Spring for Susannah by Catherine Richmond Page B

husband, but instead of his ruddy complexion, Marta’s skin was smooth and white like the inside of an oyster shell. She wore an embroidered bodice and white blouse over a sapphire blue skirt. The Norwegian style seemed more feminine than the fitted basques and unwieldy bustles in fashion of late, and more comfortable too.
    When they returned they found Ivar stretched out, snoring. Jesse carried on a deep conversation with the baby in his arms.
    Marta smiled. “Is good man.”
    At the sound of her voice, he turned. “Sara really listens, like she knows what you’re talking about.”
    Ivar rose on one elbow, rubbing his face. “You will half one of your own soon, then you’ll see how much work it is.”
    â€œI’m looking forward to it.” Jesse winked at Susannah and passed the baby back to Marta.
    The Volds headed north, along the bluff. Susannah followed Jesse east.
    â€œI need your help with the wheat this week,” Jesse said as they swished through the grass. “Ivar says the crew’ll be by Friday, to thresh what we’ve got cut. They take bags of wheat in payment. Save us a couple weeks’ dusty work, give me time to build a chicken coop before we go to town. Ivar will help me pitch sheaves. Marta can give you a hand with cooking. She makes the best lefse—it’s like a thin pancake made from potatoes. You can make sourdough and baked beans. Use up whatever’s in the brine barrel. I’ll go hunting Saturday; I’m hungry for fresh meat. How’s the coffee holding out?”
    Jesse turned and stopped. Susannah dipped her head and motioned for him to continue walking. Too late. He’d noticed her tears. He set down the lunch basket and guitar and opened his arms. Closing her eyes, she steeled herself for his touch. One hand rubbed her back, the other pushed her hat off and guided her head to his shoulder.
    â€œGo ahead, cry it all out.” He kissed the top of her head.
    The wind wrapped her skirt around his legs. She gulped. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually like this.”
    â€œYou’re upset because Marta doesn’t speak English.”
    This man. Could he read her thoughts?
    He continued, “Ivar learned pretty quick. We got along fine. So will you and Marta.”
    She nodded. “Foolish of me to assume she’d already know.”
    â€œGuess you’ve missed Ellen.” His warm fingers rubbed a knot in her neck. “Know what Dakota means? It’s Sioux for ‘friend.’ All this week I’ve talked until my throat’s sore, but you’ve hardly said a word. I’ll be your friend, if you’ll talk to me.”
    She shook her head. “I don’t know what to say to you. I’ve never had a male friend before.” Truth be told, making friends with women wasn’t easy either.
    â€œWell, start with what you were planning to say to Marta.”
    She tried to pull away, but he held on. She condensed her thoughts to the briefest answer possible, a statement she hoped would make him retreat. “Just woman things.”
    The mere suggestion of “woman things” would be sufficient to deter most men. Not Jesse. “Like what? With my pack of sisters, I got more than a passing acquaintance with woman things.”
    â€œIt’s nothing.”
    â€œYou’re all wound up, and I want to know why.” He leaned down to look her in the eye, but it seemed safer to burrow into his shoulder. “Going to make me figure it out on my own, are you? I’m guessing it’s marriage, what a husband and wife do in bed.”
    She flinched.
    â€œBull’s-eye. Now, what were you going to ask Marta?”
    Might as well tell him. He’d figure it out soon enough. “My mother . . . maybe she didn’t think I’d ever get married. I don’t know . . . what to do.”
    â€œI’ve never done this before either, if that’s what you’re