And it was a former pupil of hers who had called her name, but not one that she expected. To her astonishment, she found herself staring up into the face of Tor Halvorsan.
“Tor!” she cried out, very undignified, before she could stop herself. She resisted an urge to throw her arms around him.
Then she felt herself unaccountably shy, for here was a man. Of course—he was only a year younger than she was, so that made him, what—twenty? He was handsome with the Halvorsan looks—jutting chin, glossy eyebrows, thick hair, honest eyes. He was wearing city clothes that looked borrowed, the jacket slightly snug across his broad shoulders, his collared shirt gaping a little across his chest. The pants, however, were too big and were hitched up with suspenders. And he was wearing his dusty farmer’s boots.
He looked as out of place here as Anette did, Raina mused, gazing at him a bit too long as he began to color; and for a moment, he resembled that earnest young man he had been the last time she’d seen him. The good boy, who had given up an education to remain with his mother and siblings.
“What brings you all this way? And in a shop like this—the last place on earth I’d expect to find you!”
“Just a trip to look at some new plows. There are some newfangled ones that run on steam now, you don’t even need horses or oxen. Imagine!” And the way his eyes sparkled at this, Raina knew that he was a farmer now, through and through. Only a farmer could get moony over a new plow.
“How is your mother? Your brothers and sister?” It had been a long time since Raina had heard news of the family, for she and Tor had never really written to each other. She sent him a postcard when she first got to Lincoln, but he hadn’t replied. After a couple more postcards, she’d given up, knowing that he was probably too busy to correspond. And too shy.
“Fine, fine. We are good. I haven’t been to town in a while, so I wanted to bring something back for Mama. I saw this store across from the hotel where I’m staying, so I thought I’d buy something here. I thought she might like a hat. Do you think? Although there are so many!” He pointed to the hat section, such a glazed, helpless expression in his eyes, Raina had to laugh.
“I think she would love a hat, and I’ll help you pick one out.” They walked over to the hat display, looking at all the concoctions that sang out to Raina, but that would be ridiculous for a farm woman. Still, she handed him a pretty blue silk bonnet with only a few ruffles on it. “This might do. Now tell me, how are you?” She held him in her gaze; she would not let him off with a Norski’s stoic “Fine.” And as she dared him to tell her the truth, she felt something in her heart begin to unfurl.
She didn’t like to dwell on it, but the truth was, Raina was lonely. Despite the camaraderie of the university, the tight-knit group of female students, outnumbered by the males to a pathetic degree—she was lonely. Although she was the same age as her friends, she felt far older. She’d arrived in Lincoln full of hope and optimism, yet still holding some piece of her heart back. She’d had beaus but had never been serious about any of them. Sometimes she wondered if it was because of that early foolishness with Gunner Pedersen. The first time a man had paid her any attention she had gotten swept up into a nightmare. A twisted, gothic ordeal that only a devastating storm could put an end to.
Gunner Pedersen. Where was he now? Last she’d heard, he’d disappeared—left his wife and children, no one knew where he’d gone. She never thought he’d have the strength to actually leave. She’d assumed Anna would be the one to finally have enough and return to Minneapolis. But apparently it was Gunner who had vanished in the middle of the night. Where to? She honestly didn’t care. The truth was, she hadn’t thought of him in years.
Still, perhaps it was that experience that caused her to ration herself—not that she felt that she herself was tainted, no. She had enough sense and self-worth not to think that! Foolish, yes, and she’d guarded against that folly in herself ever since—perhaps too much, some of her friends might scold. But she could admit she’d constructed a little cage around her heart, to keep it from leaping too quickly again.