Believing the Dream

by Lauraine Snelling

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  “Why did no one tell me?”

  “Thorliff, there is nothing to tell. Mr. Moen has accompanied the Baards to church, whether Anji has been able to attend or not.” Ingeborg kept her gaze steady on her son, a difficult task as he paced the parlor. His tortured face tore at her heart.

  “Then why did it seem to me that they were together?”

  “I . . . I’m not sure.” As if outside her will, her fingers continued to knit and purl on the vest she was knitting.

  “She was invited with the rest of the family to join us all for dinner.”

  “Of course, but someone always stays home with Joseph, and it most often is her. She is able to help him the most when his suffering is the worst. Besides, Mrs. Sam needed to get back to help at the boardinghouse. The guests there need to be fed no matter what day it is.”

  “And does Mr. Moen eat with them or at the boardinghouse?”

  “Son, I cannot answer that. You were with Swen and Knute fishing. Why didn’t you ask them?” She knew when she said that what kind of look she would get. As if young men, or any men, for that matter, would discuss something like this.

  “I better get on out to the barn.”

  “You need to talk with her.”

  “I know, but not while I’m this angry. It was all I could do to be civil after the service. And besides, he’s an old man.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t call Mr. Moen old, and from all I’ve seen, he’s a very fine man. We’ve enjoyed visiting with him very much.” She glanced up to see that her caged son had stopped his pacing and was looking at her like she’d gone over to the enemy. “Thorliff, our house is open to everyone, just like it always has been. He has been interviewing immigrants, and we are surely that. He wants to talk with you too, as one of the younger generation and one who is going beyond the borders of the farm.”

  “Ja, when Norway sprouts palm trees.” He turned, and she listened to his boots thud across the kitchen floor, the screen door slam, and the silence that seeped in from the corners and gradually filled the room like a shy fawn coming out to play in the meadow.

  “Uff da. Lord, what is happening here? I know you see the future, and you know the path you have for our son, but does his heart have to be broken to make it so? Seeing him hurt like this makes my heart ache. You know how I love them both, and I did think Anji was to be part of our family.” She drew in a deep, rather shaky breath. “Forgive my selfish prayer that they would marry and he would come home again and live here. We could build them a house so quickly.” She sighed again. The cat rose from his place under the whatnot table, arching his back, stretching every muscle and sinew, then sitting in front of her, his chirp one of conversation.

  “I know you want up in my lap, but I can’t knit with you here.”

  He chirped again, staring at her from golden eyes, as if he could will her to pick him up.

  Ingeborg pushed the two sides of the vest down on the needles and stuck the needles into the ball of yarn before setting the entire project back in the basket beside her chair. “All right, come here.” She patted her lap, and the cat jumped up, gently bumping her chin with his head, already purring his satisfaction. “If only life were so simple—a good petting, purring, sleep, and stretch. What more could one ask for?” She stroked the cat’s back and under his chin. “If only.”

  The morning after they finished cultivating, Haakan leaned back in his chair. “Thorliff, why don’t you take the next couple of days off to work on your story? The rest of us are going over to the Baards’ to help them out.”

  I want to go over there too. But he kept his face noncommittal and nodded. “Thanks, Far. I’ve not been getting very far in the evenings.”

  “I know, and sleeping with your head on the table doesn’t give you much rest either.” Haakan smiled around his pipe stem.

  Thorliff raised his eyebrows and rubbed the back of his neck. “Doesn’t do much for my brain either, no matter how much coffee I drink.” He turned his head as far to the right, then to the left as he could and flinched at the crick.

  Does Far know? Thorliff looked to his mother, who gave a barely perceptible nod. He felt his neck grow warm. They were trying to make things easier for him. He needed to go talk with her, that was for sure, but what to say? What happened to all those years of good and close friendship? Their long talks, the laughter, the . . . He jerked his thought back to the kitchen, where he reached for another cinnamon roll. “Where’s Astrid?”

  “Over helping Tante Kaaren. They are giving the schoolrooms a good cleaning.” She refilled his coffee cup and held up the pot for Haakan. At his nod, she refilled his and sat back down at the table. “As soon as the cake is done, the box will be packed for dinner. Now don’t let Anji talk you out of contributing. I’d go over there too if we hadn’t started this cleaning thing.”

  “Of course.” Haakan took another cinnamon roll from the plate. “When do you have to be back at school?”

  “Fall term begins Wednesday, September twelfth. I told Mr. Rogers how soon I’d be back would depend on how fast harvest goes. He’d be glad if I could come back tomorrow. His letter said he hadn’t found anyone to help, and with Elizabeth in Chicago, it must be pretty hectic there.”

  “Well, I’m glad you are here.” Ingeborg rose and began clearing off the plates.

  Andrew whistled as he came through the back door. “That sow is going to farrow any minute. I put her in the big stall.”

  “Then we’ll go on without you. Did you see if Lars was about ready?” Haakan stood and began his ritual of putting the pipe away.

  “He’s got one team, and Hamre has the other. I harnessed the teams but didn’t hitch them up.” He scooped a dipperful of water from the bucket and drank it dry.

  Thorliff felt like an observer or a guest watching the family go about their business. “How about if I watch the sow? I can write out in the barn.”

  “Good. Come on, Pa, let’s get going.”

  “See what a slave driver he is?” Haakan slapped Andrew on the shoulder. “I’m coming soon as your mor has the cake ready. Let’s go hitch ’em up.”

  “Thank you.” Ingeborg nodded to Thorliff after the others left.

  “I should go with them.”

  “No, you have a job to fulfill too. And besides, we all want to know what happens next.”

  “So do I.” Her chuckle followed him upstairs to get his pad and pencil. Tonight, he promised himself. Tonight I’ll go talk with Anji. But the picture of her sitting next to Moen in church made both stomach and fists clench, along with his teeth.

  He waved the men off and took one of the milk stools into the farrowing stall. The old Chester White sow looked down her long snout at him, oofed, and went on piling the straw up in a corner. Andrew was surely right—she was making her nest and looked due to drop at any time. He read what he’d written the night before, crossed some out, and added a sentence here and a word there. He’d fallen asleep the night before right in the middle of a sentence. He glanced up when the sow lay down with a soft grunt. Would that man be at the Baards’ when the teams got there? He forced his attention back to the pad in his lap.

  Back in the story, his pencil stumbled and dragged across the page. He read aloud what he’d written and crossed it all out.

  The sow got up and wandered around the stall, moving straw, pacing. When she lay back down, he set his pencil to the paper again and saw himself write “Moen.” He scribbled that out and took a deep breath, read some of the earlier work, and the story began again. This time his pencil raced across the page.

  He’d just gotten to the good part when he heard the sow grunting and panting. He put his pad and pencil outside the stall and watched as the first baby slid into the world. Within minutes it was on its feet, staggering around the sow’s hind legs to find a teat. Two came together, then three, one after the other. One of them Thorliff assisted, making sure it found a teat to nurse.

  The sow lay flat out
on her side, the piglets hooked on like leeches. When no more came for a while, Thorliff wiped his hands on a rag, got his paper and pencil back, and settled onto his stool back against the wall.

  He just got going, and with another grunt two more babies slid out onto the straw.

  She finished with ten, and after they had nursed, Thorliff guided them under the boards nailed across one corner of the stall. The sow rested long enough for him to write half a page, then surged to her feet to amble over to the water bucket.

  “How about some mash and molasses too?” Thorliff put aside his writing again. He added water to the bucket of mash and molasses and whey Andrew had stirred up, poured it into the trough, and watched as she ate. “Good old girl, you sure know your business.” Thorliff leaned over and scratched behind her floppy ears, then picked up a stick and scratched her back. When she lay down again, he herded the babies out and made sure they all nursed again, then sent them back to safety. Ten live pigs would be a good return, and he knew how easy it was to lose some to being stepped on or laid on. Some sows were more careful than others, and this one had a history of good mothering. Andrew often said she counted her babies before lying down.

  When his stomach rumbled, Thorliff walked on back to the house and fixed himself a ham and cheese sandwich. He took that and a glass of buttermilk back out to the stall and sat back down in his corner to eat and write and observe his charges.

  The sow went back to sleep, the babies slept in their corner, and Thorliff finished another chapter. He reread what he’d written, penciled in some changes, read it again, and finally realized it was getting too dark to read. He put his papers in a stack and, package under his arm, walked to the door. Heavy clouds darkened the sky, and the wind spun dust devils in the barnyard. Lightning forked the darkness, its brilliance painful to his eyes. In seconds the thunder crashed so close he stepped all the way outside to make sure the barn was still standing. His ears rang, and with heart pounding he stood in the doorway, waiting, praying for the rain to fall and not blow on over. The smell of ozone hung on the air. Rain veils raced across the land, pounding the earth into submission, washing the dust from leaf and branch, roaring as it devoured the dry.

  Thorliff set his package down inside where it would stay dry and stepped outside into the life-bringing rain. He raised his face, eyes closed, and opened his mouth to drink. The lightning flashed off to the east now, and the thunder rolls came farther behind, but the rain continued. Soaked but jubilant, he returned to the barn and walked through the long aisle to the door to let the cows in. Rain or no rain, the cows needed to be milked. He fetched the milk buckets and the cans from the springhouse, dipped the grain bucket into the bin along one wall, and poured a measure in front of each cow, now straining against the wooden stanchions, long tongues reaching for the first grain.

  “Okay, girls, take it easy. You’ll all get yours.” When he’d finished, he returned to the stall to check on the pigs. He counted, yep, all ten present and accounted for. He ushered the piglets out of their corner so they could nurse, and they plugged onto the sow’s teats like they grew there.

  He started at the far end of the line of cows, set his stool in place, and sitting down, lodged his head on the first cow’s flank while he brushed bits of grass from the udder. Putting his pail between his knees, he started with the two rear teats, and with the pull and squeeze rhythm he’d learned as a little boy, he set the milk to ringing in the bottom of the pail. The milk frothed, barn cats mewed, and the sound of cattle chewing all combined with the aromas of milk and manure and grain to remind him that he was indeed home.

  Having left the doors open, he heard the others return, and Haakan and Andrew joined him in the barn. Andrew ran to the pen to check on the sow.

  “How many did she have?”

  “Ten. Easy as could be. I brought them out from their corner to let them nurse.”

  “Ja, they are all piled on top of each other right along her belly.” Andrew grabbed a bucket and took the cow next to Thorliff ’s. “Isn’t the rain wonderful?”

  Did Anji ask about me? Was that man there to help too, or is farm work beneath him? Tell me something. But he kept the thoughts inside, refusing to give them life by speaking them.

  “I told Anji you stayed home to take care of the sow and write on your story.” Andrew paused, then added, “Her pa is some bad. I don’t know how he stays alive.”

  “Is he able to be up at all?” There, he’d asked a question that couldn’t be construed as personal.

  “No, hasn’t been for months. They put a sheepskin under him. The bedsores are sure hard to keep from festering.”

  “Is Mor back?”

  “Must be. There’s lights on at the house. Did you get much writing done?”

  “A good amount. Had to go stand in the rain though.” Thorliff shivered in the cool breeze that tugged at his wet shirt.

  “We stayed in the field until the lightning started. Got soaked on the way home, but no one cared.”

  “This might save us, at least give the fields a good start.” Haakan took the next cow up. “Easy, Boss.”

  Thorliff finished stripping his cow out and, picking up bucket and stool, dumped the bucketful through the strainer, saved out a bit to pour in the flat pan reserved for the cats, and settled down for his second cow.

  By the time they finished all the cows, dark blanketed the countryside, and the rain continued to soak into the thirsty earth.

  “Fool sow smothered one last night,” Andrew announced at the breakfast table the next day.

  “She’s usually careful.” Astrid brought a platter of ham to the table.

  “You’d think there would be some way to keep sows from lying on their babies.”

  “And ewes from lambing problems and chickens from . . .” Astrid shook her head. “Andrew, that’s just part of life on the farm.”

  A knock on the door brought a “Come in” from Haakan.

  Metiz opened the door and stepped inside, more hunched than ever but eyes bright as usual. “We go to Joseph now.”

  Ingeborg flipped the last pancake and turned to her friend. “Did they come for you?”

  “No. I just know.”

  “Let me get my basket.” Ingeborg kept a basket of medical supplies, bandages, unguents, herbs, and the things needed for birthing always ready to go.

  “I’ll hitch up the horse.” Andrew left the room before Thorliff could volunteer.

  “Rain is good.”

  “Ja, that is for sure. You want a cup of coffee?” Haakan motioned to the graniteware coffeepot.

  “I’ll go with you.” Thorliff pushed his chair back and stood. He reached for the platter of pancakes, rolled two around a couple of sausages, and led the way out the door. This time he would be there when Anji needed him.

  “He’s gone.” Swen met them at the door. “Went peaceful in his sleep. How did you know to come?”

  Ingeborg nodded to Metiz.

  “I had no idea the end was this close,” she spoke around the lump in her throat, “or I would have come sooner.”

  “None of us knew.” Swen wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. “I already got the box built. Pa asked me to do that weeks ago. I know he’s with Ma now, but his leaving us is sure going to make a hole here.”

  Where’s Anji? Thorliff wanted to ask but refrained. He could hear ten-year-old Becky crying and knew that was where Anji would be, taking care of the younger ones. “You want me to go for Pastor?”

  “Ja, that would be good. We still got some chores to do. There’s no rush though, if you want to talk to Anji first, that is.”

  Thorliff nodded to his mother and followed the sound of crying to the parlor. Anji held both Gus and Becky close beside her, their tears mingling as she crooned comfort.

  What do I say? We all know Joseph is in a better place. “Your ma and pa are together again. That part is good.”

  Anji looked up and nodded. “But it is hard anyway.” She held out her hand. “
Leave it to your ma to come before even being called.”

  “Metiz came for us.” Thorliff took her hand, wanting to take her in his arms and wipe away her tears. “I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry for—”

  “I know. But he’s not in all that terrible pain any longer. I have to remember to be thankful for that.” She squeezed his hand and took hers back to stroke Becky’s hair.

  “I’m going for Pastor.”

  “Thank you.” She turned her attention to her little sister. “Come now, we must wash up and get dressed. Gus, the chickens need feeding, and I know Swen needs your help in the barn.”

  Thorliff watched them for a moment, wishing there were something more he could do, but finally turned away and went back out to the buggy. Knowing his mother and Metiz would be washing and dressing Joseph’s body, Thorliff clucked the horse into a trot, heading for the Solberg place.

  After the funeral the next day, Thorliff found Anji alone for the first time since he’d come home. While the people of Blessing visited outside or inside or wherever, she was standing at the window in the bedroom where her father’s chair had sat for the last year so he could look outside.

  “Anji, can I get you something?”

  She shook her head slowly, like the weight of care made it too heavy to move easily. “This is all he saw . . . out this window.” She clutched the white cotton curtain with one trembling hand. “That’s no life.”

  “No, but up until the accident, he had a good life. Good family, good farm, all he wanted.”

  “He never wanted to live after Ma died, then the accident. Took him a long time to die.”

  “But you took good care of him.”

  “I know. I did my best, but sometimes your best isn’t good enough. I prayed, oh, how I prayed, asking God to make him better, to take away the pain.”

  “He has.”

  “But not the way I hoped or wanted.”