Saint Paul, MN
March 5, 1900
Maila fingered the lavender grape clusters on her necklace. With every bag stuffed and every pocket full of her things, she’d decided to wear her favorite bauble even if she didn’t have the matching earrings anymore. Surely he’d be a gentleman and return them?
The earbobs had grown heavy and pinched on their walk home from the Saint Paul theater last week, and Benjamin offered to hold them. Maila sighed, remembering the romantic moment when he’d pocketed them with a twinkle in his eye and then promised to wrest an important answer from her as payment for returning the earbobs at dinner tonight. But instead of sitting in the soft glow of candlelight with Benjamin, here she sat, alone, on a train, headed home to Fergus Falls. She’d be there in time for a late supper. Would Benjamin think she’d stood him up? Hopefully the message arrived before he left to collect her.
“Miss?”
Maila turned from the window, startled. “Yes?” The early morning hadn’t yet released the sun. But the Pullman lanterns shed plenty of light in the car.
“May I sit with you?” The woman indicated the full car around them. Lost in thought, Maila hadn’t noticed other passengers.
“Oh dear, forgive me.” Standing to make way, Maila asked, “Would you like the window?”
“How kind.” The woman scooted in. “Your necklace, it’s lovely.” She smiled as she dropped a bundle on the bench to offer her hand. “I’m Jenny Ault. Please call me Jenny.”
“Thank you, Jenny.” Maila accepted the greeting and smiled at the friendliness extended to her. “Maila Holmes.”
“Did you get that from your beau?” Jenny pushed and prodded the bulging bags around her feet as she squeezed into the window seat.
Jenny didn’t appear to have any qualms with personal matters. Maila touched the hollow of her throat. “I bought it to celebrate becoming a nurse.”
Jenny’s eyes flickered in surprised glee. “Now, that’s something special.” She plunked down in the seat finally cleared of travel paraphernalia. “Go ahead, sit back down. I won’t be a bother.”
Cautious of flying elbows as the young lady ducked down, prodding the bulging belongings and battling for foot space, Maila took the aisle and offered her arms to hold packages as Jenny rearranged. “You’re no bother. It’s lovely to have someone to share the ride with me.”
“I’m going to Seattle. I’ve a new position as a nanny.” Peering up at Maila, she asked, “Where are you headed?”
Away from the life I had to build when no one wanted me. Away from the man I think I love. “Home.” Maila stared at her folded hands. Hands that held value because they could work—not because she was loved.
“Have you been away long?” Jenny resettled with foot space conquered. She’d turned the bundles into a footstool.
Jenny’s gregarious personality would be a welcome addition to a long ride in a day car. How did people find it so easy to talk to strangers? “Nine years, minus an occasional holiday.” In those years she’d earned enough money waitressing to attend school in Saint Paul, found gainful employment nursing, and built a life in a nice apartment. Not the scratching at the ground her family did that made strong boys so valuable and girls—
“You must be so excited to be going home, then.”
The whistle blew their departure, and the train chugged through the breaking dawn ahead of the waking sun.
“We’ve kept up through letters.” Maila pretended to look around the train car. No reason to share such tragedy with this happy girl. Maila kept the loss of her favorite cousin, and the other loved ones the flu epidemic stole, private. It would be a very long train ride if her seatmate felt uncomfortable for the next thirteen hours. “It’ll be goot”—she cleared her throat—“I mean, good to see my family.”
Why did her Swedish accent still show when she was stressed? The tutoring to learn to speak more like an American, with less of an accent, had paid off with better employment. But she missed the musicality and freedom of her native language. She didn’t like talking much in either English or Swedish. Where had it ever gotten her but into trouble? Especially at home. But it was nice to know she said exactly what she meant. One-on-one, like with this girl, a conversation could be fun. But she let Jenny do most of the conversing.
Jenny didn’t seem to notice one whit that her travel partner barely spoke as she prattled away the train stops from Saint Paul, across Minnesota, until finally, she slept.
Maila missed the congeniality the last little bit, unable to sleep away the miles. She pointed Jenny out to the conductor. “Would you keep my friend safe? She’s traveling alone to become a nanny.” He agreed to keep an eye out for the girl, giving Maila a sense of relief. It was one thing to travel for a day. Completely another to go off on a lengthy trip, as a lone woman, with all the train robberies lately. At least one person knew to offer assistance should Jenny need it.
Maila tipped the man and left a courteous good-bye note for Jenny with him for when she woke. She slipped off the train onto the new Fergus Falls platform at Vine and Laurel.
Assured Jenny would get the note, Maila worried whether Benjamin would get the message shed sent from the train depot before their appointed dinner. He’d understand she left in a hurry for her family’s sake, wouldn’t he?
Burton caught sight of a brown figure—all brown, from the plain hat to hair to coat to boots—framed from behind by the cream exterior of the depot like a shadow in the waning sun. An overwhelming sense of unadorned simplicity, like a plain winter thistle. Even her assorted bags poking out around her, hooked on elbows, and held in a hug had to be the least assuming, practical carryall choices possible.
Rose had loved to wear sky blue, yellow, and green. Colors of spring that set off her sparkling blue eyes and silky blond hair. Burton longed to be collecting his pretty Rose instead of her shy, prickly cousin. He remembered a chubby little girl who’d rather sass off than curb her tongue—when she chose to communicate. Perhaps she’d changed in the years she’d been away? Her letters during the last couple of months were short, but comforting, memories of his wife. Perhaps that sweetness came from maturity.
“Maila?” he called over the March gust. “Is that you?”
She turned and flapped an elbow under her load. “Ja, sure it is.”
He swung off the sleigh and looped the reins around the hitching post. “Let me help.” He avoided a direct look at Maila. Cousins tended to have a family resemblance. Could he look on a familial face and not see his dead wife in it? Blue eyes would be his undoing. Ten weeks ago he’d closed Rose’s blue eyes on Christmas Day, but not before the sparkle dulled as she stared over his shoulder at the ceiling corner. The happiness had bled from his being as he held that vigil. And then she was gone. One day fine, the next gone.
Fifteen years. Burton pressed his lips together. Not fifty like she’d promised. Not long enough. Rose couldn’t celebrate the turn of the century. No dance and kiss at midnight. The new blue gown meant for the New Year gala worn for her funeral instead. And no little ones to tell stories about her, since Rose hadn’t been able to bear children. He had nothing but a portrait to remember her beauty and grace.
“It’s good to see you again, Burton. I’m so sad for your loss.”
He couldn’t avoid responding, but he still didn’t have to see her face. The girl had traveled across the state to come back and help him pick up the pieces of their combined family. She’d shared beautiful memories of his precious Rose. Memories he cherished.
Burton cleared his throat. “Thank you—and for the thoughtful letters.” He chanced a glance. Maila’s travel bonnet shadowed her features enough in the growing twilight. He didn’t have to connect with the soft blue eyes all of Rose’s family inherited. He didn’t have to wish Rose’s eyes read the love in his. He didn’t have to feel the lurch stop his heart like an ax splitting wood.
“Thank you for writing back. I wouldn’t have known—” Maila’s throat closed. “I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t helped Mama through it all.”
“Your mama sent some food with me. I’m to get you settled in the rooms above the store, feed you, and let you rest from the trip. It’s too cold tonight with the storm rolling in to go all the way out to the farm.”
Maila regarded the heavy clouds deepening in the dusk, tugged her coat tighter against the colder wind coming off the nearby lake, but said nothing as flakes floated around her and melted on her nose.
Twelve miles on a cold, hard bench would be best done in the daylight, well-traveled road or not. “Then tomorrow we’ll drive the dray out to the farm for a family meeting.”
“Ja, tack så mycket.”
Swedish. Always Swedish with this family. If he never heard that language again it wouldn’t be long enough. Rose died and all they did was chatter. Chatter about this and chatter about that. And not one word intelligible. Burton scowled. “No more Swedish, please. Speak English.”
“I—yes, thank you so much.” Maila translated her words then ducked around him to drop the rest of her belongings in the back of the sled. She yanked her travel skirt up, clambered into the seat, and stared straight ahead, blinking rapidly.
Burton grimaced at his brisk behavior. Maila hadn’t caused the loss of his wife and mother. She had to be reeling from the loss of several of her cousins as well. It wasn’t her fault the influenza epidemic wiped out so many people, including three men needed to help run the homestead, all in the last few months. Death had visited more people in their extended family than any other in the area. Maila’s own sister and two children still needed nursing back to health, as did several people in town. The Swedish people lowered their voices and chattered and chattered and chattered. Did they think he couldn’t tell who’d been the subject when a conversation stopped?
Sixteen years owning the general store. The first year alone was rough before Rose agreed to marry him. Her sweet way with others brought in business. Without Rose, how would he manage with people who refused to speak English? He couldn’t risk losing customers to bigger city shopping or competitors. Maybe selling the store and moving on would be best.
He heaved a sigh. Still not Maila’s fault. “I’m sorry for your loss, too.” Burton settled beside her. “Your sister will be grateful you can look in on her and the children. Her husband is extremely worried.”
She lifted her chin and turned away. “I’m glad I can be of use.”
“Several more folks came down with the flu.” Burton’s words slowed and rang with reverence. “Seth, Johan, and Olaf passed in the last two days.”
Maila swung her head to look at him and choked out one word: “All?”
His affirmation a bare movement of his jaw, Burton couldn’t meet her gaze. Not when he’d leveled her with such loss within moments of her arrival. Not when the very people she arrived to help care for had dropped like wheat during the threshing season. Her sister’s family, all that were left of those she’d come to aid.
“Each not far apart.” He reached under the seat and brought out a heavy quilted lap rug. His muscles still ached from shoveling hard, cold ground when the sun warmed the land as a Chinook blew through. Just enough warmth to loosen the soil, with the farm’s ox team and plow first. The rows of fresh graves seared into Burton’s brain.
“How could no one tell me?”
“You were already coming. The family thought it best to allow you a peaceful journey rather than send another wire.” As he covered them the best he could for the short jaunt through the streets from the station to the general store, he added, “There wasn’t anything you could have done from the train.”
Burton flicked the reins, though his forearms screamed at the smallest motion and his shoulders shouted back. Piling snow scattered off the horses’ rumps as they pulled the dray against the strengthening onslaught. A sleigh normally used for hauling dry goods and farm equipment over heavy Minnesota drifts had hauled five coffins in the last weeks, his wife’s the first, at Christmas. “We need some sleep. Tomorrow’s a long day with the ride over to Foxhome.” Would he ever celebrate Christmas with joy again? Probably not. How would he get through Easter? Rose’s favorite holiday would have a new organist pumping the pedals.
Tears dripped sideways off Maila’s chin, salt mingling with sweet-tasting snow that blew in her face. She couldn’t wipe them away fast enough before the next came sliding back toward her ears. Four cousins and Burton’s mother. Compassion clung to each name as he’d said them like fog over the creek, blanketing the ground.
From the train. Did they all blame her? Did they think she could have saved them if she’d been here practicing her nursing instead of working so far away? What kind of miracle maker did they expect? This influenza epidemic didn’t have a cure. Not one doctor had a clue how to stop its spread. She certainly wasn’t God. She’d hoped to help her family with emergency leave. To bring her skills home for a short time.
Maila hadn’t caught the flu in Saint Paul. Perhaps she wasn’t meant to because the good Lord had other plans. The high fever, respiratory distress, and then fluid-filled lungs moved fast. A person lived or died in less than two days. Why these strong men and women in their prime? Why did God let this disease dash her family to bits like hail blasting across their crops? But Burton had recovered, though he appeared a bit thin for his six-foot-three height. Was it from the flu bout or from grief?
Guiding the horses to the curb on Lincoln Avenue, Burton slid off the hard bench, taking the blanket with him. “I’ll help you get your things inside, then after I’ve bedded the horses down I can bring up whatever you need.” He shook piling snow out of the rug, rolled it, and tucked the bundle back in its nook.
“I’ll be fine.” Maila peered at the flat stone on the general store before hopping off the front seat into the street. Utilitarian flat-front buildings marched up and down Fergus Falls’s main street. Smaller, simpler architecture contrasted with the more established elegance she enjoyed in the bigger city. The comparison fit Maila and her older cousin, Rose, too well. Maila dared a look in Burton’s direction. Such a young, handsome man to lose the one he loved. Who wouldn’t love a woman rich in heart, talent, and beauty? Maila had always wanted to be like the regal Rose when she grew up.
Resigned to her reality as plain and simple, Maila reached over the side of the sleigh. All her luggage had jumbled into the far corner nearest Burton.
“Yoo-hoo! Are you open, Mr. Rutherford?” A woman waved as she hurried toward the store. Not a small woman, she wore a man’s woolen coat with a thick shawl tied around her head and shoulders against the strengthening gusts. “I need a bit of honey, please.”
Burton ushered her in the dry goods store with half of Maila’s belongings hanging on one arm. “Of course, Mrs. Anderson, come out of the storm.” An electric lamp flared inside, spilling the golden promise of warmth out the window.
Left to wander in on her own as the sleet picked up speed and intensity, Maila collected the last two satchels. Didn’t he keep normal business hours? She huffed over to the closed door. At least he could have—
Burton swung the door ajar, bell jangling with the motion and then writhing on its rope in the snowstorm. He spoke discreetly, close to her ear, warming her skin. “I’m sorry, Maila. Mrs. Anderson’s husband already passed and now her little son has taken ill.” His hands brushed hers as he relieved Maila of the bundles. “I’ll just be a moment.”
Maila scuffed through the doorway, eyes down. Burton took care of someone else in the face of his own exhaustion while she groused. She deserved to be left out in the howling cold for her selfishness. Her face flamed. She couldn’t squeak out a word if she had to.
Burton set the bags on the floor near the back stair. He rounded the sales counter at the farthest end and plucked a jar of honey off the shelf. “What else can I get you?”
To Maila, the store looked more like the row houses she’d visited in a mill town during nursing training. Her professional focus became in-home patient care because of the experience. She loved caring for people one-on-one outside of the hospital setting. Here, glass displays lined both sides of the narrow aisle from front to rear. They seemed to run on forever, deep into the building. Shadows swallowed up the high shelves. She squinted to see the products in the lamplight while Burton served his unusually late customer. The store didn’t look as well stocked as she remembered.
“Some are saying the coughs are quieting with a little peppermint. Do you have any that’s broken? Some you can’t sell maybe?”
“Mrs. Anderson, I have just the piece for you.” Burton opened the glass jar holding straight sticks of red and white peppermint penny candies. He cracked the longest piece into thirds. “This appears to have broken.” He dropped all three pieces into a tiny paper sack. “Keep a little piece handy for him to suck on like a lozenge.”
“But you—”
“Want your son to get well?”
She smiled. “It’s most appreciated, Mr. Rutherford. We’ll be able to pay you soon.”
“I’m sure you will. Now go home and see to your family without another worry.”
“Thank you.”
“We’ll be praying for you and yours, Mrs. Anderson.”
Her face registered sadness. “We’ll miss your pretty wife, Mr. Rutherford. I’ve never heard another so talented on the organ, either. God keep you.”
Maila stopped her at the door. “If your son gets to coughing too hard, you might try cupping to help him clear his lungs.” She held her hands up to demonstrate. “Pat his back with some strength.” She clapped her cupped hand against her opposite flat palm. Air popped between them. “Be sure you cover his entire upper back while he lies across your lap. I’ve seen this procedure relieve chest congestion and help several people.”
“Thank you. I’ll do that.” Mrs. Anderson smiled at both Maila and Burton. In a flash of skirts, she scooted out the door and across the darkened street.
Burton took a deep breath. Then he motioned for Maila to come to the back. “Can you find your way upstairs? Second door on the right. I need to see to the horses.”
“I can wait. Don’t you need a moment to mark her account?”
“No, I’m not planning on remembering that order.”
“Oh.”
He put the lid back on the glass candy jar. “Sometimes other people need their pennies more than I do. She’s wearing her husband’s coat because she doesn’t have one. He’s no longer going to be able to provide.”
No wonder Rose had fallen in love with Burton. He cared about the people he served, not just the money they spent on his dry goods. Maila was surprised at her next thought. Would Benjamin have done the same?