He’d inhaled three cookies before she got up the nerve to speak. “Thornton, I have a big favor to ask.”
He set his glass down. “Ask away. I’ll do whatever I can.”
“This is a really strange request.”
He cocked an eyebrow.
She took a deep breath and with a slight nod began. “Please don’t take this wrong.”
Both his eyebrows rose. “Just say what you mean. Life is much easier that way.”
“All right. My mother would much rather I lived an active social life, and that includes seeking a . . . a . . .”
“Mate?” His eyes danced.
She could feel the heat begin at her collarbone. “I wasn’t going to be quite so blunt, but . . .” She looked up from drawing rings on the tabletop with her glass to find him stifling laughter. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Very much. I like seeing the perfectly controlled Miss Rogers having trouble with her words. A bit of vindication for the sport?” He nodded toward the croquet cart.
Elizabeth shook her head. Men! She sighed again and dove in. “My mother is disappointed that I am choosing a single life with medicine as my goal. So in order to keep her happy, I wondered . . . ah . . .” This is where it got sticky. “I wondered if perhaps we . . . I could . . . ah . . .” Another sigh.
“Yes?” He glanced upward as if conversing with someone in the tree, or above it, with God perhaps. “She stutters and stammers. Am I so difficult to communicate with that she fears what I will say?”
“Mr. Wickersham, you are teasing again.”
“I know. You are such a delight to tease.” He leaned forward and tapped her hand, the hand that had gone back to moving the glass around. “Elizabeth, just say it.”
“Would you please pretend with me that we are interested in each other, even though we are not, so that my mother will give up all her matchmaking schemes and let me build the life I want and feel God wants me to have, and if this is all right with you I will be eternally grateful and never ask a favor again.” She drew in a deep breath, wishing she had a fan.
“Don’t go that far.”
“What far?” She glanced at him from under her lashes.
“That you will never ask a favor of me again.”
“Oh.”
He rolled his lips together, slightly nodding at the same time. “Let me understand this correctly.”
It was her turn to nod.
“You want to use me as an escort and possible marriage candidate, all as an act so that your mother will cease her motherly duties.”
She eyed him with questions burning on her tongue. Will you?
Won’t you? Don’t torture me! At that she chuckled. Of course, that was exactly what he was doing.
“If I take on this role, for which, by the way, I am eminently suited, as I have no interest in matrimony myself for some years, what will I receive in return?”
“Hmm.” Elizabeth rubbed the point of her chin with one finger. “This is only fair, I suppose.”
“Seems so to me.”
“Am I to understand that you are considering going along with my charade?”
“I am considering it.”
Elizabeth eyed the cookie platter, now empty, although she had only nibbled on one. “Would frequent gifts of cookies be a consideration?”
“That is a good place to start.”
She remembered the rapt enjoyment on his face when she played the piano. “How about dinner invitations that include personal concerts?”
“Ah yes. May I make a suggestion?”
“Of course.”
“When there is an event at Carleton at which I need a companion, you will fulfill that role so that I do not have to fend off the young ladies.”
“You are insufferable. Do they throw themselves at you with abandon?”
“Frequently. It keeps me from studying.” He assumed a pained look, as if living a life of travail or perhaps his shoes pinched.
Elizabeth threw back her head, the suppressed laughter no longer obeying her restrictions. “The stage is missing a great leading man. Have you thought of that as a career?”
“No. I fear I am destined for the ministry.”
She laughed harder. “I th-think not.” When their laughter subsided to intermittent chuckles, she leaned forward. “So we are in agreement?”
“That we are.” He held out his hand. “A gentleman and gentlewoman’s agreement?”
They shook hands and turned at the sound of her mother clearing her throat. “I thought to join you for refreshment, but if I am intruding . . . ?”
“Not at all, Mother. Sit down. I’ll ask Cook to bring out refills.” Ah, she must surely have all manner of designs after catching that little scene. It took all Elizabeth’s willpower not to rub her hands together in Machiavellian glee.
To find a man she could be so comfortable with, like a pair of well-worn shoes, and not have to worry about offending him with her forthright tongue and opinions, one who liked so many of the same things she did, yet had no more romantic interest in her than she in him—what a priceless gift. Thank you, God.
So what will school bring? Elizabeth wondered later. After seeing Thornton off, she had gone down to the newspaper office to work on her father’s books. Still seated at the desk with a ledger open before her, she locked her hands and stretched them over her head. If nothing else, it should be interesting. And challenging. She sighed. And Mother will be happy, so my life will be much easier.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Northfield, Minnesot
Thorliff felt as if he’d been on the train forever and was being transported into a new life.
“You going to school in Northfield?” The conductor stopped beside his seat.
“Yes, sir.”
“Which one?” At Thorliff ’s confused look, the man added, “Carleton or St. Olaf?”
“St. Olaf.”
“Ah, good school. Of course they both are. Your first time away from home?”
“By myself, yes. I came from Norway when I was five.”
“Where’s home now?”
“Blessing, North Dakota. We farm there.” At the mention of home the ache that had been growing burst into bloom. Home. What had made him leave?
“What’s that near?”
“North of Grand Forks in the Red River Valley.”
“Good land there. I used to run from Minneapolis to Fargo. Now I do this route to Northfield.” He leaned down a bit to glance out the window. “Another fifteen minutes and we’ll be at the station. Lord bless your year.”
“Thank you.” As the man continued on, Thorliff half stood. “Ah, sir?”
The conductor turned and swayed back. “Yes?”
“Can you tell me how I get my trunk to the school?”
“There will be wagons at the station that say St. Olaf. Just load yours on one and climb on yourself, or you can walk up to the campus. Not far.”
Thorliff thanked him again and resumed his seat. The mention of home made him remember back to his getting on the train in Blessing. . . .
“Thorliff, wait!” The shout came from the western side of town.
Thorliff stepped back off the metal stool. Surely that was his father’s voice. Everyone turned at the sound of galloping horse’s hooves. He glanced over to see tears brightening his mother’s eyes and knew his must be the same. He cleared his throat and turned to look at Anji, who slipped her arm back in his.
Horse and rider galloped around the station and slid to a stop as the rider hauled on the reins. Andrew let out a holler, and others called greetings as Haakan swung off the horse and dogtrotted up to his son.
“I couldn’t let you go without saying good-bye.”
Thorliff ’s heart felt near to jumping out of his chest, then it settled back to its normal thrumming. He tried to speak, but no words passed the lump in his throat. He came. Far came!
Haakan clapped his hands on Thorliff ’s upper arms and looked into his eyes.
“I’m proud of you, son. Go with God. We’re sure going to miss you.” He started to say something else but choked. He reached for Thorliff ’s hand to shake it, then pulled him into his chest and hugged him close. “You have my blessing, whatever it is good for.” These words were meant for Thorliff ’s ears alone and were branded on his heart.
“Mange takk.” Ingeborg put her arms around both her tall men.
“All aboard!”
“Remember we are praying for you.” Ingeborg patted his cheek. Haakan squeezed his son’s hand one more time.
The train huffed and whistled and with a squeal inched forward.
Thorliff waved at Anji, his smile wavering as much as hers. He waved at all the others and grabbed onto the bar by the door.
“Get on!” Andrew yelled, waving his hat.
“I will.” Thorliff jogged two steps and hopped up on the step where his satchel still sat waiting for him. He leaned out, waving his hat until Blessing station disappeared in the shimmering heat. . . .
“Northfield. Next stop, Northfield,” the conductor called from the end of the car, bringing Thorliff ’s thoughts back to the present.
Thorliff watched as the houses grew closer together. When he saw streetlights, he knew he was in town. Though he saw mostly the backs of brick buildings, he studied everything with curious eyes. While small compared to Minneapolis and St. Paul, Northfield made Blessing look like a dot on the prairie. He saw churches with spires, three-story buildings, a park, the river winding through the town, a creamery that looked to be exceedingly prosperous, schools, and shops of all kinds. Tall trees lined some of the streets, and there was green grass in many yards. Was the drought not so bad here? The farms along the way had looked about the same as those at home, dry and tired.
His stomach rumbled. He’d run out of food except for some cheese, and he hated spending his money on the outrageously priced sandwiches he’d seen. And a cup of coffee? He’d chosen to drink water from the cooler on the train, which tasted terrible.
“Northfield. All bound for Northfield.”
As the train screeched and hissed to a stop, Thorliff tucked his book back into his bag and shrugged into his jacket.
How could Blessing and home seem so far away? Sure, he’d ridden miles of track, but it wasn’t another world, was it? Once he’d seen a telescope that, when you looked in one end, brought distant things up close. Then he’d looked in the other end. That’s the way he felt now, small and almost invisible.
He swung his carpetbag to the brick walk and looked down the train to see men unloading trunks, boxes, and crates. Surely his was among those. He looked out to the street where wagons were lined up, and sure enough, two of them had “St. Olaf College” lettered on the side. Several other young people looked as lost as he felt there at the train station, while others were being greeted by people they knew.
He headed for one of the St. Olaf wagons. At least he was doing something besides standing there feeling that he was the least member on earth.
“Sir, my name is Thorliff Bjorklund, and I am starting school at St. Olaf. Is your wagon available to carry my trunk?”
“Of course, young fellow, and you too.” The driver swung to the ground. “Let’s go get your luggage. How much do you have?”
“This”—Thorliff lifted his carpetbag—“and one trunk.”
“You don’t have that trunk plumb full of books, now, do you?”
“No, sir.” I don’t even own that many books.
“Good. They do weight up.” The man barely came to Thorliff ’s shoulder, yet had even broader shoulders and a head that seemed to sit right on them. Legs bowed as if he rode a barrel instead of a wagon seat, he still set a pace that made Thorliff stretch out. When Thorliff pointed to his trunk that was lined up with the others, the man grabbed the leather handle and half hoisted it to his shoulder.
“Let me get the other end.” My goodness, he’s strong as a draft horse. Together they hauled the trunk to the wagon and slid it in the back.
A young woman with a quivering chin waited by the curb. “Could I please ask you to fetch my things also, if this is indeed a conveyance to St. Olaf?”
“It is, miss.” Mr. Muscles tipped his hat. “Come on, young feller, perhaps you can help me again.” They hauled two trunks and a wooden box back to the wagon in as many trips. “The ladies always bring twice as much as the gents,” Muscles whispered to Thorliff as they shoved the last box in.
“Really.” He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.
“Anyone else here need a ride to St. Olaf?” When no one answered, Muscles helped the young woman up onto the wagon seat. “You’ll have to ride in the back there, young feller.”
“Good.” Thorliff slammed the endgate shut and climbed over the back to sit on the wooden box.
That night, having registered, paid his money, been assigned a room, and found the dining room, Thorliff sat in his dormitory room gazing at the empty bed across from his. His roommate would be arriving on the morrow. But this night he felt more alone than ever in his life. He could hear others laughing down the hallway, and two were talking in the next room. He’d already put away his things and made his bed, so all that remained was to read his Bible and write a letter home. Two letters, to be exact.
He glanced up at the gas lamp that shed more light than three kerosene lamps. How could he afford to stay here and still have enough money to last the year? Surely there were places in town that were less expensive. Perhaps he could find one where he could exchange work for his bed and board. Or maybe he could stay with a farmer nearby. He’d seen plenty of cows that would need to be milked.
“But, Thorliff, I want you to have time to study and not work all the time.” He could hear his mother’s voice plain as if she were in the room. This seemed to be a night for sighing. He flopped back on his bed and locked his hands behind his head. Someone overhead was moving furniture. Lord, how will I stand this? I know you said you would be with me. Why, then, do I feel so alone?
Quit feeling sorry for yourself, you big lug. He swung his feet back to the floor and rose to cross to the desk. Sitting down, he took out a sheet of paper and an ink bottle.
Dear Far and Mor,
You would love it here. The view from this hill is amazing. I haven’t seen such a high place since we left Norway. My room and all the buildings have gaslights like we saw in Minneapolis that time we went there. Of course they have gaslights in Grand Forks too, but here I can see my paper nearly as well as in the daylight.
My train trip was uneventful, but I didn’t read much. I was too busy watching the scenery. There are more hills and trees here, and the town is huge.
He chewed on the end of the pen. How to separate the things he was feeling from the things he would put on the paper? He went on to describe his room and the dining hall.
Tomorrow I will go look for my classrooms and perhaps meet the teachers. I haven’t met many students yet. There is a meeting tomorrow for those of us just arriving. That is all for now. Thank you for giving me this opportunity. I promise to do my best. Give my love to everyone.
Your faithful son,
Thorlif
Without reading it over, he blew on the last words, folded the paper, and slid it into an envelope. He said much the same to Anji, only asking her how things were at her home and if they’d thought any more about getting someone in to help. He signed it, “Yours faithfully, Thorliff.”
After addressing the envelopes, he set them against the wall, then undressed and hung his clothes on the pegs provided. He took his Bible to bed with him and, head propped on one hand, turned to Psalms and Proverbs, where he read a chapter in each. He understood how King David felt. Sometimes it seemed that God had closed the door and left him alone.
CHAPTER THIRTY-Two
St. Olaf Colleg
One week at college and Elizabeth already felt as though she’d never had a summer vacation.
She sat in the St. Olaf library with her advanced
chemistry book open in front of her. For some reason she was having trouble concentrating. Just read it again and again until you understand it, she ordered herself. Instead, her gaze strayed to the young man sitting across the table and down a chair.
When he looked up and met her glance, she caught her breath. He had the most incredible blue eyes she’d ever seen. Deep clear blue like the sky straight above on a perfect summer day just before the sun breaks the horizon. She smiled and nodded. He did the same and returned to his book.
Hmm. Was he shy? She was sure he was a freshman. She’d never seen him before, and he looked too young to be an upperclassman. She forced herself back to chemistry. When she looked up again, he was gone.
Her curiosity made her shake her head at herself. What was there about him, besides the eyes, that held her attention? She catalogued his face from memory. Handsome in a way, square jaw, straight nose, would most likely fill out more. He was thin now but wore an air of strength. So what was it?
She glanced out the window to see the sun setting. Time to get on home. Her mother hated her walking home after dark. She slid her books into her satchel and smiled at the librarian as she passed. Halfway down the stairs, she stopped.
“I know. It’s the sadness.” Someone bumped into her from behind and gave her a strange look as he passed her. “Sorry. Talking to myself again.” It was him, the one with the blue eyes, the sad eyes. She watched him clatter down the stairs ahead of her.
She inhaled the fragrance of fresh wax, disinfectant, and books. A library had a smell all its own, and she loved it. If she weren’t going to be a doctor or a concert pianist, then she would study to be a librarian. There were many worse friends in life than books, although her mother would tend to disagree with her. Annabelle Rogers would rather do needlepoint or some other needlework than read any day.
Strange, here she was thinking about her mother in the library, of all places. She pushed the heavy door open and stepped outside to breathe in the dying day. Leaves had already begun to fall, due to the drought. Someone was burning them somewhere. The trace of leaf smoke could not be confused with anything else. It was one of the hallmark scents of fall, her favorite season, other than spring of course. She waved to an acquaintance and headed for the path leading down the hill, the path taken by most of the townees. While she walked, she reviewed the bones and cartilage of the knee, then the ankle. While her anatomy professor admitted to being uncomfortable with women in his class, he expected even more out of them than the men. Right now they were reviewing bones, but the part she was looking forward to was the study of the vascular system and then the nervous system. Life would be so much easier if she could take all of her courses at St. Olaf instead of going to Carleton for her sciences.
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