So she’d held him at gunpoint all night. What a fantastic thing to recall! She’d pointed the gun, the one her sister had given her the night before they moved away from Minneapolis to this desolate wasteland—“To use if there is only one way out, my darling,” Margit had whispered fiercely in Anna’s ear—right at his heart. All night long, she held her husband hostage. She, Anna Pedersen, who used to weep whenever mice had to be killed, back when she was young and tender, untouched.
She blamed the prairie. She blamed her husband. She would not blame herself.
Let the man ride off now with his gallant steed; he wouldn’t come to any harm. She was sure everyone was safe—maybe a little cold and hungry—at the schoolhouse. The Schoolteacher had sense; she wouldn’t have risked the children’s lives. What a simpleton Gunner was—he did not understand women at all. Only as figures of romance and fancy, to be saved, protected. Their strength downright terrified him, she had seen that herself too many times to count. So naturally, the moment a new woman came into his life, outwardly uncertain and shy, he had behaved like a romantic patsy. Oh, the poor, pretty young thing, this Raina Olsen, boarding out for the first time, so homesick! She needed his protection, his assurance—just as he’d thought Anna had, back when they were courting.
But Anna hadn’t been deceived at all by the Schoolteacher. She could see the young woman was stronger than she appeared, even though her head had been decidedly turned by Gunner’s ridiculous behavior. What Anna had feared was that the young woman would use that strength to persuade Gunner to run off, something that Gunner would never do on his own, despite his seductive words and actions.
Anna didn’t fear that any longer. Something had happened during the long night while the wind broke against the windows and her husband sat like a hostage before the gun in her hand. She’d seen her husband for who he was. Six foot two, and terrified of a woman a full foot shorter. A boy who only pretended he was a man. She’d realized she could pull the trigger anytime, and she wouldn’t feel remorse, only justification.
It was a powerful feeling. It gave her back control of her life.
Busy at the stove, baking a loaf of bread she’d set out to rise earlier, she bustled about the kitchen; anyone looking at her would see the Anna of old: the sweetheart, the dazzler, the icon of femininity. It was just her and the children. She was humming a contented little tune when she heard horses pull up outside. She looked out the window in surprise; Gunner couldn’t be back so soon, could he?
The sleigh outside belonged to Doc Eriksen, the only physician around. He had practiced in the old country and was beyond the age when a man of medicine should be expected to retire peacefully. The prairie, of course, had forced him back into service; the ruthless prairie, with its endless dangers to people formerly used to living close together, relying upon one another. To have a doctor in a community out here was nothing less than a miracle, even if he was a doctor who looked as if he required medical care himself. He waved at Anna, shouted something; she glanced at the children—they were sitting close to the stove, maybe too close, so she snapped at them to stay back—then she threw on a shawl and went outside.
The cold slapped her across the face, lifted her almost out of her shoes; she gasped, she wiped away tears. She didn’t imagine how anyone could last out in it, and she thought of Gunner. And then—reluctantly—of the Schoolteacher. And finally, of Anette.
“Mrs. Pedersen, is your husband at home?” Doc Eriksen remained in his sleigh, even after she urged him to come inside and warm up. He was covered in robes, and only his eyes were visible; his brows were frosted over, his voice muffled.
“No, he went to the schoolhouse to get the children.”
“Ah. I was just out at the Blickenstaffs’。 Their children didn’t come home. So I’m heading up to the schoolhouse, too. Are you all well here? Are you missing anyone?”
“No. Well…” She had to tell him, didn’t she? “Except for the Schoolteacher. And Anette, of course. But certainly they’re all together, with the others. Gunner and the children and I, we were inside all night.”