Believing the Dream

by Lauraine Snelling

  “Andrew got in trouble, but he warned Toby that he’d beat him to bits if he said anything like that again.”

  “And did he?”

  “Not yet.”

  Grace watched the discussion before her fingers flashed her comments. “Toby told me he was sorry.”

  “Told you?” Ingeborg paused. “Oh, you mean he can sign too?” Maybe there was hope for the boy after all. She knew Anner Valders wouldn’t tolerate that kind of behavior if he knew it was going on. Was Pastor Solberg not talking with Mr. and Mrs. Valders? She thought a moment. Pastor Solberg hadn’t mentioned Andrew’s transgressions to them either. Oh, my son. How do we teach you there are other ways to settle things than with your fists, even when you are in the right? And I don’t blame you a bit for wanting to beat that Toby into the dirt. How could he be mean to Grace, of all people?

  Grace reached out and put her hands on Ingeborg’s cheeks to turn her face so she could see. Slowly, with intense concentration, she spoke. “I am right about Mr. McBride.”

  Ingeborg fought the tears as she watched Grace work so hard to talk. She turned her face to kiss the little girl’s palm. “I know, Gracie, I know.” Father, you have given us such a treasure in this little child. Help us to keep her safe.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “So how is Mr. McBride doing?” Kaaren Knutson, Ingeborg’s sister-in-law and headmistress of the deaf school, turned from sliding freshly baked bread from the pans and lining them up on a flat wooden rack to cool. She dipped her fingers in the softened butter and spread the butter over the tops of the loaves. “There now.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “So?”

  Ilse Gustafson shook her head and sighed. “He . . . he gets so angry he cannot think straight. And his fingers . . .” She shook her head again. “Like boards they are, stiff and stubborn.” Her own fingers, fluid like water, danced through the alphabet for sign language. She brushed a drift of mouse brown hair back from her forehead and tucked it into the sides caught back in a bun.

  “I know, and other than praying for him, I’m not sure what to do either. He has been spoiled by his mother, and I have a feeling he is sure his father hates him. Some people do not do well with a child who has an impairment, as you well know.”

  Ilse nodded. Oh, Lord, how families can hurt each other just because a child can’t hear or talk or some such. Please help me deal with this man. There is just something about him. . . . She brought her attention back to Kaaren. “Excuse me, my mind just took off all by itself.”

  “Mine does that too. Especially when there is someone I am overconcerned about.”

  “You think I am overconcerned here?” Always quick to doubt her own value, Ilse’s high forehead wrinkled, and her pale blue eyes grew anxious.

  “Oh no, dear child, never.” Kaaren took the steps to reach Ilse and draw her close, her hands automatically patting the girl’s back, noting the shoulders still so thin the bones stuck out too much like angels’ wings.

  “Ilse, are you not taking time to eat again?” She drew back and lifted Ilse’s chin with one finger.

  “I think I am, but then someone calls, and I go help and then get busy, and—I’m sorry.”

  “Ilse, you do not have to be sorry. I am the one who should apologize. Forgive me for taking advantage of your generous heart. You work so hard, and I appreciate you beyond words. This school would not function were it not for you.”

  “Ah, I . . .” Ilse wiped her eyes on her apron. “Mange takk.” She drew a scrap of cotton from her pocket and blew her nose. “And to think I came here asking about Mr. McBride.”

  “Ja, well, we must solve that problem too, but I think our Father in heaven is more needed with him than we are, although we get to be His hands.” She pointed to a chair. “Sit. The coffee is hot, and the bread is calling.” The two, working as a team as they’d learned so well in the two years since Ilse left the boardinghouse and came to help at the school, quickly had the bread sliced and buttered, cheese cut, and coffee poured without either telling the other what to do.

  When they sat at the long table covered with a red-and-white-checked cloth, they both sighed at the same moment, looked at each other, and laughed.

  “A moment’s sit-down is such a pleasure.” Kaaren pushed the plate of bread over to Ilse. “Help yourself. Where is Mr. McBride now?”

  “Out with Lars. I should be baking cookies so we will have plenty when the children return from school.”

  “Ja, and I should be starting supper.” Kaaren picked up her coffee cup and inhaled the steam. “Back to your question regarding Mr. McBride. I am truly hoping that the wood-carving lessons with Onkel Olaf will be a turning point. Something tells me there is an artist hiding behind that angry face and we just have to keep looking until we find a way to let it out.”

  As soon as the deaf students could sign, they attended the Blessing School with the local children, taught by Pastor Solberg, who signed as he spoke. Mr. McBride, however, at twenty-eight, was too old for school, so they took Onkel Olaf up on his offer to teach the man woodworking.

  “You think so, really?”

  “Ja. And when spring comes, perhaps working in the soil will help him.”

  “He sure hasn’t taken to milking cows.” Ilse shook her head.

  “No, but did you see his face when the calf was born? Like he’d seen a miracle, which every birthing is, far as I’m concerned.”

  “Ja, but he does the milking anyway.” Ilse propped her elbows on the table and took another bite from her bread and cheese. “I remember being angry.”

  “When?”

  “After Mor and Far died on the ship and I was all by myself. Until Bridget took me under her wing, I was so scared.”

  Kaaren took a bite of bread and studied Ilse. “Are you saying you think Mr. McBride is afraid?”

  “Did I say that?”

  “Not in so many words, but I think that’s your meaning.”

  “How do you know things like that? The meaning behind the words, I mean.” She smiled at stumbling over the ideas.

  “Well, I will tell you, it is much easier now to figure out what you mean, because you talk more. No longer are you that ghost of a girl who tried always to be invisible.” Kaaren pushed the bread plate back to Ilse. “Have some more so you don’t fade away.”

  Ilse took another slice and rearranged the cheese to give herself time to think. “So what could he be afraid of? He is a big man.”

  “I’d say that he is afraid he will not learn the sign language and that he will have to go back to his father as a failure.”

  “That will never happen. I will not allow it.” Ilse could feel her chin tighten. She bit down hard on the bread, chewing as though she were ready to fight the father, who had not even had the courtesy to bring his son to the deaf school, sending him instead with a servant. At the time she’d been a bit overwhelmed at the thought of such wealth, but no longer.

  “I’d like to give that old Mr. McBride a piece of my mind.”

  “Me too. And I’m sure that one day we shall have that opportunity. But for now, let’s get his son able to communicate.”

  “But if the father or mother doesn’t learn sign language, who will he speak with?”

  “Good question.” Kaaren brushed the crumbs off the tablecloth and into her waiting palm, then dusted them onto the plate. “That’s why I believe we need to add to what we offer. We must teach families too, at least one member besides the deaf one. I know we send home the book, but how many people take the time to learn like we had to in the beginning?” Kaaren nodded, her mouth pursed, one finger stroking her chin, eyes half closed.

  Ilse rose and quietly began putting things away. Much earlier she’d learned to recognize Kaaren’s deep-thinking actions. Something good would come from their discussion, something really good.

  When she heard Mr. McBride come in through the door, she fixed a plate with the leftover bread and cheese and poured a cup of coffee. Perhaps with a bit more encouragement, inc
luding food, George McBride would be more amenable to bending his fingers again.

  That evening, when supper was finished and everyone had pitched in to do their share of the chores, the Knutson family and all the deaf students gathered in the parlor that had been enlarged enough for everyone to have a seat. Lars and Trygve, his elder son, carved new wooden spoons for the cooks, and Samuel, the baby of the family at six, played with a kitten from the batch who lived behind the kitchen stove. Kaaren took up the book she’d begun reading a few days earlier and turned to where they’d left off, reading The Adventures of Tom Sawyer aloud while Sophie signed so the deaf students could enjoy the story too.

  “We have a black man living here in Blessing too, huh, Ma?” Trygve, setting his carving in his lap, interrupted the story. “I like Mr. Sam.”

  “The Lincolns are fine folks,” Lars said around the stem of his pipe, which as usual had gone out.

  “How come some people don’t like them or Metiz and Baptiste either?” Trygve asked.

  “Because they are stupid.”

  “Sophie, how can you say such a thing?” Kaaren kept her place with one finger and frowned at her daughter.

  “Well, they are. Toby Valders said something mean to Lemuel, and he had no right to do that. He’s not just stupid, he’s mean too.”

  “Me and Andrew are going to—” Trygve clapped a hand over his mouth.

  Lars took his pipe from his mouth and set it on the table beside him. No one in the room moved, not even George McBride, who’d been tapping his foot where he sat over in the corner.

  “Now, Trygve, finish what you were about to say.” Lars looked straight into his son’s eyes.

  Trygve stared down at his hands. “We want to teach Toby a lesson, one that he remembers for a good long time.”

  “And what are you going to do?”

  Trygve shrugged. “Don’t know yet.”

  “I see. And what has Pastor Solberg been teaching Andrew and Toby?”

  “How to chop wood?”

  Kaaren kept herself from smiling at the innocent look Trygve gave his father. She put her arm around Samuel so he could lean against her shoulder. Lord, help these sons of ours to learn to love peace and seek righteousness, not with their fists. There must be a way to get through to Toby. She remembered the day the two little boys had been discovered stealing food from Penny’s store. They’d hidden on the train coming out of the slums of New York and finally made it to Blessing before getting caught. The childless Valderses had adopted them, and life had never been the same in Blessing.

  “Don’t you think chopping wood is to help them consider what they’ve done wrong and to help them learn to live right?” Lars rested his elbow on his knees and stared intently at his son.

  “Oh.” Trygve played with a curl of wood. “But Far, sometimes Toby is mean to Grace too, and—” His sister laid a hand on his arm and shook her head no.

  “He is too.”

  One of the other children stood and came over to Kaaren, standing by the arm of her rocker until, with a smile, Kaaren put her other arm around the girl.

  “It’s all right.” She spoke slowly and clearly so the child could lip-read. “I think we should talk about this later, or we’ll never get our reading done tonight. Trygve, you get the Bible and turn to First John. Sophie, let’s read.” She opened Tom Sawyer to the page they’d been on and continued reading, the kitten purring in her lap while Samuel stroked its fur.

  When finished with the chapter, Kaaren took the Bible from Trygve and began reading. “ ‘Beloved, let us love one another: for love is of God. . . . ’ ” When she finished, she said, “This is what God has to say about the way we are to live. By tomorrow night I want to hear some ideas from all of you on how we can live that kind of love right here in our home and at school. Now let us pray.

  “Father God, we thank you for loving us, even though sometimes we don’t love others like you ask. Show us ways to be more loving and help us always to be thankful for all the things you have given us. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

  Kaaren looked around the room. “Now, all of you get to bed, and I’ll be up in a few minutes to tuck you in.” Her eyes stopped at Grace. Something is cooking in that girl’s mind. I wonder what she is up to.

  Later, as she sat on the edge of her bed and unpinned the long braid of golden hair she wore around her head like a crown, she yawned and rolled her head from side to side.

  “Long day?” Lars lay on his side, enjoying their nightly ritual.

  “No more than usual. How did Mr. McBride do out in the machine shed with you?”

  “Doesn’t take much instruction to clean rust off the machinery and oil it.”

  “He’s not slow, is he?”

  “Not that I can tell. His father just didn’t take any time with him. What a waste. He has to learn patience, my word, but he has to learn patience.” Lars ran his fingers through the hair she was brushing one hundred strokes. “He likes working with the horses, though. Perhaps he could apprentice to Hjelmer at the blacksmith.”

  “That would give him a trade, not that he needs one for money, but it would give him a feeling of usefulness.” Kaaren turned and rested one knee up on the bed, her long flannel nightgown covering her feet too. “I’ve talked with Onkel Olaf, and he will start him on woodworking next week. Let’s give him a chance at both things and see how he does. Ilse is determined he is going to learn to sign, no matter how frustrated and angry he gets.”

  “The poor man hasn’t a chance with all of us ganging up on him.” Lars lay back on his pillow. “Hurry up and get under the covers before you freeze and I have to warm up your feet. As Matthew said, let today’s troubles be sufficient for today.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Northfield, Minnesota

  “I can’t believe all these entries.”

  Thorliff watched as Elizabeth sifted through the stack of envelopes. When he came up with the idea of the Christmas story contest, he’d thought perhaps twenty entries would be a goodly number. Instead, they received that many in a day sometimes. He had listed all the entries in a ledger that included the day they arrived and which category they fit under. Schoolteachers had assigned this as a composition to their students, both colleges were well represented, including faculty, and the people of the town and the outlying countryside were dredging up their Yuletide memories as well.

  “Father says we’ve received twenty-five new subscriptions to the newspaper, thanks to the contest.” Elizabeth looked over her shoulder to Thorliff. “This was a pretty good idea.”

  What? The prickly Miss Rogers giving him a compliment? Thorliff pulled the ledger out from under the counter. “Thank you.” But at times he wondered if he would have suggested the contest if he’d had any idea of the avalanche of entries they’d get. Or that the work of it was going to fall to him. Tomorrow was his turn to recite in Bible class, and while he was prepared with questions of his own, he had yet to formulate an answer to the teacher’s question.

  “Do you need some help?”

  He blinked and looked sideways at her. “Uh, yes. That would be very nice.”

  “So what is your system?”

  “I open the envelope, decide which category the story fits in, enter it in the ledger, and then place story and envelope in the proper box.” He motioned to the row of four boxes on the shelf under the counter.

  “Okay, how about if I open them and hand them to you for entry?”

  “Good.” Standing at the counter, they set to the task, with Elizabeth slitting all the envelopes with a letter opener and creating a pile with the envelopes on top of the pages.

  “How is school going for you?”

  Thorliff nearly swallowed his Adam’s apple. Why was she being so pleasant? “Good.” Not really, but what should one say? Of course if I’d hear from Anji, perhaps I would feel better about school. Come on, dolt, think of something polite to say back. Good, wonderful, brilliant repartee. “And for you?”

  “Could be bett
er. I wish St. Olaf had the science classes I want to take so I didn’t have to trek down the hill midmorning and then back up. Wasn’t so bad in the fall, but with all the snow we’ve had . . .” She waved a paper in front of him. “Wait until you read this one.”

  Thorliff had heard her refer to medical school before at other times but had never asked her about it.

  “How are things going?” Phillip Rogers shut the door before more snow blew in and stamped his feet to get the snow off his boots. “Brrr. Such miserable weather. I told Tom to bring the sleigh back in an hour, so I hope you will be done by then.”

  “I will or else it’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”

  Phillip hung his coat and muffler on the coatrack and set his wool fedora on top. “How are the entries coming?”

  “We need to begin reading them and sorting out the best. I asked the teachers at Carleton and St. Olaf if they would read the top three or four in each category.” Thorliff motioned to the four boxes.

  “Good grief, that many? And the final deadline is when?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  Phillip massaged his chin for a moment. “I know what we’ll do. Tomorrow, if the two of you can take the time, we will take the boxes home, have supper, and spend the evening reading. I’m sure Annabelle will help us. Elizabeth, why don’t you ask Thornton if he would like to join us. We’ll make a party out of this.”

  Elizabeth glanced at Thorliff out of the side of her eye. “What do you say?”

  I say I have homework to do. “I-I guess that would be all right. Perhaps the next day I can take the finalists up to Mr. Ingermanson, and maybe Thornton would take the ones to Mr. Jordan.” Though Thornton Wickersham attended Carleton, Thorliff had met him one night while skating at the pond with Elizabeth.

  “And if they can get the results back to us over the weekend, we will publish the winners in next week’s edition. Perfect.”