A Season of Grace

by Lauraine Snelling

  “I brought a jar of apple jelly, the first of the year.” Mrs. Benson set her basket on the counter. “I had a delivery to the Garborgs, so I treated myself to a stop here. The apples are nearly ripe on the trees, but the jelly is from windfalls. I chased another deer away. They sure like apples. Mr. Benson shot a spike out there the other morning, so we’ll have venison.”

  “Bjorn will probably want to plant apple trees sooner rather than later when he hears that.” Gerd pulled the coffeepot forward to heat. Apron cushioning her hand, she opened the oven door. “The bread looks ready to me.” She tapped the nearest loaf. “Sounds ready too. Sit down, sit down.”

  Mrs. Benson pulled an envelope out of her basket. “This came in yesterday. I was going to wait for you to stop in, but when the trip to the Garborgs’ came up, I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone.” She patted Signe’s arm. “This is for you. I know it has been some time since you had mail from Norway, so I hope it is good news.” She set a small bag of peppermint sticks on the table and reached over to tickle Kirstin under the chin. “Soon, little one, you’ll be able to enjoy peppermint too. My goodness, as fast as you are growing, you’ll be in school before we know it.”

  Gerd carefully sliced one of the loaves of hot bread, being careful not to squash it any more than necessary. Laid on plates, the slices seemed to return to their original shape as the butter melted. “Mor always said to wait two hours before slicing bread, but you miss out if you do that.”

  The bread disappeared about as fast as if the boys were eating it. The sipping of coffee took a bit longer.

  Mrs. Benson stood and picked up her basket. “Well, I better get back to the store. Takk for the time and good food. By the way, I am putting our name on your list for a butchered hog. Mr. Benson is really looking forward to pork chops and ham. He says he will do the smoking.”

  They waved good-bye and went back to their chores, and the afternoon flew by.

  Signe read the letter at the supper table that night.

  “‘Dear Signe and family,

  “‘I apologize for taking so long to write, but you know what summer is like—all the canning, so many up at the seter, and the long days that entice us outside. I am sure you are doing the same.

  “‘We had a tragedy. A boat went down in the North Sea, taking everyone aboard with it. Rune’s cousin Nels now rests in the arms of our Lord, and his mor and far are heartbroken. As is his wife. Their little son is too young to understand. He was the eldest, as you know.’”

  Signe paused, shaking her head. “So very hard.”

  “Did you know him well?” Gerd asked.

  “No, but still, his poor mor and wife.” She returned to the letter.

  “‘Gunlaug told us all about Nilda and Ivar’s trip over. That Nilda writes a very entertaining letter. I am so grateful we all share the letters that come from America.

  “‘Greet everyone from all of us here. And please try to write more often. I know you are busy, but we so enjoy your letters. On another note, Mrs. Nygaard has been bragging about how well Dreng is doing in America. What’s strange is that he never says where he is living now or what he is doing. She thought he was going to be a lumberjack.

  “‘With love,

  “‘Your Mor and all of the rest of your family’”

  Signe sniffed and folded the letter. She glanced up to see horror freezing Nilda’s face.

  Nilda’s voice trembled. “What if he were to come here?”

  “There are hundreds of lumber camps, Nilda. That Dreng has no idea where you are, and besides, he has most likely forgotten all about you by now.” Signe stood up to start clearing the table. “Make sure you have those books you borrowed ready to take with you in the morning,” she reminded Knute and Leif, who both nodded. Tomorrow was the first day of a new school year.

  “I made cookies for your dinner pails,” Gerd offered.

  Leif sighed. “They should start school later, like October. Right now I got too much to do here.”

  “And—and I could work out in the big trees too.” Knute heaved a sigh.

  “The work will wait for you,” Rune said. “We will work as long as we can in the evening, just like we always have.”

  “But we will have to do homework.” The final word turned into a wail. Knute shook his head. “It’s not fair. Bjorn gets to work in the woods.”

  “He is older.” Signe took Kirstin from Gerd. “Come now, let’s go to the other house. Morning will come fast.”

  “We’re going back out to the big trees?” Bjorn asked the next morning at breakfast.

  “You still have plenty to do on your house,” Gerd answered before Rune could.

  “I know, but I said I would go back to the woods when school started.” Rune blinked and rubbed his eyes. No, not rubbed. Massaged. If only there were a way to help his eyes. Signe had mentioned pain medicines, but he’d said no, because they made him sleepy and he couldn’t work. She watched him squeeze his eyes shut and then open them several times.

  Gerd chided, “But back then we did not know all we know now about what money we would have. Will a few more trees still standing make that big a difference?”

  “I am a man who keeps his word.”

  “I know you are. You needn’t prove it again with the trees.” Gerd sat down. “Now, let’s have no more about this right now. Once the weather really turns cold . . .”

  “We will be butchering hogs.”

  Gerd nodded, a smile trying to break through. “Exactly.”

  “Gerd Strand, you are not the same woman I met when we came here.”

  “You are right. Then I was in bed, and now I am out here. Then I slept all the time, and now I have opinions. Strong opinions.” She took a bite of her biscuit. “Please.”

  Rune shook his head and chuckled. “Oh, all right.”

  A couple days later, Signe heard Leif shouting from the lane. “Mor, there’s another letter from Norway! This time for Far.” He bailed off Rosie with the dinner pails. Knute rode on to let Rosie out to pasture. Leif leaped up the back steps. “I’m starving.”

  “Change your clothes.”

  “I will. Did you check on the sheep and the pigs?”

  “And the chickens and the garden and—”

  “Mooor.” He unbuttoned his school shirt and grabbed his old small one for chores. “We beat the other team at ball today, and I hit the ball.”

  “The teams remain the same?” Signe set some bread with butter and sugar on the table, along with two glasses of milk. “You can take a moment to eat.”

  He buttoned his shirt as he drank the milk. “Are the ladies in the corral?”

  “Ja, they were out in the pasture for a couple of hours, then came back in.”

  “Really? I told you they’re smart. Only three days of school, and they know to come for grain when I get home.” Bread in one hand, he just missed running over Knute in the doorway.

  Knute looked over his shoulder, shaking his head. “How come he’s in such a hurry?”

  “The ladies are calling for him. Far and his helpers are at the other house. Change your clothes.”

  “I will.” Without sitting, Knute drained his glass and grabbed the remaining slice of bread.

  Signe asked, “Homework?”

  “Of course.” He puffed out his cheeks. “I’d rather be working in the woods.”

  “So I hear. But the others are working at the house.”

  “That would be fine too. Anything you want me to take to Far?”

  “Nei. I mean, no.”

  As he went out the door, Signe picked up the letter from the table. Addressed to Rune, not Nilda. All the other letters from Gunlaug had been to Nilda. Signe set the letter up against the salt cellar on the table. Nilda had gone to the other house to help there for a change, since they had quarts of sliced carrots steaming on the stove now.

  When everyone gathered for supper, washed up, and sat down, Signe handed the envelope to Rune.

  He looked
at it. “Let’s have supper first. These men are famished.” He laid the envelope back on the table.

  When they had all finished eating and had passed their plates around, Rune picked up the envelope and sliced it open with the blade of his knife, leaving a dab of butter on the paper. He cleared his throat as he unfolded the single page.

  “‘My dear faraway family,

  “‘This is the hardest letter I have ever written. Your far passed away in his sleep on the fifteenth of August, from what we believe was a heart attack. He had not—’”

  “Far! Oh, Far!” Nilda pressed her hands to her face. Ivar clapped his hand over his mouth as his eyes brimmed over.

  Rune continued.

  “‘—had not been feeling like his usual self for some time, but there did not seem to be anything specific wrong. We went to bed as usual, and when I woke in the morning, he’d been gone for some time. It is so hard to believe that something like this could happen and I was not aware of it.

  “‘We buried him in the family plot at the church, next to his far.’”

  Rune stopped reading. He rubbed his eyes and sniffed. “Sorry.”

  Signe walked around the table and laid her hands on his shoulders, feeling him shudder. Resting her cheek on his head, she let her own tears fall.

  “That means Farfar is in heaven now?” Leif leaned into Gerd’s arm, which was wrapped around his shoulders.

  “Ja, he is gone to be with his Lord.” Nilda wiped her eyes and blew her nose on her apron. “Too soon. He was not old enough to die yet.”

  “I always thought maybe they would come here.” Knute stared at his far.

  Rune nodded. “Me too.” He picked up the sheet again and continued to read.

  “‘While some people think I am making decisions too quickly, I want to come to America to be with all of you. Perhaps the others will come too, eventually. I can only hope.

  “‘Your cousin Selma and her little boy want to come with me if we can find the money for tickets. Since her husband was lost at sea, she says she has no reason to remain in Norway. He had wanted to emigrate too but decided one more season on the fishing boat would give them the money for tickets. We are all ready to start new lives, like you have.’”

  They sat in silence, except for sobs now and then.

  Finally, Gerd spoke. “I will sell enough hogs for her ticket.” Her tone brooked no argument.

  “I—we can pay part of one.” Rune looked to Signe, who nodded. Not that she was sure they had that kind of money.

  Ivar heaved a sigh. “I don’t want Mor coming alone. She is just stubborn enough to do so. We should find a way to bring Selma too.”

  Rune nodded and returned to the letter.

  “‘I pray you are all well and that we will hear from you soon.

  “‘May God bless us all,

  “‘Your Mor, Gunlaug Carlson’”

  Signe leaned over and hugged Nilda, who wrapped her arms around her neck. “Such horrible news.”

  Ivar propped himself against the back of his chair and stared at the ceiling. “I wish I had some way to earn money immediately.”

  “We will manage,” Gerd said. “Remember, you all told me we are a family. There is no mine or yours, but ours. We’ll sell some of those trees early if we have to. Perhaps we should ask Mr. Kielund to haul a load in.”

  Rune reminded her, “We can haul trees. We have four-up now, strong enough to pull a loaded wagon.”

  “Four horses is all well and good, but can the wagon carry that much?” Signe asked.

  “Selling hogs is easier.” Gerd pushed back her chair. “All we need to do is find a buyer. Rune, why don’t you ask around when you go into Blackduck tomorrow?”

  “I will write Mor a letter tonight.” Shuddering a sigh, Nilda pushed back her chair. Then she paused and slowly sat down again. “Wait. I have an idea. You said Mr. Kielund lost his wife. And Selma lost a husband. . . .”

  Signe stared at her. “An arranged marriage? Is that what you’re thinking?”

  Nilda bobbed her head. “In this country they call it mail-order brides. It’s done a lot, I hear, especially farther west. If Mr. Kielund could help with the passage money, Mor and Selma can come right away.”

  Rune snorted. “I agree they could. But who is going to ask Mr. Kielund?”

  Chapter

  7

  When you go into Benson’s Corner, ask Reverend Skarstead to talk with Mr. Kielund.”

  Nilda blinked at Gerd. “Of course. Bless you, Tante Gerd. Tonight when we go to class, we will ask Reverend Skarstead. Surely he will talk with him.”

  Nilda thought back to her brother Johann’s wedding, when her cousin Nels and his wife, Selma, both good friends of Johann, had come to celebrate with the family. That thought led to another. Selma had once worked for the Nygaard family. Had she been accosted by Dreng too? But then, Selma was older. Perhaps he’d been too young then. Nilda had been feeling safe out in the Northwoods of Minnesota, but now the fear had reared its ugly head again.

  Right now she wished she knew what the men in Norway had done to Dreng to help him “rethink his ways,” as they put it. His own far was the one to banish his spoiled son from Norway. Out in the garden, she stabbed the fork into the dirt with a vengeance and leaned on the handle to release the carrots from the earth. It was a beautiful day with fall in the air, and Dreng was back on her mind. Why couldn’t he have been the one lost at sea? Not a fine man like Nels! But then, Dreng figured he was too good to work like others. He would never be on a fishing boat.

  She broke another carrot from the soil. Going down the row, she stabbed and pushed to lift. With each stab, Dreng disappeared further into the back of her mind. Several crows flew overhead, their cries grating on her nerves, as if they were scolding her.

  Turning, she kicked the basket ahead of her as she pulled the carrots free and knocked them together to dislodge the dirt. When the basket was full, she took it over to the windmill and gushed water over the carrots, raising her face to the sun as she pumped. When she inhaled, the tang of fall made her smile. What made the air change dresses like that?

  Back on the porch, she finished scrubbing the dirt off the carrots with a bucket of water and a brush, including the tender skins. These would sure be appreciated in the winter when those stored fresh in the cellar were gone. Together she and Signe sliced the carrots on wooden cutting boards and packed them in jars. They needed to buy jars again too; they had put up far more food than Signe had the year before. Of course, there were more mouths to feed.

  When they loaded the eggs and butter in the cart that evening, they added a rabbit carcass as a gift for Mrs. Benson. Every time Knute moved his snares to a new area, they had fresh meat again.

  “We need to can five or six of those young cockerels. Chicken potpie will taste real good this winter. At least we can butcher one or two as we need them. A couple of the older hens would be fine too.” Nilda stepped up into the cart and flicked the reins. “I sure hope Reverend Skarstead is at home.”

  They dropped off the butter, eggs, and their list of what they needed at the store, then drove to the house next to the church and knocked on the door.

  “Coming.” The call came just before the door swung open. “Why, Mrs. Carlson, Miss Carlson, come in, come in.” Mrs. Skarstead stepped back. “I assume you are here to talk with my husband?”

  “Yes, if we may.”

  “Come on back to the kitchen, and I’ll put the coffeepot on.”

  “Thank you, but we can’t be late for our English class,” Nilda said.

  “Surely you have time for coffee. It will be ready in a couple of minutes.” Mrs. Skarstead motioned them to the table, pulled the coffeepot forward, and went out the back door.

  Signe looked out the window. “Sometime I hope to have a garden and yard like theirs. A shade tree, bushes, and flowers.”

  “You will. But you might need a fence to keep the wild critters out.”

  Signe shrugged. “I don’t k
now. Gerd doesn’t have a fence.”

  “Gerd doesn’t have anything growing around her house other than the rosebush. And the garden is fenced.”

  “True, but I want blooming flowers and birds and—”

  “Well, well, to what do I owe the honor of this visit?” Reverend Skarstead’s smile preceded him. He shook each of their hands and pulled out a chair. “I know you are on your way to class, so how can I help you?”

  Signe cleared her throat. “First the news. Thor Carlson, the father of Rune, Ivar, and Nilda, died recently in Norway.”

  “Oh, I am so sorry! Please accept my condolences.”

  Nilda nodded, and Signe continued. “Their widowed mother wants to immigrate, but we hate to see her travel alone.”

  Nilda added, “A cousin of mine lost his life when a fishing boat sank. He left a wife, Selma, and small son. Mor wants to come to America to be with us, and we hope Selma can come along.”

  “I see.”

  “You know Mr. Kielund.”

  “He is widowed. . . .”

  “And in search of a mother for his children.”

  Skarstead nodded, his smile widening. “So you want to play matchmaker.”

  Signe smiled too. “If possible. I know Selma. She is a fine wife and mother, and she loved my cousin dearly. But she wants to start new here, and what better place than with . . .”

  “Mr. Kielund, who loved his wife dearly and has two—”

  “Darling childen,” Mrs. Skarstead said. “I think this is a perfect idea.”

  “We hope you can go talk with him,” Signe said. “See if he might be willing to pay for Selma’s ticket or at least help with it. We do not have enough cash available to buy both passages. It would be something like a mail-order bride.”

  Nilda hastily added, “But tell him that if he and Selma don’t like each other or something, we will repay the cost of the ticket. Probably next spring when we sell the trees.”

  The reverend leaned forward. “Let me get this straight. You want me to get him to pay for the ticket.”

  “If he can. She would come more quickly that way.” Nilda gave him a hopeful look. “Tante Gerd is paying for Mor’s ticket by selling hogs.”