Dakota Dawn Read Online Free PDF

She nodded to the man adjusting the damper in the great black iron stove. “And, thank you.”
    “I’ve already taken your bag upstairs.” He clattered the round lid of the stove back into place. “Sleep well. Things always have a way of looking brighter in the morning, even when times seem the darkest.”
    “Mange takk,” Nora followed Ingeborg up the steep stairs. Halfway up she paused to rest. She had not realized how exhausted she was. Each step seemed like a mountain, with her feet so weighted she could barely lift them. She stepped with her right foot, then her left, each dragging the other until she reached the upper hall. Soft light from Ingeborg’s candle beckoned from the room on the left.
    “If you sit in that rocking chair, I can help you with your boots.” Ingeborg turned from arranging the sleeping child in the bed. “Have you a nightgown in your bag?”
    Nora nodded as she sank down into the chair. Waves of weary sadness washed over her. She felt like she had been pounded by waves down in the fjord on a stormy day and was being pulled out to sea. Ingeborg’s voice came from far away. She felt herself sinking.
    “Now, let’s just get you in bed before you fall asleep in the chair.” A gentle hand tugged her upright. Nora did as the voice commanded. She stood, stepped, turned, and sank into the feather bed that rose up to greet her. She heard her mother’s voice, “Now mind your manners,” but Nora could not force the required “Mange takk” past the sleep that clogged her throat and eyes.
    “God bless you, my dear. I’ll leave the candle here in case you need it.” Ingeborg smoothed the hair back from Nora’s forehead just like she had done to her daughter. The feather-light touch was the last sensation Nora felt; she was at home, in her mother’s care.
    Light, bright as though from a thousand flashing diamonds, filled her eyes. She blinked against the brightness, then slowly opened her eyelids. To the left, sun streaming through the frosted window-pane made her blink again. She turned her head to the right.
    A solemn stare from bright blue eyes met her own. In a blur of spinning braids and a voice to wake the deaf, the child fled out the door.
    “Ma, she’s awake!” echoed in the hall.
    Nora stretched her hands over her head and pointed her toes to the end of the mattress. Oh, how good it felt as she rotated her shoulders.
    The night before came crashing back. Hans was dead. Hans had lied. What was she to do now? She felt like pulling the covers over her head to blot out the sun and the new day. Instead, she lifted her head and looked around the room. Covered by colorful patchwork quilts, she had not noticed the cold through the night. A small rocker held a rag doll, which kept company with the grownup one. By the bed, a pitcher and matching bowl painted with pink roses sat on top of a dark oak commode. More pink roses climbed trellises up the wallpapered walls . . . the same pink roses she had dreamed of for her new home.
    “Enough of that,” she ordered herself when she could feel a lump beginning in her throat. “As Ma always says, ‘The good Lord has His eye on the sparrow and us as well.’” She threw back the covers and planted her feet firmly on the braided rug of many colors. “This is the day that the Lord hath made. I will rejoice and be glad in it.”
    She bit back the quiver in her chin. She had said that verse every morning since her confirmation, but today it was difficult to say. So she said it again—more firmly. “This is the day that the Lord hath made.” She heard footsteps coming up the stairs. “I will rejoice and be glad in it.”
    Ingeborg tapped on the door before entering. “What a marvelous way to start the day.” Cheeks red from the heat of the cooking stove made her blue eyes sparkle even more. “You must have been sleeping hard since Mary came down without waking you.”
    “Oh, I did . . . sleep well, that is.”
    Ingeborg poured hot