A Land to Call Home

by Lauraine Snelling

  Leif and Katja planned to move to their new home in the spring. If he didn’t go on to St. Paul with them and work in the roundhouse again, he’d see that whatever repairs needed doing on the Peterson place were finished before they came.

  “Hjelmer?”

  The tone said this wasn’t the first time he’d been spoken to. “Ja?”

  “She won’t like you any better without one finger.” Leif and Katja laughed softly.

  Hjelmer saw the dot of blood where he’d chewed off a hangnail. He wiped it away.

  Were they never going to get there? The heaving in his stomach had nothing to do with the swaying of the train. He repeated to himself the same words he’d been saying for weeks now whenever he thought of Penny, whenever he thought of seeing her. I am leaving this in God’s hands. If He wants me and Penny together, then we will be. He will work it out.

  But his stomach didn’t believe a word of it.

  When the conductor finally announced, “Fargo, next stop Fargo,” he looked up at Leif, who had chosen that minute to whisper something to Katja. He could see on their faces the joy and love they felt for each other. It had been growing steadily between them since last spring.

  Would he ever get to talk with Penny like that?

  The train slowed and his stomach did another flip-flop.

  “You want we should wait for you?” Leif asked when they stood on the station platform.

  “No, you go on over to the cafe and eat. I’ll be back here in time for the train to leave for St. Paul, either to go on with you or to say good-bye.”

  Katja laid a hand on his arm. “We are praying for you, too, you know. All will be well.”

  Hjelmer nodded, spun on his heel, and left the station. To think Penny had been at the Headquarters Hotel all this time. If he’d paid better attention back in Nordland, when his mother read the letters from America, he would have remembered Ingeborg had worked there. That was when Roald and Carl worked on the railroad till they could head north to find the land to homestead. He had walked by the hotel countless times the last time in Fargo on his hunt for Penny. He ducked his head against the wind that tugged at his coat.

  But when he got to the hotel’s front door, he stopped. What if. . . ? He refused to finish the question and pulled open the door of windows decorated in beveled glass and brass trim. She had said to come into the dining room and ask for her. He entered the room filled with white cloth-covered tables and oak ladder-back chairs. A fireplace on the far wall looked big enough to hold a tree trunk. Gas lights instead of candles graced the wall sconces. A young woman in a blue uniform backed out of the swinging doors and took her tray of cups over to stack on another on a table loaded with clean dishes.

  He cleared his throat. “Ah, could you tell me where to find Penny Sjornson?”

  “Mercy, I didn’t see you there.” She spun around, a hand laid to her throat. Her mouth dropped open. “Hjelmer?”

  “Ja.” He waited as if his boots had been pegged to the floor.

  She gripped the table behind her with knuckles gone white.

  She looked like a deer caught in a trap. His heart sank clear to his boot tops. He’d been right. She really didn’t want to see him. He took in a deep breath, the better to bear the pain. “I . . . I said I would come and here I am.” Stupid, such a stupid thing to say. He called himself one of the names his mother had told him never to use again. “But I won’t bother you anymore.” He turned to leave. What else could he do? It was his own fault he lost her.

  “Hjelmer, don’t go.”

  Hjelmer now knew what was meant by shackles dropping from a prisoner’s hands and ankles.

  She stepped forward, her eyes blue as the uniform and swimming in tears.

  “Ja.” He took a step forward, willing his heart to stay in his chest. “You’ve grown up.”

  She shook her head. Another step forward. He could see her hands trembling.

  Their eyes sent messages their mouths couldn’t form.

  “Ah, Penny.” His heart cried out, putting all the fear and worry and love that filled it into those two words. “I am so sorry.”

  Before he could move again, she flew across the room and threw herself into his arms. He clutched her close, breathing in the wonderful scent of her, feeling her trembling, hearing her sniffs.

  “Ah, my love, are you crying?” He stroked the nape of her neck and let the curls that escaped her hairnet tickle his nose.

  “N-no . . . y-yes.” She drew back, tears glistening like sun-kissed snowdrifts on her lashes. “I . . . I thought to tell you I loved another.” Her voice broke in the middle.

  “And now?” His heart stopped. She had said “thought.”

  “Now that I’ve seen you again, I remember what love feels like and that wasn’t it.”

  Her simple words, the tremble of her lips, and the light in her eyes made him catch his breath. “Thank you, God, thank you.” He felt like shouting, but instead he whispered the words again against the sweetness of her lips.

  Later, after he’d met Mrs. Johnson and the others on the staff, he and Penny strolled arm in arm down the street to the cafe where he was to meet with Leif and Katja.

  “Are you sure you won’t come with me now?”

  She shook her head, giving him a sad smile. “How I would love to, but I am committed to finishing this last year of high school. I will graduate in May.” When he started to say something, she laid a gloved finger over his lips. “Hjelmer, this is very important to me, and I promised Onkel Joseph and myself. I will not let us down.”

  He took her hand in his and turned her to face him.

  “I will come for you in May, when our house is built and your store and my blacksmith shop. We will be married in our church—”

  “Have they built the church, then?”

  He shook his head. “No. But who knows what can happen by then? We will have our own land to call home, but most important, we will have each other, with God’s blessing.”

  “Ja.” She looked up at him, her eyes dark in the dimness. “I pray God that spring will come soon.” They no longer felt the cold wind of winter but instead the balmy breeze of summer when they shared the kiss of their commitment.

  Epilogue

  Late April 1886

  Paws announced a friend was coming. Ingeborg looked out the window of her new frame house, but seeing no one, she went on out the door. They had moved from the soddy only three days before. Metiz strode across the land already disked for the garden and the corn patch between the house and the river. Her step seemed a bit slower and her carriage no longer so erect. Was she limping too?

  “Metiz!” Ingeborg shouted. “Welcome home. You are just in time for dinner.”

  The old woman waved and shifted the pack on her back. When they stood face-to-face, Ingeborg could tell the winter had been hard on her friend, but the black eyes still snapped, and while her smile pushed back more wrinkles, it still held all its warmth.

  Metiz swung her pack to the ground and reached inside, pulling out a rabbit-skin jacket complete with hood. “For Astrid.” A vest followed. “Andrew.” Drawing out a soft doeskin packet, she handed it to Ingeborg. “For you.”

  “More simples?” At Metiz’ nod, Ingeborg fingered the soft leather and the wonderful rabbit fur. “Thank you, my friend.”

  “Metiz, how wonderful to see you.” Haakan set Andrew down after carrying him up from the barn on his shoulders. “Baptiste will be pleased when he gets home from school. He’s been asking when you might be coming.”

  “Boy know.”

  “How would he know?”

  Metiz waited for Ingeborg and Haakan to look back at her after sharing a questioning glance. “Me go by school.” Delighted at their chagrin, she slapped her knee, the chuckles continuing to roll.

  Andrew strode over to stand in front of the old woman. “You gone too long. You come back?”

  She nodded. “I come back. Now I stay.”

  “So, we’ll be building you
a house?” Haakan asked.

  She nodded.

  “Wood frame or sod?”

  She turned to give their new frame house a careful look. “Wood. Much windows.”

  The men finished the church on Saturday. When the bell that Hjelmer had donated rang for the first time that last Sunday in May, it was to announce the wedding of Hjelmer Bjorklund and Penny Sjornson to be held immediately following the church service.

  The party lasted until dusk when people had to go home to take care of their chores. The main topic of conversation, other than the newlyweds, their store, and the shop that would open in a week, was one that had been bandied about for some time already. Now that they had a train stop for the sack house, the mailbag picked up and returned along with orders of machinery and other things, a school, a church and several other buildings, what could they call this town of theirs? The railroad referred to it as water stop number 342.

  The men thought Nordland would be fine. Haakan suggested Bjorkton, but he was the only one voting for that. Others suggested various names but no one could agree. The women, after much discussion at the quilting bees, had decided on their proposal.

  After church the next Sunday, Reverend Solberg called the group to order. “I believe we have a matter of business to bring up since you all decided this would be the day to vote on the name for our town. He turned to the blackboard and wrote five names on the board. Nordland, Bjorkton, Norville, Rivervale, and Blessing—the women’s proposed name.

  “Now we will vote by a show of hands,” Solberg continued. “Or would you rather have ballots?”

  “Ballots!” called someone from the back.

  “All right.” The preacher nodded to two men, who began handing out squares of paper with the names written on them. “You will vote for one, fold the paper, and pass the paper to the center aisle. I have pencils up here for those who need them.”

  Several hands went up. Women dug in their purses, shushed the restless children, and silence fell as the people made their choice.

  With the ballots collected, three men—Haakan, Joseph, and Anner Valders—retired outside to count them.

  People visited in the meantime, congratulating the families of the bride and groom on such a good time they’d had the week before. The men discussed seeding and fencing, the women the next quilting bee and their children.

  Ingeborg bounced Astrid on her knee to keep her entertained, and Kaaren snagged Sophie back from crawling under the benches. Grace sat at her feet chewing on the hard crust of bread Kaaren had brought along for just that purpose.

  “What’s taking them so long?” Kaaren whispered. “Trygve needs to be fed, and I thought I could do that on the way home.” When the baby fussed again, she handed him to his father, who looked a bit sheepish, but nevertheless rocked his son in his arms.

  “They have to be sure.” Astrid reached for the brooch at her mother’s neckline. Ingeborg closed her hand over her baby’s pointing finger and kissed the tip. Astrid poked her finger into her mother’s mouth, her eyes dancing at the game she knew would come. Nibble and giggle it could well be called.

  The men returned. Silence fell.

  Haakan handed the paper to Reverend Solberg and took his seat next to Ingeborg.

  “The name of this town is to be called . . .” He paused and looked around with a grin.

  “Read it, Pastor.”

  “Blessing! A fine name for a fine town. And a good name for a church. Blessing Lutheran Church. Dear Lord, bless us all.” While the clapping did not seem to be universal, the women applauded loudly.

  “I like it,” Kaaren said.

  “You should. You thought it up,” Ingeborg reminded her.

  “You suppose it came from the Almighty?”

  “I don’t doubt it.” Ingeborg closed her eyes. “Think of it. Blessing, North Dakota, for I bet you that’s what we’ll be called in the next few years. The state of North Dakota.”

  “Uff da. So much change.”