Free Dakota Dream by Lauraine Snelling Page A

hand, the other carrying his black leather bag. “How is our patient this morning?”
    “Better, I think.” Clara stepped back and motioned him in. “She wants me to go for Reverend Moen.”
    “Whatever for?” Doc laid his hat on the hall table and brushed a hand over his steel gray hair.
    Clara shrugged. “Maybe if you ask her, she’ll tell you.”
    “And maybe she won’t. The won’t is much more likely.” Doc started up the stairs. “Do you by any chance have the coffee hot? I’ve been out delivering a baby north of town and I could use a pick-me-up.”
    “Ja, I do. There’s bread and some cheese if you’d like.” She waited with her hand on the carved ball of the walnut newel post.
    “Fine. And after you’ve brought it up, you can run over to the reverend’s. I’ll stay and visit for a few minutes.”
    Clara did as asked and, within a few minutes, darted out the front door. It was the first time she’d been out since Reverend Moen brought her here. She drew in a deep breath of air redolent of burning leaves and crisp fall weather. As she kicked her way through the leaves blanketing the ground she looked up through the naked tree branches stretching to the lemony sun in the watery blue sky. If the weather patterns were the same here as in Norway, it felt like a storm hovering on the horizon.
    She turned to the left and walked briskly down the packed dirt street. She passed the houses, playing the I wonder who lives there game that she and Nora used to play on their way to school. But in Norway it was I wonder what they’re doing there , since they knew all the inhabitants of their small village.
    It was different here. Clara refused to allow the worm of homesickness to dig its way into her beautiful day. She thought back to the night before instead. “The Lord is my shepherd . . . ,” she sang the song, the ancient words set to a tune they’d learned in Sunday school. Why was it she always felt better when she began singing? How much easier it was to remember Bible verses when they’d been set to music.
    She sang her way up a cross street and down the main street until she saw the white picket fence of the Moen home. When she knocked on the door, the reverend himself answered it, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
    “Clara, how wonderful to see you. Come in, come in.” He stepped back, opening the door wide in welcome.
    “What brings you to our house? Ingeborg, we’ve company.” Clara stopped inside the door. “I can’t stay but a minute. Dr. Harmon is with Mrs. Norgaard so I could do what she asked.”
    “And what is that?”
    “She said for you to come now, she was . . . is ready.” Clara recited the words, hoping the man in front of her would understand the meaning.
    “That’s all?” He rubbed the bridge of his nose with one finger, his right hand tucked under his left elbow.
    Clara nodded.
    “Oh, I’m so glad you are here. Sit down, sit down. John, you haven’t taken her coat yet. What is this world coming to?” Ingeborg whirled down the last of the stairs and enveloped Clara in a hug that left no doubt as to her joy. She leaned back and studied the younger woman’s face. “You look like caring for Mrs. Norgaard is agreeing with you.”
    “Ja, it is. Such a beautiful place.” Clara patted Grace on the head and squatted down to say hello to little James. “But I must get back.”
    “The coffee will be ready in a minute.”
    “Another time, mange takk. Reverend, you will be coming?”
    Ingeborg looked from one to the other, her eyes bright and dimples ready to leap into view with the least encouragement. “Is Mrs. Norgaard feeling up to visitors?”
    “She asked for Reverend Moen.”
    “She isn’t worse, is she?” The dimples dove into hiding.
    “ Nei, nei. I think she’s better.”
    Reverend Moen rolled down his sleeves preparatory to putting on his coat even as they talked. “I shouldn’t be long.” He removed his hat from the hall stand and,