Robin Lee Hatcher - [Coming to America 02] (5 page)

But she didn’t know exactly what to pray for. Memories of him from the previous three days replayed in her mind. She saw the way he watched his mother and his nieces, understood his worries and concerns. She felt his weariness, his unrest. What words could she say on behalf of such a man?

Finally, she whispered, “Give him peace, Father God. Just let him know peace.”

A squeaky board on the staircase told her that the man in her prayers was climbing to his room at that very moment. Her breath caught in her throat, and her heartbeat quickened. Her prayers evaporated like a mist over the ocean at dawn. She heard each step he took, seemed to feel his nearness as he moved past her room and into his own. She didn’t let out her breath until she heard his door close.

And then she uttered one last prayer.

“Oh Lord, my heart is in danger. Protect me.”

But it was already too late for that particular cry for help, and Inga knew it. She was falling in love with Dirk Bridger.

Hastily, she extinguished her lamp and crawled into bed, burrowing down beneath the blankets, as if trying to escape her discovery.

How could this be? She had met him scarcely three days before. A woman didn’t fall in love as quickly as that. Love took months, even years to grow, and many women never experienced love—not even for their husbands. Most were content if they shared a common regard. Everyone knew that. Everyone. Even a spinster of twenty-two like Inga.

Besides, Dirk Bridger wasn’t her kind. He didn’t attend her church or share her faith in God. He could be sullen and taciturn. He was angry and bitter. He hated Iowa, hated this farm, wanted to go far away. Until the children were grown, he was trapped. He stayed only because of them. He was not a man who wanted to be loved or would love in return.

She rolled onto her side and squeezed her eyes closed.

Even if he
wanted
to fall in love, it wouldn’t be with her. Men wanted girls like her sisters. Men fell in love with the pretty Mary Malones and the beautiful Beth Wellingtons of this world. Not with the ordinary Inga Linbergs. Not with Inga.

“Oh, Pappa…What have I done?”

T
he family awakened the next morning to six inches of snow on the ground with more snow falling and the wind blowing even deeper drifts.

“Won’t be able to take you into town for church,” Dirk told Inga when he returned from the barn. “Not in this storm. Doesn’t show any signs of lettin’ up. Sorry. Besides, the sleigh needs repairs, and I haven’t got to ’em yet.”

Inga purposely kept her gaze on the skillet. “I understand. It is all right.” She was almost relieved. She couldn’t imagine sitting beside him in a sleigh for more than an hour each way. Not after her revelation of last night.

Dirk stepped over to the sink and washed his hands in the basin. Despite her better judgment, she cast a surreptitious glance in his direction. He had yet to shave, and the stubble of his beard darkened his jaw. His eyes still carried the look of sleep about them. When he’d removed his hat, he must have smoothed his thick brown hair back with his hands, for it had a finger-raked look about it that she had already become fond of.

She’d known what would happen if she looked at him. Her heart raced. Her knees weakened. Her fingers began to quiver. “What am I to do?” she whispered to herself as she stirred the diced potatoes, ham, and onions in the frying pan.

“Did you say something?” He looked over her shoulder. “Mmm. Hash. My favorite breakfast.”

Her heart thumped so loud she thought he must surely hear it. “I know. Your mother told me.” Her voice sounded hoarse.

“So what do you call this dish in Sweden?”

She wished he would move away. His cheek was much too close to her own. She couldn’t breathe with him so close, couldn’t think.
“Pytt i panna.”

“Be ready soon?”

“Ja.
Soon.”

“Okay. Back in a jiff.” He turned and strode out of the kitchen.

Inga scarcely had a moment to pull her ragged nerves together before she heard the sound of children’s feet on the stairs. She stirred the hash again, then turned toward the doorway as the two girls rushed through it.

Wisps of wild, red hair—pulled free from their braids as they’d slept—curled around their freckled faces. Their green eyes, the color of unripened apples, were sleep-filled, just like their uncle’s had been. They were still wearing their night-gowns, and their feet were bare.

“I’m hungry,” Suzanne announced.

“Good. Breakfast is nearly ready. But you must get dressed before we eat. It is too cold for bare feet.” She felt her equilibrium returning. She could deal with the children much better than with their uncle. “Get your things and you can dress beside the stove where it is warm.”

Martha yawned, rubbed her eyes with her knuckles, then said, “Our room is freezin’.”

“Mine, too.” Inga smiled at them. “Did you know it snowed in the night?”

Sleepiness vanished in an instant. Both of the girls dashed to the window.

“Look at that!” Martha exclaimed.

“Snow! Snow!” Suzanne chimed in.

“Let’s make a snowman.” Martha glanced over her shoulder at Inga. “Can we?”

“A snowman?” It had been many years since she’d made a
snögubbe.
Perhaps as many as twelve or more. There had always been so much work to do, she’d had little time for play. While her younger sisters had romped in the snow, Inga had been helping their pappa. Suddenly, she realized how much she had missed it.
“Ja,”
she answered, “we will make a snowman.”

Suzanne jumped up and down. “A snowman! A snowman!”

“But we must wait until the snowfall stops. For now you must both get dressed so we can eat our breakfast. Go on with you. Get your clothes.”

“Come on, Suzanne. Let’s hurry.”

The children raced away, scampering up the stairs, sounding like a stampeding herd of reindeer.

Inga turned to the stove and stirred the hash again, smiling to herself in anticipation.

A moment later, Hattie entered the kitchen. “Mornin’.”

Inga lifted the skillet, holding the cast iron handle with a towel. “Did we wake you?” she asked as she turned toward the table.

“No. I’ve been awake for some time now. Just didn’t want to get up.”

“The children are excited about the snow.”

“I know. I heard.” Hattie sank onto a chair. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, and her coloring seemed sallow. Still she was able to smile as she said, “I’m surprised Martha remembers about makin’ a snowman. Last time would’ve been with her daddy. As for Dirk…” She left the sentence unfinished.

Inga’s heart skipped a beat at the sound of his name. Trying to ignore the reaction, she scooped the hash onto plates already set on the table. “It has been a long time for me, too.”

The older woman glanced up. “You’re a special young woman, Inga Linberg. The way you and the girls’ve taken to each other.”

“Nej,
I am not special.” She carried the skillet to the sink. “It is not hard to…take to…Martha and Suzanne.”

Hattie chuckled. “They’ve got their days.”

The children returned, and on their heels came their uncle. He had shaved while he was upstairs. His hair was freshly combed and had been dampened with water. Inga’s mind went blank of everything except for the pure pleasure of looking at him.

Suzanne grabbed hold of Inga’s hand and tugged on it. “Help me get dressed, Miss Inga. I wanna make a snowman now.”

Dirk’s gaze met hers. “A snowman?”

She nodded. “But not until the snowfall has stopped.”

He glanced at the children. “Ought to be fun.”

“Will you help us?” Martha asked.

“No, I—”

“Please, Uncle Dirk. Please help us.”

“Help us, Unca Dirk,” Suzanne chimed in. “Help us.”

“Sorry. Too much work to do.” He looked at Inga again. “Got that sleigh to repair.”

“Of course.” Inga turned her attention to Suzanne, pulling the nightgown over her head, then replacing it with a day dress and stockings.

She told herself it was silly to feel such disappointment over his refusal. If Martha hadn’t suggested it, Inga would never have thought of his joining them. And she didn’t want him to, she decided. Whenever he was nearby, she had a difficult time thinking clearly.

“You’re lookin’ better this morning, Ma.” Dirk stepped over to where his mother was seated and kissed the top of her head, then he slid onto his own chair.

“And you’re lookin’ tired, son. Seems to me you could use a little enjoyment.”

He released a humorless laugh.

Inga glanced up as she laced Suzanne’s shoe. She saw Hattie lay her hand over Dirk’s and look at him with worried eyes.

“The girls want you to help them build that snowman.”

“Ma, I—”

“Please, son.”

He sighed. “All right, Ma. If it’s what you want.”

Inga felt a trill of pleasure in her chest, followed by a shiver of apprehension.

“Thank you,” Hattie whispered.

Confused and flustered by her contrary emotions, Inga finished tying Suzanne’s shoe, silently praying no one would ever guess how much she had wanted him to join them—or how much she dreaded it now that he was going to do just that.

“‘And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God…’”

Thea had a difficult time concentrating on what her pappa said from his pulpit. Constantly, she cast covert glances toward the back of the church, hoping to see Inga’s arrival.

“‘Let love be without dissimulation. Abhor that which is evil; cleave to that which is good…’”

She needed desperately to talk to her older sister. Inga could always be counted on to give good advice. She wasn’t scatterbrained like the others.

“‘Be kindly affectioned one to another with brotherly love; in honour preferring one another…’”

But it seemed the snowstorm had kept Inga from church, as Mamma had predicted it would. Thea didn’t know how long she would have to wait before she could meet with Inga. Perhaps another entire week.

“‘Rejoicing in hope; patient in tribulation; continuing instant in prayer…’”

A week? She couldn’t wait that long. She would go mad if she had to wait that long. She had to know what to write back to Karl.

“‘Distributing to the necessity of saints; given to hospitality…’”

Karl…He would arrive in three months. He was coming to America, as he had said he would. He’d written to say he had the promise of employment in a clothing factory in New York City, and he wanted her to join him there. He wanted them to be married.

“‘Bless them which persecute you: bless, and curse not…’”

It was truly romantic, the very way she’d imagined it would be for them. Karl, leaving Sweden because of his undying love for her. She would have a charming wedding in a small church in New York City. When they walked down the street, arm in arm, people would look and comment on what a beautiful couple they made. Karl would bring her gifts every night when he came home from work because he loved her so dearly.

Oh, Karl
…

“‘Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them that weep…’”

But if Pappa knew of her plans, he would stop her. She knew he would. Pappa didn’t approve of Karl. He thought Karl too young to marry and provide for a family. He thought Karl’s and her love was only an infatuation. He didn’t understand. Would never understand. Couldn’t understand. He was too old and too staid to understand how Thea felt.

“‘Be of the same mind one toward another…’”

Not that Inga would understand either. Inga had never been in love, would never be in love. But at least Inga liked Karl. Unlike Pappa, she seemed to understand that Thea and Karl belonged together.

“‘If it be possible, as much as lieth in you, live peaceably with all men…’”

No, Thea could not wait another week to talk to Inga. She would have to go out to the Bridger farm. Somehow she would have to convince her pappa that they must visit her sister soon. Today. She must see her today.

“‘Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good…’”

Today. This very day.

The snowstorm let up just before noon, and by one o’clock, the children were bundled in coats, scarves, and mittens, as was Inga. While Hattie watched from a chair set near the kitchen window, the three of them went out the back door.

A cloud of mist formed in front of Inga’s mouth as she instructed the girls how to make a ball from the wet snow, then roll it around the yard until it became the base for a snowman. Martha quickly caught on, but Suzanne seemed more intent on falling face-first into the blanket of snow.

“You will never make a
snögubbe
that way,
prinsessa,
” Inga said, laughing as she stood the child upright for the fourth time.

“Here, Miss Linberg. Let me help Suzanne.”

Inga’s laughter died instantly as she looked up to find Dirk standing nearby. “
Ja.”
She moved the child a few steps forward. “Suzanne, your uncle will help you now.”

He packed some snow into a large ball, then set it on the ground in front of Suzanne. “Don’t know how I got talked into
this.” Together, they began to roll the ball of snow. “Not like I’ve got the time for it.”

Inga watched uncle and niece as they moved away from her. Her heart tightened at the sight of them, although she didn’t know why it affected her so. Perhaps it was the tender way he guided the little girl, a tenderness quite in contrast to his frequent frowns and constant complaints about time and work.

“Is this big enough, Miss Inga?” Martha asked, interrupting her musings.

She turned and found Martha standing beside an enormous snowball, reaching higher than the girl’s waist. Inga’s laughter returned.
“Ja,
I think that is big enough,
kattunge.
Now we must make another one, but smaller or we will never be able to lift it.”

“Uncle Dirk can lift it now that he’s here. Can’t you, Uncle Dirk?”

“Sure, but you two had better hurry. Suzanne and I are gonna get our snowman made first.”

“It’s a race!” Martha shouted with excitement. “Come on, Miss Inga. Let’s hurry!”

For the next half hour, the two adults and two children were embroiled in a contest of speed and agility. No one seemed aware of the cold as they crisscrossed the barnyard, rolling the balls of snow before them. Laughter and shouts echoed between the barn and the house.

When it came time to stack the second section of their snowman onto the bottom section, Inga wasn’t about to ask Dirk for help. It had been too long since she competed with anyone in any manner, and she wanted to win.

Since Dirk was handicapped by the littler of the two nieces, it seemed almost a certainty that Martha and Inga would com
plete their snowman first. More than once, Suzanne tripped her uncle, and he was soon as dusted with snow as she was.

As Inga set the head of the snowman in place, she sent Martha after some branches to use for arms. Then she glanced behind her to see how far ahead they were of Dirk and Suzanne. She was just in time to see Dirk scoop the three-year-old up from the ground and toss her into the air. The smile he wore and the sound of his deep laughter stole Inga’s breath away.

There was no point in arguing with herself, no point in trying to reason away her feelings with logic. It didn’t matter that love was supposed to take time to grow. It didn’t matter that she had known this man less than a week. She
was
falling in love with him,
had
fallen in love with him already. She only had to look at him to see here was a man to be admired. He had set aside his own plans in order to care for his mother and nieces. Despite his own desires for his life, he had put the needs of others first.

If it were in her power, she would grant him what he wished for most in that instant. Whatever he might want, she would have given it to him gladly.

Because she loved him.

Dirk set Suzanne on her feet, turned, and his gaze met with Inga’s. For one horrible moment, she feared he might read her feelings in her eyes. Then she was saved by the sounds of jangling harness.

He couldn’t have said why, but Dirk was oddly disturbed by the look that had passed between them before Olaf Linberg and the rest of the pastor’s family drove into the yard. But there was no time for Dirk to figure it out before Inga broke eye contact and rushed toward the sleigh.