corral.
Woolly walked up beside her. “The place needs some repairs. I purchased some supplies.” He chose not to mention the conversation with Higgins about her financial state.
Mother Brantenberg glanced at the wagon. “Lumber.” Her gray eyebrows arched. “Higgins gave you credit?”
“I used money I saved from the army.” That he should’ve been sending home to her. “I want to help around here.”
She scooped water from the trough and poured it over the pump head, then hung the pail on the spigot and began to pump the handle.
He removed his cap, praying for the right words.
She stilled her arm and the flow of water tapered to a drip. Her lips pressed, she peered at him. “Did you expect a hero’s welcome?”
“No ma’am.” He drew in a deep breath. “I didn’t know what to expect.”
Her jaw set, Mother Brantenberg turned toward the vegetable garden.
If a soft answer turned away wrath, what then of no answer? Even if Mother Brantenberg’s silence didn’t necessarily hold wrath, it knotted his stomach. But his mother-in-law had never been one to rush her words. She’d once said that while some folks liked to chase their words about a room, she preferred to hold them close until they were ready to be let loose. He should count her silence a blessing.
He rested his hand on her arm. “You have done very well by Gabi. Done for her what I couldn’t do.”
She looked at his hand, but didn’t move away. Instead, she met his gaze, her eyelids wet. “You left us alone.”
“My thoughts were filled only with my sadness.”
“What of my thoughts?” Her voice cracked. “You weren’t the only one who was sad.”
She didn’t want him here. And he couldn’t help but wonder which would be the more difficult—staying, or leaving again.
***
Maren stood at the dry sink longer than was necessary to complete her chores. She’d scrubbed the top of the pine cupboard. She’d reorganized the shelves on either side of the window. She’d even washed the glass and straightened the gingham curtain. Woolly had finally returned from town. The reason for her sudden interest in the tidiness of the kitchen was out in the yard, and she had a perfect vantage point. She could make out his silhouette as he climbed from the wagon and approached Mrs. Brantenberg at the watering trough.
The prodigal son-in-law and the woman he left behind were finally talking. Maren would eavesdrop if she could, but they were across the yard. Sure as the day was hot and muggy, she desired to hear what Woolly had to say to his mother-in-law. And Mrs. Brantenberg, would she finally say more than five words to him? Would she listen?
“Miss Maren?” Gabi’s sweet little voice startled her. The child stood at her side, stretching onto her tiptoes with her chin pushed up toward the window. “Is it my PaPa?”
Clearing her throat, Maren stepped back from the cupboard. “Yes. He returned from town with the supplies.”
“I will go help him.” Gabi turned to leave the room.
Maren caught the back of the child’s dress and stopped her. “Wait, dear one! Your grandmother is at the pump with your PaPa, and they need time to talk.”
Gabi nodded. “Oma has to let him stay.” She swayed back and forth with her hands clasped at her chest as if in a prayer.
Maren agreed with that prayer.
“I waited and waited for my PaPa,” Gabi said.
Maren stroked Gabi’s soft brown curls. “I know. You did.”
They both needed a distraction. “We have time to practice our music before dinner.” She followed Gabi to the sitting room. The child pulled her recorder from a cloth sack on the piano and positioned her small hands on the holes in the wooden tube, wrapping her lips around the mouthpiece on the end. When Woolly could hear his daughter playing the recorder, he would certainly be proud of her. The thought transported Maren back to Copenhagen, to memories of evenings and Sundays gathered at a hearth in her family’s farmhouse.
Woolly walked up beside her. “The place needs some repairs. I purchased some supplies.” He chose not to mention the conversation with Higgins about her financial state.
Mother Brantenberg glanced at the wagon. “Lumber.” Her gray eyebrows arched. “Higgins gave you credit?”
“I used money I saved from the army.” That he should’ve been sending home to her. “I want to help around here.”
She scooped water from the trough and poured it over the pump head, then hung the pail on the spigot and began to pump the handle.
He removed his cap, praying for the right words.
She stilled her arm and the flow of water tapered to a drip. Her lips pressed, she peered at him. “Did you expect a hero’s welcome?”
“No ma’am.” He drew in a deep breath. “I didn’t know what to expect.”
Her jaw set, Mother Brantenberg turned toward the vegetable garden.
If a soft answer turned away wrath, what then of no answer? Even if Mother Brantenberg’s silence didn’t necessarily hold wrath, it knotted his stomach. But his mother-in-law had never been one to rush her words. She’d once said that while some folks liked to chase their words about a room, she preferred to hold them close until they were ready to be let loose. He should count her silence a blessing.
He rested his hand on her arm. “You have done very well by Gabi. Done for her what I couldn’t do.”
She looked at his hand, but didn’t move away. Instead, she met his gaze, her eyelids wet. “You left us alone.”
“My thoughts were filled only with my sadness.”
“What of my thoughts?” Her voice cracked. “You weren’t the only one who was sad.”
She didn’t want him here. And he couldn’t help but wonder which would be the more difficult—staying, or leaving again.
***
Maren stood at the dry sink longer than was necessary to complete her chores. She’d scrubbed the top of the pine cupboard. She’d reorganized the shelves on either side of the window. She’d even washed the glass and straightened the gingham curtain. Woolly had finally returned from town. The reason for her sudden interest in the tidiness of the kitchen was out in the yard, and she had a perfect vantage point. She could make out his silhouette as he climbed from the wagon and approached Mrs. Brantenberg at the watering trough.
The prodigal son-in-law and the woman he left behind were finally talking. Maren would eavesdrop if she could, but they were across the yard. Sure as the day was hot and muggy, she desired to hear what Woolly had to say to his mother-in-law. And Mrs. Brantenberg, would she finally say more than five words to him? Would she listen?
“Miss Maren?” Gabi’s sweet little voice startled her. The child stood at her side, stretching onto her tiptoes with her chin pushed up toward the window. “Is it my PaPa?”
Clearing her throat, Maren stepped back from the cupboard. “Yes. He returned from town with the supplies.”
“I will go help him.” Gabi turned to leave the room.
Maren caught the back of the child’s dress and stopped her. “Wait, dear one! Your grandmother is at the pump with your PaPa, and they need time to talk.”
Gabi nodded. “Oma has to let him stay.” She swayed back and forth with her hands clasped at her chest as if in a prayer.
Maren agreed with that prayer.
“I waited and waited for my PaPa,” Gabi said.
Maren stroked Gabi’s soft brown curls. “I know. You did.”
They both needed a distraction. “We have time to practice our music before dinner.” She followed Gabi to the sitting room. The child pulled her recorder from a cloth sack on the piano and positioned her small hands on the holes in the wooden tube, wrapping her lips around the mouthpiece on the end. When Woolly could hear his daughter playing the recorder, he would certainly be proud of her. The thought transported Maren back to Copenhagen, to memories of evenings and Sundays gathered at a hearth in her family’s farmhouse.
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