Wild Heart on the Prairie (A Prairie Heritage, Book 2) (25 page)

Jan and Søren worked
inside the house the rest of the afternoon. They moved Mrs. Brownlee’s few things
away from one wall so they could paper between the studs with black tar paper.

When
Fru Brünlee
saw
what they were about, she pulled up a chair and watched them as though
fascinated. After Jan and Søren finished tarring the entire wall, they cut long
planks and nailed them lengthwise to the studding, butting the boards together
with a few soft taps of a hammer on their sides. All the while,
Fru Brünlee
studied their work.

Then it was time for
them to return home and do the evening chores. Jan and Søren put Mrs.
Brownlee’s things back where they had been.

“We don’t work tomorrow,
Mrs. Brownlee,” Søren informed her, “because it’s Sunday. But we’ll be back
Monday morning. We’ll get a lot done since we have the lumber here now.”

“Thank you! It’s already
looking better! And I’m sure I will see you at church tomorrow. Perhaps I could
meet Mrs. Thoresen then.”

“I would be happy to
introduce you, Mrs. Brownlee,” Søren answered.

Jan helped Søren gather their
tools and lunch pail and they strode down the slope across the creek and fields
to the waiting cows and other chores.

That evening Amalie asked question after question about
their new neighbor. Jan quirked an eyebrow at Søren, turned his eyes toward his
plate, and abandoned his
sønn
to trying to recall—and satisfactorily
repeat—every detail of what
Fru
Brünlee
was wearing, where she was from, what her plans were, whether she would be coming
to church in the morning, and so on.

Søren glowered at his father, but Jan was paying careful
attention to his potatoes, pretending he didn’t see his
sønn
’s accusing looks.
That is until, after several minutes, when he realized that the table had gone
silent and an unanswered question hung in the air.

Jan glanced up. Amalie was leveling her own stony look at
him and Søren wore a smug grin. The children giggled behind their hands.

“What?” Jan shrugged his shoulders. “What is it, Amalie?”

“I said I was hoping to ask
Fru
Brünlee
to Sunday dinner tomorrow.”

“Oh?”

“I asked if it would be all right with
you
, Jan
Thoresen, but your potatoes seem to be of uncommon interest this evening.”

The boys guffawed and Uli giggled aloud, not even trying to
hide their glee. It wasn’t often that
Mamma
’s ire was directed at
Onkel
Jan!

Jan flushed. “Of course, Amalie.” He looked around the table.
“Well? Is everyone finished? It is already time for us to clear away the food and
read God’s word, eh?”

The children quickly turned their attention to their plates.

~~**~~

Fru Brünlee
did come to Sunday dinner the next day. Søren
introduced Amalie to their neighbor before church began and, at a nudge from
Amalie, offered the dinner invitation, which the woman accepted. In spite of
the language barrier, Amalie also, in her own inimitable way, appropriated
their neighbor’s company during the service.

As was their routine, Jan sat at one end of a pew with a row
of Thoresen children between himself and Amalie. What was not usual was the
presence of
Fru Brünlee
sandwiched between the children and Amalie. Even
with the children as a buffer, he could hear her clear voice during the
singing.

As it lifted sweetly, Jan paused and listened. Something
hopeful and vibrant clung to her voice, but perhaps something sorrowful at the
same time.

Jacob’s message that morning was powerful, and Jan sensed the
Holy Spirit working through it. His sermon ended with these words:
“Pray with me now:
Lord Jesus, I ask you to
forgive me and receive me as one of your lost sheep. I turn away from other
gods, other desires, other paths. I will follow you. I will listen for your
voice and live for you. Thank you for dying for my sins! Amen
.”

The Thoresens filed out, but
Fru Brünlee
remained seated, lost in prayer.

When she finally emerged
from the church house, the Thoresens and McKennies gathered around her, hugging
and exclaiming in joy.

“You’re born-again now,
Miss Rose! Praise God for his lovingkindness! We’re seein’ it all over your
face. Sure an’ it’s like glory in your eyes!” Fiona said with tears.

Fru Brünlee
didn’t answer, but she hugged Fiona, she hugged
Brian and Meg. Amalie squeezed her enthusiastically and Søren shook her hand.
Sigrün simply smiled at her.

Jan stood a little to
the side. His heart was happy for what had occurred, but he had no English
words to convey his good will.

“I don’t know what to
say,” Mrs. Brownlee finally managed. “I never knew God was so . . .
so . . .”

Jan shook her hand. All
he could manage in English was, “God is gud,
ja
?”

Sunday dinner was pleasant and, as on every Sunday, Jan led a
discussion of the pastor’s message. He was mildly surprised at how engrossed
Fru Brünlee
became as Søren translated
the conversation.

So! She has a new heart, now, Lord. She will be hungry
for your word, eh?
Jan mused as he, Søren, and the boys left the table for
their chores.

“I think it will rain soon,
Pappa
,” Søren predicted.
They both studied the dark clouds moving toward them.

“
Ja
, I agree. I
will have the boys bring the cows in early.” Jan stopped and turned back. “
Fru
Brünlee
has never seen a real farm, eh? Do you think she would like to see
the milking?”

Søren shrugged. “I don’t
know. I will ask her.”

Søren returned shortly
with their neighbor. That she was delighted and curious was evident: Her head
swiveled back and forth and her eyes tried to take in everything—and she had
many
questions. Jan chuckled over her enthusiasm. She seemed to be particularly
enthralled with the goats, so he milked one and offered her a cup of the warm,
frothing milk.

And put his foot in
his mouth.

“Make fat.” Jan nodded
at Mrs. Brownlee’s thin waistline.

Her gray eyes narrowed. “Thank
you for the milk,” she replied politely. She rinsed and hung the cup on its
hook and walked away.

Jan shrugged. “A temper
that one has,” he huffed to no one in particular.

An hour later he saw
that the rain Søren predicted was not far off. He went in search of his
sønn
.
“Please tell
Fru Brünlee
that you will drive her home so that she does
not get soaked in the rain that is almost here, eh? We can keep her horse and
buggy overnight.”

Søren repeated Jan’s
words, but Mrs. Brownlee flatly refused. “Tell your father thank you, but I was
just about to leave, and I can handle getting a little wet. I had better go and
say goodbye to Mrs. Thoresen.” Her annoyance was scarcely hidden.

Søren shrugged at his
father and Jan shook his head.

She is stubborn, too!
Jan added to his inventory of their neighbor. He
and Søren followed her into the house.

After
Fru Brünlee
thanked
Amalie for dinner—thanks that took many minutes and apparently had to include
praise for their home, their kitchen, Amalie’s dishes, and the fine meal—and after
the exchange of embraces, she leveled her gray eyes on Søren and Jan. “Will I
be seeing both of you tomorrow?”

“Yes, you can count on
us,” Søren answered.

Jan, convinced a wise man
should keep his mouth closed, shook her hand silently.

He and Søren watched Mrs. Brownlee drive down the road. Within
moments the rain was pouring, and her buggy was soon lost in the mist.

“Well, she is soaked now,” Søren observed. He and Jan
exchanged bemused looks and both of them shrugged their shoulders.

“I don’t think I understand women,” Søren muttered.

His father just snorted.

Jan and Søren, toting
their tools and lunch pail, returned to work on Mrs. Brownlee’s house Monday
morning. The night’s heavy rain had leaked through the roof, so they stripped
off the old shingles and rotted boards, tossing them to the ground below.

Fru Brünlee
did not waste her time while they labored, Jan observed
as she heated water outside and scrubbed her clothes.
I doubt she has ever
done her own laundry either
, he opined, recalling her soft handshake.

By the time her washing
was on the line, the men were cutting and nailing down new lumber on the roof. At
the end of the day Jan was satisfied with their accomplishments. Søren informed
their neighbor that they would return to shingle the roof in the morning.

The list of improvements was shrinking, and Jan’s concern
was lessening. He and Søren were surprised to see Brian McKennie pull up in his
wagon, his mule tied to the back.

“Good day t’ ye!” Brian called.
Brian and Jan shook hands. “’Tis plowin’ Miss Rose’s garden t’day I will,”
Brian informed them. “My Fiona will b’ teaching her th’ plantin’ on the morrow.”

Jan nodded and looked at
Abigael’s old garden. Neglected for going on two years, the plot was overgrown
with prairie grass. While Jan and Søren worked inside, Brian would have his
hands full plowing and clearing the garden by himself.

Jan and Søren worked steadily, finishing the walls and
starting the shelves and cupboards for
Fru
Brünlee
’s
cooking area. Søren ran in and out of the house fetching
materials for Jan.

“She’s following Brian, breaking up clods,” Søren reported
with a snicker.

“Eh?” Jan was engrossed in cabinetry making.

“And I bet she’s never walked in dirt in her life!” Søren
added, laughing.

At lunch time the four of them relaxed under the cottonwoods
along the creek bank. At least the men did.
Fru Brünlee
sipped water. Jan
could see she was already exhausted—and yet was eating nothing! He arched his
brows at Brian but kept his opinions to himself.

I won’t make that mistake again!
he vowed. He still
had a picture of her driving away, back ramrod straight, in the drenching rain.

Brian finished the
plowing soon after lunch, loaded his plow into the wagon, and headed home. An
hour later Jan felt compelled to check on his neighbor.

He discovered her curled
on the prairie grass, sound asleep. Her hair, usually so tidy, had fallen out
of its pins. Pieces of grass stuck out of her loose braid.

I wonder if she knows
ants are crawling on her dress?
Jan chuckled to himself.

He looked over the
garden plot. Brian had plowed less than half of what Abigael usually planted, but
what he had turned over would produce more than enough food for one person.
Fru
Brünlee
, however, had cleared only about half of the plowed area.

Jan realized his
neighbor had awakened and was trying discreetly to tidy her hair. He nodded but
didn’t say anything to her as she straightened her back, wincing in pain. Instead,
Jan called to Søren in the house.

Jan pointed to the
garden. “We should help her finish this, eh? Otherwise I don’t think she will
be ready tomorrow when
Fru
McKennie comes to help her plant it.”

Søren smiled and called
to her, “Well, Mrs. Brownlee, would you like some help ‘bustin’ sod’? The three
of us can get it done before chore time.”

Their neighbor looked
relieved and thanked him. “I really would appreciate it—and I’ll pay you, of
course.”

Jan shook his head
emphatically. “No,” Søren replied. “For the carpentry you can pay, but not for
just being neighborly.”
Jan saw her thinking on Søren’s words, her brows
puckered.

Jan and Søren worked quickly,
shaking and removing the clumps of prairie grass and leaving the dirt in the
garden spot. They hoed, broke up the clods, and tossed out rocks.

“Take your rake now and
level it out,” Søren instructed. They were packing up to leave. “When Mrs.
McKennie comes tomorrow, she’ll help you get it planted.”

“Thank you both so much
again,”
Fru Brünlee
responded in gratitude. She was smiling, so Jan and
Søren smiled back.

She has a nice smile
, Jan thought,
in spite of that temper!
He
whistled as he and Søren hiked across the fields to their barn.

~~**~~

Jan and Søren finished the repairs
Fru Brünlee
required
with three days to spare. Jan had a never-ending list of tasks waiting for him
at home—practical and needful tasks he should put his time and energy into. Yet
as he recalled the porch drawings Fru Brünlee had made, he also recalled her
disappointment. Disappointment she had quickly covered.

I can build that porch,
Jan considered, tugging at
his chin.
Three days will be long enough. Søren need not spend his time
helping with it.

So he built the veranda—just as his neighbor had sketched—across
the front and down one side of her little house.

Well, she had her heart set on it,
he rationalized
later.
Now she can sit there watching the sun come up in the morning
.
In
the evening the sun will paint color and shadows across the prairie. She will
have much pleasure from that veranda!

I liked building it for her.

He shrugged uncomfortably as he admitted to the pleasure
building it for her gave him. He was turning those thoughts over in his mind when
another thought distracted him—the watering system he and Søren had helped her build
before they finished the repairs. It had been interesting watching her, novice
that she was, planning it out, he and Søren following her instructions.

She played in the mud and water like a child—and tried
hard not to like it.

He snorted a laugh.
Yes, I enjoyed that, too,
he
mused, but most of all he had liked giving her
Snøfot
 . . .

The inspiration had come to him the morning he was going to
start on the veranda:
With her own goat, she can have fresh milk every day!
he’d realized,
and learn to make her own gjetost
. He’d shared the idea
with Uli, and they had chosen
Snøfot
together, by far the prettiest of their goats.

His neighbor had been
overwhelmed when Uli had presented the dainty goat to her. He’d seen that Rose—Jan
frowned and corrected himself—
Fru Brünlee
—had been deeply touched by the
gift.

She approached him with
Snøfot
dancing on the lead behind her. “Mr. Thoresen,” she’d said seriously, “I want
to thank you.”

He hadn’t lifted his
eyes from his tape measure and scrawled notes. Perhaps he’d been afraid that
she would say her thanks and then quickly excuse herself and go about her
business. So he had kept his eyes on his work but inquired, nonchalantly, “You
like?”

“Yes. Yes, I do. I don’t
have any idea how to take care of her, but she is the loveliest creature I’ve
ever owned!”

Jan had struggled to
understand as usual, but he’d caught part of it. “Uli teach.” He gestured at
the yard, still keeping his eyes on his work but in truth racking his brain to
form intelligible words in English. “
Snøfot
eat grass, all here. Make
gud milk.”

And he had finally turned
to her, letting her know that he expected her to keep her end of the unspoken “bargain.”
“You get fat,
ja
?”

A shadow had crossed her
face and he realized he had—
again!
—used that offensive word. Apparently
“fat” was
not
the proper word to convey health and wellbeing in English!

You are an ignorant
fool, Jan Thoresen!
he berated
himself.

But
Fru Brünlee
had
shaken off the offense. He watched the short struggle as she weighed his good
will against his misspoken words.

She had responded with
an honest, “I will try. Thank you, really.” Then she had offered her hand.

He had nodded, shaken it,
and turned back to building the veranda, the feel of her soft hand still
tingling in his.

Not at all like
Elli’s firm, strong hand
.

The thought—
the
comparison
—startled Jan.

Almost as soon as
Fru Brünlee
accepted
Snøfot
as a gift, coyotes found and followed the goat’s scent to her small stable.
Jan and Søren heard about
Fru Brünlee’s
newest problem from Brian the
following Sunday.

“
Should I be getting a gun
,” she says t’ me, with
eyes
that big
,” Brian spoke out of the side of his mouth, shooting a
backwards glance toward Rose Brownlee.

Brian had just repeated the tale “Miz” Brownlee had related
to him: Coyotes had circled and tried to get into her little barn in the night.
She had found their tracks in the morning.

“
Nay, tis a dog ye mus be havin
, says I,” Brian
added, “boot she was nay likin’ th’ sound o’ that, I tell ye!”

As Søren translated Brian’s story, he and Jan couldn’t help
but turn and stare at their neighbor across the churchyard.

Fru Brünlee
,
correctly deducing that they were talking about her, glared back and then
straightened, lifted her chin and, with what Jan was certain was a sniff, turned
her back on them.

Ach!
She is in a fine mood!
Jan smothered a
grin. He and Søren listened to Brian finish and they agreed with him.

“You are right. She needs a dog,” Søren nodded. “Doesn’t
your Connie still have some pups?”

Now Brian chuckled. “Aye, surely. She is havin’ two left
that I would be givin’ Miz Brownlee th’ choice of, boot when I says so, her
mouth was lookin’ like she’d bit int’ a persimmon!”

It was too vivid a picture. All three of them chuckled and
Jan clapped a hand on Brian’s shoulder, still grinning.

Ja, I can see that!
he laughed to himself. Then he
sobered. Something still had to be done.

“She must be made to see reason about a dog,” he stated.
Brian and Søren gaped at Jan, both conveying, “and who will be making her do
that?”

Jan snorted. Apparently the task would fall to him. “You gif
dog
Fru Brünlee
?”

Brian nodded. “Aye. That I will.”

The next morning after chores, Jan saddled one of his bays.
He didn’t ride astride often, but it was a lovely day for a ride, and he
thought Uli would enjoy the errand. They headed toward the McKennies’, Uli
chattering and bouncing behind him on the horse’s broad back.

As they crossed the bridge and climbed the knoll, Jan spied his
neighbor working in her garden. She did not see them.

On the return trip from Brian and Fiona’s place he and Uli crested
the rise and looked down toward
Fru Brünlee’s
home. Sprawled across the
horse in front of Jan was one of Brian’s half-grown pups.

Jan shook his head. The young dog was going to be a handful.
He wondered how his neighbor would react when she saw the pup.

This time, as they
trotted down the track and into her yard,
Fru Brünlee
did notice them.
She waited as they rode toward her.

“
God-dag
,
Fru
Brünlee
,” Jan called. He swung Uli down
and dismounted.

As Jan had hoped, Uli
immediately ran to their neighbor. Jan could not understand all Uli was
chattering to
Fru Brünlee
, but the woman always brightened when his
little niece was around.

Ja, I’m counting on
that, Lord!
Jan prayed with a
grimace.

Jan tied a rope to the
dog’s collar and set him on the ground. He tried to see the dog through his
neighbor’s eyes and was not encouraged: The pup was an ugly mongrel, all legs
and huge paws, clearly with a great deal of growth ahead.

Jan led the dog to Mrs.
Brownlee. The dog pulled at the rope and growled at him until Jan jerked
firmly. Then the dog turned suspicious eyes on
Fru Brünlee
.

She
eyed the dog with
equal distaste, and Jan suddenly had to bite the inside of his cheek. He
remained a silent but amused observer of Uli and
Fru Brünlee’s
exchange.

“Put your hand out to
let him smell you,” Uli suggested.

“Will he bite me?”
Fru
Brünlee
asked.

Uli looked surprised.
“Why would he? He’s only mad at
Onkel
for making him lie quietly on the
horse.” She held out her hand to the dog. “See?”

The dog licked it.

“Ugh! I don’t want him
to lick me.”

“Why, Mrs. Brownlee!
Don’t you like your dog?”

“I don’t care for dogs,
Uli, especially big ones.”

Fru Brünlee
made a face and Jan experienced an urgent need to
clear his throat.

“But you don’t want the
coyotes to get Snowfoot, do you?” Uli persisted.

Jan listened and
watched. He may not have understood every word, but he did recognize disgust—and
a little fear—when he saw it. He spoke to Uli who nodded.

“
Onkel
says if
you are afraid of the dog he will know it. You must be bold because you are his
mistress, and he must learn to mind you.”

Then Jan’s neighbor stared
at him, defiance in the firm set of her lips. He stared back, challenging her.

Somehow Jan managed to
keep his face resolute. And he wasn’t all that surprised when she squared her
shoulders.

I think I would have
been surprised if she’d done otherwise
, he realized. He was coming to expect her to show grit in new and
difficult situations.

Fru Brünlee
held out her hand to the dog. He sniffed it and
then her skirts. He looked up expectantly so she patted him. She looked a
trifle relieved.

Jan handed the rope to
her and asked Uli to pass on some instructions.

Uli nodded and told Mrs.
Brownlee, “
Onkel
is going to drive a stake for you to tie him to;
otherwise he may try to go home. You are to leave him tied up for two days and
feed him. Then he will think this is his home and stay all by himself. Also,
stake Snowfoot near him—not too near at first, though. Soon he will know
Snowfoot lives here too and will protect her.”

Jan sauntered down to
the creek and broke off a low cottonwood branch. He cut it to a two-foot
length, trimmed it, and whittled one end into a point. Using a hammer from the
stable, he drove the stake into the ground and tied the pup’s rope to it.

Uli fetched Snowfoot, tied him near the dog, and gave
Fru Brünlee
a few more suggestions.
All the while, Jan watched the woman. He knew well enough that she didn’t want
the dog, but she was trying hard to adjust herself to what was necessary rather
than what she wanted.

Jan found himself admiring her struggle to do the right
thing. Then he shook his head.
“Uli, come.
We have work at home,” he called. He pulled Uli up in front of him on the
horse.

Trying valiantly to be
gracious but not
quite
managing it, his neighbor addressed him. “Hm.
Thank you very much, Mr. Thoresen.”

Jan glanced from the dog
back to her. It was all he could do to keep his expression neutral—when what he
really
wanted was to release the laughter bubbling just below the
surface.
Maybe even tease her a little!

“
Ja
, sure,” he
replied as calmly as he could muster. Then he had to chew the inside of his
cheek.

At his answer,
Fru
Brünlee’s
eyes narrowed and Jan could tell his neighbor saw through
him. In fact, she
knew
he was laughing inside.

If he didn’t get out of the yard soon . . .
He clucked to the bay. As they neared the bridge, Jan released a pent-up laugh.

That was the most fun I’ve had in a long time
, he
chuckled.

“What is funny,
Onkel
?” Uli demanded.

“Eh? It is nothing. What a glorious day the good God has
given us,
ja
?” But he was glad Uli couldn’t see his face, because he was
grinning from ear to ear.

~~**~~