As the lightning moved off toward the mountains and the rain settled into a steady drizzle, Blake swung into the saddle again and rode for home.
CHAPTER EIGHT
TWO WEEKS HAD PASSED SINCE THE RAINSTORM THAT HAD INUNDATED the fields and flooded the dirt floor of the Anderson home. The sticky clay mud had dried rock hard, but the wheat was thriving. A grain office had been opened in town to handle the sale and shipping of what was expected to be a bountiful crop.
The gang who’d dynamited Ulli’s house had vanished with the rain. Speculation was that once the raiders realized that they could hang for the death of the child, they’d separated and left the county. There was no more sign of them; and for now, the talk of vengeance had faded.
Ulli had sold his homestead to Doyle Petit, taken his three sons, and returned to the East. He’d told Lars, who’d driven them in the wagon to meet the train, that he had no more heart for farming and never wanted to see Montana again.
Hanna had watched the wagon disappear in the distance, feeling as if one chapter of her life had closed and a new one had yet to begin. But her old routine continued as before—long days of helping her mother with the washing, cooking, sewing, and mending, with the tedium broken only by rare trips to town for supplies.
Alvar’s job at the sawmill was bringing in needed money, but he was working long hours, leaving before dawn and returning home so tired that he usually fell asleep right after supper. Hanna missed their talks. He was the only person who seemed to understand her longing for something beyond the life that fate had given her.
On an August day, not long after the first cool morning, Inga gave Hanna a shopping list that Britta had written down for her and sent her into town with the wagon. Britta would be going along. The sisters were to pick out some fabrics for fall dresses—made possible by the extra money Alvar brought home. It was a rare treat to be going into town without a parent to chaperone. And picking out cloth for new dresses made it extraspecial.
“I can’t wait!” Britta, a pert strawberry blonde with freckles, bubbled as the wagon approached town. “I’ve been wearing your hand-me-downs all my life. I can’t believe I’ll finally be getting something new. You’re so lucky, being the oldest girl.”
“Even if my dresses are makeovers from Mama’s clothes?”
“Well, at least you get to wear them before I do.”
Hanna gave her a smile. She’d always viewed her sister as a child. But maybe now that Britta was growing into young womanhood, the two of them would become close.
As the wagon rolled into Blue Moon, Hanna couldn’t resist glancing up and down the street for any sign of Mason—or at least his buggy. She didn’t see it. But as they passed the bank, she couldn’t help wondering if he was at work there. She’d told herself to forget him; but every time she came to Blue Moon with her family, she found herself searching for a glimpse of the man whose kisses had made her feel like a woman for the first time. So far, she’d seen nothing of him. She was starting to wonder if he might’ve left town.
She pulled up in front of the store and set the wagon brake. By the time she’d climbed to the ground, Britta had jumped out of the wagon and raced into the store ahead of her.
Hanna was tethering the horses to the hitching rail when a deep, familiar voice from behind went through her like a lightning bolt.
“Don’t turn around, Hanna.”
“Mason?” Her face went hot. Her pulse broke into a gallop.
“Go on with what you’re doing.” His low whisper thrilled her. “We don’t want to cause any gossip, do we?”
Her hands shook as she finished tying the loose knot. She ached to turn and look at him, but he’d warned her against it. “How’ve you been? Why are you here?”
“I had to see you,” he said. “I understand that beau of yours sold out and left town.”
“He wasn’t my beau, just a friend of my family.”
“I was hoping to hear that—because I haven’t stopped thinking about you. I need to see you, Hanna, someplace where we can be together and I can show you how I really feel.”
Her heart slammed. “My parents—”
“You’re not a child, Hanna. You’re a woman—a beautiful woman who was born to be adored and worshipped.” He paused. Hanna could hear him breathing.
“I know where you live,” he said. “About a mile east of your homestead, there’s a place where two trails cross, by an old dead tree. Do you know it?”
“Yes.” Her pulse was pounding.
“If you say you can meet me, I’ll wait there for you tonight—late, after everyone’s gone to sleep. Can you come to me then?”
Hanna knew she should say no. But she was already plotting how she could get to the place. Walking would take too long, but she could borrow the mare Alvar used to get to work. Alvar would be asleep. He’d never know the mare was gone—and she’d have it back long before he woke up.
But what was she thinking? Sneaking out at night to see a man, breaking every rule her parents had ever made? It wasn’t just wrong; it was foolish, even dangerous.
Still, when she remembered how she’d felt in Mason’s arms, trembling and alive in every part of her body, she knew that she’d risk almost anything to feel that way again.
“I need your answer, Hanna,” he said.
Just then Britta came bursting out of the store. “Hanna, come on! They have some new calicos! You’ve got to see them!”
“Go on back inside, Britta. I’ll be right there.” She hesitated, torn.
“Yes or no.” His voice was warm in her ear.
Hanna took a breath, feeling as if she were on the edge of a precipice. “Yes,” she whispered, then hurried after her sister.
It took less than half an hour for the girls to fill their mother’s shopping list and pick out three dress lengths of bright calico—green for Britta, dark blue for Hanna, and a smaller piece of light blue for eight-year-old Gerda. Hanna could sew well enough to make her own dress. Britta was learning but would need help. Their mother would make Gerda’s dress. The task would keep them busy as they worked to finish the dresses before harvest time when all hands would be needed. After the wheat was reaped, threshed, bagged, and sold to the grain office, there would be a celebration with a dance—a time to show off pretty new dresses.
Britta chatted happily all the way home. Hanna lent her half an ear, but her mind was churning with thoughts of her rendezvous with Mason. The idea that he wanted to be with her had her head spinning. But what if she’d made the wrong decision? What would Mason do if she changed her mind, or couldn’t get away?
After lunch they started on Britta’s dress. Laying out the fabric on the kitchen table, and using a worn-out dress for a pattern, they cut the green calico fabric with the treasured scissors Inga had brought with her from Sweden and pinned the pieces together to check the fit.
Hanna could barely keep her mind on the work. The hours seemed to crawl as she showed Britta how to match the edges of the fabric and make tiny, even stitches with the needle. When the light began to fade, they put yesterday’s stew and dumplings on the stove to warm, gathered up the sewing, and set the table for supper.