Eventually, she got used to the Johnsons, as she’d gotten used to the Pedersens, and while there was a world of difference between them, the one constant was that she still felt as if she didn’t belong. And now that she was growing up—she was twelve, they’d had a birthday party for her with presents and ice cream and an organ grinder with a monkey—she was starting to realize that she might never feel as if she belonged anywhere. That maybe she had never had the chance to, or that she didn’t have it in her, and she was destined always to be a stranger in someone else’s house. And this realization troubled her.
Especially when she had to say goodbye to Mr. Woodson, who was going back to New York City. He seemed excited about it, although sad, too.
The day before he was to get on one of those terrifying trains and head east, he took her for a walk. It was a long walk, the longest she’d had since coming to Omaha, but she liked that; her legs stretched out, they ached in a good way, and when she asked, as they came to the outskirts of town, whether she could run, he laughed and said, “Go ahead!”
And she did! She stretched out her legs and ran, her wooden hand didn’t impede her at all, she ran and imagined that Fredrik was chasing her, and for a moment, she could feel him on her heels, ready to overtake her. And in the next moment, he had; he’d run on ahead of her, and once he turned back to wave at her, then he rounded a corner and disappeared. She stopped, then; tears filled her eyes as her heart followed him for a moment. Then her heart let him go. He was really gone now, gone forever—she wiped her tears, wrenched by his loss again, and the impending loss of Mr. Woodson, who’d been so kind, who made her laugh, who—maybe even loved her.
She hugged herself as she cried. Because no one was left to do so.
Mr. Woodson was beside her in a jiffy, though. He didn’t hug her—he never had; he seemed awkward around her in that way. But he did pat her shoulder and she heard him sniff, too, as he managed to say, thickly, “There, there.”
Then he took her hand, and they stood for a long moment together, as if waiting for someone. But finally, the two of them started walking again.
After a few minutes Mr. Woodson stopped, and he pointed at a little store.
“That’s where I first saw her,” he told Anette, staring at the shabby little store with a couple of weathered wagons and sturdy farm horses hitched in front of it. “That young girl. My maiden of the prairie. I thought I was an old fool, to be so taken with her. But she opened my eyes and led me out there. She led me to you.” He squeezed her hand but kept on staring, still looking for someone who was not there. Anette understood, so she squeezed his hand back. He had a ghost, just like she did.
“At least I got to save you,” he continued thoughtfully. “At least I got to do some good, after all.” He sighed. It was a deep sigh, the kind of sigh that settled something.
Then they turned around and, hand in hand, walked back to town.
FIVE YEARS LATER
CHAPTER 38
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RAINA DECIDED TO TAKE ANETTE shopping today, this sunny Saturday in early August; they could both use some new things for fall, hats and scarves, perhaps some new shirtwaists. Anette had taken the short train ride from Omaha to Lincoln to spend the day with her as she did most every summer Saturday. University—Raina was in her final year, studying English—would start up again soon, so this was a good time. And a good time to sit Anette down and have a talk about her future.
Anette had graduated from the high school this past spring; it hadn’t been easy, for even though her circumstances had improved so vastly, she had remained somewhat of a slow learner. Raina had helped her along as much as she could, and so had Anette’s classmates, who all acted protective of the country girl with the wooden hand. Anette had passed her final examinations, but barely. She simply wasn’t a scholar. She’d been given such an opportunity, but sometimes Raina felt it had been wasted on her, that there were so many homestead children who could have benefited more from the windfall, the education, the Heroine Fund. Anette had been the chosen one—as she herself had been—but in Anette’s case, Raina feared she had been sent down a path that she shouldn’t have been.