Blessing in Disguise

by Lauraine Snelling

  Hjelmer nodded. He’d spent a good part of the voyage learning English, that and poker. By the end of the time at sea, he’d become more fluent with the latter but knew enough English to survive. Passing by the card room at the hotel had been a temptation last night, but years before he’d sworn to never gamble again, and he kept to that.

  “Mange takk again,” the young woman said after the conductor made his swaying way up the aisle.

  “You are indeed welcome. Is there no one traveling with you?” Hjelmer leaned back and relaxed. It looked as though he wouldn’t get to watch the scenery as much as he wanted. But he daren’t be rude. His mother had taught him far better than that.

  “There was, but she remained in Chicago. I . . . I wish now I had learned some English before I left home. I . . . I just had no idea the land was so big.” She shook her head. “I think everyone could emigrate from Norway and not even make a dent here.”

  “Most likely. I only know the way east and west. There is plenty of land to the south, too, and even more west from here. A friend of mine tells tales of mountains higher than those at home and valleys that take your breath away. He wants to head to Montana to homestead now.”

  “Montana?” She stumbled over the strange word.

  “That’s another territory on the western border of North Dakota.”

  “And we are going to South Dakota now?”

  “Yes, but we’re still in Minnesota and will be for several more hours.” Hjelmer glanced out the window to see another windmill, this one different from the ones he’d purchased, since it had only three blades. The other seemed more efficient to him, even though the cost was slightly more. When he saw a steam tractor pulling not only a plow but a disc behind, he craned his neck to watch them as long as possible. The machinery salesman had been right. Farmers were using the monstrosities in the field. Most likely he should stock at least one.

  But the cost was high, no doubt about that. He’d better sell a lot of windmills first.

  “I have a favor to ask.”

  Her voice again broke his thoughts, so he turned back, barely suppressing his disgruntlement.

  “Would you please teach me a few phrases as we go? I hate to bother you, but I’m realizing how important this can be.”

  Hjelmer sighed and pointed to the seat opposite her.

  “Oh, please. Yes, of course, please sit here.” She motioned to the seat, relief evident in the relaxing of her shoulders. “At least this way I can tell Mr. Moyer hello when we meet.”

  Hjelmer changed seats and something in her tone made him pause. “Do you not know this man?”

  She shook her head and stared down at her hands clamped around the handles of her bag. “I . . . I signed a paper with the Norwegian government to become a wife of someone from America. Mr. Elkanah Moyer wrote to the program seeking a wife. I have heard that there are many more men in this land than women, and so I answered Mr. Moyer’s letter. I was supposed to come earlier, but my mor died, and I needed to be there to help out, so I came now instead. I sent Mr. Moyer a letter telling him of my situation.”

  Hjelmer knew this was not an unusual circumstance. Women were indeed wed quickly when they came to the frontier. So many died in childbirth and of other things that some men sent back east for wives or, like this one, to the homelands.

  “So let us begin with the English lesson.” He gave familiar phrases like greetings and other polite sayings and had her repeat them after him, then quizzed her on them a bit later. “Hello, my name is Asta Borsland.” He had her fill in the blank.

  This continued through various stops, and along with teaching her the language, he answered her avid questions of what life was like, about his family, and she laughed when he told her about things that went on in Blessing.

  “That must be a very fine place to live.” Her tone grew wistful. “From Mr. Moyer’s letter, I know I will live on a ranch, far from close neighbors like you have.” She squared her shoulders and reapplied the smile to her face. “But I will be very happy there. I know I will.”

  “Have you ever lived in the country?”

  She shook her head. “No, but it can’t be too different from the city.”

  Hjelmer nearly groaned. Oh, but did she have a lot to learn. “Do you know how to milk a cow?”

  She shook her head.

  “Plant a garden?”

  She nodded. “Somewhat.”

  “Feed and butcher chickens?”

  Her headshake included a shudder this time.

  “Weave?”

  “I can knit, and I’m a good cook and housekeeper. I’ve taken care of many children.”

  “That is good.” He gave her several words for household things, and she repeated them back. “Have you ever made soap?”

  Another no.

  “Dressed out a pig or deer?”

  She shook her head again.

  Hjelmer sighed. That poor man. What kind of wife would she be for a rancher?

  “But I learn fast, and I’m not afraid of hard work.”

  “I’m sure you will do just fine.” And if she believed that, he was a far better salesman than he thought. She needed to be working in a boardinghouse or a fine house in St. Paul, of which he’d seen several in his travels. Someday perhaps he’d build such a house in Blessing, but not in the immediate future, that was for certain.

  By the time they stopped in Aberdeen, his stomach was reminding him that dinnertime was noon, and that was past. A local hotel had set up a stand on the outside of the station, and he rose to go purchase a sandwich or some such. “Would you like something to eat?” He nodded to the stand outside.

  “Oh yes. I’ll . . .” Asta dug in her purse.

  “I’ll get it. Be right back.” As he stepped down to the ground he thought of Sam at home bringing a tray onto the train to better serve the travelers. His Penny had the right idea all right. He studied the foods offered and chose two sandwiches, two cookies, and two red apples, then paid for them and took his time getting back to the train. A cup of coffee would be the perfect thing, but unlike home, no hot drinks were offered. Henry had told him that on the main lines now there were dining cars where one could sit down to a full meal or purchase food to take back to the seat. Coffee and milk were always included.

  He swung back aboard, greeting McDonnell at the same time. When Asta insisted on paying him for her food, he pocketed the change and settled in to eat. The bread was dry with no butter, the meat tough, and he found some mold on his cheese. No wonder seasoned travelers appreciated the food in Blessing. The stale cookie could have been improved with a good hot cup of coffee. He hoped there would be a hotel or some such in Ipswich. Perhaps his sister would be working there, trying to earn money for a ticket to Blessing if, as he suspected, she’d run out of money, since they’d not sent her much beyond her ticket and enough food to last until she reached her destination.

  He allowed himself a few moments to think on this perfect answer to his prayers to finding Augusta.

  Midafternoon the train finally steamed into Ipswich.

  “We’ll be here an hour or so while we switch the engine and such, since this is the end of the line,” McDonnell explained. “If’n I was looking for my sister, I’d ask the ticket agent. Ol’ Abe here knows about everything that goes on.”

  “Ol’ Abe?” Hjelmer raised an eyebrow.

  “Abe Grossenburg. He’s been here since Noah was a pup.” McDonnell laughed at his own humor and swung off the stairs so he could set the stool in place and help the passengers down.

  Hjelmer went first and set his carpetbag down, then turned to assist Miss Borsland. Far as he could see, there was no one at the station to meet her. She should have sent a telegram, that’s what. What if her Mr. Elkanah Moyer didn’t get the letter?

  One glance at her face told him she was thinking the same thing.

  Now what to do? He couldn’t just leave her, with her not speaking the language. One more problem on the way to finding his sister. When
he did find Augusta, he had a store of things to say. And none of them were especially nice.

  Chapter 24

  Blessing

  Late September

  “Come on, Ellie, get Deborah. I’ll get Laban and Mary Jane.”

  “Don’t you go starting without us.”

  Andrew gave his best friend a look that clearly asked where she’d left her marbles. “I never do.” He charged off around the schoolhouse, shouting for the other boys to come play Run-Sheep-Run. The older children were already lined up for Red Rover, but the smaller ones could never break through the line, so they usually played something else.

  By the time he’d gathered up enough to play and headed back to the other side of the building, he heard a voice hiss. “You gonna get black spots playin’ with those nigger babies.”

  Andrew ignored the voice, as his mother had ordered, and kept on going.

  “Niggers too dumb to play, don’t ya know?” The voice was a bit louder but still too low for the others to hear.

  Andrew came to a dirt-digging halt. He spun around, searching for the owner of the voice he knew so well. “Toby Valders, you stop that!”

  “Come on, Andrew, we’re waiting,” Ellie called.

  Andrew started off again and this time did manage to ignore the singsong verse.

  “What’s wrong?” Ellie and the others gathered around him.

  “Nothing.” But Andrew looked over his shoulder with a glare that would drop a horse dead in its tracks.

  “Come on, let’s play, or recess will be all gone.” Deborah grabbed one of his hands and Ellie the other.

  Shouting and laughing they played until the bell rang, then all the children ran to line up from smallest to tallest.

  Andrew glared at Toby, who strolled by him as if nothing had ever happened. When Andrew glanced up, he caught Pastor Solberg’s questioning gaze and dropped his own. Somehow he would teach that . . . that—he couldn’t think of a name vile enough. He’d teach that Toby a lesson he’d never forget.

  “Hello, Pastor Solberg, children.”

  At her voice they all spun in their seats. “Mrs. Solberg, oh, come sit down.” The children nearly bounced in their seats when Mary Martha Solberg entered the soddy.

  “I thought maybe you could use some extra help today.” She smiled at her husband.

  “Can I ever.” John closed the book he’d been about to assign lessons from and crossed the short space between them to take her hand. “Children, what shall we have her do? Help the Ericksons with their English?”

  The three Erickson sisters nodded, smiles coming where they never had the year before. “Mrs. Solberg, we can talk English real good now,” Clara, the youngest, said.

  “Then maybe you don’t need me.”

  “Oh no, that’s not what I mean.” Flustered, she slipped in a Norwegian word and blushed.

  Mary Martha removed her scarf, and Pastor helped her take her coat off. “I was just teasing.”

  “You could help us with our reading,” Ellie piped up.

  “And we could sing,” Anji Baard added.

  “I think she should read us all a story.” Pastor Solberg nodded. At the squeals of delight, he added, “That will be at the end of the day, of course, and only if everyone does their best between now and then.” Sighs and nods both came from his students. “All right, let’s get going right now. Mrs. Solberg, you can take your English students over there.” He pointed to the back corner. “Thorliff, will you please come and review sums with the first graders? And those fourth grade and up, please review for a history test that will be given in about half an hour.”

  As they all scattered to their assigned tasks, Pastor Solberg beckoned to Andrew. “Come with me.”

  Andrew looked to Thorliff, who shrugged and nodded at the same time. When he rose from his seat, the smaller Bjorklund looked as if he was headed for a whipping.

  Pastor Solberg opened the door and stepped out into the sunshine with Andrew at his side. “Come, let’s walk a bit.” The silence stretched between them, making Andrew squirm as though he were sitting on a thistle bush. “Now, Andrew, I know something happened at recess, and I know, too, that you don’t want to tell me about it. But I have my suspicions, and you need to tell me the truth.”

  Andrew sniffed and clenched his fists.

  “Someone said something that made you angry?”

  Andrew nodded and sniffed again. He dug in his pocket for a handkerchief and blew his nose. Looking up, he wished he were flying with the geese—anywhere but right where he was.

  “Now, I know you well enough to know that if someone called you a name, you’d just ignore it, but if someone calls someone else a name or says something bad about them, you get upset. Especially if it is someone you believe is weaker or more vulnerable.”

  Andrew looked up. “What is vul . . . vularable?”

  “Vulnerable. That’s someone who can be hurt easily.” Pastor Solberg waited.

  “Oh.” Andrew’s nose itched so badly he wanted to scratch it off. Neglecting his handkerchief this time, he used the cuff of his sleeve.

  “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

  “Uh-uh.” Andrew studied the third button of his shirt as if it held the secrets of the world.

  “I was afraid of that.” Pastor Solberg pointed to a block of wood next to the chopping block. “Sit.” Andrew sat, and the teacher took his place on the chopping block, leaning back slightly against the ax handle. “Now, I know that tattling is considered a sin right up there with murder, but if I don’t know what is happening, I cannot teach those mistreating others to not do so.”

  All he could see was the top of Andrew’s head, hair so gold it shone white. Solberg let the silence stretch again until the little boy had the fidgets so bad he would get splinters in his rear any moment. “Was it Jerry?”

  Andrew moved not a muscle.

  “Was it Toby?”

  The nod was so brief that if Solberg hadn’t been watching carefully, he would have missed it.

  “And was it about our Negro students?”

  Another nod came, so minuscule Andrew’s hair didn’t even move.

  Solberg nodded. “All right, Andrew, you can be relieved that you did not tattle, because you did not say a word, and while I will not do anything today so that they cannot accuse you, be assured that something will be done. And, Andrew . . .”

  After a silence, Andrew looked up at his teacher.

  “Please do not try to take this into your own hands. While your willingness to protect the weaker is admirable, sometimes you have to let the ones in authority do their job. I don’t want to hear of any fistfights. Do you understand me?”

  Andrew nodded, but he wore a stubborn look that told Pastor Solberg this boy would most likely get even somehow.

  “Andrew, the Bible says that revenge is the Lord’s. Our job is to love those around us, not take vengeance on them.”

  The boy’s head snapped up. “You mean I got to love them?” The horror on his face made Solberg want to smile, but he disciplined himself to keep his lips straight.

  “I know. God asks a lot of us, and most times His way is not the easy way.” He laid a hand on Andrew’s shoulder. “But violence begets violence, and we will not have that here.” He stood. “Now, let’s go back inside, unless you have any questions?”

  This time the headshake was vigorous enough to set Andrew’s hair to swinging.

  “Good. Because if I learn of any retribution on your part, I will deal with you as severely as the offenders.”

  “Yes, sir.” Andrew paused and looked up at his teacher. “What is re . . . re—”

  “Retribution? That means taking the punishment into your own hands. Getting even.”

  “But . . .”

  “But what?”

  “Nothing, sir.”

  “Let’s see that there is nothing.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did ya get a whippin’?” Ellie whispered as Andrew took h
is seat again. When he shook his head, she breathed a sigh of relief. “Good.”

  Pastor Solberg watched, and he could see that Andrew had a hard time enjoying either the singing or the story at the end of the day. When school let out, Thorliff and Baptiste hitched up the wagon for the teacher and his family, much to Manda’s disgust. After the schoolhouse was cleaned and in order again, they got in the wagon and Manda drove them home. Once there the girls headed outside for chores, and Mary Martha went to the kitchen to start the stove. John clasped his hands behind his back and thought what to say.

  “I have a problem.”

  “I know. I can tell. Between you and Andrew, I wasn’t sure who was more down at the mouth.”

  “Really?” He looked at her in surprise.

  “Really. So tell me from the beginning, and we will see how we can work it out so that little boy doesn’t have such a heavy burden to carry.”

  He followed her into the kitchen, and while she rattled the grate and added wood to the coals, he paced the floor, telling the story. At the conclusion, he stopped by the stove where the coffee water was now heating up. “Those two Valders boys are bringing so many bad things to these children that at times I wish they had never gotten off the train here.”

  “Ah, but how blessed they are that they did. They just have a lot of bad habits to unlearn, that’s all.”

  “Seems the only thing they understand is the rod, and I hate to use it overmuch. I know if I tell Anner what is going on, he will apply the rod without a doubt.”

  “So you want another way.” She measured the coffee she’d just ground into the pot and set the lid in place.

  “Um. I wonder where their ideas about Negroes came from. New York isn’t a southern city by any means, and that is where they grew up.”

  “Who knows what and who taught them, after living on the streets like they did . . .” Mary Martha shuddered. “Now, if they’d come from Atlanta or Charleston . . .”