silence any longer, Anna bit the inside of her cheek and said, "You keep me and I won't lie no more."
Karl looked at her finally. There was the stain of guilt upon her skin, which in itself was pleasing to him. It told him she did not lie without feeling small at getting caught. Her cheek had turned the color of the wild roses that graced Karl's land in June. And, just like coming upon one of them unexpectedly at a turn of the trail, coming upon that rosy color in Anna's cheeks now made him want to pick it and take it home with him.
He was a man to whom loneliness was a dread thing. Again he thought of awakening to find the bloom of her cheek on the pillow of cattail down beside him, and his own face felt warm. He found he had been studying her golden freckles, too; they seemed to lessen the severity of her guilt. They made her look utterly innocent. In that moment he thought of her lies as childish tales, told by a youngster to turn things her way.
"You promise me that?" he asked, looking straight into her eyes. "That you will not lie to me anymore?" His voice was soft again, disarming.
"I promise, yes," she vowed, matching his steady gaze with a steadiness of her own, matching his quiet tone, too.
"Then I want you to tell me how old you really are."
Her eyes dropped, she bit her lip, and Karl knew he had her cold again!
"Twenty," she said. But the color in her cheeks had deepened to the heliotrope hue of the prairie thistle blossom, which Karl had never desired to pick and take home.
"And if I say I do not believe you?"
She only shrugged her shoulders, but avoided his eyes.
"I would ask your brother to tell me the truth, but I see that the two of you are in cahoots together with this pack of lies you have cooked up for me." The gentle tone of his voice did not deceive her this time.
Beneath it was an iron stubbornness to get at the truth.
Anna threw up both hands at once. "Oh, for heaven's sake! All right. I'm seventeen! So what!" She glared bravely into Karl's face, her sudden spunk making him want to smile, which he carefully did not do.
"So what?" he repeated, raising his eyebrows, leaning back relaxedly--a cat playing with a mouse before sinking his teeth in. "So I wonder if you are the cook and house-maid that you said you are."
She puckered up her pretty mouth tight and sat staring stonily ahead.
"Do not forget, you said you are done with lying," he reminded her.
"I said I'm seventeen. What more do you want?"
"I want a wife who knows how to cook. Can you cook?"
"A little."
"A little?"
"Well, not much," she spit, "but I can learn, can't I?"
"I do not know. How will you learn? Will I have to teach this, too?"
She elected not to answer.
"How much housework do you know?"
Silence.
He nudged her. "How much?"
She jerked her arm away. "About as much as I know about cooking!"
"Can you make soap?"
No answer.
"Can you make tallow dips?"
No answer.
"Bake bread?"
No answer.
"I guess that you have never done much farming either, or gardening or caring for a house."
"I can stitch!" was all she'd say.
"Stitch ..." he repeated, quite sarcastically for Karl Lindstrom. "She can stitch," he said to the wagon wheel. Then Karl began talking to himself in Swedish, and that really riled Anna, for she couldn't understand a word he said.
At last he fell silent, studying the wagon wheel, his head turned away from her. She sat ramrod stiff, her arms crossed over her chest.
"I reckon you should've waited for those Swedish girls to come to
Minnesota
, huh?" she asked sourly, taking her turn at staring down the horses' necks.
"Ya, I think I should have," Karl said in English. Then he muttered, once more for good measure, "Seventeen and she knows nothing but how to stitch."
He mulled silently for some time, then finally turned to face her, wondering how a man of his age could take to bed a child of seventeen without feeling like a defiler of innocence. His eyes flickered down to her breasts, over to James,
Karl looked at her finally. There was the stain of guilt upon her skin, which in itself was pleasing to him. It told him she did not lie without feeling small at getting caught. Her cheek had turned the color of the wild roses that graced Karl's land in June. And, just like coming upon one of them unexpectedly at a turn of the trail, coming upon that rosy color in Anna's cheeks now made him want to pick it and take it home with him.
He was a man to whom loneliness was a dread thing. Again he thought of awakening to find the bloom of her cheek on the pillow of cattail down beside him, and his own face felt warm. He found he had been studying her golden freckles, too; they seemed to lessen the severity of her guilt. They made her look utterly innocent. In that moment he thought of her lies as childish tales, told by a youngster to turn things her way.
"You promise me that?" he asked, looking straight into her eyes. "That you will not lie to me anymore?" His voice was soft again, disarming.
"I promise, yes," she vowed, matching his steady gaze with a steadiness of her own, matching his quiet tone, too.
"Then I want you to tell me how old you really are."
Her eyes dropped, she bit her lip, and Karl knew he had her cold again!
"Twenty," she said. But the color in her cheeks had deepened to the heliotrope hue of the prairie thistle blossom, which Karl had never desired to pick and take home.
"And if I say I do not believe you?"
She only shrugged her shoulders, but avoided his eyes.
"I would ask your brother to tell me the truth, but I see that the two of you are in cahoots together with this pack of lies you have cooked up for me." The gentle tone of his voice did not deceive her this time.
Beneath it was an iron stubbornness to get at the truth.
Anna threw up both hands at once. "Oh, for heaven's sake! All right. I'm seventeen! So what!" She glared bravely into Karl's face, her sudden spunk making him want to smile, which he carefully did not do.
"So what?" he repeated, raising his eyebrows, leaning back relaxedly--a cat playing with a mouse before sinking his teeth in. "So I wonder if you are the cook and house-maid that you said you are."
She puckered up her pretty mouth tight and sat staring stonily ahead.
"Do not forget, you said you are done with lying," he reminded her.
"I said I'm seventeen. What more do you want?"
"I want a wife who knows how to cook. Can you cook?"
"A little."
"A little?"
"Well, not much," she spit, "but I can learn, can't I?"
"I do not know. How will you learn? Will I have to teach this, too?"
She elected not to answer.
"How much housework do you know?"
Silence.
He nudged her. "How much?"
She jerked her arm away. "About as much as I know about cooking!"
"Can you make soap?"
No answer.
"Can you make tallow dips?"
No answer.
"Bake bread?"
No answer.
"I guess that you have never done much farming either, or gardening or caring for a house."
"I can stitch!" was all she'd say.
"Stitch ..." he repeated, quite sarcastically for Karl Lindstrom. "She can stitch," he said to the wagon wheel. Then Karl began talking to himself in Swedish, and that really riled Anna, for she couldn't understand a word he said.
At last he fell silent, studying the wagon wheel, his head turned away from her. She sat ramrod stiff, her arms crossed over her chest.
"I reckon you should've waited for those Swedish girls to come to
Minnesota
, huh?" she asked sourly, taking her turn at staring down the horses' necks.
"Ya, I think I should have," Karl said in English. Then he muttered, once more for good measure, "Seventeen and she knows nothing but how to stitch."
He mulled silently for some time, then finally turned to face her, wondering how a man of his age could take to bed a child of seventeen without feeling like a defiler of innocence. His eyes flickered down to her breasts, over to James,
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