Wild Heart on the Prairie (A Prairie Heritage, Book 2) (30 page)

The morning of Harold and Sigrün’s wedding, Jan, Søren, and
the boys milked the cows, did their other chores, and then emptied the barn and
swept its floor. They hauled in bales of sweet-smelling hay and arranged them
in rows for seating down the length of the barn.

They lined one wall with tables for food. At one end of the
barn Jan and Søren placed a table and laid a white cloth upon it; here Harold
and Sigrün would say their vows.

The morning flew by; Jan changed into the new suit he had
bought especially for Sigrün’s wedding. All the while, like a soft melody
playing in the background, Jan’s heart chanted . . .
Fru
Brünlee
will be coming soon
.

When Amalie had told him that their neighbor would be
cutting all of her beautiful roses for Sigrün’s wedding Jan had been struck by
the selflessness of the gesture.
But you must not think it means anything for
you
, the voice of reason warned him.

Friends and neighbors
arrived to decorate the barn. They hung evergreen boughs from the loft, twined
flowers about the posts, and draped rugs and shawls over the hay bales.
As
the preparations progressed, Jan kept one eye on the road, watching for his
neighbor’s buggy.

Stop this!
he chided himself.
You are done with
such futile daydreams.

When guests began to arrive, he found himself anxiously looking
for her.
You must stop this nonsense,
he remonstrated, but he could not
prevent his heart from looking toward her arrival.

There.
He saw her climb
down from the buggy, her face flushed with excitement and pleasure. She was
wearing a dress he had not seen before, a gown the color of dusty pink roses trimmed
in cream and burgundy. She lifted a box from the buggy and made her way toward
the barn.

Jan’s pulse quickened even as he pulled himself up.
Do
not torment yourself,
his mind hissed.
From
a discreet distance he observed as she opened the box and arranged the roses
she had brought with her, twisting and tying the strands of climber roses to
the altar legs and placing a branch of blooms across the altar.

Then the ceremony began and Jan was walking Sigrün down the
aisle toward the altar. As though drawn by a magnet, his eyes found Rose—
Fru
Brünlee!
his conscience corrected—and she smiled at him.

A jolt ran down his spine as their eyes met.

After the ceremony, friends moved the bales of hay to the outside
of the floor so the feasting and dancing could begin. Jan checked with Amalie.

“Everything is perfect, Jan,” she said, grateful for his
oversight. “I thank you for such a beautiful wedding for my
datter
!”

At last Jan felt he could relax. Immediately he looked for
Rose—
Nei! Fru Brünlee!
his conscience jeered again. He caught sight of
her leaving the barn; he followed her to her buggy, where she was removing a
small guitar case.

“I carry for you,” he
stated, reaching for the case.

“Thank you,” she
answered, clearly surprised.

“I vant do,” Jan
replied.

They walked toward the
barn, but when Rose tried to take back her guitar, Jan—shutting off the warning
voices in his head—would not release it.

“Please, ve dance
first?” At that moment he cared little what the voice of reason shouted.

“Oh, Mr. Thoresen, no,
no, thank you. I don’t, I mean I haven’t danced in a long time. Thank you, no.”
But as she reached for her guitar, Jan held it away.

“No. Ve dance now,
please.” He smiled and his eyes sparkled with merriment.

“Mr. Thoresen! I really
don’t think . . .”

Jan teased her until she smiled and nodded. Taking
her hand, he led her out to dance and, a moment
later, they were whirling across the floor. When the song ended, Jan could not
bear releasing her. He called loudly for another tune, and he twirled her away.

When the song ended, his
neighbor collapsed, laughing, on a bale now pushed up against the barn wall.
Jan loved watching her enjoy herself but Søren called him away at that moment.
“Scuse, please,” he said.

Jan took care of several decisions and stopped to thank
friends for coming. He had been gone from Rose’s side for more than half an
hour when Søren, with Ivan at his shoulder, interrupted Jan’s conversation with
a guest.

“
Pappa
.” Something about the single clipped word caused
Jan to excuse himself. He followed Søren and Ivan to the edge of the dance
floor and saw
Rose Brownlee in Mark Grader’s arms.

Grader tightened his grip and pulled Rose closer, but she
struggled against him. Jan could see her embarrassment—and fear.

I have never seen her
afraid,
Jan realized, and he did
not like it.

With Søren and Ivan
close behind him, he crossed the dance floor and tapped Grader on the shoulder.
Grader stopped short and eyed Jan.

“Oh, thank you, God!” Jan
heard
Fru Brünlee
breathe. Her anxious eyes begged for his help.

“What you want,
Thoresen?” Grader snarled. “You’re interruptin’ our dance.”

Jan’s mouth curved in a
slight smile. “’Scuse, Mr. Grader. Ve need talk now. Ver important. Out dere.” He
waved toward the barn door.

“I’m busy. Now get out
of my way.”

When Grader’s hand came
up to push Jan aside, Jan was ready. He grabbed and twisted Grader’s arm behind
his back. The man flinched, but Jan kept his hold.

“Out dere, please,” he
repeated softly.

He saw Grader’s hold on
Rose relax; Søren and Ivan each grabbed an arm and hustled Grader out. In the
same moment, Jan stepped in and began dancing with his neighbor as though
nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Jan could feel
Fru Brünlee
trembling in his arms.

“Better,
ja
?” Jan
asked, but tears threatened to spill from her eyes. Jan shook his head once and
clucked his tongue, then spun her gently across the floor.

What would it be
like?
he asked himself.
What
would it be like if this woman I am holding belonged to me?

He smiled softly and
glanced down.
Fru Brünlee’s
color was settling. He could sense she was
recovering from the unhappy incident. When the dancing ended and the singing
commenced, he deposited her with Fiona McKennie and, bowing, left them.

Perhaps he was still in
the thrall of saving Rose from Mark Grader; perhaps this happy day and its attending
celebration overrode his doubts and fears, but later, when the singing was
nearly over, Jan stood to sing the last song.

The song he sang was an
old, traditional ballad, a love song. He sang it for Harold and Sigrün on this
holy day, and he sang it for the hope reborn in his heart. He searched for and found
Rose’s eyes—and he sang it to her, past caring if his yearning for her showed
through.

Do you hear me,
little woman? Do you hear what my heart is singing to you?

He saw her look around, puzzled.
Then she sat down, out of his view.

Jan finished the song.
As he did, he noticed Søren, a strange expression on his face, staring at him,
but Jan shrugged. He was no longer disheartened. He had crossed a line—
win
or lose
, he would not draw back.

Harold and Sigrün were
preparing to leave, and the guests were loading their gifts into Harold’s
wagon. Sigrün kissed her mother, each brother, Uli, Søren, Jan and, once again,
her tearful
mamma
. Then Sigrün and Harold drove off to begin their lives
together.

Jan, Søren, and the boys
changed into their work clothes and began cleaning up. The milking and
afternoon chores called to them.

Jan, Søren, and Ivan
were moving bales of hay out of the barn when Jan saw Rose saying goodbye to
Amalie. He watched her; as she prepared to leave, Jan left his work to hand her
up to the seat. Jan could feel Søren and Ivan’s eyes on him. Apparently, Rose
could, too, for she coughed in a nervous manner.

“It was a lovely
wedding, Mr. Thoresen,” she remarked, and he could see she was anxious to get
away. “Simply ‘grand’!”

“
Ja,
” he nodded.

Ja, I have set my
course, little woman
, he
whispered to himself.
Soon. Soon I will make my heart known to you.

Holding her gaze with
his, he offered a cryptic remark. “Next vun better, too,
ja
?
God-dag
,
Mrs.
Brünlee
.”

~~**~~

Fickle spring! In the days following Harold and Sigrün’s
wedding, temperatures plummeted and the skies poured cold, stinging rain.

The Thoresen males, clad in rain gear, herded their stock
into the barn. It was early in the day, but downpours had turned the pastures into
a bog and more rain was coming. The cows and steers came willingly as they were
called.

One of their milkers, however, refused to move. She stood in
the pre-storm mist, bawling for her calf.

“Callie’s calf has gone missing,” Arnie informed Søren. “You
want Kjell and me to go look for him?”

Normally Søren would have sent them, but not today. Their northern
pastures ran along the creek of his
Onkel
Karl’s land, and the creek was
far over its banks. No, neither his father nor his
tante
would want the
younger boys near the sodden, unpredictable banks of the creek.

“I will go, Arnie. Tell your
Onkel
Jan where I am,
eh?”

Søren slogged through the mud toward Callie. The cow’s eyes
were wide and round, her demeanor agitated.

“
Ja
, we’ll find your calf soon enough,” Søren
muttered. The mist was beginning to freeze, stinging his face as colder air pushed
in ahead of the storm. He needed to hurry; he was losing the light.

Søren headed north and crossed the fence line into the
pasture, assuming the calf had become mired where the pasture sloped toward the
creek. Keeping a healthy distance from the water’s edge, he walked farther from
the house while scanning along the bank.

In the near-dark he saw a flash of something white. Where a young
cottonwood stand usually marked the creek bank, a torrent now rushed.

Søren drew closer, mindful of his footing, until he came
abreast of the white object. Shaking his head, he realized he was seeing the
white flash on the calf’s face. The poor creature floated, tangled in the roots
of the tree. Drowned.

Søren burst through the back door of the farmhouse on a gust
of wind that rattled the windows. His slicker streamed water onto the kitchen
floor. Amalie, clucking and fussing, grabbed towels to mop it up.

He went to his room and changed into dry clothes and then
found Jan in the living room, warming himself in front of the stove. “We are
losing the corn along the creek,” was Søren’s quiet report.

Jan nodded. “
Ja
. Too much rain. Never have I seen so
much at one time.”

“I found Callie’s calf drowned in the cottonwoods in the
north pasture. The water is flowing pretty hard through the stand of cottonwoods.”

Jan shook his head at the news.

“The bridge is almost underwater, too,” Søren added. “We may
have lost part of it.” He shivered and held his hands in front of the stove. “Such
an afternoon! It is so dark, I can hardly see a thing.”

Jan nodded again and moved to the living room window. He
cupped his hands around his eyes and placed his forehead on the window, but
could not see past the sheeting rain.

“We made a good roof for Mrs. Brownlee,” Søren commented. He
figured his father was looking for a light in their neighbor’s window.
Impossible. Nothing would shine through this downpour.

Uli bounced into the living room. “Søren,
Onkel
!
Mamma
says it is time to eat.”

“Thank you, little one,” Jan said smiling. He lifted her up
into a bear hug and then set her down again. Uli laughed and held his hand all
the way to the table.

Jan woke in the night. He had gone to bed in Søren’s room to
spare himself the soaking walk to the barn; Søren was sleeping upstairs with
Little Karl.

He listened. Something had disturbed his dreams, something
concerning. Rain still battered the house; the wind still howled. The room was
cold and he shivered.

And then he heard it again. Not the howl of the wind—a
different sort of howl. He sat up in bed. There it was again.

Jan was scrambling into his clothes when he heard Søren hustling
down the stairs. “What is it?” he asked his
sønn
.

“Sounds like an animal.” Søren lifted a shotgun from the
rack above the kitchen doorway.

After donning slickers, Jan and Søren opened the kitchen
door and stepped into the storm. They heard the howl again, from the direction
of the barn.

Søren put his mouth close to Jan’s ear. “Does that sound
like a dog?”

Jan didn’t answer. It
had
sounded like a dog.

It had sounded like Baron
.

He ran, heedless of the rain-slick mud.

Near the chicken coops they saw a huddled form. Søren stood
a ways off and leveled the gun at it. Then the form uttered a piteous yelp.

“
Nei!
Do not shoot!” Jan knelt next to him. “Baron!
What is this?” The dog’s tail thumped once but he did not move except to
release another mournful howl that ended in a whine.

“Søren, it is Baron. He is hurt, I think. Get a blanket from
the barn,
ja
?”

Søren returned; they wrapped the dog in the blanket and
carried him into the house. A stream of rain and mud followed them.

“Aunt Amalie will have a fit,” Søren muttered under his
breath. And then he saw blood flowing in the trail of mud. “
Pappa
,
look.”

Jan’s face creased into worried lines. “Get old blankets or
towels. I am taking him to the living room by the stove.”

Søren ran into Amalie coming down the stairs. “What is it? I
heard horrible sounds!”

“It is Baron. He is hurt and bleeding.
Pappa
has
taken him into the living room. I am getting more old towels and rags.” He
touched Amalie’s arm. “
Tante
, I am worried about Mrs. Brownlee.”

Amalie reached the bottom of the stairs and viewed the trail
of mud and blood from the back door into the living room. Instead of wiping it
up, she rushed to help Jan.

Jan was lighting lamps and bringing them close to where he
had laid Baron. A look crossed between Jan and Amalie. She knelt down and
opened the blanket while Jan held a lamp overhead.

As she tried to examine Baron, he whined and licked her
hand. “Ach. You don’t want to bite me, do you? You just wish me to be careful
and not hurt you more, eh?”

Her face paled. “Jan? Look here,
ja
? Is this not a
gunshot?”

Jan squatted down and looked where Amalie was holding
Baron’s fur apart. Blood seeped at a steady stream from a hole in his chest . . .

“
Søren!
” Jan’s roar woke the house.

“
Pappa
?”

“Get Karl. Saddle the bays. We are crossing the creek.”

Ten minutes later they were mounted. Søren, carrying the
shotgun, and Jan, with Karl riding double behind him, were searching for the best
place to ford the raging creek.

Jan elected to cross where the water had flooded farthest into
their fields. He held the large Morgan steady and urged him into the water. Karl
clung to his back like a burr as the horse stepped into the rushing stream.

The icy water stung like fire and rose until it was chest-high
on the bay. The big horse snorted and side-stepped but forged ahead. Jan knew
the bottom of the creek here was smooth and that his horse would keep his
footing.

A little more than halfway across, the horse picked up his
pace and plunged up the opposite slope in a burst of speed. Wet and relieved,
Jan turned to signal Søren, but his
sønn
had followed as soon as Jan’s
horse was halfway across.

Søren’s horse plodded up the slope to where Jan and Little
Karl waited. Jan and Søren conferred briefly.

“In this weather you or I should be able to sneak up to the
house and see what is happening,” Jan spoke into Søren’s ear.

Leaving the horses near the creek with Little Karl, the two
men crept toward Rose’s house. A single light glowed behind the curtains in the
kitchen. Jan signaled to Søren and they made their way to the south side of the
house and the steps that led up and onto the covered porch.

Because he weighed less than Jan, Søren stole up the steps.
He stopped under the window where he spied a small gap in the curtains. For
several minutes he peered into the house. Then he made his way back.

He did not speak and Jan’s heart began to thunder in his
chest.

“Well? What did you see?” he demanded.

Søren swallowed. “I saw a man sitting in a chair with his
face and arms on the table. He looked to be sleeping.”

Jan grew still. “What else?”

Søren swallowed again. “Another man, on the floor. He . . .
he looks dead,
Pappa
.” Søren looked at Jan. “A lot of blood there is. On
the man and on the floor.”

“And
Fru Brünlee
?” Jan steeled himself.

“I did not see her,
Pappa
. She is not in the house.”

Jan turned away from Søren.
She is not there? How could
that be? Where else would she be?

He and Søren stole away from the house, back to where Karl
held the horses. Jan boosted Karl onto the broad back of his bay and then looked
up at his fifteen-year-old nephew. It was perhaps an odd time to notice, but
Jan, looking up at “Little” Karl, realized how much like his father the boy was
becoming.

“I’m sending you to fetch help,” he told his nephew. “Bring
back Brian McKennie,
ja
?”

“
Ja
, I will bring him,
Onkel
,” Karl assured
him and walked the horse toward the road, keeping as far from the house as
possible until he was out of earshot.

Jan turned to Søren. “Let us go in. We will surprise the
sleeping man,
ja
? I will take him. You make sure the other man is . . .
really dead. If he is not, you take him, eh?”

Søren nodded. They crept to the front door—
The stout door
I made strong and secure with my own hands!
Jan realized. Taking his time,
he pressed down on the latch. It was locked. He shook his head at Søren.

Like silent shadows, they made their way around to the back
door. Jan, knowing that the pantry and a second door stood between them and the
men inside, inserted the flat blade of his knife between the door and the lock.
The lock clicked open.

Jan slowly pushed open the door, only to find that the inside
door stood slightly ajar. He cautioned Søren, and then they slipped inside.

The man at the table was indeed sleeping. His soft snores
were regular, his mouth slack. Both of them recognized him: Mark Grader. Søren
held the shotgun on him while Jan crept toward the man lying on the floor in a
pool of blood.

It was Orville Grader, and Søren had been right. The man was
dead, his throat torn.

Baron!
Jan concluded
. But there was no sign of
Rose.

Jan nodded for Søren to wake Mark Grader.

“Where is Mrs. Brownlee!”
Søren demanded again, his voice a frustrated snarl. “You say she ran out the
back door, but we have looked everywhere for her! Where is she? What did you do
to her?”

Jan and Søren had tied
Grader to a kitchen chair. For the past hour they had been alternately
questioning Grader and searching the yard.

“Her dog killed m’
brother! It were her dog what done Orville in!” Grader blubbered. “But I ain’t
done nuthin to Miz Brownlee, I swear! Orville . . . He, he, he’s the one who
wanted t’, you know—”

Mark Grader must have
seen the disbelief and rage cross Jan and Søren’s faces.

“I dunno where she went,
I tell ya!” he protested in a whine. “I dunno!”

Then Jan leaned over
Grader and Grader looked into Jan’s eyes—eyes that had grown cold and
merciless. Grader tried to draw back, licking his lips nervously.

“Mebbe, mebbe she tried
to cross the creek, git up t’ yer house,” he suggested in a weak voice.

Jan blanched. In his
mind he saw Rose fleeing these men, daring the rushing torrent she so feared,
but
running to him for help!
He saw the creek soaking and swamping her skirts
and saw her struggling as the weight of them pulled her down and swept her away.
His heart twisted until he could not breathe.

Søren put his hand on his
father’s shoulder. “I think Karl is back.”

Jan and Søren opened the
front door. Karl and Brian climbed the steps and stood on the porch next to
them, draining the rain from their hats and ponchos.

“Have ye found Rose?”
Brian asked immediately.

“
Nei
,” Søren
replied, slipping into Riksmaal. “Grader says she escaped out the back door last
evening. We’ve looked everywhere . . . he just now said maybe
Rose tried to cross—” Søren choked and couldn’t finish his sentence.

A murderous rage, a hatred he had never known, smoldered in
Jan’s breast and ignited. For the first time in his life, he desired to kill a
man. He itched to place his hands about Grader’s neck and choke the life out of
him. He wanted to pound his face to a bloody mass.

He threw open the door
and strode back into Rose’s house.

~~**~~