The Children's Blizzard Read online

  RAINA DECIDED TO TAKE ANETTE shopping today, this sunny Saturday in early August; they could both use some new things for fall, hats and scarves, perhaps some new shirtwaists. Anette had taken the short train ride from Omaha to Lincoln to spend the day with her as she did most every summer Saturday. University—Raina was in her final year, studying English—would start up again soon, so this was a good time. And a good time to sit Anette down and have a talk about her future.

  Anette had graduated from the high school this past spring; it hadn’t been easy, for even though her circumstances had improved so vastly, she had remained somewhat of a slow learner. Raina had helped her along as much as she could, and so had Anette’s classmates, who all acted protective of the country girl with the wooden hand. Anette had passed her final examinations, but barely. She simply wasn’t a scholar. She’d been given such an opportunity, but sometimes Raina felt it had been wasted on her, that there were so many homestead children who could have benefited more from the windfall, the education, the Heroine Fund. Anette had been the chosen one—as she herself had been—but in Anette’s case, Raina feared she had been sent down a path that she shouldn’t have been.

  What to do, now that the journey was over?

  There was no possibility that Anette would go to college, that was the one thing for sure. But what else could she do? Raina didn’t want this responsibility, but there was no one else Anette could turn to.

  Anette had kept in touch with Mr. Woodson over the years, and the Johnsons, of course, still welcomed Anette in their home during school holidays. They had Anette’s welfare in mind, but they didn’t know her as Raina did—they had never met the Anette from before. Raina was the only one who understood how ill at ease Anette was in the city, how withdrawn she sometimes was. How, when she entered a room, she always seemed to be holding her breath, looking for something. Or someone.

  The only time Raina saw Anette truly happy was when she brought her out to the farm to visit Mama and Papa. There on the prairie, her hair streaming down her back, the shy, awkward city mouse became a country hawk, flying over the earth, miraculously never breaking an ankle in gopher holes or stepping in cow patties. Raina, as much as she would always feel at home on the farm, found herself, with each passing year, less at ease in the country, less used to the different rhythms, the obstacles—like those cursed cow patties!—she’d never known as obstacles when she was a child. She could navigate her way easily across a crowded city street, deftly stepping over manure left by horse-drawn carriages. But on the farm, visiting, she’d once stepped into a pail of milk, which made Papa laugh until tears streamed down his face.

  City girl, he’d called her with affection—and regret.

  The homestead was looking good; they’d added another barn, there were more milk cows, more chickens, an entire coop of them, neat little rows of laying hens. With the money from the Heroine Fund, she had been able to hire two hands to help with the work, now that Papa was starting to show his age. No longer could he tie a fence without suffering from it the next day, barely able to flex his fingers in his arthritic hands. He had a difficult time ceding work to anyone, but Mama, with her gentler, coaxing ways, was able to get him to once in a while.

  Mama, too, was showing stiffness in her hands and snow in her hair. Sadness in her eyes, when she didn’t think Raina was looking. Sadness over the empty chair, empty room. Sadness over Gerda.

  Raina shook her head and concentrated on the problem at hand, on how she was going to broach the subject with Anette about her future. She supposed the girl could stay in Omaha with the Johnsons; that seemed a possibility. With a high school education she could surely work in a post office or maybe even answer telephones for a company. Maybe she could even work in a store like this one, a neat, bright little dry goods store that catered to women, particularly to university students with limited funds but unlimited appetite for fashion. It was a cheerful, pretty store with enormous feathered hats in the window, dresses on dummies, rolls and rolls of satin and silk and cotton and braided ribbons, so pretty and gay in all the colors of the rainbow. Raina glanced over at Anette, who was looking at some ribbons, and tried to picture her working in a dainty place like this.

  Anette had grown tall, she had matured with a full bosom—fuller than Raina’s own—and wide hips. Despite her sophisticated dress, her fashionable bonnet and gloves—covering up the wooden hand—she looked out of place here. She was no beauty, but she had grown out of much of her ugliness. The pockmarks had faded and were less pronounced; her eyebrows weren’t so heavy, her hair had darkened to a honey brown. She had full lips and high cheekbones that enhanced her clear blue eyes. But it would have been a stretch to call her pretty according to the current fashion of delicate bones and tiny waists and pale faces. Anette’s cheeks were always stubbornly ruddy, even though it had been years since she’d worked outdoors with any regularity.

  Raina stopped by the fabric counter and fingered a very pretty tartan plaid; it would do for a good winter dress. She was searching for a pattern when she heard her name spoken by a hesitant, masculine, voice.

  “Miss Olsen? Raina?”

  “Yes?” She turned, expecting it to be a former or current pupil of hers, for she took tutoring jobs fairly often. Despite the money still available to her from the Heroine Fund, she could not stop herself from squirreling away more for the future. It was in her thrifty blood.

  And it was a former pupil of hers who had called her name, but not one that she expected. To her astonishment, she found herself staring up into the face of Tor Halvorsan.

  “Tor!” she cried out, very undignified, before she could stop herself. She resisted an urge to throw her arms around him.

  Then she felt herself unaccountably shy, for here was a man. Of course—he was only a year younger than she was, so that made him, what—twenty? He was handsome with the Halvorsan looks—jutting chin, glossy eyebrows, thick hair, honest eyes. He was wearing city clothes that looked borrowed, the jacket slightly snug across his broad shoulders, his collared shirt gaping a little across his chest. The pants, however, were too big and were hitched up with suspenders. And he was wearing his dusty farmer’s boots.

  He looked as out of place here as Anette did, Raina mused, gazing at him a bit too long as he began to color; and for a moment, he resembled that earnest young man he had been the last time she’d seen him. The good boy, who had given up an education to remain with his mother and siblings.

  “What brings you all this way? And in a shop like this—the last place on earth I’d expect to find you!”

  “Just a trip to look at some new plows. There are some newfangled ones that run on steam now, you don’t even need horses or oxen. Imagine!” And the way his eyes sparkled at this, Raina knew that he was a farmer now, through and through. Only a farmer could get moony over a new plow.

  “How is your mother? Your brothers and sister?” It had been a long time since Raina had heard news of the family, for she and Tor had never really written to each other. She sent him a postcard when she first got to Lincoln, but he hadn’t replied. After a couple more postcards, she’d given up, knowing that he was probably too busy to correspond. And too shy.

  “Fine, fine. We are good. I haven’t been to town in a while, so I wanted to bring something back for Mama. I saw this store across from the hotel where I’m staying, so I thought I’d buy something here. I thought she might like a hat. Do you think? Although there are so many!” He pointed to the hat section, such a glazed, helpless expression in his eyes, Raina had to laugh.

  “I think she would love a hat, and I’ll help you pick one out.” They walked over to the hat display, looking at all the concoctions that sang out to Raina, but that would be ridiculous for a farm woman. Still, she handed him a pretty blue silk bonnet with only a few ruffles on it. “This might do. Now tell me, how are you?” She held him in her gaze; she would not let him off with
a Norski’s stoic “Fine.” And as she dared him to tell her the truth, she felt something in her heart begin to unfurl.

  She didn’t like to dwell on it, but the truth was, Raina was lonely. Despite the camaraderie of the university, the tight-knit group of female students, outnumbered by the males to a pathetic degree—she was lonely. Although she was the same age as her friends, she felt far older. She’d arrived in Lincoln full of hope and optimism, yet still holding some piece of her heart back. She’d had beaus but had never been serious about any of them. Sometimes she wondered if it was because of that early foolishness with Gunner Pedersen. The first time a man had paid her any attention she had gotten swept up into a nightmare. A twisted, gothic ordeal that only a devastating storm could put an end to.

  Gunner Pedersen. Where was he now? Last she’d heard, he’d disappeared—left his wife and children, no one knew where he’d gone. She never thought he’d have the strength to actually leave. She’d assumed Anna would be the one to finally have enough and return to Minneapolis. But apparently it was Gunner who had vanished in the middle of the night. Where to? She honestly didn’t care. The truth was, she hadn’t thought of him in years.

  Still, perhaps it was that experience that caused her to ration herself—not that she felt that she herself was tainted, no. She had enough sense and self-worth not to think that! Foolish, yes, and she’d guarded against that folly in herself ever since—perhaps too much, some of her friends might scold. But she could admit she’d constructed a little cage around her heart, to keep it from leaping too quickly again.

  Maybe, too, she kept that cage locked in the hope that someone was waiting for her—or that she was waiting for him. Someone she had already dreamed of or imagined. Or perhaps known? As she watched Tor so intently, she found herself wondering, for the first time—was it him? They’d gone through the very trials of hell together. Had she been waiting for him, all this time, to catch up with her so they could be equals, not pupil and teacher?

  “I am well. Still on the farm, still helping Mother,” he said with modest pride, and she had to smile at the way he called his mama “Mother”—like an adult would. A man who was respectful of, yet responsible for, her.

  “Are you—have you—married?”

  “No, not me. I don’t know, Mother teases me that I’ll turn into one of those bachelor farmers, the ones that nobody knows what to do with at Christmas or Thanksgiving. Maybe she’s right.” He grinned, but blushed, and Raina found that she was blushing, too. She wondered how long he was to be in Lincoln. She didn’t have classes for another week; she had time to get to know him again.

  Oh, she knew him, knew him like the weather—the constancy of him, his bravery, his goodness. But she had no idea what made him laugh, what his favorite food was, if he still read books, if he liked girls with brown hair or blond, if he dreamed of someone to sit by the fire with him. And she had no idea if she was capable of sitting by the fire, out on the prairie, with him. Still, for the first time since she left home, she was picturing herself with a man beyond just a nice meal at a restaurant or a walk in the park or a picnic. For the first time, she allowed herself to wonder what it would feel like to be two instead of one.

  For the first time—

  “Tor?”

  Anette had joined them, a spool of pink-and-white-checked ribbon in her hand. Raina had forgotten all about her.

  “Oh, look, Anette—isn’t it good to see him?”

  Anette didn’t speak; it appeared that she couldn’t. Raina was used to that, of course; Anette was still shy about calling attention to herself, still prone to silent watching instead of participating. What Raina wasn’t familiar with was the way the girl’s breast was heaving, the way her eyes were shining, the way she looked at Tor as if, as if—

  As if she were home.

  Anette gazed at Tor with wonder, and maybe she was seeing Fredrik—Raina well remembered how strong the resemblance was. But then she kept gazing at him, and a sweet blush crept into those dusky cheeks, and the girl actually leaned toward him, yearning—wanting.

  And Tor was looking at her in the same way. As if he’d found something lost so long ago, he’d given up hope. Until now, when the hope fairly vibrated in him—he grinned at Anette unreservedly, no timidity there. He openly admired the woman she’d become—his eyes widened as he took her in. He shook his head. Raina thought he was about to whistle, but then caught himself just in time.

  “Anette! I never would have recognized you!”

  And then Anette did the most surprising thing she could have done—

  Anette Pedersen twirled. Daintily, girlishly, she picked up her skirts and twirled. And Raina had to brush away a few surprising tears. All these years, she had never seen Anette be coquettish, be girlish—be joyful or light. But now a beatific glow radiated from her face. She stopped, letting her skirts swish about her flirtatiously, and she laughed at herself, then Tor laughed, too, and the two of them, together—

  They looked perfect. Together.

  Quietly did Raina lock that cage again, feel her heart settle down to its usual waiting perch. She allowed herself a moment of sadness.

  She also allowed herself to imagine the future for them—Tor would take Anette back to the prairie, where she had always belonged. These two had shared so much loss, but loss binds people together just as tightly as happiness does. And the happiness would come. Anette would be a dutiful daughter to Mrs. Halvorsan and her very presence would be a welcome reminder that her son did not die in vain. There would be contented evenings sitting on the porch, watching the sun in its fiery glory descending behind fields rustling with hope, a songbird singing softly. There would be storms and floods, yes, of course. But there would also be love.

  What would happen to Raina?

  Papa and Mama would sell the farm eventually; they would have enough to move to Newman Grove, they already talked of that. Without a son to keep the farm in the family, they couldn’t remain on the land they’d labored so painfully to own. The circular nature of their lives—moving back to a settled community like the one they’d left behind in Norway—maybe it was like life itself.

  Raina thought sometimes of going to a bigger city like Chicago after she had her degree. Mr. Woodson, although he hadn’t written to her in a while, still influenced her—she thought maybe she would write for a newspaper, too. Sometimes she wished to disappear, like her sister had, and maybe by going to a big city, she could accomplish that more easily.

  But no, she didn’t wish to disappear quite as thoroughly as had Gerda. Unlike her sister, Raina knew she would always be welcomed wherever she wished to go. And she would be there for her parents in their old age. Maybe in the city Raina would finally meet someone who would unlock her heart and throw away the key for good.

  Maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe she would live for her work or go back to teaching so she could live through her pupils, become one of those respected spinsters who was awarded a nice brooch upon her retirement, during a ceremony where her former pupils sang songs in her honor. After all, she was a heroine. Once.

  Quietly, Raina picked up her shopping basket and tiptoed over to the cash register as Tor and Anette continued to chat happily, freely—these two silent children of the prairie, together chirping like lovebirds. Raina smiled, despite the aching loneliness she knew awaited her the moment she stepped out of the store. Anette and Tor—it was right. It was fitting.

  They would name their first son Fredrik.

  CHAPTER 39

  •••••

  Dear Raina,

  I know it has been a long time since you’ve heard from me. How are Mama and Papa? Are they angry with me for leaving? I never wanted to hurt them but since I already had, it seemed to me that it was best that the break be swift and permanent. I could never again be the daughter they had known. Every time they looked at me, they would feel pain. An
d I’ve caused enough people pain.

  Let me tell you a little of what I’ve been doing, dearest sister. First of all, I went to Colorado. Tiny showed me a picture of the Rocky Mountains once—he said a fellow could touch God there. So I thought I would go for him. I thought maybe I could touch him somehow.

  The mountains, Raina! Oh, the mountains! You’ve never seen anything like them! They are so vast, so magnificent, that at first you cannot breathe. They appear like a smudge on the horizon—the train chugs west through Nebraska, then goes a little south, and the land is flat, like we know. But all along you have been climbing, and that smudge becomes an unbroken, jagged line, like a pencil drawing, and then you are suddenly up in some foothills with these majestic mountains in front of you, a long line north to south, repeating itself, endlessly, to the west. I got off the train in Colorado Springs and took a cog train—it’s like a locomotive but it runs differently, it’s smaller, so it can wind its way up through the mountains. The air here smells of pine and cold—it’s hard to describe. It’s not cold like the winter cold we’re used to, more like peppermint, I suppose, like the candy we sometimes got in our stockings at Christmas—it’s just so pure! I went up all the way to the top of Pike’s Peak, one of the tallest mountains in Colorado, and the air is thin that high up—above the tree line! Too high for anything to grow, the mountains are bare there, with patches of snow and alpine flowers, but no trees. But when the moon rises, it seems like you can walk right into it, it’s so close.

  I didn’t really touch God here, though. I thought, for a minute, that I could. But I did feel close to Tiny then. I said goodbye to him at the top of that mountain.

  Then I went to Montana, to the Indian school that had hired me.

  This is when I learned that I am not the worst person in the world. There is such evil there, Raina. The school is mismanaged, the funds are misused. The children mistreated—they are spanked regularly by the principal and there is nothing I can do about it. I know that some of the girls have been assaulted and ruined forever by some of the male teachers and administrators—it’s as if that’s one of the reasons they are there. Not only to be schooled, but to be used, ruined, by some of these men who know they don’t have to answer to anyone but other men just like them. I’m supposed to look away, like the other female teachers. They don’t bother us—why should they, when they have helpless young girls who are too terrified to fight back?