Robin Lee Hatcher - [Coming to America 02] (24 page)

Thea stopped abruptly. Inga took one more step, then did the same, turning to face her sister.

“And the first night of our marriage…” Thea felt heat rising in her cheeks. “The first night was horrid. You should have warned me.”

Inga’s eyes took on a dreamy, distant look. Somehow, Thea knew her sister was remembering something beautiful and special.

Thea wanted to tear her hair out in fury. She wanted to cry in despair. “Maybe Pappa was right. Maybe we were too young to wed. I just wanted to come home. Only now Karl is here, too, so even home won’t be the same.” She caught her breath. “I don’t know if I want to be married.”

“Oh, Thea.” Inga hugged her, then took a step backward. Their gazes met again. “I am not certain you should be talking to me of this. I have not done so well with my own marriage.” She paused, seemingly lost in thought. Then she said, “I know this much. You went to New York because you loved Karl. You married him because you loved him. He is your husband because you promised to always love him.”

“But I don’t
feel
the same about him as I did—”

“Falling in love is the easy part, Thea. It is quite different from
being
in love. If you are blessed, I suppose, you fall in love with your husband again a little bit every day. But most often, love is a choice, a decision to love no matter what the day brings. You are in love because you choose to be in love. You made a promise, a commitment, to love him.”

Thea hadn’t wanted a lecture. She’d wanted sympathy. “It’s just all so different now. Karl isn’t the same as he was in Sweden. He’s so…so serious all the time.”

“Being a husband
is
serious. Supporting a wife, taking care of children.” Inga’s expression changed. She looked…happy. “We cannot know what tomorrow will bring. We must not look for trouble. Have some faith in your husband, Thea. Karl is more man than you credit him to be, I think.” Suddenly Inga turned toward the parsonage. “Dirk,” she whispered.

Thea knew she’d been completely forgotten. “Inga—”

“I have to go.” Inga started walking back along the path.

“Wait!”

Inga stopped and turned. “Do not be foolish, Thea. Do not throw Karl away. You may not have another chance to love him as he should be loved.”

“I thought you would understand.” Tears filled Thea’s eyes.

“I do understand. More than you know.” Inga turned again. “Now I have to go.” She began to run. “I have to go home.”

Thea wanted to stay angry. She wanted to shout at Inga and demand to be heard. But something happened. She caught a sudden, unflattering glimpse of herself—and she didn’t like what she saw.

Maybe Karl was right. Maybe it
was
time she grew up…

Before it was too late.

W
e cannot know what tomorrow will bring. We must not look for trouble. Have some faith in your husband
…

Inga’s advice to Thea replayed in her mind as Olaf’s buggy, driven by Karl, carried her home. And with those words, she remembered the instant of revelation, the moment she’d understood what she had done to Dirk this morning, what she’d been doing for far too long.

Dirk was more man than she’d given him credit for being. She had thought him less able to commit to marriage than she herself. Even less than young Karl to Thea. She had pushed Dirk away because of her own fears. Earlier this morning, she’d thought all that was behind her, but she’d let one moment of doubt bring the fear roaring back. She’d let it control her once again. She hadn’t listened to what Dirk was telling her. He loved her. He’d said he loved her, and she had pushed him away because she was afraid to take hold of what had been given to her.

“It doesn’t appear anyone is here, Inga.”

She looked with some surprise at her surroundings. She was home. But Dirk and the children weren’t there. The wagon wasn’t standing in its usual place beside the barn. Robber and Sunset weren’t in their paddock, grazing on new shoots of grass. There was no laughter of children falling through open windows to greet Inga upon her arrival.

She climbed out of the buggy. “Just leave my things on the porch, Karl. Then you can go back to the parsonage. I will wait for my family here.” Her family, her husband, her children.

“Are you sure, Inga? Your pappa didn’t seem to think you should be alone.”

“I am sure.”

“But it seems so—”

“This is my home, Karl,” she interrupted gently. “I will be fine.” She stared up at the house, feeling as if she hadn’t seen it in years.

Karl carried her portmanteau and valise to the porch and set them there, then turned toward her. “I am going to follow your advice, Inga.
Tack.”

“My advice was small.” In truth, she couldn’t remember what she had said to him during the drive to the farm.

“Nej,
you have been of great help.” He smiled. “We will be happy, Thea and I.”

She returned the smile, took hold of his hand and squeezed.
“Ja,
I know you will. Now go home, Karl. Go back to your bride.”

This time there was a bit of youthful cockiness in his grin. “Tell
Herr
Bridger I look forward to meeting him.” Then he hurried to the buggy, sprang onto the seat, and lifted the reins. In a moment, he was on his way.

Inga waited until her pappa’s buggy had turned onto the main road before she entered the house. It was surprisingly tidy, she thought as she wandered from the living room into the kitchen, her gaze sweeping over all the familiar items that filled each room. She wouldn’t have thought a girl Astrid’s age would be so thorough in her cleaning. At the parsonage, Astrid had always…

Inga froze in midstep. Her heart nearly stopped, too.

Astrid had been at the parsonage that morning to welcome Thea and Karl home. But Astrid couldn’t have known they were coming. Why had she been there? Maybe she’d been homesick. Or maybe she was visiting for the day. Dirk had said he would be back tomorrow to see Inga. Margaret’s cousin—what was Mrs. Trent’s first name?—had probably volunteered to watch the girls.

Inga left the kitchen and walked quickly to Hattie Bridger’s old bedroom. Nothing was out of place. No luggage was in sight. Her heart began to beat a little faster as she hurried toward the stairs and climbed to the second floor. She checked all three bedrooms. There was nothing in any of them to indicate either Astrid or the Trents had been at the Bridger farm.

She forced her racing heart to slow as she squared her shoulders in determination. She wasn’t going to slip back into the doubts and fears. She wasn’t going to live that way any longer.

Still, despite her resolve to be calm and patient, the hours of afternoon moved slowly. Inga lost track of the number of times she went to the door to stare down the road, waiting for the wagon to appear.

Where are you, Dirk?

Snippets of memories played in her head. Dirk’s expression when Martha had entered his bedroom on Saint Lucia’s Day morning. The snowball fight when they’d gone looking for an evergreen tree to brighten Hattie’s last Christmas. Dirk’s proposal of marriage. The night they’d stood before the mirror and he’d told her she was pretty. The tenderness of his touch. The sweetness in his kisses. The moment she’d realized she was pregnant with his child. Dirk climbing the maple tree. Dirk pushing her in the swing.

Dirk
…

Her life in Sweden had been one of familiar routine. Inga had welcomed the adventure of coming to America. She had reveled in it, like a starving woman at a banquet table. Once in Uppsala, she had longed for another adventure. Dirk’s need of help had seemed an answer to that longing.

But then she had fallen in love, and she had let fear seep into her heart. Fear of the day the adventure would end. Except, how could it end, when life itself was the adventure? She wondered how she had failed to see that before now.

She longed for Dirk to hurry home; she had so much to tell him.

“Are you certain you won’t change your mind?” Allison asked above the
hiss
and
whoosh
of the waiting train.

“I’m sure,” Dirk answered firmly.

The woman glanced at the girls, each with a hand clasped by her uncle. “But you cannot raise them alone. What if their aunt never—”

“My wife’s gonna be home tomorrow.”

Allison must have seen that further argument was useless. With tears in her eyes, she bent to give Martha and Suzanne each a kiss good-bye.

As she did so, her husband said, “This doesn’t mean we’re going to be strangers, Mr. Bridger. We’ll be back to visit.”

“And you’ll be welcome.” Dirk let go of Martha’s hand, then offered it to Harvey. “You’re family. Family’s always welcome.”

Allison couldn’t control her tears any longer. They were running down her plump cheeks as she straightened. “You must let us know if the children need anything. Anything at all.”

Dirk nodded.

“My dear,” Harvey said, “it’s time to board the train.” He took her arm. “Come along.”

Allison wiped her eyes. “Perhaps, when they’re older, you’ll allow them to spend a few months with us. We have a beautiful summer cottage in New England.”

“Perhaps,” Dirk answered.

“Allison, we must get on the train.”

“Good-bye, Martha. Good-bye, Suzanne.” She waved her handkerchief as she walked backward, pulled by her husband.

“Good-bye, Cousin Allison,” the children called in unison just as she disappeared into the waiting passenger car.

Martha slipped her hand back into her uncle’s. “She sure did cry a lot.”

“She’s gonna miss you.” He looked down at her. “They’re nice people.”

Suzanne tugged on his arm. “Can we go home now, Unca Dirk? I wanna see Aunt Inga.”

“I want to see her, too.” He squeezed their hands. “And we will. Soon.”

“I don’t know when they’ll be back, Inga,” Sven had said as the two of them stood in the barn. “Dirk asked me to see to the milking tonight, and I said I would. He said they were all going down with the Trents to catch the train.”

That had been many hours ago. The house was dark now. Dark and silent. Inga had prepared herself an evening meal, but it had gone uneaten. She had tried to sew on her new quilt, but she was too restless to sit still.

There were moments when doubts came again. What if Dirk had decided to accept the Trents’ offer? What if Inga had come to her senses too late? But she shoved those thoughts aside. He would be back. He had told her he would, and nothing would ever again make her not believe him.

The house grew cold as the hour became late. Exhausted and lonely, Inga climbed the stairs. She entered the bedroom she’d shared with her husband. She felt his absence most in here, she thought as she crossed the room and undressed for the night.

The sheets on the bed were cool, and the bed seemed too large. She buried her face in his pillow, but the loneliness only increased when she noticed it carried Dirk’s scent. Had she ever noticed that before?

She had been blind to many things, it seemed.

For some reason, as the wagon drew closer to the farm, the road ahead of them lit by a full moon, Dirk had begun to feel a new urgency to reach their destination. Anticipation had welled up in his chest, although he hadn’t known why.

Now I know why
, he thought as he leaned against the doorjamb and stared at his wife, asleep in their bed. He could never have described the surprise, the joy, the hope, or the wonder he’d felt the moment he discovered her there.

He stepped into the room and closed the door. The children had been carried to their room and tucked into their bed. The horses had been rubbed down and put out to pasture. And now the rest of the night belonged to his wife.

He crossed to Inga’s side of the bed and knelt there, his gaze never moving from her face. He hadn’t made a sound, yet her eyes opened, as if she’d sensed his presence.

“Dirk,” she whispered. If there had been any lingering doubt about why she was here—in this room, in this bed—it was dispelled in the loving way she said his name. She sat up. Her hair tumbled about her shoulders, a pale and silky waterfall that glimmered in the moonlight. “I have been waiting for you.”

He smiled. “I’ve been waitin’ for you, Inga Bridger.” His voice was husky with emotion. “All my life, I’ve been waitin’ for you.”

Her fingertips on his cheek were cool. “I know.” She cradled his face between the palms of her hands, drew him toward her. “And I am not afraid any longer.”

Dirk wished he had the words that would tell his wife how much he loved her. He wished he could make her see all she had given him.

He drew her from the bed, setting her feet gently onto the floor before him, holding her tightly against his chest.

“I love you, Inga.”

“As I love you.”

“It’s not gonna be easy. We’re always gonna be short on money and long on problems.”

“It does not need to be easy. We need only to have each other and our faith in God. He will see us through.”

“Yes,” he answered. “Yes, he will.”

He felt, more than heard, her sigh, and somehow he understood it was a sound of contentment. He pressed his cheek against the top of her head. After a few moments, he said, “I’ve always liked the way your hair smells.”

“And I have always liked to hear you say it.”

Dirk stepped back, holding her at arm’s length so he could look at her. “You’re beautiful.”

Inga felt his gaze upon her. She was warmed by it. She felt…beautiful—just as he’d said.

“My wife,” he whispered.

“My husband,” she replied softly.

There was a beauty in this moment, in the way their hearts communicated beyond the words that were spoken. A beauty in the love they’d found in one another, a love that transcended everything that had gone before.

A love that caused a twining and tangling of all their tomorrows.

A love that wove together all of their hopes and dreams.

And where there had been two, now there was only one…

One more pattern of love.