The Children's Blizzard(84)

    Then Mr. Woodson took her hand again, and they stepped down out of the horsecar and got on another, but this one was attached to some wires running overhead, and it went so fast! Not as fast as the train, but almost, and he said this was a cable car; it was new, Omaha was very proud of it, but back where he came from—New York City—they had many of these, he said so casually. As if it were not the most miraculous, terrifying thing he had ever seen! But by now, her senses were so overwhelmed all she could do was nod dumbly and hope that soon everything would stop and she could go somewhere quiet and sleep.

And that’s what happened; they got off the cable car and walked a little way to a neighborhood with houses so close together, Anette marveled, and it made her uncomfortable. Was she supposed to live in a place like this, so close to other houses that you could see inside them? See how happy they were, all these fancy people?

These houses were so enormous, many families must live in them together—they had one, two, three stories! They even had large outdoor rooms stuck on them that Mr. Woodson, noticing how she stared at them, called verandas.

“Verandas,” she repeated; it was such a pretty word, and she wondered if even Teacher knew it.

    They went up the steps to one of these homes with a veranda that stretched around the corner of the house, maybe clear all the way around, she couldn’t tell. They were welcomed inside by a man and a woman and the woman knelt beside Anette very tenderly, but she didn’t put her arms around her, which Anette appreciated. Because she just didn’t think she could stand one more unfamiliar sensation right then.

These people, the Johnsons, were what Mr. Woodson called her guardians, and when he said it, Anette caught a sadness in his voice. He had explained it to her when she’d asked why she couldn’t live with him if she had to go to the city.

“Oh, you wouldn’t want to live with an old bachelor, a working stiff like me,” he’d sputtered, but he also looked pleased that she’d asked. “I have no business taking care of a little girl!” But he promised he would remain in Omaha for a while and show her all the sights before he went back to New York, so she would still see him. For a few weeks.

Anette didn’t want to think about him leaving, not yet—so much had happened in such a short time! She was too tired to think—Mrs. Johnson saw that immediately while the two men stood chatting, and she rose with a cluck of her tongue.

“Oh, you two! Can’t you see the little girl is asleep on her feet? I’m taking her up to her room now so she can take a nap.”

As the nice lady led her up the stairs, suddenly Anette was seized with panic—who was this lady, really? Where was she taking her—to lock her up somewhere? She stopped and turned to Mr. Woodson and began to talk in Norwegian, forgetting he didn’t speak it.

“You will come, too? Don’t let me be alone—I’m afraid!”

    But he seemed to understand her anyway, because he went up the steps to her and knelt down.

“I’ll be back for dinner. It’s a celebration, Anette—for you! A party! Don’t be afraid of the Johnsons, they are very kind people and Mrs. Johnson only wants you to rest for a while. But I’ll be back, I promise.”

Anette nodded; her heart stopped squeezing with fear, and she continued up the stairs to be shown a room that was so splendid, once more all she could do was gape. There was so much furniture! She’d never seen so much furniture in her life, many chairs and bureaus and what Mrs. Johnson called a dressing table, and also what she called a wardrobe, and then a bed so huge, Anette was afraid of it. She might be swallowed up in the middle of this ocean of a bed!

She held herself perfectly still, afraid to move, her eyes taking in everything, but she still didn’t quite comprehend, even when Mrs. Johnson repeated it, that this was her room. She was still trying to make sense of it as the kind woman helped her change out of her traveling clothes. That’s what Mrs. Johnson called them, although to Anette they were simply clothes, but evidently rich people had clothes for different occasions. Then she was shown a wardrobe full of new dresses to choose from, and bureaus full of nightgowns, so she put one of those over her head and climbed into the bed for a nap.

Oh, how nice it was! It was softer and smelled better than anything she’d ever known in her life—it smelled like flowers and rainwater. She arranged herself on her pillow and shut her eyes, so Mrs. Johnson could get the hint and leave her alone. But sleep didn’t come immediately.

How was it that just this morning she had said goodbye to the Pedersens? Mother Pedersen had actually wept and held her close, which Anette had not liked at all. Father Pedersen had given her a little present of flowers to take on the train, which she lost somewhere along the way. Then she had been driven away from that house that she’d been told, once, to call home.

    And she would never see the other place—that dirty soddie that had once been home—ever again, either. Nor, probably, her mama. Who had left in the middle of the night as mysteriously as she had arrived.

But Anette had not been surprised.

Nothing really surprised her anymore. Too much was strange. Too much had happened to her. She ached with a longing for something, but she wasn’t sure what. This place, this grand palace, was to be her home now, and then the school in the fall would be another home of sorts—but she couldn’t bring herself to think of that. Although Teacher would be nearby then, in Lincoln, at something called a college, and she promised she would visit Anette often.