Dakota Destiny (18 page)

“Then he isn’t dead.” Mary went to stand in front of the fire. She wanted to throw the horrible letter in and let the flames devour it.

“We can pray that he isn’t,” John said. He stepped closer and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“Father, wouldn’t I know if Will no longer lived on this earth? I mean, he can’t have been dead for three months and me not sense it, could he?”

“I don’t know, child.” John shook his head. “I just don’t know. The Almighty hasn’t seen fit to let me know many things.”

Mary looked up at her father. The lines had deepened in his face and his hair showed white all over. “What’s been happening?”

“I had two funerals last week of boys shipped home to be buried. The oldest Gustafson boy and Teddy Bjorn. What can I say to those grieving parents—that this was God’s will?”

He laid his cheek on the top of her head, now nestled against his shoulder. “I cannot say that war is God’s will, that He is on the side of the right. He loves the Germans, too, not just the Americans and the English and French. We are all His children, so how can we go about killing each other?” His voice had softened on the last words. “How?”

Mary felt the shudder that passed through him. Her gentle father, who loved all the children of the parish and their parents and relatives. Who never preached the fire and brimstone of other churches because he said God is love and His grace is made perfect in our human weakness. This man now had to bury the ones he loved, because of man’s inhumanity to man.

But was war really human? She’d sat through many discussions and heard heart-stirring speeches about fighting for freedom, but did freedom have to come at the cost of so many lives? She had no answers, only questions.

Had Will really gone to his heavenly home, or was he on earth, suffering some unspeakable agony? If he were alive, wouldn’t he have contacted her?

“You may have to accept the fact that he is gone.” John drew his arms away and stepped back so he could see her face more clearly. “But not now!”

“No, not now.”

Mary straightened her shoulders, reminiscent of Mrs. Norgaard. She forced a smile to her quivering lips. “How is Daniel? And Mother with the Oiens? Did Mr. Oien give in yet and let Jenny have a kitty? She loves them so. How have you been? You’re looking tired.” Before he could answer, she turned to Dag, who had been sitting quietly. “How are Mrs. Norgaard and Clara?” Perhaps if she asked enough questions, the greater one would disappear.

“We are all fine,” her father finally managed to insert. “In fact, with the cooler weather, Daniel has been doing well. Hasn’t missed a day of school, but he would have today if he could have hidden out in my pocket to come along. He is counting the days until you come home for Christmas. Said to tell you he prays for Will every night.”

That nearly undid her. She blinked several times and stared into the fire until she had herself under control. “Have you had supper?” When they shook their heads, she looked up at the carved clock on the mantel. “I’m sure Mrs. Killingsworth will let me fix you something in the kitchen. Where are you staying?”

“We aren’t. We will catch the eleven o’clock back north. I just felt it important to give you this news in person, not through a letter or over the telephone.”

Mary placed a hand on his arm. “Father, you are so kind. How lucky I am that I was born to you and Mor.” She spun away before he could answer. “Let me check on supper for you.”

An hour later she waved them on their way. “Thank you for coming along with him, Dag. You are a good friend.”

He tipped his black, felt hat to her. “Mrs. Norgaard just wanted me to check up on her investment; this seemed as good a time as any.” The twinkle in his eye let her know he was teasing.

“Well, then, since this was a business trip, thank you for bringing my father along.” She hugged her father one last time. “Pass that on to everyone, okay?”

She kept the smile in place as long as they looked back, but when she closed the door, the tears could no longer be held back. She stumbled against the lower step of the staircase and sat down. Leaning her head against the newel post, she couldn’t have stopped the tears had she tried.

One by one the other young women in the boardinghouse came down the stairs and clustered around her. One offered a handkerchief; another went for a glass of water. Still another slipped into the music room and, sitting down at the piano, began playing the hymns they’d learned as children.

As the music washed over them, soon one began humming and then another.

When the storm of tears finally abated, Mary listened to the humming in harmony. Had a chorus of angels come just to give her strength? She closed her eyes and leaned against the post. They drifted from melody to melody as the pianist did, until she finally let the last notes drift away.

“Amen.” As the notes died away, Janice took Mary’s arm and tugged her to her feet. Together, arms around each other’s waists, they climbed the stairs to the bedroom they shared.

“Thank you, all,” Mary whispered. Talking loudly would have broken the spell.

When despair grabbed at her in the days to come, she remembered that peaceful music and the love of her friends. In spite of the official letter, each evening Mary added tales of the day to her own letters to Will. She continued to send them, refusing to allow herself to speculate about what was happening to them.

“I guess I’m afraid that if I quit, Will will be dead, and if I keep on, there’s a chance he is alive,” she explained to Janice one night. They’d been studying late because exams were coming up.

“How can you keep on going and not let it drag you down?” Janice tightened the belt of her flannel robe. “The not knowing—” She shook her head so her dark hair swung over one shoulder. She combed the tresses with her fingers and leaned back against the pillows piled at the head of her bed. “Makes me glad I don’t have a sweetheart yet.”

“I wouldn’t trade my friendship and love for Will for all the men on campus.”

“There are several who would ask if you gave them the chance.”

“Janice!” Mary turned in her chair and locked her hands over the back. “I haven’t treated any one of them as more than a friend.”

“I know that. You act like you are already married, for heaven’s sake. I’m just telling you what I see. And hear.”

“Oh, pooh, you’re making that up.” Mary turned back to her books. “Be quiet, I have to get this memorized.”

But Mary recognized that her skirts hung looser about her waist and the shadows that lurked beneath her eyes grew darker, as if she hadn’t enough sleep. Each night she committed Will to her heavenly Father’s keeping and waved goodnight to him on the last star of the handle.

Two days before she left for home, she received a letter from her mother.
My dear Mary,
she read.
I have some sad news for you. Mrs. Oien, my dear friend Elizabeth, died from pneumonia two days ago. Dr. Harmon said she had no strength to fight it, and I could see that. I was with her when she breathed her last, as was Mr. Oien.

He is so broken up, I want to take him in my arms like I do Daniel, to comfort him. The funeral is tomorrow. The children are with us for the time being, as Kenneth can’t seem to know what to do with them. He stayed home from work for the first day but said he was going crazy in that house without her.

The rest of us are eagerly waiting for your return. God keep you, my dear. Your loving mother.

Mary laid the paper in her lap and looked out the window into the blackness. A streetlight up by the corner cast a round circle of light on the freshly fallen snow. Clouds, pregnant with moisture, covered the twinkling stars. The night felt heavy, like the news in her lap.

“Oh, Elizabeth,” Mary whispered, “how you must have fought to stay with your children. And your poor husband. Good-bye, my friend. Go with God.” She sat down and wrote a letter of condolence to Mr. Oien, knowing she would get back to town nearly as soon as the letter but feeling she needed to write it anyway.

“What happened now?” Janice asked when she came in some time later.

Mary handed her the letter.

“Oh, that poor man.” Janice looked up from her reading. “He’ll need someone to care for his children.” She tilted her head slightly sideways and looked at Mary. “You won’t think you have to stay home next term and care for them?”

“No, I promised Mrs. Norgaard I would finish this year. I just grew to care for Elizabeth so much last summer, and the children, Joey and Jenny, will be lost.”

“Not if your mother has anything to do with it.”

“Or Doc Harmon and Mrs. Norgaard. They’ll probably have him married off in a month or two.” Mary’s smile slipped. “Men do that you know—marry again right away. I don’t know how they can.”

“For some I think marrying is like changing underwear. You do what’s necessary.”

“Janice Ringold!” Mary, feeling her jaw hit her chest, looked at her friend. The shock of the words made them both laugh. “You are outrageous, you know that?”

“I know. My mother always said my mouth would get me in trouble. ‘Men don’t like outspoken young ladies.’ If I heard her say that once, I heard her a thousand times.”

“Didn’t help much, did it?” They chuckled again.

But before Mary fell asleep that night, she added an extra prayer for the Oien family along with her others, and as always, she gave Him Will.

The house smelled like cinnamon and fresh-baked bread when Mary tiptoed in through the front door. Candles in the windows were ready to be lit on Christmas Eve, a pine tree from Minnesota filled the usual spot in the corner of the parlor, and garlands of cedar trimmed the doorway. Mary felt a pang; she’d missed the house decorating again. If only she’d had her last exam early in the week like many of the others, she could have left sooner. She could hear her mother in the kitchen, removing something from the oven.

Mary shut the door softly, hoping there would be no squeak, and when that was accomplished, she crossed the room to the kitchen. “Surprise!”

“Oh, my heavens!” Ingeborg grabbed at the sheet of cookies that was headed for the floor. When she had the cookies safely on the table, she put her hand to her heart. “What are you trying to do, you naughty child, give your mother a heart attack?” But the smile that took in her whole face and her outstretched arms made light of her scolding words. “Land sakes, Mary, I didn’t think you were ever coming.”

A child’s whimper came from the bedroom.

“Now see what you did—woke up Jenny. Joey won’t be far behind.”

“They are here?” Mary hugged her mother and began unwinding the bright red scarf about her neck. She hung it and then her coat on the rack by the door and reached outside for her valise. “You think they will remember me?”

“With Daniel telling them every day that Mary is coming, what do you think?” Ingeborg cocked her head and listened. “I think she’ll settle down again. Give us time for a cup of coffee and some catching up.”

“I have another box at the station; it was too heavy to carry.”

“Mary, you didn’t spend your money on Christmas presents, did you?”

“Some, and some I made, like always. There are some books there for my classroom—when I get a classroom, that is.” She sat down at the table and watched her mother take down the good china cups. They only came down for special company and the Ladies’ Aid. Ingeborg set the one with tiny rosebuds around the rim in front of her daughter. It had been her favorite since when she was little and they had tea once in a great while.

Oh, I’m home,
Mary thought.
I never know how much I miss it and my family until I come back. But this time there will be no Will to come sweep me off my feet.
She sighed. A bit of the sunlight went out of the day.
You knew better,
she scolded herself.
You knew he wasn’t here, so behave yourself. Don’t take your feelings out on Mor, who is so happy to see you.

After Ingeborg poured the coffee, she took her daughter’s chin in gentle fingers and tilted her face toward the light. “Have you been sick?”

Mary shook her head.

“Working too hard and not sleeping enough?” She tilted the girl’s head down and kissed the forehead. “Grieving for Will?” Her words were soft as the ashes falling in the stove.

“Oh, Mor.” Mary flung her arms around her mother’s waist and buried her face in the flour-dusted apron. “I can’t believe he’s dead. Wouldn’t I know, some part of me down in my heart? Wouldn’t I know for sure?”

Ingeborg stroked the soft curls and brushed the wisps of hair back that framed Mary’s face. “I’ve heard tell of that, of mothers with their children, sometimes of those who’ve been married for many years, but—” She bent down and laid her cheek on Mary’s head. “My dear, I just don’t know.”

They stayed that way, comforting each other for a time. Finally Mary drew away.

Ingeborg brushed some flour off her daughter’s cheek. “Now the coffee is gone cold. Let me heat it up.” She poured the brown liquid back in the pot and set it on the front burner again. “One thing I do know. When the time comes, you say good-bye, knowing that you loved him and he loved you and love goes on forever. But Will wouldn’t want you to grieve overlong; he’d want you to get on with your life.”

“I’ll be teaching next year. Isn’t that getting on with my life?”

“Ja, it is. God, I know, has special plans for you, and when we cry, He says He is right here with us. As He is all the time.”

Mary watched the peace on her mother’s face and heard the faith in her voice. Ingeborg’s faith never wavered. Could she ever be strong like that?

“Mary’s home!” The cry rang through the house when school let out and the children ran in through the door. Jenny and Joey came out of their rooms, rubbing their eyes, and after a moment, joined the others in the circle around Mary. Everyone talked at once until the ceiling echoed with happy laughter.

Supper that night continued in the same vein. When Mr. Oien came to pick up his children, Ingeborg invited him to stay for a bite to eat. They pulled out the table and set in another leaf so there would be room.