Play Me a Waltz By Kris A

Word Count 13, 948

This story follows an older Scott Lancer as he journeys from Boston back home to Lancer. He’s still our same Scott who can’t say no to anyone in trouble. A huge thank you to Raian for so patiently and gently acting as beta to this, my very first story.

“Some people are born very far from home.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

Chapter One

Boston, 1900

The gray sky blended imperceptibly with the color of the water filling the harbor. Water slapping against hulls, creaking lines, and muffled human voices invited a closer look through heavy fog to make out the mere ghost shapes of ships taking refuge there. Cold, wet air brought the sea to the nose with gusto. Only a fool-hardy captain would be leaving anytime soon.

Scott Lancer stood alone, taking in the harbor for perhaps the last time. This was where his father arrived from Scotland to begin a new life, a life he had dreamed of since a young lad. A dream that took him on to California where he built a vast cattle empire from virtually nothing. This was where a bored young Scott came, against his grandfather’s wishes, to create his own adventures among the working-class people, many of whom were employed by his family business. Harlan Garrett’s lucrative transportation empire was built on the backs of those people, not that Grandfather often paid tribute to that fact.

This was where Scott, as a young man, made the decision to leave Boston for California at the seemingly less than familial request of a father he had never met. It was difficult now to remember just what tipped the scales for the move west. Was it a quest to find the truth about his absent father and the mother who died giving him life? Was he running away from the monotonous life of Boston society and the passel of debutantes with him in their crosshairs? Or was he running toward his constant craving for adventure, the craving that partly precipitated his decision to join the Union Army as a cavalry officer? Having no need for extra money, he knew it wasn’t for the $1000 offered by his father for an hour of his time. Maybe it didn’t matter anymore. The decision he made on this spot thirty years ago led to a renewed life that he could never have anticipated.

Now that he had finally turned over the last of Grandfather’s Garrett Enterprises to others, Scott saw no reason to return to Boston. Although he once called it home, it now held only a small space in his heart. Grandfather had been gone for twenty years and the house Scott grew up in was no longer in the family. Any remaining connections were easily maintained by a mostly efficient mail service between coasts, maybe even someday soon by telephone. Home now was California with a strong family forged from initial mistrust between a father and two sons who had been lost to him for years. Home was a brother Scott trusted and loved beyond measure. Home was a wife and children who were his world. Home was where Scott Lancer now longed to be.

Looking toward the carriage and the driver that had delivered him here, Scott realized it was time to continue the journey to the train station. His plans of a detour to his alma mater, Harvard, changed with the sight of the shivering man and the low hang of the horses’ heads. His lawyer had offered the use of his new horseless carriage, but Scott had declined. Not that he was against modern progress: far from it. He and his brother Johnny had worked hard to modernize Lancer ranch after the passing of their father, Murdoch, but he still liked the smell and sounds of horses over the odd hum of an engine. The horses would get him to the station just fine: wet and cold, but just fine.

He bid farewell to the city as the horses plodded toward the train station. He found that any sentimentality he once had was waning. He really wouldn’t even mind not saying goodbye to Harvard. The education and camaraderie it had given him were invaluable and he knew he owed much of his success to his time and efforts there. He had once hoped that his children would follow his path and matriculate there, but his oldest put forth a convincing argument for California’s Stanford. Concerns that William would be in the “pioneer” class of a new school quickly disappeared as he listened to his son’s enthusiastic descriptions of his classes and professors. Will even played on the first Stanford football team. Scott had stood in an over-packed stadium for the very first “Big Game” between Stanford and the University of California, cheering until his voice left him. Being a co-ed school from its inception, his daughter Josephine was able to follow her brother a few years later. She, too, thrived in the Stanford culture. Scott would have gladly watched Josie play on the women’s basketball team, but men weren’t allowed as spectators. His wife of 26 years, Genevieve, cheered for them both. Scott complained but ultimately had to admit that, historically, Harvard had a much more complicated relationship with women than did Stanford. It was true. Sunny California was the place for his children to build their lives… or at least get a good start on the lives they would choose for themselves.

Since Scott’s business in Boston had concluded earlier than anticipated, he had changed his departure to arrive home in California two days early. Although this was a decidedly superior schedule, the new train accommodation was anything but desirable. It had been a long time since he had ridden in coach class, and he was not looking forward to his long legs attempting to ride where they simply did not fit. The good news was that he could transfer to the new Overland Limited in Omaha. Not only would he be able to luxuriate in private quarters, but the trip was also a mere seventy-one hours to San Francisco. Then home to Morro Coyo and his chosen life with his family.

He laughed to himself. He had endured much worse than coach seats for much longer periods than a transcontinental train trip. Getting older didn’t mean he had to go soft. He would simply have a talk with his 55-year-old body. Problem solved.

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Chapter Two

His body started to talk back to him quite early on during the trip from Boston to New York, with his legs beginning the conversation. No surprise there. With no one beside him, he could shift his legs on a regular basis to ease the discomfort. The next part heard from was as unexpected as it was unwelcome. Keeping almost perfect time with the chooka-chooka of the train, Scott’s left shoulder started to throb. It most certainly had ached before and for the damage inflicted upon his body throughout his life it deserved its voice. How many times had he been shot in that shoulder? To take his mind off the pain, he started to count. One – the war. He didn’t want to think too much about that one. Two – one of the Strykers. He had decided not to blame Johnny. He had turned out to be the best brother anyone could ever ask for. Three – Al Evans. No wait, that was the right shoulder, but Scott decided to count it anyway. Full blame for that one on Joe Barker: some friend! Four –and the worst– whichever of Dan Cassidy’s henchmen had actually pulled the trigger. Scott had never learned which one. Five – no, maybe there was no five. It just felt like something Drago would have done and, looking back with more clarity than had been possible at the conclusion of the ordeal, Scott laid the blame squarely on the shoulders of a man too jealous to see the love of the woman at his side.   

Scott finally fell into a welcome sleep. Only the whistle and the screech of brakes as the train pulled into the New York station brought him to the senses he would need to change trains for the trip west. Flinching as he gathered his bags, he made his way along the platform. His left shoulder slouched lower for every stretch his legs enjoyed. A welcome seat at a small diner allowed for a much-needed cup of coffee and a quickly devoured ham sandwich. As refreshed as he was going to be, he boarded the train that would carry him to Omaha.

Willing his shoulder to endure another trip in coach, he settled into his seat. Reaching for his bag, he retrieved the new book he had picked up in Boston. Bought with his new granddaughter in mind, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz would be his companion until he required the intellectual stimulation of Tolstoy’s Resurrection. Claire wouldn’t mind a few dog-eared pages when it came her time to read it.

Not believing his good fortune as the train began to pull away from the station, Scott grinned as he eyed the seat left empty next to him. He gingerly eased his legs over to the vacant space, stretching them as far as he thought polite. A quiet trip so far, he looked forward to time to simply engage in his own thoughts. Ignoring the light chatter around him and propping his head against the window, he immersed himself in the story of the girl and her dog from Kansas. It seemed so long ago now that he had traveled the plains of that state. Although the violence of pre-war Bloody Kansas had calmed a few years before his visit, there was still some trouble to be had there. Quite sure that Dorothy would have troubles of her own as the twister lifted her far from her home, his hopes for her were high. She seemed like a plucky young woman. If she never made it home to Kansas again, he had confidence that she could build a satisfying life wherever she landed. 

Scott’s ponderings were brought to a halt by a sudden jostle that was accompanied by an “Uffda!” coming from a girl who could be seen hurtling toward him. In a heartbeat she landed quite firmly in a most awkward position on his lap. The heartbeat allowed only enough time for a grunt and a raised eyebrow.

The second eyebrow rose as she looked him square in the eye. “Unnskyld! Um… I mean excuse me.” The heavy accent left her last words almost as indistinguishable as the first. 

“Can’t be helped.” With a sigh, Scott quickly assessed the proper placement of his hands that could best guide the startled girl to the aisle seat. He needn’t have worried. She adjusted herself with the quickness that comes from pure embarrassment.

Her direct stare belied the trembling, hesitant lips. Scott couldn’t help the smile that invited her to speak. “I am sorry, but your legs…” her gloved hands held out as if measuring a prizewinning fish.

“Yes, you tripped over my long legs. It is I who should apologize to you.”

Her tipped head and scrunched face, so reminiscent of his brother when he didn’t understand fancy words made him point to himself and say, “I am sorry.”

She nodded, giggled, and repeated “Uffda!”, then shook her head as if for emphasis.

Looking past her, he saw a worn leather bag and a small red book on the floor. She followed his eyes and quickly retrieved her belongings. Placing the bag on her lap, she clutched the book tightly in her hand.

Not letting his eyes linger for too long, Scott quickly assessed the girl. He thought her to be about twelve years of age. Long blond hair was pulled back and covered with a white scarf printed with red roses and blue scrolls. Her blue-flowered pinafore dress was made of linen. The frock was clearly not store bought but appeared well stitched by practiced hands. A long-sleeved, blue-striped blouse covered her arms, followed by light gray gloves over her hands. Black lace-up boots, slightly worn and scuffed, adorned her feet. Her clothes were just not the style around here. A likely immigrant, he surmised.

She now sat straight, looking down. She looked so young… and alone.

“My name is Scott.”

She simply nodded.

“Are you traveling alone? No family? No friends?”

Again, her head tipped. This was going to be a challenge. Scott persisted, concerned for the girl.

He pulled out a picture of his family and pointed to each. “This is my wife. These are my two sons, and this is my daughter. They are my family. Do you have a family?”

“Ja.” That sounded affirmative.

Thinking her family members to be seated elsewhere he pointed around the train car. “Are they here?”

Another tipped head. If this was a game of poker her ‘tell’ would be clear. “Nei.”

So close to German, but not quite. What language did she speak?

She looked up and suddenly smiled. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a map of Europe, the North Atlantic Ocean and the United States. Her finger landed on Scandinavia. “My family.” She stabbed her finger on the map and repeated, “My family. In Norge.”

“Noorya,” Scott repeated back. “We say Norway here.” She looked him in the eye with no expression and shrugged. 

Pointing to herself, she then traced across the ocean to New York City. “No family. Just me.”

Her finger continued across the eastern half of the United States and landed on the southeast corner of South Dakota. “Just me. No family.”

Scott had heard of European families sending children to the United States one-by-one as they could afford passage. But sending a twelve-year-old alone? As a father, could he do that? Then again, he was quite certain that he had no concept of the conditions that drove the mass emigrations from places like Ireland and Scandinavia. Whoever sent her here must have her best interest at heart, right? Or could they just no longer feed her?

His eyes went to the book still clutched in her hand. He pointed to her book and then to his. “I have a book, too.” As he turned the pages, her eyes went wide as she saw the beautiful illustrations.

“I can see?”

“Of course.”

She carefully took the book from him, hesitating and asking again with her eyes. A quick nod and a smile provided an answer.

Fingers lightly touched the illustrations, each telling her a story that the English words could not. As if suddenly self-conscious, she quickly returned the book.

After a moment, she handed the book she held so tightly to Scott. Looking at the title and text in a language he could not read or speak, he smiled and tipped his head. They laughed at the same time. She wasn’t the only language-challenged person on the train.

“Uffda?” he ventured.

“Uffda!” She nodded and laughed again. He was at least getting the gist of this word.

Handwritten on the inside cover was a name. “Is this you?”

“Ja. Anna Knutsen. She tipped her head and pointed at him. “Scott?”

“Yes. Scott Lancer.” He held out his hand. She reached forward and pumped his hand three times, giggling.

She reached into her bag again and handed him the papers she pulled out. He was stunned. They were papers permitting her to enter the country and travel to her host family in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. The girl had not only traveled across the sea by herself, but she then successfully navigated New York’s Ellis Island as an immigrant. Now she was on her way alone to live with people she had never met.

Noticing his astonishment, she put on a warrior face and flexed the biceps of both arms. Oh, the Norsemen had nothing on this girl!

From the looks of the text Scott was reasonably sure what the book contained. He pointed and asked, “Bible? From Ellis Island?”

A nod answered his question. “Dansk, but I understand.”

Thinking for a moment, he finally offered, “Danish? You understand both Danish and Norwegian?”

She shrugged her shoulders as if everyone could. He could not. Yet, he would persist.

Her bag produced another artifact, this time a picture of two girls slightly younger than herself. She pointed to each in turn. “Hilda. Lena. My… sisters.” Anna drew her finger again from Norway, across the ocean, and eventually to South Dakota.

“They will come later?”

Anna turned her head. Scott heard a sniff. Then a second. A gloved hand went to Anna’s face. Ah, a crack in the mighty Norse shield. He would have to tread softly.

Finally composed and with a slight smile, she turned back. “I… hope.”

“I hope so, too, Anna.”

“Scott?”

“Yes, Anna?”

“Jeg er trott.” The yawn gave away the meaning.

“Let me put your bag up. Then let’s get you into the window seat so you can rest against the side of the train. That should be comfortable enough for a good nap.”

Anna’s eyes shut as soon as she snuggled in with Scott’s jacket as her pillow. He wouldn’t see her eyes open for another three hours. With a still throbbing shoulder, stiff legs, and much to contemplate Scott would put off his own sleep to watch over her. Thankful he had retrieved his flask from a pocket before offering his jacket to Anna, he took a few calming swallows of whiskey and hoped for the best.

.

Chapter Three

The advantage of the aisle seat was that Scott could get up and stretch. He made his way to the dining car where he was able to secure sandwiches and fruit. Anna would surely be hungry when she woke up. His own hunger was raising a voice almost as loud as his shoulder. Nothing could be as loud as his shoulder. Omaha couldn’t come soon enough.

Anna was just stirring when he returned to his seat. She sat up quickly as he greeted her with a smile that he hoped disguised his discomfort. The offered sandwich was taken with a quick “Tak” and devoured. As Scott picked up his second sandwich, he was met with pleading eyes. Giving her half, he wondered just what he had gotten himself into.

“Anna?”

“Ja, Scott?”

“The people who will meet you in Sioux Falls. Do you know them?”

A tipped head made sense of the question. “Nei.”

“Are they your family?”

“Nei.”

“Are they friends?”

“Nei.”

They sat in silence as Anna slowly ate her apple. Just who were these people to whom Anna’s parents were entrusting their daughter? Were they trustworthy? Would Anna be safe? He couldn’t shake the persistent questions. He thought of Johnny who frequently reminded him of his penchant for helping, as Johnny called them, ‘damsels in distress.’ Scott had to admit that he was the one who had ended up the most distressed in these encounters. But this was no woman. This was a girl. Yes, she put on a brave face, but she was out of her element and alone. Plans were clearly in place for her, but what were these plans?

“Anna, may I please see your train tickets?” He took his out of his pocket to show her.

She pointed to her bag which Scott then handed to her. The tickets she handed him showed that she would stop in Omaha and then transfer to a train headed for Sioux City, Iowa. That was her last stop.

He asked for her map and then pointed as he asked, “Will someone pick you up here to take you to Sioux Falls?”

A nod followed a slight frown.

“Who will be there for you?”

A shrug followed a bigger frown.

Damn, he didn’t like this. Most likely everything would be okay, but could he chance it? Wouldn’t he want someone to help his child if they could? Damn!

There was still plenty of time to Omaha to think this through. In the meantime, he had to try to get some sleep. He handed Anna the copy of The Wizard of Oz and yawned. She pointed to her seat and then to him. As much as he wanted to protect her by sitting on the aisle, he gladly changed seats to find a better position for his shoulder. She would be all right – for now.

.

Chapter Four

Although not a healing sleep, Scott woke up with a clear mind. He looked over at Anna who was engrossed in his book. This was the best purchase he had ever made. The beautiful illustrations told the same story as the words on the page. He could see her brain working as she turned the pages, often nodding her head in understanding. He supposed it was her book now.

“Jeg ikke… no… I like this book,” she said without looking at him.

“I’m glad you like it.”

“Scott?”

“Yes, Anna?”

“Can you read?” Although the perfect opportunity for an English lesson, Scott chuckled and let it go. She placed the book in his outstretched hand and grinned. “Scott. Jeg ikke… I like your…” and she pointed to his lips.

“You like my lips?”

She shook her head and grimaced, as if no one could possibly like the lips of a 55-year-old man. Scott took no offense. Genevieve would heartily disagree, he hoped. As luck would have it, she had married the best-looking brother.

“Oh, you like my voice. You like how I talk?”

Using her deepest voice, she rumbled, “Ja!”

He pointed to himself. “You want me to read?” He turned to the first page. “From here?”

He received an enthusiastic nod.

And so, they passed the time with Scott reading and Anna pointing to the pictures. He would stop sometimes to answer her questions or give her time to connect the pictures to the words. Then came the flying monkeys.

“Uffda! Nei! What are…” and she pointed to the pictures.

Surprised at first, Scott then realized that monkeys were probably not a common topic of conversation in the mountains of Norway. “Those are monkeys.”

“Monkeys? Monkeys are bad.”

Pointing, Scott shook his head. “These are bad monkeys. Most monkeys are very good.”

“You know monkeys?”

She had him there. “No, I don’t know any monkeys myself. But I have heard that monkeys are good.”

“Monkeys fly?”

“No, only in this story.”

“Uffda!”

Scott waited for more questions. When none came, he carried on. With only a few breaks for naps, food, and personal matters they read until the end of the book.

When he finally stopped reading, he waited for Anna to speak. In the pause that followed he had time to notice that the fragile treaty he had made with his shoulder was now broken. The small moan he involuntarily uttered caught her attention.

“You hurt?”

He must have done a good job hiding the fact. “A little. I’m fine.”

“Why?”

“Why do I hurt? I guess because I’ve had an active life.”

“Hm. I am sorry you hurt.”

“Thank you, Anna.”

She nodded briefly and then pointed to Dorothy and her little dog. “They are home?”

“Yes, Dorothy and Toto are home.”

She looked forward, as if to not look in his eyes. He wondered what she was thinking.

After a long pause, she said, “You go home?”

Now there was a question. Reading the book had taken his mind away from the problems at hand – his throbbing shoulder and the fate of his unexpected seatmate. So close now to Omaha, he had to make a decision. At the very least he would have time to see her settled on her next train as he had a few hours to wait for his. And perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to talk to the station master about delaying his departure to San Francisco. It wouldn’t mean he would actually change his plans. Yes, that’s what he would do. On the other hand…

.

Chapter Five

“Sorry, Mr. Lancer. I can’t promise you private quarters on the Overland Limited if you don’t take today’s train. Popular train you know. Lots of folks want to travel in comfort. They might just beat you to it. Of course, you could book now if you have a specific date in mind.”

Scott’s heart sank. He wanted to take this train. He wanted to see his family. He wanted to wrap his arms around Genevieve and give her a kiss so big she would blush. He wanted to give aid and comfort to his shoulder. He didn’t want to send a telegram stating that his travel would be delayed. He didn’t want Anna to encounter trouble or find herself in a situation that was less than ideal. Well, that was it wasn’t it? His decision had to come down to Anna. Johnny would have a few familiar words to say about this.

The unknowns were many. How long would it take to get to Sioux Falls? How would he get there? Would he be welcome when he did get there? What if there really was trouble? How would his wife take the news?

“I guess I won’t be on this train after all. My plans are uncertain at this time so I’ll have to book at a later date. I do, however, need to be on the next train to Sioux City and I need to be seated with another passenger, Miss Anna Knutsen. Can you please make that happen?”

“Well, let’s see. I can sure get you on the train, but does Miss Anna Knutsen want you to be on the train?”

Here was an unanticipated hiccup. He looked around for Anna who had been close behind him. Where did she go? He finally spotted her sitting on a bench, her head dipped in sleep. Poor girl, this trip was taking its toll. Her head slowly rose as he called to her. She gathered her belongings and made her way to him.

“This is Miss Anna Knutsen. Anna, for your safety I would like to escort you to Sioux Falls. I will have to take this train with you. Do you give your consent for me to accompany you on this train to Sioux City?”

Oh, no. This was not a good time for the tipped head. His widened eyes and a slight, almost imperceptible nod led her to finally indicate in the affirmative. She had a long way to go to master English, but she most certainly had mastered the interpretation of body language.

“He is my family.” This was a surprise.

“Is this true, Mr. Lancer?” Could he not take the word of a female?

“Most of her family is in Norway. I am all she has here.” Not quite a lie, but close.

The station master displayed a tipped head of his own. After consideration, he issued a ticket to Scott. No more words were necessary. Scott took the ticket, secured it in his coat pocket, grabbed Anna’s hand and made his way to the telegraph office. He needed to explain as much as he could to Genevieve, however much those extra words would cost. He knew she would understand. She would understand better when he wrapped her in his arms to give her the kiss he could only dream about for now.

.

Chapter Six

Scott had seen the Missouri River before, but he had never seen it like this. Kansas City and St. Louis treated the river as a utility, transportation and industry taking precedence over pristine beauty. The train’s route to Sioux City showed a river still wild, still left to do what rivers do. Sandbars interrupted flowing water. Grasses, sedges, and small shrubs lined the banks. Scott wished he could climb the high bluffs and look down on the sight that must go on for miles and miles. Not as beautiful as Lancer, but nothing could ever be.

Anna was quiet on the short trip. Having been gifted the Wizard of Oz book, she spent her time studying the pictures that must have already been seared into her brain. She kept the small Bible on her lap, always within reach but never opened. When the train reached Sioux City, she quietly retrieved her bag, put the books inside and sat with bag on lap, eyes straight ahead.

“Anna, we have to leave the train now.” No movement. “Anna, please come with me.” Still no movement.

Scott reached down and lifted her face to his. “I’m here with you. I know you are nervous. I would be too. This will be your new home. Let me help you.”

Small tears turned to streams down her face. The shield fell and she sobbed. Scott sat down again and took her in his arms. Passengers stared as they passed, many with noses in the air or eyes rolled. This girl’s life meant nothing to them. One more immigrant to fill a service job or grow old fast laboring as a farm wife. Scott supposed that most of them had recent immigrants in their families. How soon they forgot. He would not forget Anna. Not ever. 

When they finally made it to the platform, Scott found a bench. When seated he asked Anna for her papers. She was to meet John and Margaret Jensvold at the Bluffs Hotel. How did they expect a twelve-year-old girl, speaking limited English, to find her way to a hotel in a strange town? This didn’t bode well as a welcome. He wasn’t happy but would wait to size them up at the hotel.

Sioux City streets were much more congested than Scott would have imagined. It took some effort to determine that a streetcar could take them close enough to the hotel to walk the rest of the distance. Anna never could have navigated this on her own. Yet another mark against the Jensvolds. Scott was convinced there may be many more to come.

The streetcar was crowded with barely enough room for the two of them, let alone their bags. Anna held tightly to her own as Scott held tightly to Anna. No words were exchanged until both had taken a deep breath after being deposited on the street two blocks from the hotel. The only word uttered was in quiet unison, “Uffda!” Scott took stock of his shoulder and found it less than optimal. There was nothing to do but press on to the meeting with the Jensvolds.

They made their way into the hotel lobby, searching for anyone who may be looking for someone to meet. No one fit the bill. Scott made eye contact with the clerk who smiled and offered help. Yes, John Jensvold had stayed at the hotel last night. No, he wasn’t here at the moment. He had stepped out. No, he didn’t know when Mr. Jensvold would return. Perhaps they would like to get a room, freshen, and have some lunch?

Not knowing what to expect, Scott took two rooms. Though clean, the rooms were modest if not a bit worn. Still, Anna had never had a room to herself. She laughed as she danced and twirled around in the scant space.

“Are you feeling better now?”

“Ja. No ship or train or streetcar!”

“Rest for a little bit, then I’ll come get you for lunch. Stay in this room, Anna.”

“I will. But Scott?”

“Yes?”

She ran to him and wrapped her arms around his waist in such a strong embrace he had to take a deep breath.  “Tak. Tusen tak! Manga tak!”

Suddenly his words left him as he thought of his own children. What if one of them was in the same situation? Would someone help? He always thought that there was more good in the world than bad. He had to believe that someone would step up. He had to believe that there was some redeeming quality in Mr. Jensvold. Only time would tell.

His voice broke as he replied, “You are very welcome. Now rest.”

Turning to his own room he saw the desk clerk walking briskly toward him down the hall. He had news of Mr. Jensvold’s return. Scott followed to the lobby where he took in the sight of a short, pot-bellied, middle-aged man in a well-used suit jacket and hat that had seen better days.

Scott put out his hand. “Mr. Jensvold. I’m Scott Lancer. I’m happy to meet you.” The hand, left hanging, was pulled back. Scott looked at it and then continued, now looking directly into Jensvold’s eyes. “I understand that you and your wife are here to transport Anna Knutsen to Sioux Falls.”

“My wife is not here. Who are you?” The accent suggested he was also Norwegian.

Under a cloud of scrutiny Scott explained how he had met and aided Anna on her trip across the country. He stated his intention to travel to Sioux Falls.

“I don’t need your help. Anna doesn’t need your help. I have an arrangement with her family. You are not part of that arrangement. I suggest you go on with your plans and leave the girl to me.”

“Will your wife be making the trip with you and Anna?”

“I told you, my wife is not here. I will transport Anna alone.”

A voice came from the top of the stairs, “Scott?”

“Go back to your room, Anna. I will come get you in a minute.”

“That is Anna? I guess she will do.” The smirk left as quickly as it came. Noticing, Scott put his hand on top of the jacket pocket that held his pocket pistol. Although he no longer wore a gun at home, he still retained the reflex of reaching for one when certain situations presented themselves. He carried a weapon now as one never knew what to expect on a cross-country journey.

Stepping closer to Jensvold, Scott noticed a distinct smell of alcohol. Using his six-foot-one-inch frame and dominating stare to full advantage he inquired, “She will do what, Mr. Jensvold?”

“She is to work in my store to pay for her passage. She looks like a good worker, I guess. That is all I meant.”

Anna was suddenly beside Scott, placing her hand in his. Scott sighed. Wasn’t this just getting better and better? “Mr. Jensvold. I will not allow Anna to travel alone with you. The fact that your wife is not here is quite troubling to me.”

“She is not yours to make decisions about. I have an arrangement -”

“I know, I know. You have an arrangement with her family. I don’t know what kind of arrangement you could have possibly made with her family, but I don’t have any arrangement with you. I only know one thing, that Anna will get to Sioux Falls safely. I do not trust you to make that happen. Nor do I trust you to uphold an agreement made in good faith by a family who expects no harm to come to their daughter. I will take Anna to Sioux Falls and meet your wife. We will go from there. So, I guess now you do have an arrangement with me.”

“Who do you think you are? This is not your business! They owe me!”

“Mr. Jensvold. I’ll gladly pay you in full for Anna’s passage. You won’t be out one cent. Now, Anna, go back to your room. I’ll make arrangements for our travel tomorrow. Mr. Jensvold, I suggest you make your way back home. I’ll find you there along with your wife. Then I’ll decide on the outcome of our… arrangement.”

Scott turned and followed Anna up the stairs.

A red-faced Jensvold started to follow. Scott, his hand now firmly on the gun inside his pocket, growled, “I don’t think you want to do that, Mr. Jensvold. We are done here. Go home. Now.”

Scott found Anna standing inside the door to her room. “Are you okay, Anna? You should have stayed here.”

“He is a bad monkey.”

“Yes, Anna, he may very well be a bad monkey. We’ll find out what we need to know when we get to Sioux Falls.”

“I can live with you?”

If only she could. There were legalities to consider. There was information to be gathered. “I will make sure you are safe, Anna. Wherever you live, whoever you live with, you will be safe. Remember, Dorothy and Toto were safe after their adventure.”

The door closed and a muffled “Uffda!” reached his ears. He couldn’t agree more.

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Chapter Seven

Scott sat with his shirt off, experienced hands running over his shoulders.

“Oh, my. Would you look at that!”

“I’ve seen it,” muttered Scott.

“Looks like you’ve lived with it for a long time.”

“I have.”

“Both sides, you know.”

“I’m aware.”

“The war?”

“Yeah.” And then some, thought Scott. He sighed as he looked around the room. He just needed a little something for the pain, not an interrogation. No war stories would be relayed today.

The stone-set of Scott’s eyes met the doctor’s with the desired effect. “I… see. Well, then. What would you like to have me do for you today?”

“Can you just give me something a little stronger than the whiskey I’ve been using for the pain?” A grimace came to his lips as he choked out, “Laudanum, perhaps?”

“Have you had any experience with laudanum, Mr. Lancer? Any… addictions?”

“Experience yes, addiction no. Although I have witnessed the effects of addiction.”

“I imagine you witnessed many things during the war?”

The war again. This fishing expedition would provide no catch.

Ignoring the silent glare, the doctor persisted. “I’m surprised that you yourself have had no issues with the drug. You must know that many of your comrades in arms found themselves in great trouble during and after the war.”

An even heavier sigh emanated through thinning lips. “Doctor, I am quite aware what my comrades in arms, as you call them, have experienced and what they experience to this day. As a man who reads I am also well aware of the thousands of lives touched and ruined by our country’s ongoing issues with opioid drugs. I will assume from your comments and questions that you are an enlightened physician who is merely seeking to ascertain whether or not I am a proper candidate for addictive medicinals. I assure you that I am. However, if there is another path, I am happy to entertain it. In my time I have chosen the distasteful willow bark tea over laudanum or morphine on most occasions.”

The doctor raised his eyebrows. “Ah now, just how did that willow bark tea work out for you?”

“Fine, I suppose. With the exception of the aforementioned vileness.”

The doctor clapped his hands together. “Well, then! I have just the thing for you! Let’s try aspirin! With a few subtle changes, it’s essentially willow bark tea in a pill. It’s been around for a while, but in my estimation the stomach pain it caused eclipsed any pain relief it provided elsewhere. But science marches on, my dear man! That side effect has been put to the side, so to speak! So, what do you say? Shall we get this wonder drug into your hands today?”

Was this a doctor or a snake oil salesman? Whatever irritation had been subdued by Scott’s rant crept back in spades. The shoulder upped the ante with a twinge that appeared on Scott’s face. He had to fold.

“I’m sure it will suffice.”

“Yessir! This is just the thing for you! So glad to be of service!”

Scott walked out of the office with a prescribed bottle of aspirin, a reminder where he could get more and a hearty pat on the back of his left shoulder. Just when he was starting to like the man. Perhaps a glass of beer would come to the aid of his deteriorating mood and ease the aspirin down his throat.

He found that beer a few doors down. The place was empty except for a lively group of men in straw skimmer hats. They turned and watched him walk up to the bartender, then turned back to their private reverie. His focus on a cold beer, Scott took little notice of them.

“What can I get you, Sir?”

Sir? He’d been called ‘Sir’ plenty through the years but somehow it rankled in this moment. Did he really look that old? He had to admit the years were catching up. Gray hairs now rivaled the blond, but he still had his full head of hair. That was something, wasn’t it? Of course, there were a few wrinkles but just around the eyes. Genevieve loved his laugh lines as much as she loved his smile, or so she said. Aches and pains perhaps diminished his once ramrod-straight posture, but he still commanded a room as he entered. Well, that settled it. He was distinguished, not old. He could live with ‘Sir’. “The best beer you have and some information, please.”

“You got it. How can I help?” It appeared bartenders had gotten less suspicious of strangers in recent years. Then again, Sioux City was a bustling railroad town filled with shops that rivaled Omaha’s. It saw its share of travelers and shoppers from distant areas.

“I need to get to Sioux Falls tomorrow but I see that the train only runs twice a week. What might be the best alternative?”

The bartender looked him up and down. “Well, if you have money, you could hire a coach and a driver. About a day’s travel. I can give you some recommendations if you like.”

“I would like that very much and appreciate the offer.”

The bartender wrote down two names and addresses and handed the paper to Scott along with the beer.  After laying down a hearty sum for the libation and the information, Scott settled the paper in his coat pocket with his right hand as he grasped the cold beer with his left. Not seeking more conversation, he thanked the bartender and made his way to the table farthest away from the group of skimmer-hatted men.

Even in the best of moods Scott despised skimmer hats. He had seen a few in Boston and realized they had made their way into fashionable society. He was aware that his dislike was unreasonable, and he certainly was not one to talk. He had, after all, had to make adjustments to his wardrobe when he moved west. It was made clear to him at the time that the derby hat just had to go. After a time, he had to agree. The rugged angles of Western style hats suited him much better than the simple dome. Funny thing, it turned out that derby hats were worn by many Western men for one very good reason – they stayed on the head in strong winds. Scott had lost enough hats to galloping horses to see the value in that. Even Johnny had to recently admit derbies weren’t all bad when he saw a picture of lawman Bat Masterson sporting one with great aplomb. But what good were skimmers except to add an air of undignified whimsy. Scott recalled a man he had known in his first years in California that had started a bar fight because he didn’t like a hat worn by one of the patrons. Noticing that he had balled his fists, he sighed. “Not worth fighting over,” Scott acquiesced as he reached into his pocket for the aspirin.

Turning his attention back to his pain, Scott eyed, then sniffed, the aspirin. It seemed harmless enough. No discernible odor. Putting it on his tongue told another story altogether. Pungent. That was the word for the taste that filled his mouth and started down his throat. Only the quick lift of the glass to his lips followed by a long gulp of the proprietor’s best ale gave him hope for relief from the permeating bitterness. But it wasn’t to be. The beer was as bitter as the pill. His only hope now was to ride it out and wait for the promised results.

Those results would have to occur elsewhere. As he leaned back into his chair, a sound reached his ears that had to be emanating from the ‘skimmers’ in the corner. The jaunty song designed, Scott supposed, to be entertaining was anything but to a man in pain. He slowly turned their way, taking in the planted smiles and the choreographed sway as they sang about a wild Irish rose in tight harmony. He’d suddenly had quite enough of Sioux City and its resident ‘skimmered’ songsters. In a valiant effort to beat back the antagonism he felt Scott stood, smiled, and raised his glass to the foursome. He then downed the beer, put the glass on the table, thanked the bartender, and opened the door. As he walked through, a hearty laugh escaped from his lips and kept coming. And just like that Scott Lancer was back to his good senses. It was time to secure a coach and move on to what could be Anna’s new home.

.

Chapter Eight

After miles of farmland and river bends, Sioux Falls was a welcome sight for the weary travelers. Following the river road had led them directly past the falls of the Big Sioux River for which the town was named. Late summer water gushed over the dusty rose rock and landed below in a fine froth. Although a beautiful sight now, Scott thought the cascades must be spectacular after the spring snow melt. Traveling into town, the same stone was evident in the business, store, and bank buildings along the street as well as the cobblestones and more than one of the Victorian homes perched on the hills above. It was a good place for a quarryman.

As they traveled the dusty streets Scott searched the signs for the hotel he had secured. It didn’t take long before he and Anna were standing in front of a modest building made of the ever-present quartzite. Final payment made, the driver thanked, and bags secured a quiet Anna slogged next to Scott into the lobby. Another slog up the stairs put them in front of their rooms.

“I’m guessing you’re as hungry as I am, Anna. What do you say we put our things in our rooms and then find some food?”

Anna barely managed a “Yes, Scott” as she opened the door and placed her bag gently on her bed. Looking far more tired than hungry she followed along to the hotel dining room where she ordered chicken and dumplings. One dumpling in she asked the question that she may have been thinking about all day. “You will leave me tomorrow?”

Scott had dreaded the discussion that now presented itself. He, too, had been pondering the question. He had no idea what would happen if the ‘arrangement’ was not to his liking. He had no standing in this town. Why should anyone believe that he was any more upstanding than Mr. Jensvold? For once in his life a plan was not easily forthcoming. How could he be honest with Anna yet reassure her that everything would be fine? He couldn’t, that was the simple fact.

“I don’t know what will happen tomorrow, Anna. We’ll find the Jensvold’s store and talk to them. Whatever happens there, I’ll keep you safe and do whatever I can to make sure you are well taken care of. I just don’t know, Anna. We’ll find out together.”

She simply nodded and ate a second dumpling. The dinner passed in silence, both concentrating on the food in front of them. A quiet walk up the stairs ended in a quiet goodnight and a promise from Scott to collect Anna for breakfast. After that they would make their way to the Jensvold’s.

Sleep did not come easily to Scott. He went over every possible outcome he could conjure. It was not unlike planning for battle. He recognized the adversary but could only guess at the tactics that would be used against him. He knew he needed to secure a positive outcome for Anna but had no idea what was even possible. All he could do was rely on his wits and experience to win the day. But what did winning look like? He hoped he would recognize victory when he saw it.

The next morning, two quite sleepy people made their way to the address supplied by the desk clerk. Although Scott had discouraged it, Anna carried her packed bag with her as if resigned to her fate. She hesitated at the entrance of the store, uttering a sigh as she finally walked through the door. Scott followed close behind, quickly scanning the space. A small woman greeted them in an equally small voice, inquiring how she could help.

“Good morning. My name is Scott Lancer, and this is Anna Knutsen. We’re here to speak with John and Margaret Jensvold. Might you be Mrs. Jensvold?”

“I am, but, well…  John, please come!” The small voice had become shaky yet strong enough to summon her husband from the back room. John Jensvold blustered in, his face the same shade of red as the last time Scott had seen him.

“Margaret, go to the back and take the girl with you. This discussion is for men.”

“Mr. Jensvold, Anna will remain with me. I’ve come to meet your wife and would politely ask that she stay as well.”

“That won’t happen, Mr. Lancer. I’ll not have my wife upset by this situation.” Looking toward his wife he snarled, “I told you to go, Margaret. Now go!” The mouse of a woman scurried away, not looking back.

“This situation has arisen, Mr. Jensvold, because I have not been certain of Mrs. Jensvold’s role in the so-called arrangement you made with Anna’s parents. I need confirmation of a safe environment before I would dream of leaving their daughter in your care. You have demonstrated none of the qualities that would even remotely convince me that I should do so. And now after witnessing how you treat your wife, I have a clear vision of what life would be like here for the girl. As I stated during our previous meeting, I will now decide on the arrangement.”

As Scott spoke, the face opposite him turned from red to purple. Veins visibly pulsed and a growing scowl writhed with venom.

“This is not for you to decide! Who the hell do you think you are?” He made a lunge for Anna, knocking the bag out of her hand. “She is mine!”

Scott quickly grabbed the offender by the arm and threw him to the ground. As Jensvold started to rise, a well-placed boot secured his back to the floor.

“She belongs only to herself, Mr. Jensvold. Furthermore, she is not now – nor has she ever been – for sale.”

Another attempt to rise was accompanied by a still defiant tone. “I did pay for her! You cannot say she is not mine!” The attempt was again thwarted.

“I can say it and I did say it. The arrangement that I have decided upon is payment in full to you for her passage. Anna then comes with me. It is as simple as that. If I were you, I would surrender to my terms.”

Anna now stood next to Scott, a look of triumph on her face. Jensvold grunted and struggled once more against the force holding him down. He finally went still and said, “I will take your money.” The irony was not lost on Scott.

Noticing that the contents of her bag had spilled onto the floor, Anna began collecting her belongings. Scott released his hold on Jensvold and watched as the man slowly came to his feet. Even a lifetime of training did not incline him to help the man.

“Here is what will happen. You’ll show me proof of the payment you made for passage. Then I’ll go to the bank across the street and secure funds. Lastly, I’ll find a lawyer to ensure that our arrangement is complete and that you have no further contact with Anna. You will stay here and wait for my return.”

After proof of payment was provided, Scott and Anna made their way across the street to the bank. Scott found a place for Anna to sit while he conducted his business, with the admonishment that she stay put until his return. Upon completion of his business, he returned to find her nowhere in sight. This wasn’t the first time she had circumvented his wishes. He strode to the front door to see if she had stepped out for air. No Anna in sight, but her voice suddenly cut through the din of the street. Her shouts in Norwegian left little doubt that she had found trouble. That could only mean one place. As he ran across the street, he saw two tall men push through the door to Jensvold’s store.

“What goes on here?” shouted the older of the two. Just a few steps behind, Scott rushed in to find Mr. Jensvold once again on the floor, this time doubled over in obvious pain. Above him stood Anna, fists up.

“Jensvold, you son of a bitch! What have you done this time?” shouted the younger stranger as he hauled Jensvold up off the floor and against the wall. In obvious agony, all the injured man could do was whimper. “It seems this little girl took care of you good!”        

Jensvold’s hands found their way to the source of his misery, making it quite clear just where Anna had concentrated her defense. His captor allowed him to slump back to the floor.

Scott managed to grimace and grin at the same time. “Anna, are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

“No, I hurt him!” She demonstrated the kick that landed the victory blow.

“I see that. Well done! But why are you here? I told you to stay in the bank.”

“My Bible. I… couldn’t find.”

“Ah, yes. It must have fallen out of your bag earlier and you came back to look for it. But why didn’t you wait for me?”

A shrug was all she could offer before the two men were beside them. They introduced themselves as Thor and Ole Moen, father and son. Scott introduced himself and Anna and started to explain the situation.

Thor put up his hand to cut him off and began to speak to Anna in Norwegian. After a rather lengthy conversation he looked at Scott and said, “She says you are a good man who has helped her. I take her word for that. Jensvold is a son of a bitch, but a coward. He will likely not go near her again, but we’ll make sure of it. She says her sisters will also come here. We can help find a place for her here until they come. We can write to her family and make arrangements.”

“You seem like good men, but I don’t know you. How do I know she’ll be safe with you?”

Ole spoke up. “Of course. A good man would ask that question. Come to our place for supper and you can decide after what you see.”

They all turned at the sound of a semi-recovered Jensvold stumbling to the back room. Scott approached the now ashen-faced man. “Wait a minute, Jensvold. We still have some business to do.” A bank draft was exchanged for a receipt that was witnessed by Ole. A trip to a lawyer would finalize the ‘arrangement.’

As Jensvold made his final retreat, Scott and Ole returned to find Thor and Anna engaged in an animated conversation. Thor looked at the men and chuckled. “That was a hell of a fight, boys! He won’t mess with this girl again!”

Victory had indeed been witnessed.

.

Chapter Nine

With the help of the Moens, Scott secured a horse for the ride to their homestead. Anna sat in the back of their wagon along with her bag and the goods that had been purchased in town. It felt liberating to sit a horse for the short one-hour trip. Any longer, though, and his body would likely start talking again. Thank God for the wonder drug!

Scott studied the two men out of the corner of his eye as he rode along beside the wagon. Thor probably had about ten years on him. Tall and still broad shouldered, he had a well-trimmed, long white beard with no mustache. His son was a bit taller with even broader shoulders. His still dark hair spoke to an age about fifteen years Scott’s junior. He had the mustache his father lacked. The hands and muscles of both men told a story of years of hard work.

Ole called to Scott who ambled up closer. “Here’s the start of our land. We’ll be to the house shortly. I don’t know what Caroline is making for supper, but I assure you it’ll be good and there’ll be plenty.”

“I look forward to it, Mr. Moen.”

“Oh now, Scott. We Norwegians aren’t formal folk. Please, we are Thor and Ole. I hear that Anna calls you Scott. That is normal for us. I hope you’re not offended?”

“Certainly not, Ole. I’m happy to oblige.”

The house came into sight over the next rise. Typical of the farmhouses Scott had seen so far, it was white with two stories and a narrow porch. Also typical of local farms, it appeared well kept. The large red barn and a tall silo sat some distance to the side. Another long white building sat beyond the barn to the east, next to what appeared to be a chicken coop.

Noticing a curious look, Ole explained “That’s a hog house, Scott. Downwind from the house for obvious reasons. Although we like to say it smells like money!” Well acquainted with the smell of ‘money on the hoof’ Scott smiled and nodded his head. “We’ve had good rain this summer. You can see the corn looks pretty good and we’ll get some more good hay for our cattle and horses before the snows start in a few months. Do you know anything about farming, Scott?”

“I’ve been a rancher for about 30 years now, Ole. My brother and I have a place in California. I was on my way home to my family when I met Anna on the train.”

Ole raised his eyebrows and slightly shook his head. “You did all of this for Anna, and you have a place to take care of? Why would you take the time from your family?”

“It’s because of my family that I’ve done it. If my children were in the same situation, well, I would hope someone would help.”

Ole reined in the team of workhorses as they reached the barn. “Ja, it’s good to have a little land and a family, isn’t it Scott? Now you are about to meet mine. My boy will come take care of the horses and the wagon. There’s an extra stall next to Dolly and Fred. You and the girl can come along into the house.”

As Thor helped Anna down from the wagon, a red-haired boy of about fifteen came out of the barn. He glanced at the strangers, started for the horses, and then turned again to look at Anna.

Ole noticed and quickly got his attention. “This is my son, Tom. Tom, this is Scott Lancer and Anna Knutsen. They will join us here for the night.”

Tom shook Scott’s hand and turned his attention back to Anna with a quick “Hello” accompanied by a slight blush.

“Will you please get the horses settled, Tom? We’ll unload the wagon later. Then take these notes around to the neighbors. Take your horse so you can be quick. And come back with answers, son. Especially from the Swenson’s. We’ll hope to have an early supper so get back and get cleaned up.”

As Tom got started with the horses the visitors were ushered into the house. The front door led directly into a clean, efficient kitchen. At the kitchen table sat a woman about Ole’s age with auburn hair tied into an unruly bun.

“Scott and Anna, please meet my wife, Caroline.” As she rose to greet them potato peelings fell from her apron.

“Oh, my! I usually am not dressed as such when guests come. Please forgive my appearance. I must look a fright!”

“You look beautiful as always, my dear,” swooned Ole as he leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. “Can we please offer our guests dinner and accommodation tonight?”

“Of course, Clara will help peel some more potatoes. And I’m sure she and Tom will gladly share their rooms.”

Scott broke in, “I can ride back to town tonight. No need for anyone to be put out on my account.”

“Nonsense, we insist. Plus, we have a little surprise this evening,” Ole added with a glint in his eye. The little surprise must have something to do with the notes sent to the neighbors.

Thor volunteered to show the guests to sleeping quarters where they could freshen up. “Of course, the outhouse is out back. Being a rancher I’m sure you are familiar.” Oh, Scott was familiar alright, but it had been several years since he had used one. It would be like visiting an old friend.

Clara, who looked to be Anna’s age, gladly took the girl into the bedroom they would share for the night. The door closed behind them and the giggling began. As Scott was shown to the room he would share with Tom, he heard Ole explaining the visit to Caroline. “I have an idea, Ole. What about the…”

“…the Swenson’s?” chimed in Ole.

“We must be married. We certainly think alike! We’ll ask tonight.”

Anna was enlisted to help with supper preparations while the men were shooed away to the porch. Scott was handed a glass of whiskey which he gladly accepted. “No cigars until after supper,” sighed Thor. “Caroline’s rule.”

Ole pulled a chair up. “Sit, Scott, and tell us about yourself.”

Scott told a much-abbreviated story of his family and life in California. No mention was made of the size of Lancer or the diversified business it had become. Asked about his travel home from Boston he did divulge his early life in that city, though with no mention of his grandfather’s empire.

Thor had listened intently. “So, you were in the East during the War Between the States, then?”

Somehow this query was acceptable from a man who was old enough to have served. “Yes, that’s right. I rode with the 2nd Massachusetts Cavalry.”

Thor smiled, seemingly happy to meet another veteran. “I served the last year of the war with a Wisconsin infantry unit. Ole was five when I left, and his mother wasn’t very happy. But the Federals needed every man they could take to get that damned war over with. I was a soldier in Norway and was always a better soldier than farmer. Ole, now he’s a good farmer. After my wife died, he brought me along to this homestead he got back in ‘83. My son has really built it into something.”

The conversation ended as young Tom rode in. His father went to greet him, nodding and smiling broadly as Tom relayed information. Whatever was planned must be coming to fruition.

“Hurry now, Tom. Supper will be ready soon. I’ll get your horse watered and fed. Go get clean for our company.”

Tom nodded a greeting to his grandfather and Scott as he scampered up the steps. “He is a great help to his parents. A good boy. I hope he never has to go to war.” The two men exchanged a solemn look. Neither would ever wish war on anyone.

Supper was soon called, with Caroline directing all to their seats. Clara came with a bowl full of green beans, followed by Anna who laid down something that looked akin to tortillas. On the same plate were slices of a brown cheese that Scott didn’t recognize. Anna sat next to Scott as Caroline placed a large bowl of steaming white balls in the center of the table. Anna whispered, “Klub, my favorite. Oops, I forgot!” She jumped up and returned with a large gravy boat filled to the brim with melted butter.

Scott’s hands were grabbed by Anna on one side and Ole on the other. A prayer was recited in Norwegian followed by an ‘Amen’. That was a word Scott understood so he repeated it in the unexpected quiet that followed. Warm laughter erupted with Scott quickly joining in. Then came the call to eat. Anna helped Scott navigate the Norwegian dishes. The brown cheese was placed in the potato tortilla, or lefse, as they called it. Copious amounts of butter were spooned over the white balls he now knew as klub. Green beans filled in the small spaces left between potato dishes.

Visions of dinner with the McGloins ran through Scott’s mind. They had placed one potato on his plate. Little did he know there was a roast from a Lancer steer hidden from view, eaten only after he had left. He now hoped that there was some meat hidden from his view. He was hungry for more than potatoes and a small bit of cheese… and butter!

He started with the lefse. He liked tortillas with cheese so lefse must be palatable. He took a bite and was pleasantly surprised by the flavor… for about five seconds. Something transformed in the cheese and suddenly his mouth was filled with a taste that could only be described as the smell of one of Jelly’s old billy goats. The table went quiet, all eyes focused on Scott’s face. He had no choice but to swallow quickly and work on some semblance of a smile.

“You like the gjetost? You are probably surprised by its sweet taste. It’s unexpected, isn’t it?” said Thor as he raised his own lefse to his mouth, giving Scott a sly wink.

Scott worked hard to recover his impeccable manners. “Yes, it’s quite surprising. I’ve never tasted anything like it.” Pleased that the gjetost was seemingly well received, everyone smiled and went back to the meal.

The green beans offered a much-needed palate cleanser. Next up was the klub. He cut a bite sized piece and dipped it in some butter. It had a pleasant potato and butter taste, but there was something else. A second cut of the knife revealed the hidden treasure. Inside was a large piece of ham! Now this was a far more pleasant surprise than the cheese. After a few more bites he understood why Anna loved the dish. He would get the recipe and make it for Genevieve, if she would allow him in the kitchen after the bread making incident of ‘97.

Thoroughly engaged in the lively dinner conversation, it took Scott some time to realize he was neglecting Anna. As he looked to his side, he soon surmised it was not from him that she fancied attention. The attention she sought was coming from the young man sitting across the table and she was reciprocating with what she must have thought were furtive glances. Caroline noticed at the same time.

“Tom, will you please help me with dessert? Tom?”

“Tom, your mother is speaking to you. Please answer her.”

“What? Oh, yes, of course, mother.”

The spell broken, at least for now, Tom helped his mother bring bowls of canned pears with cardamom cream to all. It was a fine ending to a meal that left Scott with a warm feeling for all around the table. Even Tom, although he would have to watch the boy carefully.

.

Chapter Ten

Scott barely got his thanks for supper said before wagons and horses were heard coming down the drive. Ole and Tom hurried out to help, but Scott was waylaid by Thor before he stood to do the same.

“You are company Scott. They can handle it. Let’s you and I clear the dishes to the sink and then go get those cigars I promised. I insist.”

Caroline and Clara thanked the men for their help and then quickly got to work washing the dishes. Anna was sent upstairs to change into the dress that Clara seemed pleased to lend to her. Her traveling clothes would be set aside to wash tomorrow with the rest of the family laundry.

Thor and Scott sat on the front porch, puffing on cigars and watching the activity in front of them. Four wagons had pulled up carrying what Scott assumed were nearby neighbors. As Tom attended the horses, Ole ushered everyone into the barn with the exception of a man who had come with three young children. The man looked up at the house several times as he and Ole spoke in hushed tones. They finally separated, the man entering the barn with the children and Ole calling for Tom.

Finished with the horses, Tom went to his father and then raced up to the house. A short time later he came back out with two cases, one large and one small, and headed back to the barn. He was followed by Caroline and the two girls. Thor rose and invited Scott and Anna to come to the barn with the family. A curious look was exchanged as Anna took the arm Scott offered. They followed along to see the surprise.

A large portion of the barn had been cleared. The visitors sat on straw bales that encircled what appeared to be a makeshift dance floor. Moen father and son stood at the front of the semi-circle, a guitar in Ole’s hand and a fiddle and bow in Tom’s.

Thor joined his son and grandson. “Neighbors and friends, I’m so glad you could come. We have visiting with us Scott Lancer and Anna Knutsen. They’ve been on a very long journey and Scott will continue an even longer journey home to California. Anna comes very recently from her home and family in Norway. We hope that she will find her second home here among us.”

Nods and smiles could be seen from those gathered as they listened to Thor’s brief description of how the two came to be there. Grunts and a muttered “He’s a son of a bitch,” came as Jensvold’s name was mentioned. No feminine rebukes regarding the language in front of children followed the statement. That fact spoke volumes to Scott. When Thor finished, he nodded to the musicians who began to play a cheery two-step.

One by one the neighbors came to greet Scott and Anna, many speaking Norwegian to the girl who seemed relieved to hear the familiar tongue. Scott’s hand was nearly shaken off his arm as the robust farmers welcomed him and thanked him for his kindness. The women embraced Anna with hearty hugs, offering any help they could.

The last to greet the pair was Olaf Swenson, who asked Scott if they could speak outside. Scott directed Anna to find Clara as he followed Olaf.

“I regret that my wife can’t join us tonight. Our fourth child is soon coming, and it’s been a difficult time for her. Our three children are well behaved but require much attention. I’m afraid another could prove too much for her. Ole suggests that perhaps Anna could live with us and help my dear Tilda with the house and children. We’re good people. She would be treated as family. Of course, we would see to her education.”

“I’ve known Ole and his family for just a short time, Mr. Swenson…”

“Olaf, please.”

“Of course, Olaf. I’ve come to believe that Anna would be safe in this community and could build a life here. If Ole thinks this is a good idea I would certainly agree to it. He has already agreed to contact Anna’s family to inform them of what has happened. However, I think Anna should have a say. I’ll talk to her in the morning. Can you wait for an answer?”

“Yes, yes, of course. I’ll wait to talk to you tomorrow. Shall we go back and enjoy the music? Tom is so good on the fiddle, don’t you think?”

“He is, indeed, Olaf.” He was sure that Anna would heartily agree.

Scott scanned the barn for Anna as he entered. Looking past the dancers he soon spotted her laughing with Clara. He was glad that she had made a friend. His own friends had been important to him at that age. It was they, not his grandfather, who comforted him at his loneliest. He didn’t truly know the comfort of family until he moved 3000 miles away to California. Looking back, that was where his life truly started. He wished the same for Anna.

She looked up when Tom began to play a waltz. Scott studied her misted eyes as he approached.

“Do you know this song, Anna?”

“Ja, from home. Finn Jenta.”

“Would you like to dance?”

“Dance?”

“Yes, dance. With me.”

“I don’t…”

“Yes, you do. Just follow me.”

“But…”

“Come, Anna.” He held out his hand and they danced. “Don’t watch your feet. Look at me and feel the music.” She looked up and was soon following the lead of a man who had competently waltzed his way into his wife’s heart.

“I can do this!”

“I knew that you could.”

“Tak.”

“You are welcome.”

Her growing confidence allowed her eyes to move from Scott. Soon they found the source of the haunting tune. Young Tom played with the emotion of a much more mature musician. She stared, as if mesmerized, only breaking contact as Scott twirled her around. As the tune ended Scott heard a slight sigh. He smiled, thinking of his own daughter’s first love. A young love that took root slowly and led to marriage. Yes, Ole would have to watch this boy.

“Scott. I will stay here?”

“Is that what you want, Anna?”

“Ja, it is good here.”

“There’s a nice neighbor family who could use your help. Ole thinks it would be a good idea if you lived with them. Would you like to meet them?”

“Could I still see Tom…, I mean the Moens?”

A slow smile grew on Scott’s face. “Yes, Anna. I’m sure that you could.”

“Then, yes. But you will go?”

“Yes, I must get back to my family. I miss them and I’m sure they miss me.”

“But I will miss you.”

“And I will miss you, Anna. But we can write to each other. And maybe I can come visit.”

“Yes. You will visit!”

“Wait a minute, Anna. There’s Olaf Swenson. Let’s go meet him.”

Olaf was gathering his children as Scott and Anna approached. “Olaf, I think I may have your answer tonight.” Ole noticed the gathering and left Tom to play on his own.

It didn’t take long for Anna and the Swenson’s to warm to each other. With a promise from Ole that he would help where he could the decision was made. After one more day with Thor’s family Scott and Ole would take Anna to her new home only a few miles away from the Moen farm, but what must seem like a lifetime away from Norway. He knew Anna’s new life would be challenging, but perhaps it would turn out to be as gratifying as his own.

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Chapter Eleven

The next morning Scott rode to nearby Valley Springs to send a telegram to the Omaha train station, hoping to secure a place on the Overland Limited. As he awaited an answer, he explored the small town. It was reminiscent of the dusty town of Morro Coyo that introduced him to California, only much smaller. A longer trip to Sioux Falls would most definitely be necessary to secure more than just the basic supplies to run a farm. After the quick tour, Scott took refuge in a small cafe where he enjoyed a hearty bowl of beef stew and biscuits. Just as he finished, a teenage boy came with a responding telegram. Only a small town could track the whereabouts of a stranger with such precision.

The news turned out to be good but urgent. He would have to be in Omaha the following afternoon to claim private quarters on the Overland Limited. As luck would have it the train from Sioux Falls to Sioux City was scheduled for that very afternoon. A morning train from Sioux City to Omaha would then deliver him in time to the train that would get him home at a record pace. He raced to send the telegram that would secure his place on the train, then jumped on the horse that would take him to say a quick goodbye to the girl whose circumstances had delayed his return to his own family. With no regrets for his decision, he had only a short ride to ponder his parting words to Anna.

Arriving at the farm, he found Anna helping with the laundry. She brushed sweaty hair out of her eyes as she responded to his beckon, then returned his smile.

“Let’s sit for a minute, Anna. You can get back to the laundry in a little bit.”

She followed him to the porch and settled into a chair facing Scott. Her eyes widened as he explained that his departure was coming sooner than expected. Her eyes misted as he continued.

“Anna, it’s been a pleasure going on this journey with you. I’m so happy that you’ve found a home with people who can help you build a good life in this new country. I’ll write and hope that you’ll write to me. If you need anything, please tell me so I can help.”

Tears fell from her eyes as Anna struggled to say something. Scott was surprised as she jumped up and ran into the house. He waited, contemplating his next move. But Anna returned holding The Wizard of Oz and her small Bible.

She handed the novel to Scott who quickly handed it back to her. “The book is yours, Anna. It will help you remember our trip together.” She put her arms around him, still seemingly at a loss for words. As she released the hug she looked into his eyes and finally smiled. She sat back down and pulled a pencil from her dress pocket. For the first time, in front of him at least, she opened the Bible. Underneath her name on the inside cover, she wrote ‘Valley Springs, SD’, leaving room for the name of any other place she might find herself in her lifetime. For now, a long distance from her first home in Norway, she had secured a new home within a community of people she could trust to support her. Scott had found that for himself in California. He couldn’t think of any better beginning for Anna.

The most was made of his remaining time to say his goodbyes and express his thanks for all the help the Moens had given. He relished the firm handshakes of both Thor and Ole, feeling not only their physical strength but the strength of character each had displayed in Scott’s brief time with them. He stooped down to receive a kiss on the cheek from Caroline on one side and Clara on the other.

Tom was last. Scott shook his hand then leaned in and whispered, “You’re a good man, Tom. Now behave yourself.”

The young man’s look of surprise turned quickly into a smile as he caught Scott’s wink.  “Yes, sir! I will, I promise!”

Scott mounted the horse, waved, and hurried on. The vision of Genevieve that came to him would remain until he held her in his arms and gave her the kiss he had been dreaming of for so many days.

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Epilogue

Sioux Falls, 1974

Anna sat alone in her son’s living room. Her Tom had been gone ten years now and she yearned to follow. It had been a good life, but she was tired. Farming was difficult in the best of times, but they had lasted until her oldest son took over the homestead. Her daughters had married and had families of their own. Although her husband thankfully never saw war, she worried every day for four years as her youngest son fought in the South Pacific. That was more than enough war for her. He had come home, building his own life with the family that occupied this house. She appreciated all her family gave her, but she was ready. They would all be fine without her.

“Hello, Grandma.” The voice came from Anna’s youngest granddaughter who now seated herself at the piano next to her.

“What should I play, Grandma?”

“Play me a waltz.”

“Finn Jenta?”

“Ja, Finn Jenta.”

Her favorite since a young girl, a few missed notes did not distract from the memories that tune invoked.  She closed her eyes and saw a young Tom playing his cherished violin in the dim light of the barn so many years ago. Always the musician at dances, Anna had only ever waltzed with Tom twice: once at their wedding and again on the last anniversary they shared before his death. Both times they felt the music together, eyes only for each other.

She remembered her first waltz shared with a man whose kindness set her new life in America on course. Scott Lancer had done just as he had promised. He wrote at least four times a year. He even visited, attending her wedding along with his wife. He had expressed delight to meet her sisters who had arrived together two years prior, the sisters who stood with her at the altar. In her father’s absence Scott had walked her down the aisle, placing her hand in the hand of a beaming Tom Moen. A special reception waltz was saved for the ‘father of the bride’.

She had cried for a day after hearing from Genevieve of Scott’s passing. He had gone peacefully, surrounded by his family. She’d been glad of that.

The waltz ended and her granddaughter began playing a modern tune that Anna didn’t recognize. It was as it should be. The generations moved on. It was about time they moved on without her. It was time to meet Tom again. She hoped there was music in heaven so he could play his fiddle for her to his heart’s content and to her delight. If not, what kind of heaven would it be? And if Scott Lancer were available, she would tell him about seeing flying monkeys on a moving picture screen that were even scarier than in the book. They would laugh together, remembering. Then maybe, just maybe he would have saved a waltz for her.

The End
January 2022

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