And then another busy year passed.
Thank you, Lord, for your faithfulness, Jan prayed. And thank you for the contentment and joy I have found again!
The young men’s study had become a community affair. Some evenings fifteen young men crowded into the Thoresen living room. Many of them were bachelors who had struck out on their own and who had no family in the community. On those nights the house resounded with good-natured ribbing, much laughter, earnest conversation, and heartfelt prayer.
“Be a father to the fatherless,” Jan remembered on such a night. Never, Lord, did I expect to render such a service to you! I thank you!
Heidi surprised Jan and Amalie one evening by asking Søren to help her say something to them. “You are both as dear to me as my own children,” she began, and she clutched Jan’s hand in hers. “For what you have done for my Dieter’s sons, I can never, never thank you.”
Amalie paled and looked to Jan.
“But?” he asked softly, his eyes watching Heidi’s face.
“Ja, but,” she whispered. “But I have been praying and I feel the Lord has spoken to me. It is time I go back home. Neither one of my grandsons has yet found a wife, and they need me.”
Amalie began weeping and shaking her head.
“Nein, nein, Liebschen,” Heidi murmured patting her hand and shoulder. “There’s no need to cry! We will see each other at church each week . . . and every Wednesday, if you will allow me to come with Ernst and Frank when the men have their Bible study?”
“Of course!” Amalie cried. “Whenever you wish! You will always be welcome here.”
As she sobbed into her apron, Jan looked a question at Heidi.
“Jan, my dear son in the Lord, there will be no questions of propriety when I leave,” Heidi answered through Søren. “The lives you and Amalie live are open books to our community.”
“Still, I will stay in the barn, I think,” Jan answered. “I am quite comfortable there and . . . and I wish to never give any room to gossip or suspicion. Søren, perhaps you would like the downstairs bedroom when Heidi leaves?”
Jan had no idea where that suggestion had come from, but Søren grasped it eagerly. “I would! Thank you, Pappa.”
“Ja, maybe you will be bringing a wife home someday soon, eh?” Heidi asked, a tease lighting her eyes.
Søren blushed scarlet at the suggestion, but he also couldn’t hold back a grin.
1878
“Jan! Søren! Please help!” Abigael’s desperate cries reached across the creek and to the fields where Jan and Søren were working. They dropped what they were doing and ran down the slope, splashed across the creek, and up the other side. Abigael, seeing them coming, ran back toward their tiny barn.
Then Jan and Søren could hear Henrik’s screams. Jan shuddered. No man would shriek like that unless in unbearable pain. Søren looked at his father, his face white with apprehension.
Just outside the small barn’s door they saw Henrik’s ox thrashing on the ground. Henrik was pinned beneath the massive beast. The traces of the plow were tangled about its feet; the sharp edge of the plowshare was digging into the ox’s legs. The more the ox thrashed, the deeper the sharp edge cut.
Henrik and Abigael’s boys had hold of their father’s arms but could not budge him. Each time the ox thrashed, trying to free itself from the plow, Henrik’s cries of pain pierced the air.
Jan moved around the deadly hooves until he was near the ox’s head. The wild look in the animal’s eyes increased when it saw Jan. Jan, speaking softly, reached out a hand and placed it on the ox’s head, careful of the animal’s horns. He stared the animal in the eyes and rubbed its knobby head.
While he tried to calm the ox, he reached around to the back of his trousers and pulled a sheathed knife from his waistband. Søren knew immediately his father needed him to cut the traces.
As the exhausted ox settled, Henrik’s screams died to heartrending groans. Finally Søren had cut the traces and was able to pull the plow away from the ox.
The ox struggled to his feet, eliciting fresh shrieks from Henrik. Jan slipped a rope through the ox’s nose ring and led him to Henrik’s corral.
When Jan returned to his friend’s side, Abigael, desperate and scared, was trying to assess Henrik’s injuries. The man lay panting in the dirt, his face gray, his body motionless. A small dribble of blood hung on the corner of his mouth.
Ah, Lord! Jan prayed. Help us in our need!
Abigael encouraged Henrik to climb to his feet, but Jan put a hand on her arm. “Nei, Abigael.” Jan could tell that something inside Henrik was broken. “Søren and I will carry him, ja?”
Henrik’s two boys, now thirteen and eleven years of age, showed Jan their scrap lumber. Jan and Søren cobbled some boards together into a makeshift stretcher. He and Søren lifted Henrik onto the stretcher with as much care as they could. Jan took pains with Henrik’s left arm; he could tell by the bulge under the skin that it was broken. They carried him into the one-room house and laid him on the bed.
“Oh, Henrik!” Abigael moaned. “Where are you hurt?”
Henrik looked for and found Jan’s eyes. “Send her outside,” he mouthed.
Jan nodded. “Abigael, please take the boys outside and calm them. I will talk with Henrik, ja?”
Abigael looked at Jan and then at her husband. Jan knew that she saw through his request. Her shoulders slumped, but without another word she ushered her sons outside.
“Jan,” Henrik groaned through gritted teeth, “I am done for.”
Jan shook his head vehemently. “Nei, it is not your decision, friend. We will let God decide that, ja? Now tell me where it hurts.”
“First fetch me a rag. There is blood in my mouth.”
Jan found Abigael’s rag bag and wiped the blood from inside Henrik’s mouth. Henrik coughed and Jan wiped more away.
“Now tell me,” Jan repeated.
Henrik stared at Jan. “My arm and my chest hurt. I think my arm is broken. Perhaps my ribs also.”
“Ja, I can see that.” Jan gingerly felt along Henrik’s left forearm where the break was. “We will send for Fraulein Engel, eh? She knows how to set broken bones.”
Henrik was quiet and avoided Jan’s eyes. “You are not telling all. What are you not saying, Henrik?”
Henrik continued to avoid looking at Jan. Jan sat beside him and wiped more blood from the corner of his mouth. And waited.
When Henrik at last spoke, his words pierced Jan’s heart. “When the ox fell on me, I felt something break in my back. At first it hurt. Now I cannot feel my legs.”
Jan blinked. He reached over and touched Henrik’s left foot. “Do you feel that?”
“No.”
Jan touched his other foot. “And that?”
“I feel nothing.”
“Try to move your foot, Henrik.”
“I have been trying since you and Søren freed me from the ox,” Henrik whispered.
Jan covered his eyes with his hand. Ah, Lord!
Fraulein Engel came and tended to Henrik’s injuries as best she could. She set his arm and with a grave expression nodded when Søren translated Henrik’s fears to her.
“You know what this means?” she asked Henrik softly.
Henrik looked away and nodded.
When she had done what she could, she called Abigael and asked her to sit next to Henrik. Seating herself, Fraulein Engel took Abigael’s hand. Jan and Søren stood nearby so that Søren could tell Abigael and Henrik what Fraulein Engel was saying.
“Abigael,” she began gently, “Henrik is injured inside. His back is likely broken. He cannot move his lower body.”
Abigael’s eyes skittered from Fraulein Engel to her husband and back. “What does that mean?”
Fraulein Engel squeezed Abigael’s hand and recaptured her attention. “He will not leave this bed, dear sister. I know you will care for him as long as is needed.” That was all Fraulein Engel said, but the sympathy in her eyes told Abigael every
thing.
That had been more than a week ago. Henrik had not improved.
Jan and Søren helped Henrik and Abigael’s sons with the work. Jan encouraged and prayed with the two boys who, in the span of a day, were required to shoulder all their father’s responsibilities.
Jan stared toward the Andersons’ farm. Henrik would not see another spring, perhaps not even another month. The signs were certain. Then what would Abigael do?
Lord, please strengthen Abigael and Henrik for what is ahead.
In February they buried Henrik. At Abigael’s request they laid him to rest within the Thoresens’ cemetery.
“My sons do not wish to give up their father’s land,” Abigael told Amalie and Jan. “But Henrik told me before he died that they are too young for us to hold out here. I can already see that—but my sons do not see it . . . yet.”
She looked from the graves toward their house. “I do not want them to give up their schooling forever either. In a year, I think, we will return to our families, mine and Henrik’s, in Illinois. It would break my heart to leave Henrik buried on land that will someday belong to others.”
Amalie put her arm around Abigael and wept with her. “It is good that you bury him here with our loved ones. We will tend his grave for you when you leave.”
~~**~~
Chapter 32
1879
Abigael and her sons were leaving. The Thoresens and other neighbors helped them prepare for their journey back to Illinois. Abigael was taking little beyond their personal belongings; she sold their stock and gave away their household effects.
Amalie and Abigael embraced for a long moment. “I will miss you,” Amalie sobbed. “I will never forget how you and your Henrik welcomed us when we first came here, how you helped us when we were in such need.”
“I thank you for your friendship,” Abigael choked on her words. “Please . . .”
Amalie knew the assurances Abigael needed to hear. “You will not worry, dear one. We will tend Henrik’s grave as one of our own.”
Jan and Søren drove Abigael and her boys into RiverBend to the train. When it arrived, Mr. Bailey helped them aboard. Jan, Søren, and the Baileys waved goodbye to Abigael and her sons as the train eased away from the station.
Later as Jan looked across the creek it grieved his heart to see their small house abandoned. “The bank will sell it for us,” Abigael had told him.
Jan turned away. I cannot believe I once coveted Henrik’s homestead.
1880
Norvald was the first to tell Jan. “A new minister and his wife have come to RiverBend! He intends to start a church there.” He grinned. “You know none of us Svenska are preachers, so we asked him to come and bring the word next Sunday.”
“Gud!” Jan agreed. “That is gud. I, too, am hungry for a real man of God’s word.”
Jan thought for a moment about another minister who had tried to plant a church in RiverBend. The man had not been prepared for the hardships he encountered and had become discouraged. He left after less than a year. “Does this new minister know that another tried to start a church in town three years ago?”
“Ja, he does. This minister, I think, is made of better stuff than the last one.”
Jan tapped his chin. “If he is a good man and teaches the whole of God’s Skriften, I will pray and get behind his efforts. We need an established church in town, ja? Our community needs it. And I do not wish to see another church fail here.”
“I agree with you, Jan. I will pray also. If the Lord leads us to support the new minister, I will stop holding meetings in my barn and encourage our friends to pray about joining, too.”
With Ivan translating English to Swedish, the young minister—Jacob Medford—preached in Norvald and Inge’s barn that Sunday.
He is very young, Jan smiled to himself, but, oh! I can feel his love for God. This is a man I can have real fellowship with.
Ah. He is a newlywed, too, Jan noted, and his wife is even younger than he is. Tall, slender, with a sweet expression, the minister’s wife shone with love and admiration as she listened to her husband teach on Philippians 1:3-6.
I thank my God
upon every remembrance of you,
Always in every prayer of mine for you all
making request with joy,
For your fellowship in the gospel
from the first day until now;
Being confident of this very thing,
that he which hath begun a good work in you
will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ.
Jan felt his heart expand to receive the word. Ah, Lord! I need this, ja? He and Norvald exchanged approving glances, and Jan noted that Søren and Amalie were fully engrossed in the message.
After the meal, the men of the church invited Jacob Medford to visit privately with them. “We would know more about you,” Norvald explained, “and more of what you believe and teach.”
The young man smiled. “I would like that, too.”
He spoke of himself, his walk with God, and the call he felt to pastor. For an hour or longer the men of the church asked him questions. Jan was impressed that the minister, inexperienced as he was, was humble but not insecure.
Norvald looked about the circle and received nods. “We would have you come and preach again, Mr. Medford,” he said. “Are you willing to fill our pulpit while we pray about God’s direction for our church?”
“I would be honored,” Jacob answered. “I will seek the Lord for his direction, too. I should tell you this, though: It is in my heart to establish a church open to the whole community. If we find it is not the Lord’s will that I remain with you, I pray our fellowship will remain unbroken and as sweet as it has been so far.”
Ah, Lord, Jan marveled. This is a good man you have brought us. As young as he is, he is already a mature man of yours.
Over the next month Jacob and Vera Medford became fixtures in the Swedish church. As news of his preaching filtered through the little town and surrounding neighborhood, others came to worship in the Bruntrüllsen barn, including a few members of the German church.
They greeted Jan with unexpected warmth. Jan was touched that these families still thought highly of him after his conflicts with Adolphe Veicht.
On a Sunday in mid-November, Søren nudged his father. “Look, Pappa!”
There, just inside the doorway of the barn, stood Rikkert and Duna Kappel and their family.
Jan rushed to greet them. “My friends! I am so happy to see you.” Jan shook Rikkert’s hand and then—spontaneously—they embraced.
Rikkert, still holding Jan’s forearms, studied him closely. “I have missed our fellowship, yours and mine, Jan Thoresen.”
“As have I,” Jan returned, his heart full. “So. Will you come and worship with us?”
The following Sunday the church formally invited Jacob Medford to pastor the church. Jacob, his expression solemn but filled with joy, spoke of his vision for a church open to all the community. As he talked, Matthias Comer, a farmer living close to town, stood up.
“I wish to give one acre of my land to the church for a meeting place,” he declared. “The land I give is not far from the town. We can build a meeting place there, ja?”
A roar of approval was his answer.
~~**~~
Part 2
And I will restore to you the years
that the locust hath eaten,
. . . And ye shall eat in plenty, and be satisfied,
and praise the name of the Lord your God,
that hath dealt wondrously with you:
and my people shall never be ashamed.
(Joel 2:25a, 26)
Chapter 33
1881
Søren wiped his sun-bronzed face on his sleeve. He was in the cornfield west of their house and barn, turning row after row of dark soil. The ox harnessed to the plow plodded on patiently and Søren followed behind, keeping the plow’s blade buried in the earth and the furrows straight
and evenly spaced.
As he raised his face from his sleeve, movement across the creek caught his eye. Where the road wound from behind a low bluff, a horse and buggy emerged and climbed to the top of the rise. Was someone coming to visit?
Søren saw the driver gesture to the Andersons’ abandoned house nestled in the hollow between the bluff and the briskly running creek bordering the Thoresen land.
The driver pointed to the Andersons’ fields that spread out atop the bluff behind the house. Then he gestured toward the Thoresen farm. After a minute more the buggy turned onto the track that ran down to the house in the hollow.
Søren was intrigued and didn’t realize, for many steps, that he had allowed the ox to wander. Blast! He would have to turn the ox and go back to where his plowing went awry.
By the time he had managed to plow over the crooked row, the driver and his passenger—a woman—had stepped from the buggy and were examining the house and outbuildings.
Must be that bank fellow, Morton, Søren figured. He’s supposed to be selling the property for Abigael.
Søren placed his attention back on his work and plowed steadily for another hour. The next time he looked across the creek, the driver of the buggy and his passenger were sitting beneath one of the trees near the creek.
“Looked like they were having a picnic,” Søren reported at supper a few hours later.
Jan shrugged his shoulders. “Just so. Mr. Morton took a lady friend on a drive, not a prospective buyer for the Andersons’ farm. A woman without a man would not buy the land, ja? That would be foolish.”
Søren nodded. “Ja, you are right.”
The following morning involved the typical happy chaos of hurried chores, eating, dressing, and driving to the church house near town. Amalie and the children were, as usual, excited and anxious to arrive early and spend time with friends before the service.
Søren drove Amalie in their new buggy pulled by the bays; Jan drove the rest of the children in a wagon. Jan loved the drive on Sunday. He and the children, excepting Sigrün, would sing all the way to and from church. Anyone could start a song; as soon as they did, the rest of them would join in and finish it.
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