Believing the Dream

by Lauraine Snelling

  “I had a headache last night, but not now. I am fine.” At least I hope so, but if I felt sick then I would have an excuse for missing class.

  “Mr. Rogers is worried about you. Give him a call, and then get on over to my house for breakfast. You need to keep up your strength. I have no time for another patient.” While he spoke, the doctor laid the back of his hand on Thorliff ’s forehead. “No fever.” He started to leave, then turned back to pull a paper from his breast pocket. “I almost forgot. Here is Phillip’s editorial. He’ll be talking to you soon.”

  Thorliff nodded, then had the presence of mind to finally ask, “How is Elizabeth?”

  “Pretty sick, but her mother is much worse, and Cook thinks she should be taking care of them when she can’t even walk across the kitchen. Phillip has his hands full.” Doctor looked over the top of his half glasses. “Something like you do.” He raised one hand in a brief wave and strode off down the street to where his horse and buggy waited.

  The phone ringing made Thorliff hurry back to the hall. “Hello.”

  “Why didn’t you go to school?” Phillip’s voice sounded more weary than the night before.

  “I-I didn’t wake up in time.” Cold had attacked Thorliff ’s feet and was climbing up his legs.

  “Are you going now?”

  “No.” Thorliff straightened. “I am going to get the paper out. I can miss one day.”

  “I hate for you to do that, but I most assuredly appreciate your dedication. I will make it up to you.”

  Ignoring the last comment, Thorliff cleared his throat. “I . . . ah . . . wrote an editorial too. Kind of a satire, but short.”

  “Are you pleased with it?”

  “Mostly.”

  “Then do a final edit and run it.”

  Thorliff felt his stomach hit his socks. “Ah . . .”

  “Yes?”

  Thorliff swallowed, his throat clenching, strangling the words he wanted to say. How can you trust me to not make mistakes? What if I misspell a word or . . . Stop it! He jerked himself to attention. “Thank you, sir.”

  Phillip chuckled. “You’ll do fine, son. Bring me a copy when you’ve run it.”

  “Yes, sir.” A pounding at the front door made him realize he had yet to open the office for the day. How could he manage the office and run the paper too?

  “Leave up the Closed sign. Anything too urgent, they can call here.” He paused. “Anything else?”

  Yes. I can’t do this. His mother’s voice echoed in his mind. “You can do whatever you set your mind to. Remember, the Bible says ‘I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.’ ” “No, I’ll be fine.”

  “That’s the way. I know what I’ll do. I’ll tell Ina to send all the calls this way. Then you don’t have to worry about the phone ringing, and if it does ring, you’ll know it’s me.”

  Relief tasted sweet, like honey drizzled on a fresh biscuit. The thought made his stomach rumble again. Breakfast first, and then all the rest.

  Thorliff ’s fingers trembled when he set the earpiece back in the hook. “ ‘I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.’ ” He repeated the verse again as he finished dressing and thrust his arms into his coat sleeves. One of these days he needed to write a letter to his mother and tell her how often he heard her words in his mind. Perhaps that was the way it was supposed to be: the teacher or the parent taught, and the teaching stayed on in the mind of the one taught. Perhaps that was why the Bible said to eat the words as bread so they became part of one. If his stomach would quit demanding to be fed, perhaps his mind could cogitate on this learning thing some more.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Blessing, North Dakota

  “Ingeborg, it is none of your business.”

  “I know, but . . .” She stared at her husband, wishing she could think of a good answer. If only Ivar Moen had not come to Blessing. Anji was such an innocent.

  Haakan held the covers open so Ingeborg could slip into bed more easily. When she shivered in spite of her ankle-length flannel nightdress, he reached over and pulled her against him. With her head on his shoulder and her back fitting snugly to his chest, he nuzzled her neck. “Ah, wife, you always smell so good.”

  “Ja, soap and flour and—”

  “And you.” He kissed her right at the base of her braid that she had just finished tying with a string.

  Ingeborg shivered again, this time not from the chill of the room. She snuggled closer, if that were possible, and sighed when he kissed her again. The breath from his question tickled the hairs on her neck. Tomorrow she’d have to talk to him about Anji. Tomorrow. Right now there were more important things to do.

  Anji and thusly Thorliff was still on her mind when she woke in the predawn darkness. Lord, how do I help them and yet not play the busybody Haakan warned me about? A spark of anger struck out like flint on flint. Why in the world was Anji treating Mr. Moen so friendlylike when she was promised to Thorliff? Surely she didn’t realize how it all looked. Ingeborg knew she wasn’t the only one who noticed. Andrew had mentioned it after church the Sunday before.

  Ingeborg felt Haakan shift beside her. She should get up and get the fire going. But lying in bed next to her sleeping husband was such a treat, one only allowed in winter before spring work began. The way the wind whistled around the eaves of the house, she knew that winter had not yet released its grip on the land, in spite of the warming sun of the day before.

  “You worrying, my Inge?” Haakan always sounded wide awake with the first word, none of that sleep-shrouded voice like hers.

  “How do you do that?”

  “What?”

  “Sound like you’ve been up for hours.” She rolled onto her side, facing him. “And no, I’m not worrying.” Liar. “I’m thinking this through.”

  “Ruminating?”

  Ingeborg chuckled. Ruminate—to chew on, to ponder deeply. The word had been on Andrew’s spelling list. She certainly had learned many English words that she’d not have known otherwise because of the children’s lessons.

  “Worry is like that, is it not? You burp it back up and chew some more, then you can’t figure something to do, so you swallow it again, to be brought up later.”

  “Ja, but at least when the cow does it, she eventually gets her cud chewed enough that it goes on by. Not like worry. No end to that.” He stretched, pulling one arm across his body with his other hand, then repeating the process. “Why don’t you stay in bed a few more minutes. I’ll get the fire going.”

  “Takk.” Ingeborg pulled the covers up to her chin. Lord, I am so blessed to have Haakan for my husband. Thank you from the bottom of my feet and every bit of me. She sighed. Ah, that my children will be as blessed. Father, take care of my son. Though he not be of my loins, he takes a big part of my heart. And I thought he and Anji . . . She heard the rattle of the grate from the kitchen. Perhaps she was creating a tempest in a coffeepot. No, that wasn’t the way she’d heard that. “Uff da.” She threw back the covers and swung her feet to the floor. There would be no more sleep this morning. There hadn’t been for some time, and here she’d been lazing around. What would Mor say if she saw me? Thinking of her own mother made her feel sixteen again and getting the usual lecture on scaring eligible young men off with her forthrightness. “Sorry, Mor, Haakan says that is something he likes—no, loves—about me.”

  “What did you say?” Haakan paused in the doorway, holding the lighted kerosene lamp in front of him.

  “Nothing important. I think I shall go see Bridget today. Andrew said she didn’t look well when he took the wood in yesterday.”

  “And that is all?” Haakan’s right eyebrow arched in that way he had when asking a question behind a question.

  “You doubt me?” She raised both eyebrows, hoping for the wideeyed look of pure innocence.

  “I’ll go call Andrew, or we’ll be behind on the milking.” He patted her posterior as he went past, which after more than ten years of marriage
, Ingeborg knew meant “You’ll do what you’ll do, but I love you anyway.” She added another stick or two to the now blazing fire and filled the coffeepot with lukewarm water from the reservoir. Grinding the coffee took a few more minutes, and Haakan returned from calling Andrew.

  “Is Hamre in the soddy or over at Kaaren’s?”

  “Kaaren’s.”

  Hamre sometimes stayed over at the school to help Kaaren and Lars with the chores and the machinery, but he and Lars always helped with the milking.

  “You think he might be there so much if Ilse weren’t?” Ingeborg stopped in the middle of her coffee grinding. “Can’t Hamre see she has eyes for George McBride? I have a hard time calling him ‘mister.’ ”

  “Leave off the matchmaking, if you please. These young’uns don’t need to be in such an all-fired hurry to go courting.” Haakan settled his wool chores coat around his shoulders and crossed a hand-knit scarf across his chest.

  “How about I make an apple pie before the apples all shrivel up?” Ingeborg knew how an apple pie seemed to perk up her husband’s spirits. “And ice cream.”

  “Sounds good. Keep the coffee hot.” The wind took away whatever else he’d meant to say.

  “Mor, did you see my history book?” Andrew meandered into the kitchen, still rubbing his eyes. Taller than his mother, but yet to fill out in the chest and shoulders, Andrew reached behind the stove for his boots, getting a quick lick on the hand from Paws, who rarely left the shelter of his bed anymore.

  “How you doin’, old dog?” Andrew paused to pat the dog’s head. “Has he been out yet?”

  “Ja, I think your father carried him out first thing.”

  “Pa said we should put him out of his misery. You think he’s miserable?” His voice cracked on the words.

  Ingeborg knew how much the dog meant to her son. Paws had come when Andrew was toddling around, and while Uncle Carl, Kaaren’s first husband, said he was Thorliff ’s dog, Paws had loved both boys and watched after them both. Along with all the rest of them.

  “I don’t know, Andrew, but he’s getting up there in years, you know.”

  “He’ll feel better once spring comes.” Andrew finished tying his boots and stood up. “My history book?”

  “I’ll have Astrid look.”

  Once the two children were off to school, Ingeborg peeled the apples, rolled out the pie crust, and within minutes had two pies baking in the oven. She washed the breakfast dishes and set a ham bone to boil. Later she would add the ham to the beans that had been soaking overnight. While thoughts of Anji and Thorliff kept trying to take over, she forced herself to think of spring and her garden instead. Was it too early to start the tomato plants? Glancing out the window at the blowing snow made her decide it was too early—far too early.

  Paws got up and staggered to the door, looking over his shoulder to make sure she got the message. When she opened it, he stood in the doorway for a moment, as if trying to decide if all the effort was worth it.

  “In or out, but be quick. The kitchen will be cold as the porch pretty soon.”

  He made his way out to the porch, and they repeated the process at the outside door. Ingeborg reached back to the rack and grabbed her shawl, putting the heavy wool knit over her head and shoulders. She was as bad as the boys. None of them wanted to say good-bye to Paws yet. She found him sitting at the bottom of the three steps, a telltale yellow spot in the snow saying he’d done his business, but the look on his face said the three steps looked mountain tall and insurmountable. She leaned over and, wrapping her arms around his haunches and chest, picked him up and carried him back into the house. As she set him down, he quick-licked her chin.

  “I know you’re embarrassed, but it’s all right. Sometimes we all need a little extra help, especially in the winter.”

  The food Andrew had put down for him still sat in the bowl, but Paws drank from his water dish before curling up on his bed behind the stove. His sigh brought one of her own.

  After taking the pies out of the oven and adding the beans and onion to the broth simmering in the kettle, she checked the weather again. Was it worth hitching up the sleigh, or should she ski into town? Or should she just stay home?

  “Lord, is Bridget ill, or what was Andrew thinking of? Haakan doesn’t want me to go, not unless it clears off. Unless, of course, I can talk him into going.” She grabbed her black woolen shawl off the hook and headed out the door.

  While it had stopped snowing, heavy clouds hovered over the land. The wind had dropped from a shriek to a murmur, so she could hear herself think. If she wanted to. Sometimes not thinking was far easier. Especially when it came to an aging dog, a son who was about to have his heart hurt, and a young woman she already thought of as part of the family. She swung open the door, grateful the snow no longer blocked the way.

  “Haakan!”

  No answer. The cows in their stanchions all looked her way, winterfluffed ears looking like fuzzy paddles. One mooed, a cat mewed. “So where is he?” She crossed to the ladder. “Haakan!” With no answer and no hay being pitched down from the haymow, she turned back. He must be in the machine shed. Back out in the cold she checked the sheep shed on the way and found him tying off the tails of the frisky lambs. They’d had a good lambing this year, with many sets of twins and even some triplets. Andrew was good at getting ewes that had lost a lamb to adopt another by skinning the dead lamb and tying the hide over the orphan.

  “What do you need?”

  “I wondered if you want to go to Bridget’s with me.”

  “What does it look like outside?” He put the cap back on the iodine bottle.

  “Lowering.”

  “How about tomorrow?”

  She shrugged. While that was not particularly what she wanted, he was most likely right. “You need some help?”

  “I thought Hamre was coming, but he and Lars must have gotten started working on the steam engine.” He wiped his hands on a rag. The ewe nuzzled her offspring, comforting him for the terrible acts done by the mean human. The lamb bopped her udder and began nursing, what was left of his tail twitching from side to side.

  “Did you hear the wolves last night?” Ingeborg couldn’t help smiling at the sight of two lambs jumping over each other.

  “No, I slept like a log last night.” The wink Haakan gave her made her cheeks warm.

  “Sure made me glad we have such a snug barn for them.” Thinking back to the early years made her shudder. The wolves nearly got her entire flock one winter. And the lambing—she and Thorliff nearly froze themselves after Roald had disappeared.

  Life was so much easier now that sometimes she felt guilty. And this year Haakan and Andrew, along with Hamre, took care of the lambing.

  “You’re not dressed to work with the sheep. Go on back to the house and put the coffeepot on. I’ll be along pretty soon, and if the pie is still hot, well . . .”

  “Will warm do?”

  “Perfect.”

  After dinner Haakan leaned back in his chair, this time without creaking the back legs, which drew a smile of approbation from his wife. “I need to talk with Olaf about some things, so you want me to check on Bridget? Or you want to come along?”

  Ingeborg paused in her clearing the table. “I think I’d like to go along.”

  “You don’t trust me to observe Bridget carefully enough?”

  “Oh, you.” She flapped her apron at him. “Of course I . . .” She paused again. “No, really I don’t. She won’t talk women-talk with you. When do you want to leave?”

  He glanced at the clock. “Ten minutes, soon as I hitch up the sleigh.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  The jingling harness chimed with the sleigh bells as they flew across the heavily crusted snow. Their breath blew like miniature clouds of smoke, and the sun glittered on the drifts, making Ingeborg laugh in delight. “I’m so glad I came.”

  Haakan turned to smile at her, his special warm smile. “Me too.” He dropped her off at the board
inghouse and returned her wave as she mounted the steps.

  Ingeborg inhaled fresh bread perfume as she entered the door. “Bridget, are you here?”

  “In the kitchen. Is that you, Ingeborg?”

  “Last time I looked.” Ingeborg removed her heavy coat and muffler and hung them on the carved coatrack by the door before taking her basket of cheese and eggs on her arm again. She pushed open the swinging doors to the kitchen, greeted by the warmth from the two big black ranges that dominated the room. Kettles hung from hooks on a rack suspended above the stoves, a red-and-white checked oilcloth covered one table, and matching gingham curtains framed the tall windows. Bridget, her white hair braided and coiled around the top of her head, left the dough she was rolling to give Ingeborg a hug.

  “Excuse my flour, but it is so good to see you.”

  “Is there any time you are not up to your elbows in flour? What are you making now?”

  “Pie, I can never get enough pies baked. Those railroad men would eat us out of house and home if we let them.” She lifted the cloth and peeked in the basket. “Ah, soft cheese. I’m about out of cheddar too. I need to send that husband of mine out to buy more. And eggs. How did you know I ran out just this morning?”

  While Bridget took out the gifts, Ingeborg studied her face and the way she moved. Andrew had been right. Something was different. “Are you all right?”

  “Ja, nothing to be alarmed about.”

  “Then, what is it?”

  “That hip of mine is giving me some trouble. That is all. That fall I took before Christmas—uff da. Some things just take time to heal.”

  “Ja, and if you would take a lie-down once in a while, that might help.”

  Bridget stopped in midstride. “Who has time for such silliness. Men want to be fed, no matter what.”

  “I tells her to take it easy, but she don’t listen.” Mrs. Sam, entering the kitchen in time to hear part of their conversation, shook her head, her dark eyes showing her concern. “We’uns could do for her for a few days.”

  “I’m not ready for the rocking chair yet, so you don’t go getting any ideas. Come warm weather, I’ll be fit as a fiddle again. In the meantime, let’s have a cup of coffee and some of that good cake you baked this morning.”