The Endearment

  James swallowed hard, his youthful Adam's apple looking pronounced in his gangly neck. “Good luck, Anna,” he said, but his voice cracked in the way it did so often lately. Those unexpected falsettos usually made the two of them laugh, but neither Anna nor James laughed now.

  As the wagon approached, Karl Lindstrom suddenly wondered what to do with his hands. What will she think of these hands, such big, clumsy things? He jammed them into his pockets and felt her letters there, and grabbed onto one of them for dear life. His ears seemed suddenly filled with the sound of his own swallowing. He could see the two drivers clearly now. Behind them bobbed two other heads, and Karl fixed his sights on one of them, trying to make out the color of its hair.

  A man, Karl thought, should not appear to be shaking in his big Swedish boots when he comes to meet his woman. What will she think if she sees my fright? She will expect a moose like me to act like I know what I am doing, to be sure of myself. Calm down, Karl! But the trembling in his gut could not be talked away so simply.

  The wagon slowed, then stopped. The Indians secured the reins, and Anna heard a deep voice say to them, “You are here in good time. You have had a good trip?” The voice had the faint musicality of a Swedish accent.

  “Good enough,” one driver answered.

  Footsteps came slowly around the rear of the wagon bringing a broad, blond giant of a man. In that first moment she felt like her whole body wanted to smile. There was a boyish hesitation before his mouth dropped open just a little. A big, callused hand moved up in slow motion to doff the little pie-plate hat from his wheat-colored hair. His Adam's apple bobbed once, but still he said nothing, just stood smashing that poor cap into a tight little twist in his two outsized fists, his eyes all the while locked on her face.

  Anna's tongue felt swollen, and her throat wouldn't work right. Her heart was clubbing the bejesus out of the wall of her chest.

  “Anna?” he spoke at last, charming her by his old-world pronunciation that made of the word a warmer thing than it had ever been before. “Onnuh?” he questioned again.

  “Yes,” she finally managed, “I am Anna.”

  “I am Karl,” he said simply, and up went his eyes to her hair. And up went hers, also, to his.

  Yellow, she thought, such very yellow hair. All this time she had wondered, imagined. Now here it was, the one thing that had had color in her thoughts of him. But she found her imagination had not done it justice. This was the most magnificent blond hair she had ever beheld on a man. Thick and healthy it was, with a hint of curl at the nape of his neck and around his face where tiny beads of perspiration formed.

  Her hair, Karl found, was indeed the color of rich, Irish whiskey, as when the sun glances through it and lights its depths with shafts of sienna. It flew free in scarcely manageable wavelets; there were no Swedish braids in sight.

  When his glance went wandering, so did her hand, to touch an unruly lock at her temple. The way Karl was staring, Anna wished once again that she had a hat. Then suddenly her hand dropped down and self-consciously clutched her other as she realized what she'd done, touching her hair as if frightened to have his gaze rove over her.

  Once again their eyes met, his the color of the Minnesota sky, hers like the darkest brown stripes in the agates he so often plowed up from his soil. His glance dropped to her mouth. He wondered what it would look like when she stopped biting her upper lip. And just then it slipped free of her teeth, and he beheld a lovely mouth with the curve of a leaf, sweet but unsmiling.

  And so he smiled a little himself, and she tried a shaky one in return. She was afraid to smile as wide as his appearance merited, for he was as handsome a man as she'd ever seen. His nose was perfectly straight, and symmetrical, with fine nostrils like halves of a heart. His cheeks were long, and just concave enough to make him look young and eager. His chin bore a shallow cleft, and his lips—still fallen open as if he too was having difficulty breathing—were beautifully sculptured and bowed up at crest and corners. His skin held the richness of color put there by the sun.

  Guiltily, Anna dropped her gaze, realizing how freely she'd allowed her eyes to travel his face.

  And Anna thought, no, he would not make milk curdle.

  And Karl thought, yes, she is much more than passable.

  At last Karl cleared his throat and settled his little cap back on his head. “Come, let me help you down, Anna, but pass me your things first.” When he reached, his arm filled his white sleeve as fully as fifty pounds of wheat fills a grainsack.

  She turned and reached beyond James who had sat through all that feeling like an eavesdropper—for all they'd hardly spoken to one another. When Anna got to her feet, she found her muscles stiff and unreasonable after the long ride, and feared Karl would find her clumsy and graceless. But he didn't seem to notice the hitch in her hip, only reached up his large hands to help her over the heckboard. His shirt-sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, exposing thick, sturdy forearms. His shoulders, too, filled his shirt until it was taut against his skin. When she braced upon them, she found them like rocks. Effortlessly, he took the distance from her leap, then his two wide hands lingered at her waist.

  His hands are so big, she thought, her stomach going light at his touch.

  Karl felt how little there was to her, and at closer range his suspicion was confirmed. She was no twenty-five years old!

  “It is a very long ride. You must be very tired,” he said, noticing that—young or not—she was very tall, indeed. The top of her head came nearly to the tip of his nose.

  “Yes,” she mumbled, feeling stupid at being unable to think of more to add, but his hands were still on her waist, the warmth of them seeping through and touching her, while he acted like he'd forgotten they were there. Suddenly, he yanked them away.

  “Well, tonight you will not have to sleep beneath a wagon. You will be in a warm, safe bed at the mission.” Then he thought, fool! She will think that this is all you can think of—bed! First you must show concern for her. “This is the store of Joe Morisette I told you about. If there are things that you need, we can get them here. It is best if we do the trading now because in the morning we will start early for my place.”

  He turned and walked beside her, watching the tips of her shoes flare her flouncy skirt out. She wore a dress that was not to his liking. It was sheeny, and too bright, with gussets at the breast as if made for an older woman of far fuller figure. It was an odd thing, with too much ruffle and too little chest, ill-suited for a place like Minnesota.

  He was suddenly sure she wore it to make herself appear older. She could not be more than eighteen, he guessed, watching her askance as she walked a step ahead of him toward the store. There was a hint of breast camouflaged within the tawdry bodice, but what did he know of such?

  She moved through the door ahead of him and he saw her from behind for the first time. There was nothing to her. Oh, she was tall all right, but far too thin for Karl's taste. He thought of the poles upon which his mother's green beans climbed, and decided the only thing this Anna of his needed was a little fattening up.

  Morisette looked up as soon as they entered, calling out in a robust French accent, “So, she is here and the bridegroom can stop his nervous pacing and whiskey drinking!”

  You have a big mouth, Morisette, Karl thought. But when Anna turned sharply and glanced back at Karl, she found him red to the ears. She'd seen enough whiskey drinkers in Boston to last her a lifetime. The last thing she wanted was to be married to one.

  Must I deny such a thing to her right here before Morisette? Karl wondered. No, the girl will just have to learn that I am honorable once she has lived with me for a while.

  Anna gazed around the store, wondering what he would say if she told him she would like to own a hat. Never had she owned a new hat of her own, and he had asked her if there was anything she needed. But she dared not ask for anything, knowing James still waited outside, thoroughly unnoticed by Karl Lindstrom. A hand at her elbow urged her
toward the storekeeper. The swarthy French-Canadian wore a ready smile and a somewhat teasing grin.

  “This is Anna, Joe. She is here at last.”

  “But of course it is Anna. Who else could it be?” Morisette laughed infectiously, flinging his palms wide. “You have had quite a ride up the government road, eh? It is not the best road, but it is not the worst. Wait until you have seen the road to Karl's house, then you will appreciate the one you have just come down. Do you know, young lady, that the newspapers warn women not to come here because the life is so hard?”

  It was not at all what Karl would have had Morisette tell Anna. He did not want to scare her away before she even had a chance to see his wonderful Minnesota and let it speak for itself.

  “Yes, of course, I've . . . read them for myself,” Anna lied. “But Karl thinks there is no place better to settle because there is so much land and it is so rich and . . . and there's everything a man could want here.”

  Morisette laughed. Karl had filled her head already, he could tell.

  Pleased with her reply, Karl answered, “See there, Morisette, you cannot scare Anna away with your foolish talk. She has come this far, and she is here to stay.” Anna's heart grew a little lighter. So far she seemed to be passing muster, seventeen or not, wrinkles or none.

  “And so the good père is marrying you at the mission?” Morisette asked.

  “Yes, in the morning,” Karl said, looking at the back of Anna's shoulders where those tumblecurls were rioting over her collar.

  Just then the half-breed drivers came into the store, each with a barrel hoisted on his shoulder. One of them set his load down with a thud, then said, “That boy stands in the road as if he is lost. Did you not tell him this is the end of the run?” There was no doubt that he was directing his question to Anna. But she stood dumbstruck.

  “What boy?” Lindstrom asked.

  Seeing no way out, Anna looked him square in the eye and answered, “My brother, James.”

  Baffled for a moment, Karl stared back at her, the truth dawning on him even as Morisette and the drivers looked on. “Ya, of course . . . James.” Lindstrom stalked to the door, and for the first time looked fully at the lad who had been the other passenger on the supply wagon. Karl had been so intent upon Anna that he'd scarcely realized the boy was there.

  “James?” Lindstrom spoke, trying to make it sound as if he'd known all along.

  “Yes?” James replied, then amended it to, “Yes, sir,” wanting to create a good impression on the tall man.

  “Why do you stand in the road? Come in and meet my friend, Morisette.”

  Surprised, the boy's feet seemed rooted momentarily, then he jammed his hands in his pockets and entered the store. When he passed before Karl, the man noted some similarity between the boy's looks and Anna's. The lad was gangly and thin, too, with similar coloring, but the freckles were missing, and the eyes, although large like his sister's, were green instead of brown.

  Karl expertly concealed his surprise, moving about the store methodically, loading supplies on his wagon out front. James and Anna explored the shop, catching each other's eye now and then, quickly looking away, wondering at Karl's reaction or lack of it. They were both amazed at how unconcerned the man seemed to be with James being here. He just went about calmly loading supplies onto his wagon, bantering with Morisette.

  When things were firmly lashed on behind the pair of blinking Percherons, Karl came back inside, announcing that it was time to leave. But Anna noticed he did not repeat his offer to buy her anything she needed. He bid goodbye to Morisette and took Anna stiffly by the elbow to guide her outside, but there was a pressure there that warned her this new husband-to-be was not as complacent as she'd thought earlier.

  Chapter Two

  Anna thought Karl would dislocate her arm before he let go of it. Without a word he herded her along, Anna taking two steps to every one of his, but he ignored all but her elbow with which he finally pushed her up to the wagon seat. She ventured a peek at his face, and his expression made her stomach take to quaking something awful. She rubbed her misused shoulder socket, wishing more than ever that she had written the truth in all those letters.

  Karl's voice was as controlled as ever as he spoke to his horses, gave them a cluck and started them up the road. But when they were around a bend, beyond earshot of the store, the wagon lurched to a sudden halt. Lindstrom's voice bit the air in a far different tone than he had used thus far. His words were as slow as always, but louder.

  “I do not air my arguments before Joe Morisette down at his store. I do not let that tease Morisette see that Karl Lindstrom has had a fast one pulled on him. But I think this is what has happened! I think you, Anna Reardon, have tried to take in a stupid Swede, eh? You have not been honest and would make a fool of Karl Lindstrom before his friend Morisette!”

  Her back stiffened. “Wh . . . what do you mean?” she stammered, growing sorrier by the minute.

  “What do I mean?” he repeated, the accent more pronounced. “Woman, I am no fool!” he exploded. “Do not take me for one! We have made a bargain, you and me. All these months we make the plan for you to come to me, and not once do you mention your brother in your letters! Instead, you bring a little surprise for Karl, huh, that will make people laugh when they know that it is the first time I have heard of my bride bringing an extra passenger I have not been expecting!”

  “I . . . I guess I should have told you, but—”

  “You guess!” he shouted, totally frustrated. “You do more than guess! You know long ago you are planning this trick on me, and you probably think Karl Lindstrom is such a big dumb Swede that it will work!”

  “No, I didn't think that at all. I wanted to tell you but I thought once you saw James, you'd see what a help he'll be to you. James is a good, strong boy. Why, he's almost a man!” she pleaded.

  “James is a stripling! He is another mouth to feed and another set of winter clothes to buy.”

  “He's thirteen years old, and in another year or two he'll be full-grown. Then he'll be twice the help that I'll be.”

  “I did not put the advertisement in the Boston paper for a hired boy, I advertised for a wife.”

  “And I'm here, aren't I?”

  “Ya, you sure are. But you, plus this brother, is more than I bargained for.”

  “He's a good worker, Lindstrom.”

  “This is not Boston, Anna Reardon. Here an extra person means extra provisions. Where will he sleep? What will he wear? Will there be enough food to feed three during the coming winter? These are things a man must consider in order to survive here.”

  She pleaded in earnest now, words rushing out. “He can sleep on the floor. He has enough clothing for one winter. He'll help you raise extra crops during the summer ahead.”

  “The crops are already in the ground, and you were supposed to help me tend them. I only needed one—you.”

  “I will help you. Just think of how much more three of us could raise! Why, we'd have so much—”

  “I told you, the crops are already in! Right now I do not even think it is the crops I am concerned with. It is the fact that you have lied to me and what I must do about that. Never would I willingly choose a liar for a wife.”

  Anna sat smitten into silence. There seemed no argument against that.

  James, who had gotten onto the wagon without a word, spoke up at last. “Mr. Lindstrom, we didn't have any choice. Anna thought that if you knew I was part of the deal you'd turn her down flat.” James' voice cracked from tenor to soprano, then back again.

  “And you think right!” Karl exploded. “That is exactly what I would do, and I am thinking I might still do just that!”

  Anna found her voice again, but fear made it tremble. Her eyes were wide in her too thin face, and they sparkled with threatening tears.

  “You . . . you wouldn't send us back? Oh, please don't send us back.”

  “When you lie to me, you break our agreement. I do not think I am
responsible for you any longer. I did not bargain for a wife who was a liar.”

  He sounded so self-righteous, sitting there all sated and healthy-looking, so obviously well-fed, that Anna's temper suddenly flared.

  “No, you don't have to bargain at all, do you!” she lashed, then gestured with hands thrown wide toward the earth in general. “Not when you have your precious Minnesota to yield all its nectar and wood and fruit!” Her voice fairly oozed with sarcasm. “Not when you're warm and fat and cozy! You wouldn't know the first thing about going cold and hungry, would you? I'd like to see you that way, Karl Lindstrom. Maybe then you'd find out how easy it is to lie a little to improve your station in life. Boston would teach you quick how to be a blinkin' artist at lying!”

  “So you make a habit of lying? Is that what you are saying?” He glared at her then, finding her cheeks pinked beneath their sprinkling of freckles.

  “You're damn right,” she cursed with fierce intensity, looking him square in the eye. “I lied so I could eat. I lied so James could eat. First, we tried it without lying, but we got no place fast. Nobody wanted to hire James 'cause he was too skinny and undernourished. And nobody wanted to hire me because I was a girl. Finally, when trying for an honest living didn't work, we decided it was time to try a little dishonesty and see if it'd work out better for us.”

  “Anna!” he exclaimed, disappointed as much by her cussing as by her lying. “How could you do such a thing? There have been times I have been hungry, too. But never have I been hungry enough to make lies. Nothing makes Karl Lindstrom into a liar!”

  “Well, if you're so almighty honest, you'll keep your half of the bargain and marry me!” she spouted.