“But tonight we’ll have Christmas by ourselves.” Ingeborg checked the goose roasting in the oven and scenting the air with rich smells. She tweaked Astrid’s nose as the girl inhaled the goosey fragrance. “A few more geese, and we’ll have enough feathers for a new feather bed. I was hoping to send one back with Thorliff.”
“Thanks, Mor, but I’m plenty warm with the quilts you sent with me.” Thorliff exchanged newspaper sections with his father. “What do you think of all the unrest with the unions?”
“I believe in uniting for bargaining power, but violence isn’t the answer either. If the rich wouldn’t be so greedy, the workingman would give his best when treated right. Like the railroads and the flour mills.” He tapped a finger against the paper on the table. “Kill off the farmers and there won’t be any grain to haul or grind. We know as well as the railroad barons that there has to be profit to keep things running, but they better learn to manage better. Especially when times are tough like now. Drought can’t be planned for.”
“Astrid, you can start setting the table now. Let’s use the new tablecloth and napkins.” Hands protected by two large potholders, Ingeborg pulled the roasting pan from the oven and set it on the stovetop. When she lifted the domed lid, the crisply browned goose gleamed in the lamplight. “My, that smells good.”
“You want I should mash the potatoes?” Andrew leaned around his mother to inhale the tantalizing scents.
“Please, and pour the potato water into that crock.”
He rolled his eyes at her. That’s what they always did, kept the potato water for bread making. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Haakan, you want to hold the platter?”
Instead, he picked up the two long cooking forks and, piercing the goose on both sides, lifted it dripping from the roaster and transferred it to the platter. “Perfection. You want me to carve?”
“In a few minutes.” She scooted the pan over to the hotter part of the stove, and when the pan juices bubbled, she poured in flour she had already mixed with water, stirring it all together to make rich brown gravy. “You could start taking out the stuffing. That bowl is warm for it.” She nodded to the serving bowls sitting on the warming shelf.
Within minutes they were sitting around the table, heads bowed as Haakan offered thanks for the food and their safety, and asked for the same for all those buried under the blizzard.
Ingeborg added her own silent plea as visions of their earlier times flitted through her mind. Thank you for all you have blessed us with.Thank you. Mange takk so many times over. She joined her amen with the others. “Ah, so much we have to be grateful for.” She patted Thorliff ’s hand. “And so wonderful to have you sitting here beside me again.”
Thorliff nodded and turned his hand to clasp hers. “Thank you. My life here is certainly different from my one in Northfield. Someday you’ll have to go there to see it in person.”
“We will be there when you graduate.” Haakan laid slice after slice of breast meat over on the platter. “Who wants the drumstick?”
“Me.” Andrew passed his plate. “Both if no one else wants one. That’s one good thing about goose, all dark meat.”
“I’m as stuffed as that goose was,” Haakan said when they finished eating and sat back in their chairs.
Thorliff reached for one more roll. “I eat so many of my suppers alone at the office that being together means more than the food. And no matter how good Cook is at the Rogerses’, no one makes bread like you do, Mor.
“I made the rolls.” Astrid nudged him with her elbow.
“Oh, then you have learned well.”
“So you don’t eat at the college then?” Ingeborg nodded to the coffee cups, and Astrid got up to bring the pot to the table.
“Cook fixes me a packet, and I eat with the other townies. I think my friend Benjamin sits beside me as much for the cookies Cook sends along as he does for my wit and wisdom.”
Astrid plunked back down in her chair. “Are we going to open presents pretty soon?”
“You think some of those presents under the tree are for you?” Thorliff tugged on one of her braids.
“Yep. My name is on at least two.” She propped her elbows on the table. “But I think there are more that are hid yet.”
“Hidden.”
She gave him one of those you-think-you’re-smart looks.
“We’ll open gifts after the dishes.” Ingeborg stacked the dishes and carried them to the pan on the stove. Astrid and Andrew cleared the rest of the table while Thorliff answered Haakan’s questions about life in Northfield.
“You know all the time I spent helping with the steam engine?”
Haakan nodded, his head wreathed in pipe smoke.
“Mr. Rogers couldn’t believe how quickly I learned to take apart and put together that old printing press, but the work here trained me for that. Our engine here is a saint compared to that cranky thing.”
“You like working on a newspaper?”
“More than I thought I would. Seeing those sheets of paper come out with the columns and type in order is like stitching grain sacks closed at the separator. You know you’ve accomplished something, sometimes at great odds. I prefer writing, but this job is teaching me a great deal. Someday I’d like to bring a newspaper here to Blessing.”
“Really? You do want to come home to live?” Astrid juggled the plate she almost dropped.
“Ja, why? Did you think I was leaving forever?”
“Well, if you went to work for a newspaper in Minneapolis or Chicago or something, we’d never see you.”
“Don’t worry about it. I have to get through school first.”
“Seems so strange not to be at church.” Astrid leaned against her mother sitting in her chair.
“We’ll have the program and everything sometime after Christmas.”
“I know, but Thorliff might already be gone by then.”
Haakan knocked the ashes out of his pipe. “Guess I better get the candles lit before Astrid has a fit.”
“Pa!”
The three younger ones stayed in the kitchen until Haakan called them into the parlor.
Astrid stopped just through the doorway and clasped her hands under her chin. “It is most beautiful! Oh, how beautiful.”
Thorliff, right behind her, laid his hands on her shoulders and squeezed gently. The tiny flames atop white candles shimmered against the green of the pine tree. Carved and painted wooden ornaments of stars, animals, and other figures hung from the branches, along with crocheted snowflakes.
“Your candles are perfect.” Andrew took the first steps closer to the tree. “She spent hours dipping them all.”
“We didn’t have molds that small.” Astrid looked over her shoulder up at her big brother. “I wanted the tree to be extra nice this year.”
“It is.” Thorliff squeezed her shoulders again and hugged her against him. “You did well.” He nudged her forward. “See all those presents? You’d think we were a huge family for all those boxes.”
“Come, let’s read the Christmas story.” Haakan beckoned them to the chairs. As soon as they sat, he opened the Bible to Luke and read in Norwegian. “ ‘And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus. . . . ’ ”
Ingeborg closed her eyes, the better to let the familiar words sink in. Such a simple story of simple people who had a baby. Only that baby was the Son of God. So she, like Mary, had saved so many things to ponder in her heart, to take out and delight in again so many years later, to take out and study, hoping each time to understand, and with understanding, accept. Or is it the other way around? Acceptance first andthen understanding, and sometimes still not understanding but rejoicingin the gifts God gives? The thoughts made her open her eyes and look with love on each member of her family. So there weren’t more. That seemed to be God’s divine ordinance for her. So the storm bound them in. No matter. They were safe and warm and had each other.
She let a tear trickle down h
er cheek. To sing His praises for whatis, rather than weep and whine over what isn’t. Lord, please help me todo just this—sing your praises no matter what.
She heard Haakan’s voice again. “ ‘And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.’ ” She murmured the words along with him, staring at the candles on the tree flickering in the draft from the window, or was the flickering due to the tears that continued to amble down her face?
“Don’t cry, Mor,” Astrid whispered, taking her mother’s hand.
Ingeborg squeezed her daughter’s hand. “Ah, but these are tears of joy, for I cannot think of the words to sing enough praise for what is welling in my heart.”
Haakan closed the Bible and held it between his hands. “Your mother is right. So blessed are we. The Christ child came, and storm or no storm, He lives in our hearts even now.”
“Amen.” Ingeborg hugged Astrid and kissed her cheek. “And now I think we must open our presents, or someone I know will expire with excitement.”
Astrid giggled. “I love Christmas.” She knelt in front of the tree and reached for a package. “This one is for Thorliff.”
As each opened a gift with the others looking on, the thanks arose like the smoke from the candles.
“Mor, Far, this is too much.” Thorliff caressed the spines of the Dickens collection. The glow on his face made her and Haakan exchange glances of joy.
“All this for me?” Andrew picked up each of the carving tools as if they were made of spun glass and infinitely precious. “Tusen takk.” He whispered the words as he laid the instruments back in the leatherbound case.
Astrid’s package could be held in one hand. She opened it carefully, only to find a note. Look under the stairs. Love, Far and Mor. She looked to her parents as she pushed herself to her feet. “The cupboard?”
Ingeborg nodded, and as one they all rose to follow her into her parents’ bedroom, where she turned the wooden latch and pulled open the door.
“Oh, look!” Astrid clapped her hands to her mouth before taking the two steps inside the closet to pick up a carved doll bed with a doll lying in state. The porcelain face wore a perpetual smile, and the hair was curled in ringlets. Astrid carried the bed to the rug and knelt to trace a finger down the curly hair and touch one of the porcelain hands. Black buttoned shoes peeked out from under the blue watered-silk dress and deep blue velvet coat.
“I’ve never seen a doll so beautiful.”
“Pick her up.” Andrew touched the cradle with his toe and set it to rocking.
“Andrew helped make the bed.” Haakan stood with his arm around Ingeborg’s waist. “I think she likes it.”
Astrid leaped to her feet and threw herself at her mother and father, tears streaming and watering her smile. “Thank you! Oh, I cannot thank you enough.” She reached up and squeezed hard, first her mother and then her father before dropping back to her knees to finally lift the doll into her arms. “I need a really special name for her.” She looked up at Thorliff. “You have to help me think of one. You are good with names.”
“Holly or Noel or Angel—Christmas names.”
Astrid nodded. “Noel. I knew you would think of something perfect.”
“We have more presents to unwrap.” Andrew tugged on his mother’s arm.
Thorliff picked up the cradle and followed the others back to the parlor. “I think we better pinch the candles out before they gutter.”
“I wish I had made more.” Astrid heaved a sigh as she pinched out one of the candles.
“There’s always next year.” Andrew started pinching out the higher ones. “This one was close.”
Haakan brought a lamp from the kitchen, and they finished opening their presents.
“Haakan, your present is over in Lars’s granary.” Ingeborg held up her hands in a shrug. “Sorry.”
“You can tell me what it is.”
She shook her head. “No, half the fun is seeing your face.”
“Ja, well, yours is over in Kaaren’s cupboard. I knew you would find it here.”
“Here’s one for each of you.” Thorliff handed the envelopes out. “Not much, but . . .”
Ingeborg opened hers. “Your story. Did you print this?”
He nodded. “Mr. Rogers let me use the press. I set it all up myself. The woodcut is from the college. They let me borrow it.” He pointed to the intricately scrolled A. “They have an entire alphabet made by one of the early immigrants. Such a beautiful set.”
Astrid sat on the floor and leaned against Thorliff ’s knee. “If the storm blows out and we can have Christmas Day, will you read your story to everyone?”
“I s’pose.”
“Good, and maybe A Christmas Carol. It’s in that set. I know ‘cause I looked.”
“Maybe. But it takes longer than one afternoon.”
The only sad part of Christmas for Thorliff was not talking with Anji. He was beginning to doubt that would ever happen.
The storm blew itself out sometime before dawn, and by the time chores were finished, Hjelmer skied up to announce that church would be at eleven. That would give the church time to warm up.
But after the service, when Anji hadn’t come with her family, Thorliff had to force himself to greet the folks around him. He answered their questions about school, about living in a big town, and how he liked newspaper work. Pastor Solberg greeted him with a hearty handshake and a thump on the shoulder.
“When do you have to leave again? I would like to hear more about your life at St. Olaf.”
“I must be on the morning train on the twenty-seventh. I need to be back to help put out the special New Year’s edition of the paper, even though school doesn’t start for another week or more.”
“Then we shall get together tomorrow, all right?”
“Ja, if the weather holds.”
As the pastor turned to greet someone else, Anji’s brother greeted Thorliff. “Sorry, Thorliff, but Pa took a turn for the worse during the night, and Anji can calm him more than any of us. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to come.” Swen kept his apology low for Thorliff ’s ears only. “And with Anji, Pa always comes first.”
“I see.”
Swen took a step closer and leaned forward, dropping his chin. “Pa’s been asking us to put him outside one night and let the cold take him home.” His voice broke on the last word. “I-I can’t do that. Some things you just can’t do, but . . .”
Visions of the weary young woman he’d seen for such a short time had plagued Thorliff all morning. With all of the relatives meeting at Tante Kaaren’s this afternoon, he knew he would not be able to leave.
After wishing everyone a merry Christmas as they made their way outside, the family climbed into the sled and made their way to Kaaren and Lars’s house.
Thorliff sat stewing in chilly silence for a time. Finally he leaned forward. “Mor, have the neighbors gone in to help the Baards, other than with the fieldwork?” Like Swen, Thorliff kept his voice low, for his mother’s ears alone.
Ingeborg nodded. “You know the Mendohlsons are there?” At his nod she continued. “Metiz and I have taken turns with Joseph, but he keeps calling for Anji and is so restless until she returns that we wonder if we do any good or not.”
“But it helps Anji?”
“Some.” She paused. “But letters from you would help more.”
“I’ve written, but she never answers.” Only two letters. Be honest. A conscience can be a worrisome nag.
“Perhaps she hasn’t the time nor the strength at the end of the day, or the beginning. I ordered her to give him enough laudanum to sleep through the night, but he needs something stronger, the pain is so severe. I don’t know how he keeps on. Sometimes I wish we had a real doctor close by.”
Haakan stopped the horses near the back door of the Knutsons’ house. “Everyone out.”
Within an hour the large house was
filled with enough people to make the windows pooch out. Sleds made of wagon boxes on runners instead of wheels lined the yard with all the horses tied in the barn and sheds. Laughter escaped out the chimney along with the smoke.
While the women bustled about the kitchen getting the food together, the men congregated in the parlor, and all the children headed upstairs to play.
“This family gets any bigger, we’re going to have breathing room only,” Kaaren said as she bumped elbows with Ingeborg at the stove.
“Good thing you have this addition. Who’d have ever dreamed those years ago that we would become this many?” Ingeborg shook her head. “And in such a short time.”
“I’ve sliced the hams, and Penny is finishing the two geese. Should I mash the potatoes?” Goodie Wold slid the heaping meat platter into the warming oven.
“That would be good.” Kaaren glanced over to where Bridget was slicing bread and stacking the plates high. “Ilse, would you please take care of the pickles and jams?”
“Metiz already did that, and I asked the girls to set the table.” The first thing the men had done was set up two saw horses with plank tops to add to the long table already in place.
“Oh, good.” Kaaren stopped and looked around to see what else had to be done. Nothing as far as she could see. The gravy bubbled on the back of the stove, the potatoes were almost done, the carrots and various other vegetables were ready to pour into bowls, the coffee pot was staying hot on the back of the stove, and stuffing from the geese was waiting in the oven.
A draft preceded Mary Martha Solberg’s merry laugh. “Sorry we are late. Several of the cattle walked right up a drift and over the bars of the corral. We had to get them back in before they hightailed it. You’d think they’d be grateful for shelter in weather like this.”
“They probably were getting cabin fever like the rest of us.” Lars took their coats and laid them on the bed downstairs, being careful not to cover up Penny’s Gustaf, who slept soundly with a pillow on either side to keep him from rolling off the bed.
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