Dakota Dawn Read Online Free PDF Page A

aroma seeped into her pores, as the warmth cupped between both her hands and now sliding down her throat overcame the shivers.
    “Did you know Hans well?” She looked from one Moen to the other.
    Reverend Moen nodded. “We knew him, but we were not what you might call friends. He attended our church a few times when he had first arrived. This is a small community, so everyone knows everyone else.”
    “Did he talk much about his farm . . . our farm? You see, I’m concerned about the cows and horses, that someone is caring for them.” Nora caught one of those looks passing from husband to wife again. An uncomfortable silence thrummed between the three of them. Nora took her courage in hand. “Is something else wrong?”
    Reverend Moen inhaled deeply. “You asked about his farm?”
    Nora nodded. “Hans wrote in his letters about the two-storied house and big barn, three milk cows, and a team of gray horses he’d already purchased. He said that last year he built a windmill so I wouldn’t even have to pump water. He said . . .” Her voice trailed off. She had been babbling like a brook in the spring. She rubbed the smooth edge of the cup in her hand.
    “Ach, you poor child.” Ingeborg patted Nora’s knee.
    “Please, tell me.” Nora whispered her plea.
    Reverend Moen drew up a straight-backed kitchen chair and folded his lean frame down onto it. He shook his head. “I am so sorry to be the bearer of bad news tonight but . . . well . . .” He drew in another deep breath. “Hans Larson worked as a farmhand for the Elmer Peterson family, south of town. He lived in their bunkhouse with the other hired hands.” He shook his head. “Hans didn’t even own the horse he rode.”
    This is too much. I cannot bear all this. Nora’s thoughts weighed her down. She wished she could sink through the leather seat of the rocker and down into the floor. “Are you . . . you sure? My Hans Larson was tall, yellow hair, and a smile that broke your heart. He—” She forced her mind to think of something different about him. “He had a scar from a burn on the back of his right hand, from when we were children.”
    Reverend Moen nodded. “Yes, that’s whom I am talking about. The same Hans Larson, from Bergen, Norway. He arrived about three years ago.”
    The crushing iceberg settled on her again. Nora bit the inside of her lip to keep it from quivering. No Hans. No farm. “Well, then, at least there are no animals suffering from neglect.” She attempted a smile in the minister’s direction but failed miserably.
    Instead, she studied the muted colors in the braided rug at her feet. Anything was better than looking at the faces of the two sympathetic Moens. How could she have been such a fool?
    “You mustn’t blame yourself . . . I mean . . . how could you have known anything else clear back in Norway? You trusted his letter, like you should have.” Ingeborg leaned forward from her perch on the stool. “Besides, he was such a charming young man.”
    That he was, thought Nora. His charm was one reason she had fallen in love with him. Or had she fallen in love with love, with the adventure of coming to the New World? She drank some more of the sweet coffee; its warmth seemed to melt that glacier she felt resting on her. After draining the coffee mug, she glanced around for a place to set it down.
    Ingeborg took the empty cup. “Would you like some more?” Nora shook her head.
    “Then, if you’d like, I will show you to your bed. I’m afraid you must share it with our seven-year-old Mary. She’ll be surprised when she wakes up in the morning, but Mary loves company.”
    Nora felt the words flowing over her like a healing draft. She did not have to make any decisions tonight. Maybe tomorrow she would be able to think better. Maybe tomorrow God would work a miracle and take this all away. Maybe tomorrow she would awaken from this terrible dream and be back with her beloved family.
    “Good night, then.”