Dakota Dusk by Lauraine Snelling Page B

In fact, it might be that Miss Stenesrude would be willing to help me out some, to help pay her expenses, you know.”
    Mr. Larson leaned forward. “I’d have to clear this with the rest of the school board, you realize.”
    “Like you did the well?” Mrs. Sampson smiled, but the whisper penetrated to the bone.
    “I take it this would be agreeable to you?” Mr. Larson turned to Rebekka. At her nod, he continued. “When would you like me to go with you to pick up your things at Strands’?”
    “We’ve already done that,” Mrs. Sampson said, “I know you won’t regret this, Lars. You’ve made a wise decision and the fewer people who know about this, the better. Don’t you agree?”
    Mr. Larson mumbled something as he pushed himself to his feet. “Let me see what is keeping Elmira with that coffee.”
    Rebekka breathed a sigh of pure relief. She hadn’t had to lie. But on the way home, she was surely going to ask Mrs. Sampson what had happened last summer.
    By Monday morning Rebekka felt like she’d lived at the widow’s boardinghouse all her life. While she’d had a nightmare on Saturday night, Sunday night she slept through and woke up to face the new day with joy and a sense of adventure.
    Rebekka felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth as she lay in bed relishing the peace and loveliness surrounding her. While dancing in the early morning breeze, the sheer curtains struggled against the ties that looped them back. When she planted her feet on the braided rug, she resisted the urge to dance along with the curtains. Stretching her arms over her head to banish the last yawn, she crossed to the window and knelt to place her crossed arms on the sill.
    “This is the day that the Lord hath made, I will rejoice and be glad in it.” Her verse was certainly easier to live up to today than it had been in the days past. “Thank You, Father, for bringing me here to live. It’s been so long since I felt like I had a real home. What would it be like to have a home of my own?” She thought of the Larsons, their fine home on the hill, and their towheaded brood. Would she ever have a home like that? Was there a man out there somewhere who would invite her to share his home? Who would love her with the kind of love Christ talked about? Whom she would love the same way?
    A robin pipped his early morning love song to the heavens from the tree in the corner of the backyard. Rebekka searched the branches until she saw him, his red breast puffed out and beak open wide. “Hope you find her, Mr. Robin,” she whispered. “Everyone needs that perfect mate.” She swallowed the lost feeling that crept over her and pushed herself to her feet.
    “How silly, mooning around like that.” She scolded herself all the way through her morning wash and even while brushing her hair. Long, wavy strands that shaded from wren brown to deep sienna snapped in the electricity from her brush, creating a cloud about her head that reached halfway down her back.
    She smiled at the heart-shaped face in the minor. What would it be like to wear her hair free but for two combs to catch it back from her face? She laughed at the sight of her hands trying to harness all that wildness. What was the matter with her this morning? She wet the brush and slicked the unruly strands straight back and into their usual braid and the braid into its coil at the base of her head.
    She checked the mirror again. There now, the schoolmarm was back in control where she should be. The old-maid schoolmarm who would always teach other peoples’ children to the best of her ability.
    She quickly made up her bed and, picking up the slop jar, made her way downstairs for breakfast.
    The feeling of anticipation returned as she crossed the bridge that spanned Bryde Creek. The creek flowed full and brown, swelled with runoff from the spring rains. At the sound of her feet tapping on the planks, Rebekka gave a little skip and four quick heel smacks to add to the stream’s