“You have to,” she admonished, for the last time the big sister scolding the little one; she wiped Raina’s dusty face with her apron, tried to corral the loose locks about her face, tucking them into the braided knot at her neck. “Now stand up, wipe your eyes, put on a smile. Mama and Papa are waiting for you. You have to do this for them. For me.”
“All right,” Raina said reluctantly, scrambling up. “I must look a fright.”
“You do, but such a pretty fright! And no one will care. They’ll see what they want to see—the heroine of the prairie.”
“Still, I need to wash up. You’ll come in, too?”
Gerda shook her head firmly; she picked up a book and held it up. “They don’t want me. They want you. I’m fine out here, believe me—content, even. In my own way.”
“Well…” Raina looked doubtful.
“Raina!” It was Papa’s booming voice now, and there was something in it that Gerda hadn’t heard since she’d been home—pride.
“Go—go!” Gerda shooed her little sister away like she was a mouse. “You’ll see me at supper.”
Raina nodded, brushed the dust and hay off her dress, looked at her dirty hands with a shudder, and ran off to be welcomed back home—to be admired and petted. To be the joy of Mama and Papa.
Gerda returned to her book, settling down in her little corner.
Outside.
CHAPTER 37
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ANETTE HAD NEVER BEEN SO overwhelmed in her life. Not even when Mama took her to the Pedersens’ and left her there had she been so bewildered.
But this was different; this was a treat, she’d been told. A holiday! Anette had no idea what a holiday was, but evidently it was this—taking a train for the first time and oh, how terrifying it was! That great engine snorting and hissing and belching black steam into the air. Told to step up and into that live, sputtering monster, she hung back, frightened, but Mr. Woodson took her hand and helped her in. They picked a seat and he told her she could sit by the window as if this was a prize, although she didn’t really want to. But she did, to please him.
The train started up with a shudder and more hissing, more steam, and it took off, the wheels clacking, jolting her in her seat as the car swayed from side to side. So fast! Too fast! The landscape out the window started to rush by in a dizzy, colorful blur. She didn’t know which direction they were going, forward or backward, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Then she opened them, and the land rushed by her again, greedily, but this time she kept her eyes open. Those tall poles—the telegraph, Mr. Woodson told her—seemed so close to the train, she was afraid they would hit them. There were times when the train slowed, then stopped, then other people got off or on before it sped up again, too soon. It kept going for a long time in this way—starting and stopping, starting and stopping, until they got to a great place with many tracks going in different directions, and other trains at rest but still steaming, and this was Omaha, Mr. Woodson said.
He got their bags—Anette only had one, because he said there would be things waiting for her at the house where she was going to stay until school started—and he helped her climb down the big steps. It felt strange to walk on ground that didn’t move beneath her feet and for a few minutes she felt a little off-kilter. They walked toward a big house—it was the depot, he said—full of people. So many people! Anette had never seen so many people in her life.
Once, Mr. Woodson stopped and pointed to a cluster of families, all looking weary and defeated, waiting to get on one of the trains. “Homesteaders,” he said, almost sadly. “Giving up, going back East or across the sea. A lot of them go back, you know.”
Anette didn’t know. She’d never been told how her mother had come to this new land, and she herself had been born here. That you could leave it had never seemed possible to her, until now.