Dakota Blues Read Online Free PDF Page B

the historical society. What about you? You always talked about seeing the world.”
    “I got as far as California.”
    “You make it sound like nothing much, but your mom was very proud of you,” said Glenda.
    “When did you see her last?”
    “A few days ago.” Glenda frowned. “She didn’t seem like her usual self, almost as if she’d lost some of her spark.”
    “I thought so too, last time I talked to her,” Karen said, “but she said she was fine. I should have dropped everything and come back here.”
    “Don’t beat yourself up.” Glenda had a funny, wry smile that seemed to say nothing much rattled her. “It wouldn’t have made any difference. That last afternoon, I have to be honest with you, she told me she was tired and she missed Frank.”
    “When you hear that–” Denise shook her head, not finishing the thought.
    Karen turned to Glenda. “When you saw her last, did she still seem clearheaded?”
    “For the most part. She was a bit more distracted. It’s not that uncommon in elders. People think they’re going to live forever, but we get to a point where we really do wear out.”
    “Lena will be sorely missed,” said a woman who joined the group. Karen didn’t recognize her. “She was so good, even to strangers.”
    “She helped me serve hot meals at the homeless shelter,” said another woman. “I don’t know who got more out of it, her or the needy folks.”
    “She started after Frank died. She said she needed to feel useful,” said Glenda.
    While the women offered their memories of Lena, Karen felt a burning sensation in her gut. Maybe if she had stayed in North Dakota, her mother would have been happier. She wouldn’t have had to adopt strangers in order to feel needed.
    “Lena jumped right in after Frank died. Got to work and stayed busy, almost like nothing had happened.”
    Karen drifted inward. It’s called duty, she thought. Weiler women are good at that.
    “She worked so hard. Never slowed down.”
    “She worked tirelessly for others.”
    Aunt Marie, joining the circle, put her arm around Karen. “You look pale. Come and eat.” She took Karen into the kitchen and loaded a dish with North Dakota grief relief. Karen sat down at the table, picked up a fork, and studied the mound of food.
    “Eat until you feel stronger.” Aunt Marie stood by the edge of the table, waiting for Karen to respond.
    “I’m fine. Go and visit.” Karen took a big bite, releasing her aunt. The kitchen was crowded with women. They stood at the sink, hip to hip, washing, drying, and putting away. With their reddened hands and faded aprons, they kept the production line going, a sort of old-fashioned ministry. As they worked, they talked and laughed, elbowed each other playfully, dismissing the occasional tear with the swipe of an arm.
    “Lena was such a tiny thing,” said one. “I remember when she came to St. Joe’s, she wore clothes from the poor box. I always had to roll up her sleeves because they were too long.”
    Another woman nodded. “I wore a lot of those charity clothes too, and I was happy to have them. We all were. Those were hard times.”
    Karen took a bite of hot potato salad, tangy with cider vinegar and dill. She remembered her mother talking of losing the family farm in the Great Depression. Lena had been sent to live with a relative in town who worked her as a maid in exchange for room and board. She was eight years old.
    “She may have been tiny but she was a spitfire,” said another. “I remember she played the drums in the high school band, which was unusual for a girl at the time.”
    “Lena was independent. She never let anybody boss her.”
    Until she got married , Karen thought.
    An old auntie approached, cradled Karen’s face in her warm hands, and said something in German. Smelling the familiar gardenia perfume, Karen mumbled an excuse and escaped to the back porch where she sat down on the chipped cement steps. In the distance a tractor chugged across