[Home To Blessing 01] - A Measure of Mercy

by Lauraine Snelling

  “We are. Trygve goes out with the threshing crew Monday.”

  “They’ll start with the Knutson place, then the Bjorklunds’ and the Baards’. I used to work that crew until Thorliff got so busy building. You need a job, we always have one for you.”

  “Thank you. If he does come back with more orders, which I’m sure he will, I’m going to need some help myself. I’d like to start building a house too.”

  “You better get on Thorliff’s list.” He nodded as Trygve sat down cross-legged in front of them. “What you doing hanging out with the old guys when all those cute girls are giggling for you?”

  Trygve rolled his eyes. He looked up at Joshua. “You know we talked about building a sleeping wagon?” Joshua nodded. “Well, I talked to my pa about it, and he said he was sure Hjelmer would pay for it. We can build it in our machine shed after we return from threshing.”

  “When is harvest done here?”

  “We’re usually done by now, but with the cool and wet summer we had, we’re behind schedule. We do all the locals and then go west to thresh for others. We’ve been going to many of the same farms for years. Andrew stays home to take care of the livestock and chores, and Samuel would rather do that too. I like helping Pa with the big machinery. When that steam engine and the threshing machine chug down the road, people sit up and take notice.”

  “What do you pull it with?”

  “The steam engine has wheels. Between the two, it looks like some kind of monster coming down the road. We set up and farmers in the area bring their wagonloads of sheaves of wheat to be separated.”

  “That’s the way my father does it. He says the machinery is just too expensive for most farmers to purchase.” But then his father thought everything was too expensive. He expected his sons to work for nothing and to be grateful for the privilege. Sometimes he still wondered why he had returned home when he left Blessing, but he knew. Fiona. Fickle Fiona. Now he wished her and her husband all happiness, but that had taken a long time. Seeing Astrid again had helped him forget Fiona. For a moment he wondered how Pa and the others were getting along without his mother there to feed and take care of them. Who was tending her garden and putting up the produce? His brother’s wife had enough to do with her own house and children.

  He brought himself back to the conversation. Both Trygve and Toby were looking at him. He’d missed something all right. “Sorry, you made me think of my father’s farm. What did you say?”

  “Just more about threshing. I take it you aren’t interested in going on the crew.”

  “Nope. I’d rather put up windmills any day.”

  Lars strolled over and stopped behind his son. “You about ready to start in again?”

  Joshua nodded and finished the last of his potato salad. One thing for sure, the cooks around there were superb. He glanced over at the table of pies and cakes.

  “They’ll set out the desserts at the next break. Grab yourself another cup of punch before they run out.”

  They tuned up again and started the next set, this time a square dance with Haakan as the caller. The dancers wove the patterns at a pace that would make anyone puff. When they finished, everyone clapped and headed for the punch tub again.

  “Hey, Joshua, I heard you singing on Sunday. You ever do any solos?” Lars asked.

  Joshua shrugged. “Sang sometimes in church.”

  “Well, how about that. You know ‘Shenandoah’?”

  “Of course.”

  “Can you play and sing both?”

  Joshua shrugged again and nodded. Actually he enjoyed singing, but he wasn’t about to volunteer. Some practice time would be good, but he knew that song well.

  “Hey, folks, we got a treat in store for you tonight. Mr. Landsverk here is going to sing for us.”

  The crowd hushed and looked toward the musicians. They played a few bars as an introduction, and Joshua picked up with “Oh Shenandoah, I long to hear you. . . .” He picked his guitar instead of strumming, the notes rippling out like sunlight on river water. When he finished, a silence greeted him.

  They didn’t like it. The thought died in birth as one person started to clap, and it became contagious. He looked over to see Ingeborg wiping tears and Mrs. Knutson doing the same. He guessed they liked it all right.

  When they took their next break, Pastor Solberg came up to him. “I knew you had a good voice, son, but that tugged right on the heartstrings. We’d be honored to have you sing for church some Sunday, if you would like.”

  “I’d like that.” And just maybe his mother would be able to hear him sing again. She was the one who gave him a love of music and started him playing the guitar.

  “Thank you.”

  Ingeborg handed him a plate with both chocolate cake and chocolate cream pie. “I saved some for you.”

  “Thank you. My favorites.”

  “I know. Perhaps when people get tired of dancing, we could all do some singing. Would you mind leading?”

  “My pleasure, ma’am.”

  Later, as they sang, people picked up the harmonies, and when one song was finished, someone else would start up another. They went from “She’ll be Coming Round the Mountain” to “Bringing in the Sheaves,” from “Buffalo Gals” to finish with “Simple Gifts.” As the final note faded away, a silence full of peace picked them up and carried them home.

  As one of the children said, “That felt just like church, Ma, don’t you think?”

  “More like what heaven will sound like, I expect.”

  Lars clapped a hand on Joshua’s shoulder. “Well, you can’t beat an evening like this anywhere, I don’t think. Thank you for taking part.”

  “Thank you for asking me. I nearly forgot how much I love playing and singing.”

  “I don’t think you need to worry about that happening. Not now. See you in the morning.”

  Joshua returned to the boardinghouse and sat down to write to Astrid. If she had been there to enjoy the evening, it would have been as close to perfect as he could dream.

  And that’s just what he told her.

  You haven’t been gone all that long, and all I know for certain is that we are all looking forward to you returning home to Blessing, but me most of all. I am beginning to see why you love Blessing so much. This place is truly blessed. That’s about all I can say about it. I hope that all is well with you, that you are learning all that you need and want. I know I don’t write very much, but I think of you often.

  He wanted to write I think of you all the time, but that really wasn’t quite proper. He signed his name, Yours most truly, Joshua Landsverk. Climbing into bed, he threw even the sheet off, warm as the night was. He locked his hands behind his head and stared into the darkness, gratitude welling up so all he could say or think was “Thank you.”

  If only his mother were still alive so he could write to her about the evening. Was life like that, always a sorrow to reduce a joy? Or did joy overpower the sorrow?

  17

  CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

  When Astrid woke at a rap on the door, she thought she’d just fallen asleep. “Yes.”

  “Time to get up.”

  “Thank you.” She glanced across to the other bed, now empty. Talk about dead to the world. She must have been sleeping like Elyse had been when she came in. She dressed quickly and brushed out her hair while hurrying to the washroom. At least there was a sink available. When she’d washed and brushed her teeth, she braided her hair on the way back to her room and wrapped it in a figure eight at the base of her skull. At least that way she’d not have to fuss with it later in case she had to don a surgical cap again. “Got to” would be more appropriate than “had to.” Bless Dr. Whitaker for inviting her to assist.

  She’d just sat down with her tray when one of the nurses called from the doorway. “Dr. Bjorklund.”

  “Yes.”

  “Dr. Whitaker asked me to find you. He wants you to meet him on the surgical floor in ten minutes.”

  “Thank you. I�
��ll be there.” Astrid shoveled in her oatmeal, spread jam on her bread, and was thankful the coffee wasn’t so hot that she couldn’t down it without getting burned. Bread in one hand, she set her tray on the counter and headed out the door. Good thing she’d grabbed her stethoscope on her way out of her room, along with the pencil and small pad of paper she’d stuck in her pocket.

  “Good morning,” Dr. Whitaker greeted her. “You will be doing rounds with me today. Dr. Franck has been so informed.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Hers was not to question why, she reminded herself as she nodded.

  “We’ll start with our appendectomy of yesterday. Did you check on her last evening?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. While that wasn’t within your responsibilities, I’m pleased that you took the initiative and showed such concern. How was she faring?”

  “She was groggy and complaining of pain, but that would be normal with that type of surgery. I checked her chart, and saw a new prescription for pain had been ordered. I waited while the nurse gave it to her, and then she went back to sleep. There was no sign of elevated temperature, and her pulse rate was strong although a bit fast.”

  “And you notated your observations on the chart?” He picked up the chart as he asked.

  “No, sir. I was not assigned to do that.” And I’ve heard stories of how some physicians resent another doctor treating their patient. “Besides, you had already written the same findings half an hour earlier.”

  A smile tickled the lines radiating from the edges of his eyes. “When you check on her through the day, feel free to write your observations on the chart. If you are going to be assisting me, I want you to be involved in all aspects of caring for my patients.”

  Had she heard right? Assisting Dr. Whitaker. Elizabeth’s other hero. And according to her, the best surgeon in the world. “Ah, well, thank you, sir. I mean . . .” Stop! You sound like a ninny. She huffed out a breath. Please, Lord, don’t let me make any more stupid mistakes.

  After they had seen the rest of his patients, he motioned her into the office behind the nurses’ station and sat down. “I have a couple of questions for you. Please, be seated.”

  She sat on the edge of the chair. Now what was happening?

  “I’ve read all your essays and exams prior to coming here and your list of patients cared for in Blessing. I was surprised that you didn’t score higher on the exams administered here. Do you have anything to say about that?”

  Astrid swallowed. How to answer? She sucked in a deep breath and clamped her fingers together. “I knew the material, but I just couldn’t pull out the answers to write them down at the time.”

  “In other words, you froze. Or have you always had a problem with written tests?”

  “No, sir.”

  “You have not only assisted, but according to these files, you were the primary physician on several cases from birthing babies to setting broken bones and removing a bullet. You have had more medical experience than anyone your age I’ve encountered before.”

  “Thanks to Dr. Elizabeth, er Dr. Bjorklund. She wanted to make sure I was trained sufficiently not to embarrass her when I came here.”

  His eyes crinkled again. “That sounds like Dr. Bjorklund all right.” He stared into her eyes. “Do you usually panic when under duress?”

  “No, sir. Just since—”

  “Dr. Bjorklund, your dissection class is about to start.” A voice came through the open doorway.

  “You go on. We will continue this discussion later.” He stood and picked up the stack of charts. “In your spare time, you will want to acquaint yourself with all these patients. We have two surgeries tomorrow morning, starting at seven. One a muscle repair and the other abdominal. And I am on call for the ER, so you will be too. Go and breathe deeply so you do your best on this exam. Dr. Franck is a stickler for punctuality, as well he should be.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Astrid hurried up the stairs and down the hall. Running was not appropriate, but it sure would be helpful.

  This time she would not succumb to the fears that rode her. I have a heart of love and a sound mind. Where did that come from? Of course, from one of her memory verses from Sunday school. For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind. She prayed as she entered the room, Lord God, I most certainly do need that sound mind. Please keep the fear away.

  She took her seat just before Dr. Franck turned from the blackboard. “Good of you to join us, Dr. Bjorklund.” The slight twist he put on her title made her swallow. She swallowed again and sucked in a deep breath. Sound mind, sound mind, sound mind.

  He removed the cloth he’d draped over the other blackboard. The list of ten questions made someone groan. At least it wasn’t her. She read down the list. Yes, she had studied all that. Yes, she had seen it all on the cadaver too. Now to write. Please, Lord, I know this might not be important to you, but it is to me. Please help.

  She paused a moment before her pencil hit the paper. Had she prayed like this before the other tests? Her mother would say God was trying to teach her something. But what? More lessons? She made herself breathe deeply and leaned her neck from side to side.

  Once she began writing, her pencil flew across the paper, the words pouring from somewhere inside faster than she could write them down. She finished the test, including the question titled for extra credit. When she reread her answers, she could hardly believe it. She sounded just like the textbooks. Had she really memorized all the information like that? She made a couple of small changes and stood to take her exam paper to the instructor. As she walked up the aisle, his eyebrow rose. He took her paper and glanced down through the answers, nodding as he went. “You are dismissed, then, Dr. Bjorklund, for today.”

  One of the other students brought her papers forward. He glanced down. “You might want to work some more on question five. You have plenty of time.”

  “Thank you, sir.” The young woman returned to her seat.

  Astrid forced her feet to walk sedately back to her chair. She picked up her things and walked out the door. In the hall the skip and jump burst loose, and she added one spin to the dance. Finally a good test. Thank you, God. She said it again in a whisper. Had she been at home, she would have gone out and shouted to the blue bowl of North Dakota sky. Thank you, God. He did listen to her prayers after all, not just her mother’s. She started down the hall, refusing to get trapped again in questions about the death of Vernon and the baby. Perhaps there were indeed no answers there. Like her mother often said, some things we’ll only learn in heaven.

  Glancing at the watch she wore pinned to the chest of her apron, she hurried back to her room and sank down on her bed to read her mother’s letter.

  My dear daughter,

  How I miss you. How we all miss you, including Inga, who asks when Tante Asti is coming home. I know you are up to your eyebrows in work there. I hope you are learning all that you can and that when you write, you will take time to sleep more than to write to us. We are all praying for you.

  It looks like harvest will begin next week. As always now we are praying that the rain will hold off. And as always, your far is restless for it to begin. He says that the sooner we start, the sooner he can get home again. I wish he would let the younger men do it all, but you know your far. If I said that to him, he would be mortally offended. So I pray and rejoice that he is so much improved. He still tires more easily than he used to, but he is healthy, and that is all that matters.

  The girls had a party for Grace before she left for New York. I wish she could have stopped in Chicago to see you, for both your sakes. The girls all said they miss you and are sending prayers up for you.

  Inga got Carl in trouble again. He tries so hard to keep up with her. That’s like a spring breeze trying to keep up with a tornado.

  Anna is pulling out of her depression. She and I talked again the other day, and I told her what I had experienced all those years ago. W
hy is it that so often a good cry and a shoulder to cry on are as therapeutic as most medications? I know that getting her out in the sunshine was the first step toward healing.

  Mr. Landsverk came for dinner after church on Sunday. He is doing well with the windmill business. He and Trygve are talking of building a little house on wheels like the cook shack for when they go beyond the range of returning home at night. He received a letter that his mother died, and I know that was a shock for him.

  I better close now. The bread is ready to be punched down, and Freda is out picking beans again. We are having a bumper crop, for which I am so thankful. I think we’ll do leather britches again. We didn’t have enough last year. I’m going to let the last pickings dry on the plants so we have more dried beans too. God is blessing us with such bounty. I know He is taking care of you.

  Love always from your mor

  Astrid wiped at the tears that trickled down her cheeks. Instead of going down for the stack of reports, she took out pencil and paper. Even just a note would be better than waiting for time to write a letter.

  Dear Mor and all those I love in Blessing,

  Please share this, as my time to write is nonexistent. I finally took an exam that I didn’t panic over. I did like I used to at home. Thank you for your prayers, and I am thanking God that He answered mine.

  I was asked to assist Dr. Whitaker. Elizabeth will be thrilled with that news. I am astounded, considering my bad scores and mistakes. The thought that a mistake on my part could endanger another person’s life didn’t used to plague me like this. I didn’t think about it. I just did what I knew needed to be done.

  I need to go read charts. I love you all and am so looking forward to returning home to Blessing and seeing you.

  Dr. Astrid Bjorklund.

  P.S. I love signing my name that way. Is that prideful? I hope not.

  She’d just finished putting a stamp on the addressed envelope when a knock came at the door. “Yes.”