Dakota Born (33 page)

“I…think it's time we went home,” she whispered, gazing into his eyes.

“I do, too.”

“Will you come with me?”

Gage hesitated. “If I do, are you prepared for what will happen?”

She smiled. “Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?”

He smiled back, entranced by the happiness in her eyes. “Are you?” he asked again.

“Oh, yes.” She kissed him and reached for his hand. “Come on,” she said, leading him toward the door, stopping to retrieve her shoes from under a chair and collect her coat.

Gage smiled. He pulled her back into his arms and they kissed once more before they turned out the lights and locked the door.

The night was clear and the moon nearly full, its light streaming down on the main street of Buffalo Valley. The cold was crisp and they breathed out wisps of fog.

Buffalo Bob's neon sign glowed in the dark. The only other lights Gage recognized were Lindsay's porch light and another that seemed to come from Hassie's house.

“Looks like Hassie's still up,” he commented, hooking his arm about her waist.

“Can't be Hassie,” Lindsay said, and glanced down the street.

“I thought she left hours ago.”

“She did. I don't think she was feeling well.” She stared into the distance. “You know, it
is
her place.”

Gage had vaguely thought something was wrong when Hassie first arrived, but she hadn't said anything and left early.

“Maybe we should check to make sure she's all right,” Lindsay said.

“Just to be on the safe side,” he agreed.

Lindsay's arm tightened around Gage's as they approached Hassie's home. It stood on a corner lot, a two-story structure with a wide front porch and a single gable directly above it.

They walked up the steps and Gage rang the doorbell. When Hassie didn't respond, he rang again.

“Maybe she just forgot to turn off the lights,” Lindsay suggested.

“Maybe.” But Gage was doubtful. Forgetting anything didn't sound like the Hassie he knew.

Walking away from the door, he peered into the living-room window. He saw her then, dressed in her robe and slippers, collapsed on the carpet.

“She's lying on the floor,” he said, and when he tried to open the door, he found it locked.

Lindsay went to look through the window herself. “Gage, Gage—she's not moving!”

S
aturday, a week after finding Hassie, Lindsay sat in the straight-backed chair next to the hospital bed where she slept. She'd spent as much time as possible at the Grand Forks Hospital, doing what she could to make Hassie comfortable. Her friend had suffered a heart attack, and if it hadn't been for her and Gage, Hassie would surely have died.

“How's she doing?” Leta whispered, quietly slipping inside the room.

Lindsay caught a glimpse of Kevin by the door.

“Better, I think,” Lindsay whispered back.

Leta brought out framed photographs of Hassie's son and husband and set them on the small table beside the bed. Lindsay knew Hassie had requested them, as well as a few other personal things. When she'd finished, Leta pulled a second chair close to Hassie. “Thank God she survived.”

“Yes,” Lindsay said. Like everyone else in town, she was both grateful and relieved. So much of Buffalo Valley, past and present, had been shaped by Hassie Knight. If it hadn't been for her encouragement, Lindsay would never have accepted the teaching position, never fallen in love with Gage, never ended the treadmill relationship with Monte. Because of Hassie, Lindsay's life had found purpose. She was making a difference to this community. And in moving to Buffalo Valley, she'd uncovered the heritage she'd never known—and learned her grandmother's secret.

“The doctors suggested bypass surgery,” Lindsay murmured. Leta knew that, but it gave Lindsay comfort to repeat the information. It helped to remind her that there was hope for her friend. This wasn't necessarily the end of Hassie's life, although Lindsay hadn't been able to convince her of that. So far, Hassie had steadfastly refused to agree to the operation.

“You've talked to her about it again?”

Lindsay nodded. “No matter what the doctors say, she seems to believe she's as good as dead. I asked her how she felt yesterday, and she told me not to buy her any green bananas.”

Leta shook her head, and couldn't quite suppress a smile. “That sounds just like Hassie.”

“She needs the surgery, but she's frightened.”

Typical of Hassie, the old woman worried about her store and the effect its temporary closing would have on the community. Lindsay had assured her that prescriptions were being handled by the pharmacy in Devils Lake. In addition, Rachel kept the drugstore open several hours every day, closing only when she had to drive the school bus.

“Give her time and she'll agree,” Leta assured her. “Right now, she's in pain and still a bit disoriented. That old fighting spirit will kick in any time.”

“I never could see her as a quitter,” Lindsay whispered.

“You two talking about me again?” Hassie shifted her head to look at them. Her white hair was matted down on one side, her face thin and ashen. The eyes that had once been so clear and direct were clouded by the effects of medication and her lack of will.

Lindsay stood and gently took Hassie's frail hand between her own. She'd lost her grandmother Gina without ever really knowing her and couldn't bear the thought of losing Hassie, who'd become such a dear and trusted friend.

“What are you still doing here?” Hassie demanded, frowning at Lindsay.

“I want to be here.”

Hassie closed her eyes and when she opened them, looked past Lindsay and straight to Leta. “They want to put me in a rest home—said I had to be stronger for the surgery. I told them no to both, but they won't listen to me and Valerie…My own daughter signed the papers.”

Hassie's daughter lived in Hawaii and was desperately worried about her mother. She planned to visit in a few weeks' time and called her mother daily. Lindsay had spoken to Valerie twice.

“I've been here a week…” Hassie's voice faded and she paused as if to gather her strength. “I'd rather die than live in one of those old folks' homes.”

Leta moved to the other side of the bed and patted her hand. “You're weak. Your body's had a terrible shock and needs time to recover before it's strong enough to deal with the trauma of surgery.”

“You sound like one of those highfalutin doctors.”

“Okay, so you have to rest in a nursing home for a couple of weeks. It's not the end of the world. Once you're ready, you'll have the surgery and after that, you'll be able to move back home where you belong.”

“I told those doctors they can forget all about the surgery, and I'm telling you the same thing.”

Lindsay knew that without the bypass operation, Hassie's chances of recovery were greatly lessened. She wanted to argue, insist that her friend listen to reason, but knew it would do no good. Hassie had already made up her mind.

“I'm not going into any nursing home,” she muttered. “Why won't anyone listen to me?”

“It's for the best,” Leta murmured, glancing at Lindsay for help.

Lindsay had gone over the same arguments a dozen times to no avail.

“You want me dead?” Hassie asked querulously. “Once people go into a nursing home, they don't leave until they die.”

“That's not true,” Leta argued. “It's the best place for you to regain your strength.”

“You keep sounding like one of those doctors.” Hassie closed her eyes as if the strain of arguing had drained her of strength. “I thought you were my friend.”

“I've been your friend for forty years,” Leta said calmly, her expression pained. “And that's not going to change. Now quit being a stubborn old lady. Valerie's already signed the papers and you don't have any choice.”

“Why is it I have a heart attack and all of a sudden people think I don't have a brain in my head? I used to make my own decisions. You just wait, Leta Betts, your turn is coming.” She closed her eyes again and turned her head away.

Leta and Lindsay stood at her bedside, and soon it became evident from Hassie's deep, even breathing that she'd fallen asleep.

Kevin knocked softly at the door and peeked inside.

“I have to go,” Leta whispered. “Are you staying much longer?”

“A while.” Lindsay didn't want to leave on such a distressing note.

Leta hugged her quickly, reached for her purse and with obvious reluctance slipped from the room as quietly as she'd entered. Once she was gone, Lindsay returned to her chair and opened a book she'd been wanting to read for a long time. Although the novel had been highly recommended, she struggled to keep her concentration on the page.

Lindsay understood her friend's fears. The nursing home was intended to be a short-term solution but the very thought of it terrified Hassie. Medicare wouldn't continue to pay the high hospital rates, and Hassie was far too weak and fragile to go home, even if a caregiver could be found. The only option left was the nursing home.

Hassie woke again in the middle of the afternoon. She blinked when she saw the photographs and lingered on the picture of Vaughn, the son she'd lost in Vietnam thirty years earlier. It was several minutes before she looked at Lindsay.

“He was the most courageous boy I ever knew,” Hassie whispered. A tear rolled from the corner of her eye and fell on the pillow. “I suppose you agree with Valerie.”

Lindsay hesitated, then nodded. Hassie's daughter, like everyone else, wanted what was best for her.

“Thank God Valerie has the sense enough not to rush home for a deathbed scene.”

“Would you stop!” Despite the seriousness of Hassie's condition, Lindsay smiled.

Hassie reached for Lindsay's hand and gripped it with surprising strength. “I'm a frightened old woman who doesn't want to spend her last days as a burden to others.”

“You'd never be a burden—your whole life has been a blessing to everyone who knows you.”

Tears filled Hassie's eyes. “Everyone seems to know what's best for me. Lindsay, I don't think I can abide this nursing home. They might as well just let me die right here and now.”

“Hassie, please, don't talk like that.”

Her friend offered her a watery smile, then stretched out a hand for the photograph of her son dressed in his Army uniform. “All these years, I thought of Vaughn as heroic and brave, which he was. His lieutenant wrote me and told me he'd never seen anyone display the kind of courage my son did.”

Tears streamed from her eyes, and Lindsay handed Hassie a tissue.

“What I didn't understand,” she whispered, dabbing her eyes, “is that sometimes it requires as much courage to live as it does to die.”

 

Snow fell during the first and second weeks of March, and then everyone was talking about Easter and the upcoming spring break. Each afternoon, as soon as school let out, Kevin Betts routinely stopped at the small post office on his way home. It was early yet, Miss Snyder had told him, to be expecting any kind of response from the art schools in Chicago and San Francisco. Nevertheless, each and every day, he went to the post office. Hoping.

“What will you do if you get a scholarship?” Jessica asked him one afternoon.

“Nothing.” He shrugged as he said it, as if the chances of that happening were too remote to consider.

Kevin knew Jessica wanted him to stay in Buffalo Valley, just like his mother and Gage did. The only person who understood was Miss Snyder. This new teacher, a stranger, an outsider, was the only person who believed in his talent, who encouraged him to dream. In the past seven months, it'd been Miss Snyder who'd taught him to believe in himself.

Until she'd arrived, Kevin had kept his sketches private. Every now and then, he'd draw something simple, like a flower, to impress a girl. Jessica liked to draw, too, and that was one of the reasons he liked her, but even Jessica didn't really know how important his art was to him. Not the way Miss Snyder did.

Soon after school started, she'd seen his sketchbook. It was a fluke that it'd even happened. Normally he didn't bring his drawings to school. He'd been working on a sketch of Gage during a study period when Miss Snyder happened upon him. He'd slapped the covers shut but it was too late.

Miss Snyder had seen the book, and asked to look at it. The decision to let her see it hadn't been easy, but after a few uncomfortable moments, Kevin had agreed. Even now he wasn't sure what had prompted him to let the new teacher look at his drawings—examine his soul. He hadn't allowed anyone else, not even his mother or Jessica, to see all his work.

Miss Snyder had turned to his most recent picture. Kevin had drawn Gage, walking waist-high in the wheat fields, the grain full and ripe. Gage, dressed in his coveralls and hat. Vast fields stretched beyond the scope of the picture. Kevin knew that to someone like Miss Snyder, a wheat field was of little significance. He'd heard people call the land in North Dakota flat, boring. In his drawing Kevin had wanted to show the beauty, the specialness, of this prairie field and the man who stood in the center of it.

His half brother's passion was farming, and Kevin had tried again and again to capture Gage's look of pride, a look that said he was proud to be an American farmer, proud of who he was and what he did. To love this man was to love the sweeping land of the prairie.

Kevin was proud of that picture in the same way Gage was proud of the work he did. He'd revealed Gage's heart, and in the process exposed his own.

When Miss Snyder had glanced up from the penciled sketch, there'd been tears in her eyes.

Luckily, it was only the two of them in the classroom, since he'd stayed late to finish the sketch. The tears had embarrassed her and she blinked them away, not wanting him to see. But he had, and she'd won him over that afternoon, just like she'd eventually won over every other student.

That same day she'd looked at some of his other work, too, but had repeatedly gone back to that first sketch. Soon afterward, she'd talked to him about a scholarship to art school.

Kevin had tried to tell her it wouldn't do any good, that there wasn't any money for college. Even with a scholarship covering his expenses, he couldn't leave the farm, or his mother. He had responsibilities. Family obligations. Gage had carried the responsibility of the farm for too long. Gage needed a life apart from Kevin and their mother, his own land to farm. He'd never said a word in complaint, but Kevin knew that Gage longed for his freedom. He'd come home from the Army and then college, ready to start his own life, and then Kevin's dad had died and Gage had put all his own dreams on hold. Kevin couldn't ask him to do that any longer.

“You won't leave me, will you?” Jessica asked, pulling Kevin out of his thoughts. She was gazing at him anxiously, and Kevin took her hand.

“You're wearing the necklace I gave you for Christmas, aren't you?”

“Yes, but that doesn't mean you won't leave Buffalo Valley.”

“You're right,” he said. “Maybe I will….” He enjoyed teasing her, because they both knew that he would live and die in this valley. Like his father had. Like his mother and his half brother would.

“Kevin, be serious!”