“But then, perhaps she is the game he is after.”
“Ach, those poor children. They would receive nothing but censure.” Kaaren raised her hands when Ingeborg turned on the wagon seat. “I know. Not from us, but then everyone doesn’t love Metiz and Baptiste the way we do.”
“As if the color of one’s skin or hair should make any difference.” Ingeborg flipped the reins again so the horses would pick up their feet. “But I heard that comment today about where our quilts go. Made me want to go over and shake her. We, who all have so much compared to others, should be generous.”
“Funny how many of them don’t really think of Metiz as Indian any longer. She’s helped about everyone in Blessing and others for miles around at one time or another.”
“Ja, but there is always the bad apple that rots the barrel.”
CHAPTER TEN
June arrived with no rain in sight.
Thorliff lifted the yoke off the oxen for the final time until haying would start. The sun burned, tanning him through the fabric of his shirt. With no fieldwork to do after dinner, maybe I can go over and visit with Anji. We could walk down by the river.
“I think we all need to go fishing,” Haakan said to his sons as h hung the harnesses up on their pegs. “What do you say?”
“I say that’s the best news I’ve had since graduation.” Thorliff too off his wide-brimmed hat to wipe the sweat off his forehead. So much for seeing Anji today. Perhaps tomorrow night.
“Go ask your mor if she wants to go too. Maybe we’ll have a picnic supper with the fish we catch.”
“I will.” Andrew took off for the house before anyone could answer.
Thorliff and Haakan shared the kind of look grown-ups give at the antics of one younger. Pleasure sat on Thorliff ’s shoulders like a purring kitten.
“You’ve worked hard as any man, son. I want you to know I appreciate it. Both of you boys have.” Haakan stretched his arms above his head, then lifted and resettled his hat. “Let’s go eat.” Throwing his arm around Thorliff ’s shoulders, he strode on up to the house with his son at his side. They paused and turned, as if by secret communication, and looked out over the newly seeded fields. In some, the growing wheat softened the black soil with a veil of green. The most recently seeded ground still lay smooth and black, absorbing the sun that would bring the seeds to life.
“Now if only the rains would come, gentle and lasting for a couple of days. Wouldn’t that be the perfect picture?”
“Ja, it would.” Thorliff dipped water, warmed by the sun, into the washbasins lined along the house wall. Towels hung on a rod above the bench, and soap rested in a dish so that none would be wasted. They washed, tossed the wash water over the roses by the front door, and followed their noses into a kitchen redolent with the smell of baking chicken, sage, onion, and bacon to flavor the greens. Biscuit perfume floated over the other aromas like frosting on a cake.
Haakan inhaled a chest-swelling draught and touched his wife’s arm as she hurried past. “I could smell this meal clear out in the fields. That’s why we raced around the last turns. Did you see the horses at a dead run and me whipping them on?”
“Ach, the way you go on.” Ingeborg gave him a poke with her elbow.
“Call Astrid, will you please?”
“Where is she?”
“Gathering eggs. I thought to take a wagon with eggs, cheese, and butter into the store this afternoon.”
“Ja, I’ll call her, but doesn’t fishing and a picnic sound better than a trip to the store?”
Ingeborg shook her head. “Fishing is what sounds a treat. What if you men go fishing and Astrid and I bring food to go with the fresh fish down in time for an early supper. Then we can all help with the milking. Surely the cows won’t mind our being a bit late.”
“Ah, leave it to you to figure the best way.”
“I’ll call Astrid,” said Thorliff. The thought of an afternoon of fishing banished the tiredness he had carried to the house, so he jumped down the steps and trotted across the yard to the chicken coop.
“Dinner, Astrid.” He looked inside to see a few hens on the nests but no laughing girl, not even behind the door. He found her in the coolness of the springhouse, damp cloth in hand to clean the eggs she was setting into the wooden egg crates. A pan of water sat beside her for any eggs too dirty to buff off.
“Dinner’s ready.”
“So soon?”
“Ja, we finished the planting. Guess what we get to do this afternoon.”
“Weed the garden?” Her laughing smile said she was teasing. Weeding the garden was one of Thorliff ’s least favorite chores. He’d been accused of daydreaming while leaning on a hoe handle more than once.
Astrid laid aside her washcloth and followed him out the door. “So are you done for real?”
“All but the haying, unless Onkel Lars needs us over on the north piece.”
“I thought Mor and I were going to the store.”
“You are, then you’re coming down to the river.”
“Ah.” Astrid poked him in the side. “What if I invite Anji to come back with us? What would you pay me for that?”
“Pay you?” Thorliff poked her back. “She’s your friend too.”
“But I’m not the one who goes all dreamy eyes when—” She squealed as Thorliff gave a yank on her braid. The two of them mounted the back steps still laughing.
When they bowed their heads for grace, he dug her in the ribs with his elbow so that she spluttered on the first words of “I Jesu navn,” earning them both a look of reprimand after the amen.
“You two.” Ingeborg shook her head, but the twinkle in her eyes said she didn’t blame them. The end of spring work was a good time to celebrate. Not that there wasn’t still plenty to do.
Down at the slow flowing Red River they swatted mosquitoes and watched their corks bob on the quiet surface. When Thorliff ’s cork dipped under, he jerked on his willow pole, and a fish flew over his shoulder to land on the bank. Paws yipped and sniffed the flopping fish. When it curled and flipped, smacking him in the nose, he leaped backward, scrambling to get his feet back under him.
“Hey, Paws, you want to hold my pole?” Andrew rubbed the dog’s ears while Thorliff removed the hook and jabbed a forked stick up through the gills of the fish. Haakan had yet to catch a fish big enough to keep, so every time one of the boys caught a keeper, their quiet giggles made their father sigh more loudly.
With a new worm on his hook, Thorliff tossed his line back into the eddy where he’d caught the last perch.
Andrew yelped as his cork took a deep dive. “Catfish, I bet.”
“Hang on to him.” Haakan rammed the end of his willow pole into the dirt and reached to help his son.
“I can do it.” Andrew stood and, keeping the tip of the pole in the air, eased the dragging fish closer to the bank. “He’s a big one.”
Haakan rolled up his pants legs. “I’ll grab him.” Wading into the stream, the mud squishing up between his toes, he reached for the string.
“Pa, your pole.” Thorliff leaped for it, but the pole headed out toward the middle of the river, whatever pulling it large enough to get it beyond reach in a breath.
Haakan grabbed the string taut from Andrew’s line and hauled in a huge catfish, its feelers upright and side spines wriggling. The mouth looked big enough to swallow the dog.
“Three feet if it’s an inch.”
“But, Pa, your pole.”
“I got more string and another hook. No one’s caught one this big for years. Good job, Andrew.” Careful to keep from getting stung by the spines, Haakan rammed a stick through the gills before standing up and clapping his son on the shoulder. “We got enough fish for supper already.”
“We’re not gonna quit, are we?” Andrew looked up from baiting his hook again.
“No, we’ll keep fishing. We can have fried fish for breakfast too, or Kaaren and Lars can have some.”
Haakan cut himself another
willow pole, tied on some string, a hook, and a worm, then tossed the line out into the river. Hands locked behind his head, he leaned against a tree trunk, his pole dug into the black dirt by his side. Swatting a mosquito on the side of his neck, he clasped his hands again.
Thorliff yanked in another fish. Andrew followed. Their father’s pole remained upright, no wiggle.
“Maybe he just came to watch us fish.” Thorliff ’s stage whisper made Andrew giggle.
“Good thing he has us, or we’d all have no supper.” Andrew baited his hook and threw it back out.
“You think he could get the fire going?”
“I hope so. We’re too busy catching fish.”
“Paws, get ’em!”
Paws thrashed his tail in the leaves and whined.
Thorliff lurched for his pole as it started to follow a fish. He jerked, and another fish flew through the air, missing Haakan by mere inches.
“Well, I never . . .” Ingeborg stood near a tree not ten feet away. “Is this the way our men go fishing?”
“We . . . we got lots of fish, Mor.” Andrew pointed to the pegs in the riverbank. “Me and Thorliff did. Pa’s been taking a rest.” His burst of laughter made his mother chuckle too. Andrew’s laugh had always been as contagious as a cold.
“Where’s the fire for frying them?” Astrid set her basket down at her mother’s feet.
“That’s Pa’s job.” Thorliff untied his string from the pole and, sticking the point of the hook in the cork, wrapped the string around it and put the ball in his pocket. “Andrew and I’ll get the wood.”
That night after a supper seasoned with laughter, when the cows were milked and the chores finished, the family trooped back to the house.
“Oh, Thorliff, I forgot. I’m so sorry.” Ingeborg fished in her apron pocket and pulled out a letter. “It’s from St. Olaf.”
Thorliff stared at the envelope for long seconds before reaching for it.
CHAPTER EL EVEN
Northfield, Minnesota
“Elizabeth, I have bad news.” Annabelle knocked a second time.
Elizabeth fought through the fog of a dream that vanished like smoke in a breeze. “C-come in, Mother.” Blinking in the brightness of morning, she shoved herself up on her pillows and yawned, arms reaching above her head to get a good stretch. “What did you say?”
Annabelle crossed the deep red Oriental rug to stand by the foo of the four-poster bed. “Mrs. Gaskin died in her sleep last night. Went to bed feeling fine but never woke up. The doctor would like you to come. . . .”
“Mrs. Gaskin? Oh, Mother, are you sure?”
“Old Tom brought the message. Dr. Gaskin wants you to come take care of the office today.”
“He’s not going to see patients, is he?”
“No, but if there is an emergency, he wants you to help or send them over to the new doctor. Looks like his nurse assistant chose a bad time to be away.”
Elizabeth threw back her light covers but paused in the act of standing. “Mrs. Gaskin gone . . . I can’t believe it.” The doctor’s wife not only ran her house and the surgery, but she had always taken time to encourage Elizabeth, ever since she was a question-asking ten-yearold. While others suggested Elizabeth become a nurse, Mrs. Gaskin always said she would be a fine doctor one day.
“How ever will the doctor manage?” Annabelle sat on the end of the bed and leaned against the post. “His wife has been his right hand since the day they opened that office.”
Elizabeth fought the moisture brimming her eyes and flooding her nose. “She . . . she was such a wonderful friend.” She sniffed and nodded when her mother handed her a handkerchief. “Th-thank you.” After wiping and blowing and wiping again, she looked up to see that her mother had tears streaming down her face too.
“I better get dressed. Where’s Tom?”
“In the kitchen. Cook is coddling him with coffee and doughnuts. Breakfast will be ready for you as soon as you go down.”
Elizabeth crossed to her armoire, drew out a serviceable blue cotton dress, and tossed it across the bed. “I know the neighbors will be taking food to Dr. Gaskin’s house as soon as they hear, but I’ll take a basket along. Oh, and let Father know so he can start on the obituary. I’m sure he’ll want to do a front-page story on her life—she was such a boon to all of Northfield.” She stopped and wiped her eyes and nose again. “I know death is part of life, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“No, dear. And it doesn’t get any easier as you get older either. My mother always said, ‘Life changes in an instant, and only God is in control.’ ” She paused at the doorway. “No matter how much we think we know.”
Elizabeth knew that last was for her. She and her mother had often discussed her vendetta against death. I know, but I am still going to keep it at bay for as many people as I can for as long as I am able. By the time she made her way down the curved walnut stairs, she had herself in hand, and only the slightest reddening of her eyes spoke of her tears.
But then she saw the hound-dog misery in Old Tom’s eyes and a fresh tear track down his corrugated face. “Oh, Tom, I’m so sorry.” She knew that Mrs. Gaskin had cared for Tom like a brother for all the years he’d lived above their stable, tending the garden, the horse and buggy, and driving whenever Dr. Gaskin needed him. Although she had no idea how old Tom really was, he looked ancient in the cheery kitchen. She laid a hand on his slumped shoulder, feeling the bones beneath her fingertips, so bereft of muscle that he looked more like a walking skeleton than a man.
“She was so good to me. God don’t have no finer saint in heaven than Mrs. Doc.”
“I know.” Elizabeth took her place at the table and smiled up when Isabel Ames, better known as Cook, set a plate with two fresh doughnuts and a bowl of rhubarb sauce in front of her.
“Now, you eat up, missy. This going to be a long, hard day.” She returned with the coffeepot and filled Elizabeth’s and her mother’s china cups to the brim. “I got me another batch of doughnuts started. I’ll send what’s done with you. Folks going to be needing coffee and doughnuts when they come to call.” Like a perpetual top, Cook spun from stove to counter to larder and back, keeping three things going at once yet pausing to pat first Elizabeth’s shoulder and then Tom’s. Elizabeth shared a secret smile with her mother. They were both very capable in the kitchen, but Cook got such pleasure out of doing for them, they rarely let on.
“That woman was most as good a doctor as the doctor himself,” continued Cook. “Why, that concoction she made for my lumbago made me feel better in a snap.”
Elizabeth secretly wondered if the honey and whiskey base hadn’t done as much as the medication, but she never mentioned such a thing. If Cook knew what was in some of Mrs. Doc’s concoctions, she would throw her apron over her head. But they did work. Or at least many claimed so.
“No one makes doughnuts like these.” Tom reached for another. “You could start a shop. You’d near need to beat people off with a stick, they’d come buy so much.”
“Oh, pshaw.” Cook rolled her eyes. “The way you carry on.”
Elizabeth rose, at the same time wiping her mouth with a napkin. “Come, Tom. If you’re finished flirting with Cook, we can be on our way.”
“Ah, missy, I ain’t flirting no ways.” But the glint in his eye said differently. “Thankee for the repast,” he shot to Cook over his shoulder as he followed Elizabeth out the door to where he had left the horse and buggy. “Doc wanted you to come quick, not waste time walking.”
“I appreciate that.” She had planned a long walk this morning, down along the river and back up the hill. Since school let out she’d gotten lazy. “Where is Dr. Gaskin?”
“Busy with laying out the missus. He wanted her to look nice, knowing that was important to her. She always looked nice, din’t she?”
Elizabeth nodded. Mrs. Gaskin had always worn her graying hair crimped on the sides and rolled around a rat in the back. A white apron covered whatever dress she wo
re, but her face always caught attention, not for true beauty but because of the love and laughter that shone from it. Comfort oozed from every pore, and her hazel eyes bestowed a benediction on those she met. Unless of course they crossed the doctor’s orders. Even the Catholic priest trembled when she got after him.
Biting her lip and sniffing to keep the tears at bay, Elizabeth wound her handkerchief around her finger. The house would feel so empty. How would Dr. Gaskin endure it? How would Henry, the little black-and-white dog that followed his mistress everywhere, get along?
When they turned into the driveway that led to the cut-stone house surrounded by roses about to bloom, Elizabeth sucked in a breath. Already black wreaths hung on the gateposts and the front door, announcing that someone had passed on to their reward.
Old Tom glanced at her. “I hung those for him. Couldn’t bear to have him nail them up. Nothing but bad memories that.” Years earlier the wreaths had been used to announce the death of Dr. Gaskin’s only son, who had died of consumption.
“You’re a good man, Tom. I know how much the doctor appreciates you.” Elizabeth picked up her basket.
“Here, I’ll take that. You go on in the front door and see that all is well.
“Thank you for coming,” Dr. Gaskin said as Elizabeth entered the house. He stood at the foot of the black-draped dining room table.
“You’re welcome, and of course I would come.” When he took her hand, she could feel his trembling. She fought her tears so she could smile for him. Often he had commented that her smile could charm the most brokenhearted. Today, he fit that part. His eyes looked as lifeless as a flower stalk in a winter garden. Deep commas bracketed his mouth, and he looked to have lost ten pounds or more, so shrunken in on himself was he. The gray of his face now matched his hair.
“How can I help you?” She fought the quivering of her lips.
“Just see to the folks for me. I cannot bear to hear how much they all loved her and how they’ll miss her so.” He rubbed a dry hand across his eyes and furrowed forehead. “I-I always thought I’d go first, and I knew she was strong enough to-to go on without me.” He clung to both her hands. “But now I have to go on alone, and . . . and I’m not strong like she was.” He leaned forward to peer into Elizabeth’s very soul. “She was, wasn’t she? I mean we haven’t believed wrong all these years?”
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