A Season of Grace

by Lauraine Snelling

  “What a story this is turning into.” He looked to his wife, who nodded. He wagged his head. “I can’t promise anything.”

  “We know.”

  “I am certain this is going to work out.” Mrs. Skarstead set a plate of cookies on the table and poured coffee into their cups. “Now eat and drink quickly. Mr. Larsson does not like his students to be late, be they children or grown-ups.”

  Reverend Skarstead chuckled. “Just like he does not like church to start late. When that organ calls, I hustle.”

  “Cream or sugar?” Mrs. Skarstead asked.

  “No, thank you.” Signe dipped a cookie into her coffee. “Thank you, this is delicious.”

  “You better hurry. I’ll make sure I talk with Oskar in the next day or so and let you know. For sure there are not many single young women around here.” He grinned. “You know any other young women in Norway?”

  “As a matter of fact—”

  He laughed. “Let’s deal with this one first. I can just see a newspaper headline. ‘Local Pastor Promotes Mail-Order Brides.’”

  “Thank you.” Nilda tapped Signe on the shoulder. “Come on, we cannot be late.”

  They slipped into their seats at the church just as Mr. Larsson finished a conversation and moved to the front of the class. At least they were not late.

  “I think this is getting easier,” Nilda said as they stood up to leave over an hour later. “It really is.”

  “Keep dragging me along, then. Perhaps one day I’ll feel the same.” Signe said it in Norwegian because neither of them knew what “drag along” was in English.

  “Miss Carlson?” Mr. Larsson stopped in front of Nilda. “You are doing splendidly, Miss Carlson,” he said in English. “You are capturing English very well. In fact, you seem to master syntax easily.”

  “Syntax?” That was a new word.

  Mr. Larsson spelled it, then explained. “How the words fit together and follow each other. I would like to loan you these textbooks that children in French-speaking areas of Canada use to learn English. Look through them and see if anything there would be helpful for you.” He pressed three books into Nilda’s hands.

  “Oh my. Thank you, Mr. Larsson. That is very . . .” How did one say generous? She had no idea. But she knew another word. “. . . very kind of you.”

  He dipped his head. “I will see you next week, I trust.”

  “Yes, uh, thank you. Yes.” Why was she suddenly tongue-tied? She turned and led Signe out the door.

  As they climbed into the wagon, Signe said smugly, “I told you. He really does smile more in class when he looks at you.”

  “Oh, stop it.” But Nilda felt her cheeks grow warm.

  One of the books was mostly a French-English dictionary and of little use, since Nilda knew no French at all. But she found the reading exercises in the other books very helpful. She and Signe made a concerted effort to use English for the rest of the week.

  Sunday after church, Mr. Kielund stopped to talk with Rune. Nilda and Signe tried to watch without anyone noticing. As soon as they were all loaded in the wagon, Signe whispered, “What did he say?”

  “He said he is willing to give it a try,” Rune answered. “He will get the money for the ticket this week.”

  Gerd nodded. “I will go to Blackduck with you. There is money in a bank account there.”

  They mailed the tickets off on Thursday.

  “We get to see Mor again.” Nilda stared at her brother when Rune and Gerd returned home with the news. “I dreamed of this, but never that it would happen so soon.”

  Ivar nodded. “I always prayed that Far would change his mind and come too. And now . . .” His voice trailed off.

  Nilda sniffed back the tears that hovered whenever she thought of her far. Sometimes death seemed to come so easily, but was so unexpected until people were old. Her far was getting up there, but he wasn’t really old yet.

  That Sunday when they made their way to their seats before church, Nilda nearly stopped and gasped. Petter Thorvaldson smiled at her from a pew farther back. She returned his smile and ignored Signe’s nudge when they sat down. Now, that was a surprise. Petter had come clear out here to go to church. Keeping her mind on the service took more concentration than she could dig up. Why had he come? Surely he wouldn’t ride or drive out here for church when there were several churches in Blackduck. He never had before. Curiosity could be nearly life threatening. She could feel his eyes on her back. The sermon seemed excessively long.

  “How good to see you again,” Ivar said, shaking hands with Petter after service. “Welcome to our little church.”

  Petter nodded and grinned at Nilda. “Good day. You look lovely as always.”

  “Th-thank you.” She could feel the heat rushing up to her face. “What brings you out here?” What a dumb thing to say. Surely you can do better than that. Scolding herself did not help.

  “I’m on an errand.” He greeted the others, and they all moved toward the exit.

  “Well, well, Mr. Thorvaldson, good to see you again,” Reverend Skarstead said. “Welcome to our church. We have coffee downstairs if you would like to join us.” He included the whole family in his smile.

  “Thank you, Pastor, but we are using every minute we can on getting the house ready for winter.” Rune eased his family forward. “And thank you for taking care of that bit of business.”

  “You’re welcome. I do hope it all works out.” He turned to Gerd. “It is so good to have you here with us. By the way, I told another family about your pigs for sale, and they are planning to talk with you.” He nodded to a couple who waited near the steps. “I’m not sure if you have met the Tengvolds.”

  Rune and Gerd walked over to the couple. “I hear you are looking for pigs to grow out,” Rune said.

  The others walked toward their own wagon. “Surely you can come out to the farm for dinner,” Signe urged Petter.

  “Thank you, I would be delighted. I’ll ride beside the wagon.” He pointed to a saddled horse tied to the hitching rail.

  “Three more pigs sold,” Gerd announced from the seat of the wagon as they left the churchyard. “Leif, you have done a fine job.”

  “There’s still a bunch to sell,” Leif said. “When are they coming for theirs?”

  “Tomorrow, so you better not let them all out in the big pen.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Maybe we better stay home to help catch them,” Knute offered.

  “I think Ivar and Bjorn can handle that job,” Rune said over his shoulder. “Especially if there are fewer in the pen. Mr. Tengvold said he wanted one gilt for sure.”

  As they clattered into their yard, Nilda tried to sort out her feelings about Petter. And then thoughts of Fritz Larsson pushed themselves to the front of her mind. When she and Ivar had come to America, she had not anticipated all this.

  “You want to see how our new house is coming?” Ivar asked Petter.

  “Don’t be too long. Dinner is in half an hour or so.” Signe handed Kirstin off to Nilda while she climbed out of the wagon. “She sure is busy today.”

  Nilda tickled the little one under the chin to make her giggle. “Busy and happy. You were such a good girl in church.”

  “Ja, she slept through the sermon, so I could listen for a change.”

  The men returned from the inspection of the new house just as Nilda stirred the gravy one last time and poured it into the pitcher. Signe set the platter of food on the table and motioned for everyone to be seated.

  “You can be real proud of that house,” Petter said as he took the seat next to Ivar. “I’m amazed at how far you’ve come.”

  “We’ve had a lot of help, and there’s still a long way to go.” Rune waited for everyone to be seated before bowing his head to say the traditional Norwegian grace together.

  “That was such a good dinner,” Petter said later as he declined another helping. “Knute, there must be a shortage of rabbits around here by now.”

  “
Good thing they have lots of babies, but now that I am setting my traps closer to the woods, something ate part of one,” Knute said.

  “Why don’t you all go out on the porch?” Signe said. “Gerd and I will clean up here.”

  “I think the boys and I will go work in the shop.” Rune nodded in that direction.

  “But I thought Petter might like to . . .” Bjorn caught a look from his far. “Well, I . . .” He shrugged in puzzlement but did as he was told.

  Out on the porch, Nilda sat in the rocking chair while tall, hefty Petter leaned against a post.

  “So how do you like working at the lumberyard now?” Ivar asked from the bench where he sat with one knee bent to prop his arm. “Still dreaming of a lumber camp for the winter?”

  “I have a good job, and ja, I still want to work in a camp. I keep hoping you will come with me. I think it would be easier if you knew someone.”

  Ivar shook his head. “I have plenty of trees to cut here. There’s no need to go to a camp.”

  “But the pay is good.”

  “So I hear.”

  “That is not the main reason I came out here.” Petter pulled an envelope out of his shirt pocket. “Mrs. Schoenleber sent you this.” He handed it to Nilda. “For you both.”

  “Do you know what it is?” She slit the envelope with a fingernail, watching him smile at her. He had such a winning smile, she couldn’t help but return it.

  “I do. She is planning an evening social and wants you both to come. She said you could spend the night and perhaps go to church with her on Sunday morning if you like. Or you could come out here like I did.”

  “A social?” Nilda stammered as she read the note out loud. The handwriting was beautifully formed, but it was in English, and she struggled with the words.

  “‘Dear Miss and Mr. Carlson,

  “‘I am inviting you to join other young people at my home for a get-acquainted evening of games and refreshments to celebrate fall, two weeks from this Saturday. I would be delighted for you both to spend the night here, since I would not want you returning home so late in the evening. We can stable your horse with no problem. Please tell Petter you will attend and make this old woman very happy.

  “‘Sincerely, “‘Gertrude Schoenleber’”

  The thought of going made Nilda’s stomach clench. If they all speak English instead of Norwegian . . . I won’t know anyone . . . . What kind of games? Surely we can turn this down gracefully.

  “What do you think?” she asked Ivar, trying to make him see her hesitation.

  “She wants the young people of the area to get acquainted; at least that’s what she said. There aren’t a lot of events, other than things at the churches.” Petter leaned slightly forward. “I know she loves to entertain and enjoys having younger people around her. You know anyone else out here who might want to go?”

  “Not really.”

  “If this goes well, I’m sure there will be others.” His smile invited one in return. “Please say you’ll come.”

  “Well, I . . .” Nilda looked to Ivar, who shrugged, palms out. Come on, help me here.

  “Of course they will go.” Signe pushed open the door with her hip, balancing a tray with glasses full of something on it. She indicated for Ivar to pull out the bench and she set down the tray. “I thought we’d have something to drink before you have to leave. Gerd took Kirstin down for a nap. Ivar, why don’t you go get the others?”

  Nilda half smiled at Petter, who grinned back and wiggled his eyebrows. There was that irresistible smile again. But how can I do this? I do not have a dress fit for a social like that.

  Shaking her head, Nilda glared at Signe, who turned with a smile. “I’m sure you will have a grand time. Besides, it’s about time for you to do something fun for a change. After all, what could it hurt?”

  Chapter

  8

  Far, Rufus just tore down the stairs!”

  “I heard him. The pigs are squealing!” Rune jerked his suspenders over his shoulders and slammed his feet into his boots. “Bjorn, grab the rifle on your way out.”

  What in the world could be going on? He could hear Rufus’s bark change tone. What had he found?

  The boys pounded down the stairs right after Rune, the screen door slamming behind them.

  “What can it be, Far?” Bjorn clutched the rifle and handed the shotgun to Rune. They ran toward the barn and the pigpen. With no moon, the stars yielded little light.

  “Lantern?” Bjorn asked.

  “Nei, we can see better without it.” Rune stopped. “Rufus is after something. Hear his bark getting farther out? Call him, Leif. Whatever was big enough to stir up the hogs like this is more than he can handle.”

  Leif cupped his mouth with his hands. “Rufus! Rufus, come. Come on, Rufus.”

  Ivar arrived from the other house, sliding to a stop. “I heard Rufus go crazy.”

  “Rufus, come! Come, Rufus!” Leif turned to Rune, his eyes wide with fear. “He always comes when I call him.”

  “I know. Keep it up.” Rune unlatched the gate and entered the pen. The pigs were grunting and panting now, no longer squealing. Whatever had disturbed them was gone.

  “Knute, go get a lantern so we can see if any are injured. Leif, circle around the pen. I can’t think of anything big enough to carry off a pig.”

  “Unless it was a bear.”

  “True. Look for blood.” There would be no chance of tracks in the pen, and with no recent rain, the ground was pretty hard. If only I could see decently. Like the boys, he moved through the herd, murmuring, “Easy now, easy.”

  Knute returned with the lantern and handed it to Ivar, who could hold it higher.

  “Over here, Far.” Leif stood at the field side of the fence, which was made out of slab wood and boards buried down into the dirt to keep the pigs from digging out. When Rune saw what his son pointed out, he nodded. Something had hauled a pig over the fence, dragging it enough to leave skin and hair. The lantern showed blood too. They climbed over the fence and started to follow the trail dragged through the dew-wet grass.

  They all listened but heard no more barking. Other than grunts and snuffles, the herd was settling back down.

  “Do you think Rufus is all right?” Leif asked.

  “Call him again.”

  Leif did so, his voice catching on swelling tears.

  A yip answered him, and Rufus trotted into the circle of lamplight. Tongue hanging out, he kept looking back over his shoulder, his ribs heaving.

  “Good boy, oh, such a good boy.” Leif dropped to his knees and held out his arms so his dog could lick his face and ears. “You’re okay.” He felt through the white fur, looking for any wounds. “You didn’t get hurt. Oh, Rufus, you didn’t get hurt.”

  “Good thing that critter got away,” Ivar said, “or Rufus might have bled to death out there.”

  Bjorn dropped his voice low. “I heard there are wild cats, big ones like lions, out here! Pumas or cougars—I forget what they call them, but it seems strange one would attack now. There’s lots of game out there.”

  “Ah, but a pen of pigs, far easier to catch something.” Rune stared out into the darkness. Surely a bear couldn’t have lifted that pig over the fence and gotten away that fast. “Maybe Gerd will have some ideas in the morning. A wolf could never lift an animal this size over a fence. If it is a big cat, I heard they do not hunt every day, but it knows now where the easy meal is. It will be back.”

  Ivar planted a fist on his hip. “And we will be waiting for it. Bjorn and I will take turns. Give it a couple of days. I’m thinking of watching from the haymow. As the moon gets toward full, we’ll be able to see.”

  Rune waved an arm. “Check on the rest of the animals.”

  The horses and cows were right up at the barn, watching the line where field met forest, all stamping feet and switching tails. Leif and Knute moved among them, patting shoulders and murmuring gentle sounds. As the animals settled down again, Bjorn took the lantern b
ack to the barn and blew it out.

  “’Night,” Ivar said as he headed back to his house and the others made their way back upstairs, Bjorn hanging up the guns before he followed the others.

  “We’ll get him,” Bjorn said softly, patting Leif’s shoulder. “If he does come back.”

  “At least Rufus is all right. I’ll look all the pigs over good in the morning. See if any others are injured. How could a cat carry something that big—and over the fence?”

  “Surely there must be someone around here who knows a lot about the wildlife. We’ve just got to find them and learn all we can. Nailing a big hide like that would take up a lot of the barn wall.”

  Rune returned to his bed, proud of the determination and fearlessness in his boys.

  In the morning, Leif came up from chores. “One of the other pigs had big scratches on its shoulder. Should I put something on it, Mor?”

  “Use a glop of tallow,” Tante Gerd said. “Einar said he saw a big cat like that one time out in the woods. It stirred the horses up, but that was all. We didn’t have a bunch of livestock then. I’m surprised it went for the pigs instead of the sheep. Once the pigs are bigger, they’ll be safer.”

  That afternoon when the boys came home from school, Leif came looking for Rune. “Mr. Benson said Mr. Edmonds, who lives near Mr. Garborg, is the best hunter around and knows the most, ’cause his pa taught him. They homesteaded here earlier than most others. Besides him, he said the Indians know all about the animals that live around here, but he didn’t know a name of an Indian to talk with.”

  “Then Mr. Edmonds it is. Come on, harness up, and we’ll take the wagon over there so we can all go. It’s good to learn all we can, since we live in this county and plan on staying.”

  Rune sat up in the box, but he let Bjorn drive. The road to the Edmonds’ tunneled through half-grown trees too small to harvest. Was this what Gerd’s property would look like in twenty years? Rune wondered how long it had taken these trees to grow this much. Had they been planted, or did they just sort of pop up, like the little runt-maples in Norway, more weeds than trees?