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The Prairie Romance Collection

By Lena Nelson Dooley, Lynn A. Coleman, Mary Davis, Susan K, Downs, Birdie L. Etchison, Linda Ford, Linda Goodnight, JoAnn A. Grote, Cathy Marie Hake, Judith McCoy Miller, Kathleen Paul, Janet Spaeth

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one
Early March 1905
Wayzata, Minnesota
“If one more thing happens, I think I’ll scream.”
Maggie Swenson trudged through snowdrifts on the way from her house to the barn. The tops of her boots didn’t come above the snow, so the cold stuff spilled over, wetting her thick wool socks. Before she had to come out here again, she needed to borrow some of Valter’s trousers. She knew it wouldn’t be ladylike to wear her brother’s long pants, but it would be better than dragging a woolen skirt that grew heavier and heavier because of the damp snow clinging to it.
It had been so long since she had any time to herself. Only six months ago, both her parents died when the buggy they were riding smashed against an outcropping of rocks because something startled their horse, and it ran away. Maggie and her brother, who at twenty-one was two years older than she, inherited the farm their parents had worked hard to sustain through summer droughts and harsh Minnesota winters. Now Maggie tried to run the farm all by herself. Valter lay in the house with a high fever, growing weaker every day, no matter what she did for him. She feared he had the dreaded influenza that was taking such a toll this year.
Just as she reached up to unlatch the door to the barn, Maggie heard a soft moan followed by a pain-filled whine. She glanced around, and the sun glinting off the white world around her stabbed her eyes. As she squinted, her gaze traveled over the landscape around the barn. The few bushes were laden with snow, as were the trees in the pasture and beyond. When she heard the sound again, she determined that it came from the side of the building. Maggie plunged into the drift that had blown against the wall of the secure structure. Now her long-johns were wet up to her knees. If she didn’t go inside soon, she might get as sick as Valter.
With her curiosity stronger than the desire to get out of the biting wind, Maggie rounded the corner of the barn in search of the origin of the sound. She almost stumbled over a warm lump in the snow. Horror filled her brain when she realized what it was.
“Rolf!”
She fell to her knees and lifted the head of her beloved dog. His thick, light-brown coat clumped with dampness, and a red stain spread across one shoulder and down his leg. Already his eyes were glassy, and he didn’t seem to recognize her.
“Rolf.” Ignoring the damp snow, she sat back and pulled his large head into her lap. “What happened?” Maggie whispered against the wet fur and wished her pet could answer. While she held him, crooning encouragement into his ear, his head went limp in her hands and his labored breathing ceased. An icicle fell from the edge of the roof, shattering on the crust of the snow behind her. Now silence surrounded her, broken only by the irregular click of icy tree limbs tapping a staccato in the cold wind.
Maggie looked beyond the lifeless body and noticed a bloody trail in the snow, leading toward the woods that ran from the back of the barn all the way to the creek a couple of miles away. She knew Rolf liked to romp in those woods, and she had allowed him that freedom. After all, it was on their property, so the animal should have been perfectly safe.
What had Maggie been thinking a few minutes ago? If one more thing happened. . . Well, it had, and she didn’t have the strength to scream, so she dropped her face into both upraised hands and sobbed. Deep wrenching sobs that shook both her body and her soul.
*****
When John Collins emerged from between the trees, he saw a girl or woman hunched over. Although she appeared to be a woman, she was so tiny. She looked like she was crying as she sat in the snow beside a barn, an animal stretchen out beside her, half in her lap. John’s heart almost stopped beating. He knew he was the reason she cried. Why hadn’t he been more careful? He had been so sure the patch of light-brown fur he glimpsed between the trees was a deer or an elk that he had taken aim and pulled the trigger. If only he had waited until he was close enough to be completely certain.
John took pride in the fact that he shot so accurately from a distance. Pride made him risk the shot, knowing he wouldn’t hit anything except the patch of brown fur he sighted down the barrel of his rifle. He shifted slightly to allow for the wind and squeezed the trigger. Immediately after the loud boom of the gun stopped echoing in the trees, the animal dropped behind the underbrush.
It had taken him a while to climb the fence and find a place to cross the creek without getting wet. Then he worked his way to the spot where he was sure he would find the deer or elk to dress. The meat would be a welcome addition to the larder at the boardinghouse where he lived, and he planned to give some of it to the preacher’s family. Before he reached the spot, John pulled his hunting knife from its sheath, so he could make quick work of field-dressing the animal.
Instead of the game he expected, he found an impression in the snow where an animal had fallen, but it couldn’t have been a deer. The path through the snow told its own story. Paw prints surrounding the bloody trail where an animal had dragged its own body were evidence that John had shot something besides wild game. Probably someone’s guard dog or pet. . .or both. His heart sank and heaviness fell over him like dusk on a winter evening in North Dakota. He followed the trail to find the heartbreaking sight before him.
Reluctantly, John trudged across the open space between himself and the woman. When he was about three feet from her, he stopped. He knew she wasn’t even aware of his presence. Tears ran down his own cheeks as he studied her. Although she was bundled up against the cold, he could now tell that she appeared to be almost as old as he was. Blond curls peeked from the edge of the multicolored knitted cap she wore pulled down around her ears, and tears made streaks on cheeks rosy from the winter wind. John wished he could relive the last half hour. He constantly battled his pride. This time, pride won, and this woman paid the price.
John cleared his throat. “Ma’am, I’m sorry.”
He stepped forward, and after sliding the animal to the ground, he pulled her up into his arms. John hadn’t held anyone this way except his mother and sisters, but he wanted to comfort this woman. She cried so hard that she didn’t seem to be aware of much, but she let him pull her into his embrace. However, she continued to sob as if her heart had shattered.
He looked down at the lifeless animal, and silently he called himself all kinds of uncomplimentary names. At that moment, he never wanted to shoot his gun again. All the warnings his father gave him while teaching him to hunt ran through his mind in a cycle. The chants magnifying just how far he was from heeding them. John felt helpless. Was there any way he could ever undo the damage?
*****
When Maggie became aware of the warmth surrounding her, she pulled back and looked up into the face of. . .a stranger. The tall man wore a heavy coat with a scarf to ward off the cold, but she noticed dark curls peeking from under the brim of his hat. The clear green eyes that gazed back at her held sympathy and great sorrow, and traces of tears stained his cheeks.
Maggie looked at her gloved hands grasping the front of his coat. Quickly, she let go, and his arms dropped to his side. She stepped back never taking her gaze off her gloves. They were stained with Rolf’s blood. She stared at them before looking down at the lifeless body at their feet.
“I’m really sorry.”
Maggie glanced up at the man and realized he had apologized two times to her. What did he have to apologize for? Who was he?
She must have voiced the last question, because he answered it. “I’m John Collins, the new stationmaster in Wayzata.”
Maggie continued to stare at him. What was the stationmaster doing beside their barn?
“I was hunting, and. . .I must have shot your dog by mistake.” His gaze dropped to where Rolf lay on the cold ground. “I followed his trail through the woods.”
Maggie didn’t have to look where he gestured to know that he had come from her woods. Why would anyone kill her dog, even by mistake? Rolf was her companion during the long, hard nights. He stayed near her feet while she sat in the rocking chair beside Valter’s bed. Just last night, Maggie tried her best to stay awake, but she had been so tired her head dropped against the high back of the chair. Exhaustion brought a deep sleep. She wasn’t even aware when Vally began struggling to breathe. But Rolf knew. He managed to wake her up. Because of their dog, she had been able to keep Vally from dying.
While these thoughts ran through Maggie’s head, she became aware of the cold. Realizing she had become chilled to the bone, she stamped her feet, trying to get her blood to circulate in her nearly frostbitten extremities.
“Can we at least go into the barn to get out of this wind?” Mr. Collins’s words brought her attention back to him.
She nodded and led the way. Being a well-built barn, there were no cracks where the wind could get through. With two work horses, two riding horses, and three cows inside, the temperature felt almost warm.
After the man latched the door, Maggie turned her fury on him. “What were you doing hunting on our property anyway?”
He took a step backward and pulled his hands in front of his chest as if to ward off her attack. “I didn’t realize it was anyone’s property.”
“You won’t find many places this near town that aren’t owned by someone.” She placed her fisted hands on her hips the way her mother had when she was upset. “We don’t mind if people hunt here, if they ask permission. . .and as long as they don’t kill our animals.”
The man stuffed his hands in the pockets of his heavy coat. “I know I made a mistake. What can I do to make it right?”
“You can never make it right!” Maggie knew she shouted at the man, but she didn’t care. She was very near losing all control. “Just get off my property and don’t ever come back!” She pointed toward the closed door.
The man shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I want to do something to help you. You’re not all alone out here, are you?”
Maggie wondered if the man was some kind of monster who preyed on lonely women. “No! My brother’s in the house.” She put her shaking hands under her arms. “Now please leave.” She started toward the door.
The man didn’t move from his place blocking her exit. “I’ll take care of the dog for you.”
Rolf! Maggie hadn’t even considered what she would do with his body. The ground was too frozen for her to bury him by herself. Maybe she should let Mr. Collins do it. At least he could do that much.
Maggie slowly nodded. “Okay. Then leave our farm, and don’t ever come back.” She stepped around John Collins and reached for the latch.
“I’ll go to town and get a wagon.” His baritone voice held sympathy she didn’t want to accept. “I won’t be long.”
Without turning her head, Maggie nodded again then exited the barn.
*****
John’s heart broke for the woman he left at the farm. He hadn’t even asked her name. When he stepped into the brightness of the wintry sun reflecting off snow, he squinted to watch her walk toward the house. Her shoulders sagged and shook. She probably sobbed as she went. He wouldn’t be surprised if her brother came looking for him after he heard about the fiasco. John hoped he wasn’t a violent man.
Because his father was a preacher, John had been taught to be honorable, but he felt anything but honorable right now. He would rent a wagon from the livery and drive back to pick up the dead dog. Perhaps his new pastor would tell him what to do with it. He couldn’t just drag it off into the woods where some wild animal would devour it. The dog meant too much to this woman. However, John knew that just disposing of the animal wasn’t enough. He had to do something more. Maybe he should go out and talk to her brother. Help him with the chores or something like that. Of course, he could pray and ask God to show him what needed to be done to make up for what he destroyed. John’s heart sank within him as he made his way toward his new home.
*****
After Maggie shut the door, she slumped against it. The heaviness of disease hung in the house, filling it with a palpable feeling of misery. Even this room, which was warm and cheery before her parents died, looked and felt dreary. After a moment, she took off her coat, hat, and gloves and went into Valter’s bedroom. She sank into the rocking chair beside his bed. He slept soundly. She pulled her arms tight across her abdomen and gently rocked the chair. What was she going to do if her brother didn’t get well soon?
“Please, Valter,” Maggie whispered as she leaned close to his ear. “Your name means strong fighter. Live up to that name. Fight this illness.”
As the sound of her last word died, his eyes fluttered. Soon they opened, and he looked at her. When he spoke, the words crackled through his dry lips. “Margareta, our pearl, you’ve been so good to take care of me.”
His words scared Maggie. They carried the sound of finality with them. She pushed his hair back from his face. His hot skin felt like delicate parchment, making her afraid she would hurt him just by touching him.
“Vally, dear brother, you’re going to be okay.” With her words of assurance, his eyes once again closed, and he fell into restless slumber.
Maggie stood and paced around the room. Oh, God, please don’t let Vally die. I need him so much. Our parents are gone, and You didn’t prevent their accident. Now Rolf is gone. I can’t take much more. She opened the door to the kitchen and slipped into the other room. The fire in the fireplace burned low, so she went out on the back porch and brought in another armload of wood. The woodpile had really dwindled in the last few weeks. When Vally cut all the wood and loaded it onto the sheltered porch, he told her it should last all winter, but now Maggie feared it wouldn’t. She would have a hard time cutting more wood.
After the fireplace once again warmed the room, she went back to get more fuel for the kitchen stove. Mother had been so proud of the new cook stove. Father bought it only a few months before their deaths. Every time Maggie looked at it, she remembered how happy Mother was when he brought it home. When he finished setting it up, Mother grabbed him from behind. He turned around and danced her across the kitchen, and their shared laughter filled the house. At the time, Maggie thought they were crazy. Now she would give anything to have them back, even if they did dance around like children. It had been a long time since she felt happy about anything, and she wasn’t sure she ever would again.

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