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JAN AND SØREN FINISHED the repairs Fru Brünlee required with three days to spare. Jan had a never-ending list of tasks waiting for him at home—practical and needful tasks he should put his time and energy into. Yet as he recalled the porch drawings Fru Brünlee had made, he also recalled her disappointment. Disappointment she had quickly covered.
I can build that porch, Jan considered, tugging at his chin. Three days will be time enough. And Søren need not spend his time helping with it.
So, he built the veranda—just as his neighbor had sketched—across the front and down one side of her little house.
Well, she had her heart set on it, he rationalized later. Now she can sit there watching the sun come up in the morning. In the evening, the sun will paint color and shadows across the prairie. She will have much pleasure from that veranda.
Another thought occurred to him. I liked building it for her.
He shrugged uncomfortably as he admitted to the pleasure constructing the porch gave him. He was turning those thoughts over in his mind when another thought distracted him—the watering system he and Søren had helped her dig before they finished the repairs. It had been interesting watching her, novice that she was, plan it out, he and Søren following her instructions.
She played in the mud and water like a child that day—and tried hard not to like it.
He snorted a laugh. Yes, I enjoyed that, too, he mused.
But most of all he had liked giving her Snøfot . . .
—
THE INSPIRATION HAD come to him the morning he was going to start on the veranda. With her own goat, she can have fresh milk every day, he realized, and learn to make her own gjetost.
He had shared the idea with Uli, and they chose Snøfot together, by far the prettiest of their goats.
His neighbor had been overwhelmed when Uli had presented the dainty goat to her. He’d seen that Rose—Jan frowned and corrected himself—Fru Brünlee—had been deeply touched by the gift.
She approached him with Snøfot dancing on the lead behind her. “Mr. Thoresen,” she’d said seriously, “I want to thank you.”
He hadn’t lifted his eyes from his tape measure and scrawled notes. Perhaps he’d been afraid that she would say her thanks and then quickly excuse herself and go about her business. So, he had kept his eyes on his work but inquired, nonchalantly, “You like?”
“Yes. Yes, I do. I have no idea how to take care of her, but she is the loveliest creature I have ever owned!”
Jan had struggled to understand as usual, but he’d caught part of it. “Uli teach.” He gestured at the yard, still keeping his eyes on his work but in truth racking his brain to form intelligible words in English. “Snøfot eat grass, all here. Make gud milk.”
And he had finally turned to her, letting her know that he expected her to keep her end of the unspoken bargain. “Den you get fat, ja?”
A shadow crossed her face and he realized he had—again—used that offensive word. Apparently, “fat” was not the proper way to convey health and well-being in English.
You are an ignorant fool, Jan Thoresen, he berated himself.
But Fru Brünlee had shaken off the offense. He watched the short struggle as she weighed his good will against his misspoken words.
She had responded with an honest, “I will try. Thank you, really.” Then she had offered her hand.
He had nodded, shaken it, and turned back to building the veranda, the feel of her soft hand still tingling in his.
Not at all like Elli’s firm, strong hand.
The thought—the comparison—startled Jan.
—
ALMOST AS SOON AS Fru Brünlee accepted Snøfot as a gift, coyotes found and followed the goat’s scent to her small stable. Jan and Søren heard about Fru Brünlee’s lastest problem from Brian the following Sunday.
“Should I be getting a gun,” she says t’ me, with eyes that big,” Brian guffawed out of the side of his mouth. He shot a backwards glance toward Rose Brownlee and laughed again.
Brian repeated the tale “Miz” Brownlee had related to him: Coyotes had circled and tried to get into her little stable in the night. She had chased them off by banging a pot with a spoon and had spent the night in the stable. “She was findin’ coyote tracks in th’ morning,” Brian chuckled.
“Getting’ a gun she asks? Nay,” says I, “’tis a dog ye mus be havin. Boot she was nay likin’ th’ sound o’ that idee, I tell ye!”
As Søren translated Brian’s story, he and Jan couldn’t help but turn and stare at their neighbor from across the churchyard.
Fru Brünlee, correctly deducing that they were talking about her, glared back and then straightened, lifted her chin and, with what Jan was certain was a sniff, turned her back on them.
Jan smothered a grin. Ach! And she is in a fine mood. He and Søren listened to Brian conclude his tale, and they agreed with his solution.
“You are right. She needs a dog,” Søren nodded. “Doesn’t your Connie still have some pups?”
Brian chuckled anew. “Aye, surely. She is havin’ two left, and I would be givin’ Miz Brownlee th’ choice of them, boot when I says so, her mouth puckered like she’d bit int’ a persimmon!”
It was too vivid a picture. The three of them sniggered, and Jan clapped a hand on Brian’s shoulder. He clapped his other hand over his mouth.
Ja, I can see that, he laughed to himself. Then he sobered. Something still had to be done.
“She must be made to see reason about a dog,” he stated.
Brian and Søren gaped at Jan, their open-mouthed shock conveying, “And who will be making her do that?”
Jan huffed. Apparently, the task would fall to him. “You gif dog Fru Brünlee?”
Brian nodded. “Aye. That I will.”
—
THE NEXT MORNING AFTER chores, Jan saddled one of his bays. He didn’t ride astride often, but it was a lovely day for a ride, and he thought Uli would enjoy the errand. They headed toward the McKennies’, Uli chattering and bouncing behind him on the horse’s broad back.
As they crossed the bridge and climbed the knoll, Jan spied his neighbor working in her garden. She did not see them.
On the return trip from Brian and Fiona’s place he and Uli crested the rise and looked down toward Fru Brünlee’s home. Sprawled across the horse in front of Jan was one of Brian’s half-grown pups.
Jan shook his head. The young dog was going to be a handful. He wondered how his neighbor would react when she saw the pup.
This time, as they trotted down the track and into her yard, Fru Brünlee did notice them. She waited as they rode toward her.
“God-dag, Fru Brünlee,” Jan called. He swung Uli down and dismounted.
As Jan had hoped, Uli immediately ran to their neighbor. Jan could not understand all Uli was chattering to Fru Brünlee, but the woman always brightened when his little niece was around.
Ja, I am counting on that, Lord, Jan prayed with a grimace.
Jan tied a rope to the dog’s collar and set him on the ground. He tried to see the dog through his neighbor’s eyes and was not encouraged: The pup was an ugly mongrel, all legs and huge paws, clearly with a great deal of growth ahead.
Jan led the dog to Mrs. Brownlee. The dog pulled at the rope and growled at him until Jan jerked firmly. Then the dog turned suspicious eyes on Fru Brünlee.
She eyed the dog with equal distaste, and Jan suddenly had to bite the inside of his cheek. He remained a silent but amused observer of Uli and Fru Brünlee’s exchange.
“Put your hand out to let him smell you,” Uli suggested.
“Will he bite me?” Fru Brünlee asked.
Uli looked surprised. “Why would he? He’s only mad at Onkel for making him lie quietly on the horse.” She held out her hand to the dog. “See?”
The dog licked it.
“Ugh! I do not want him to lick me.”
“Why, Mrs. Brownlee! Don’t you like your dog?”
“I do not care for dogs, Uli, especially big ones.”
Fru Brünlee made a face and Jan experienced an urgent need to clear his throat.
“But you don’t want the coyotes to get Snowfoot, do you?” Uli persisted.
Jan listened and watched. He may not have understood every word, but he did recognize disgust—and a little fear—when he saw it. He spoke to Uli who nodded.
“Onkel says if you are afraid of the dog he will know it. You must be bold because you are his mistress, and he must learn to mind you.”
Then Jan’s neighbor stared at him, defiance in the firm set of her lips. He stared back, challenging her.
Somehow Jan managed to keep his face resolute. And he wasn’t all that surprised when she squared her shoulders.
I think I would have been surprised if she’d done otherwise, he realized. He was coming to expect her to show grit in new and difficult situations.
Fru Brünlee held out her hand to the dog. He sniffed it and then her skirts. He looked up expectantly, so she patted him. She looked a trifle relieved to be done with it.
Jan handed the rope to her and asked Uli to pass on some instructions.
Uli nodded and told Mrs. Brownlee, “Onkel is going to drive a stake for you to tie him, or he may try to go home. You are to leave him tied up for two days and feed him. Then he will think this is his home and stay all by himself. Also, stake Snowfoot near him—not too near at first, though. Soon he will know Snowfoot lives here too and will protect her.”
Jan sauntered down to the creek and broke off a low cottonwood branch. He cut it to a two-foot length, trimmed it, and whittled one end into a point. Using a hammer from the stable, he drove the stake into the ground and tied the pup’s rope to it.
Uli fetched Snowfoot, tied him near the dog, and gave Fru Brünlee a few more suggestions. All the while, Jan watched the woman. He knew well enough that she didn’t want the dog, but she was trying hard to adjust herself to what was necessary rather than what she wanted.
Jan found himself admiring her struggle to do the right thing. Then he shook his head. “Uli, come. We have work at home,” he called. He pulled Uli up in front of him on the horse.
Trying valiantly to be gracious but not quite managing it, his neighbor addressed him. “Hm. Thank you very much, Mr. Thoresen.”
Jan glanced from the dog back to her. It was all he could do to keep his expression neutral—when what he really wanted was to release the laughter bubbling just below the surface.
Maybe even tease her a little.
“Ja, sure,” he replied as calmly as he could muster. Then he had to bite the inside of his cheek.
At his answer, Fru Brünlee’s eyes narrowed, and Jan could tell his neighbor saw through him. In fact, she knew he was laughing inside.
If he didn’t get out of the yard soon . . . He clucked to the bay. As they neared the bridge, Jan released a pent-up chuckle.
That was the most fun I have had in a long time, he snickered.
“What is funny, Onkel?” Uli demanded.
“Eh? It is nothing. What a glorious day the good God has given us, ja?”
But he was glad Uli couldn’t see his face . . . because he was grinning from ear to ear.
~~**~~
