A Season of Grace

by Lauraine Snelling

  Rune rolled his eyes. “Go easy on the matchmaking, you two. After all—”

  “After all, that’s why he paid for her ticket, in case you had forgotten. We are just helping the situation along a little bit.”

  Nilda was sure she heard him mutter something about his sister as he left the house.

  Signe caught her husband’s mutter, which left her smiling even wider. “I think the children will be fine if they get a chance to play together without adults hovering nearby, even though they don’t speak the same language. Children seem able to get around the language barrier far better than adults.”

  Some time later, Signe left off the spinning and headed for the kitchen. “I can’t stand this waiting. I’m going to make cookies, lots of cookies. If any of you want to help, I won’t turn down an offer.”

  “You mix ’em, and I’ll roll and you can cut,” Nilda said, following her.

  They were on their third batch of cookies, sour cream with bits of raisins on top and applesauce with ginger. The applesauce ones they cut into diamonds and sprinkled with brown sugar.

  “Bring the coffee and cookies in here, please,” Gerd called at the stop of the kathunk-kathunk of the pedal that powered the sewing machine. That along with the slam of the loom and the whir of the spinning wheel made music that sent Kirstin to sleep every time.

  The sun was already on its downward slide when the boys trotted up the lane, and Leif bailed off Rosie to bring the dinner pails inside. “Another letter, this time from Norway, for Bestemor.”

  Gunlaug threw the shuttle across and slammed the batten before turning to smile at Leif. “You most certainly are the bearer of good tidings. Takk.” She looked at the handwriting. “Ah, from Johann, what a nice surprise.” She paused. “Or bad news.”

  “One for Nilda too.” Leif handed her the envelope and snagged a cookie off the plate. One bite, and his eyes widened. “These are really good.” He bit off another point of the applesauce diamond. “Where’s Eric?”

  “With his mor and Mr. Kielund.”

  “Oh. We had a spelling test today, and I got a hundred percent. Knute missed two.” He headed for the pantry and poured himself a glass of milk. “Can Kirstin have a cookie?”

  “Let her have a bite of yours. She crumbles everything when she tries to feed herself.” Signe pointed at the rocking chair where Kirstin was tied in, reaching for Leif. “She is almost as good as Rufus at knowing when you will be home.”

  “Ef, Ef.” Kirstin raised her voice a notch.

  “She’s trying to say my name. Listen to her.” Leif’s face split in a grin. “Leif, baby girl, Leif.”

  “Ef, Ef.”

  When he broke off a piece off his cookie and handed it to her, she used both hands to stuff it in her mouth, but crumbs still dusted her front.

  Knute rushed through the door. “Tomorrow you take care of Rosie so I can get out in the woods for a little while at least.” He grabbed a handful of cookies and headed for the door again.

  “You know you do not have to go out there,” Gerd said. “Not since Einar is gone.”

  “I know, but I want to. I’d much rather be out there than in school.” The door slammed behind him.

  Leif shrugged. “He didn’t do real good on his history test either. Mr. Larsson said he needed to work harder on his homework.”

  Signe nodded. “Did he know the test was coming?”

  “Ja, for the last three days.”

  “I see.”

  “Please don’t tell him I said anything.”

  “Let me worry about that.”

  “You do the other chores and I’ll come help you milk.” Nilda sent Leif a smile over her shoulder. “Just come and get me.”

  The jangle of harnesses and clopping of hooves announced Selma’s return.

  “Takk,” she called over her shoulder as she ushered Eric in ahead of her. She hung up her coat.

  “Can I go down to the barn with Leif?” the little boy asked.

  “Of course. Would you like a cookie first?”

  He nodded and took one.

  “What do you say?”

  “Who baked them?” he asked.

  “We all did.” Nilda smiled down at him.

  He nodded again. “Then takk to all of you.” And out the door he went, leaving the women smiling and nodding at one another.

  Nilda looked at Selma. “So?”

  “So what?”

  “So how did the visit go?” Nilda’s tone said even more.

  “He has a good, well-kept farm. But the house sure could use a cleaning.”

  “And?” Getting Selma to talk sometimes was as hard as cracking walnuts.

  “And poor little Katie and Olaf. He has a hard time even braiding her hair. But he tries to be both mor and far. I told him we could come clean his house, if he wanted. Not speaking the same language . . .” She shook her head. “I have to learn English.”

  “We’ve been trying,” Gunlaug soothed.

  “I know, but I have to work harder at it. It will be good for all of us.” Selma paused. “Won’t it?” Her voice squeaked on the question. She looked at Nilda. “So much change.”

  Was that a tear she saw in Selma’s eye?

  Chapter

  15

  I hate to leave right in the middle of this.” Nilda checked the note again. Yes, Mrs. Schoenleber wanted her to come today. She had given Nilda the grace of an extra week since her family was arriving, but the job needed to start soon. Not that Nilda had any real idea what she was going to be doing at the huge formal house, but she’d said be ready at ten when George arrived to take her to Blackduck.

  “She must want you to work for her mighty bad to go to all this trouble.” Gunlaug looked at her daughter. “It doesn’t make a lot of sense to me, but I am truly happy for you.”

  “Just so you don’t go getting uppity on us.” Signe stirred the diapers in the boiler on the stove.

  “I’m really afraid of that.” Nilda rolled her eyes and knelt in front of the pen where Kirstin was banging a wooden spoon on one of the pots. “Now, don’t you forget your Tante Nilda, you hear me, little one?”

  “As if anyone can hear anything with that going on.” Gerd picked up the smocked dress she’d just tried on the squirming girl. “All I need to do now is hem it. You know, if you’d give up and walk, you could wear this,” she said to Kirstin, “but crawling and dresses don’t do well together.”

  “She’ll probably take her first steps while I’m in Blackduck, and I’ll miss it.” Nilda stood at the sound of a trotting team coming up the lane. “See you all on Sunday.”

  Picking up her satchel, she blew kisses to Kirstin, hugged her mor, and, tucking the scarf Gerd had knitted for her around her neck, went out to meet her driver.

  “Good to see you, miss. What a beautiful drive.” George helped her up into the seat of an elegant open carriage and tucked a robe around her legs. “I debated on bringing the victoria, but with such a perfect fall day, here we are.” He settled her satchel beneath his seat, mounted up to the driver’s seat, and clucked the horses into a trot as soon as they straightened around.

  I should have brought my knitting, Nilda thought. I could be doing something. “Mr. George?”

  “I am not Mr. George. I’m just George.”

  “You must have a last name.”

  “Hemmelschmidt. Quite a mouthful, wouldn’t you say? George is much easier.”

  “Do you mind if I ask you some questions? I need to practice my English.”

  “Well, then, you must make sure you understand what I say. If you’re not sure, ask me. All right?” He smiled at her over his shoulder.

  “Would it be easier if I were sitting up there with you?”

  “Ah, yes, it might be. But that would not be proper, you see. Madam Schoenleber takes her position in Blackduck very seriously.”

  “Her position?”

  “As a leader of society. Blackduck was a mighty rough town when her father built that house and m
oved his family there. Social graces were few and far between. But he wanted his family to grow up with good manners and give back what the area had given him by supporting education, the library, and the building of churches and businesses. He grew up in Minneapolis, and his family there often made fun of the backwoods town of Blackduck.”

  “Oh dear. I lost track. Can you repeat it more slowly?”

  He did so.

  “My goodness. It looks like he was successful.”

  “When the timber companies started moving in, he foresaw the need for a railroad system, and while he had bought timberland, the railroads are what really made his fortune.”

  “Would you say that again, please?”

  He smiled and repeated his sentence.

  “One man did all that?”

  “Oh, no. There were others, but he was the brains behind it all.”

  “What brains?”

  “You know, his ideas and his ability to put his ideas into action.” He tapped his head. “Brains inside the head.”

  “Oh, I see. Hjerner.” She tapped her head also.

  By the time they arrived at the mansion, she felt that if she shook her head, some of the things she’d learned might fall out. “Thank you for your help in history and English.”

  “Mrs. Solvang, the cook, will be more than willing to help you too. In fact, she will be better, because she spoke both Norwegian and English growing up. You’ll find Madam Schoenleber a wonderful person to work for.”

  I just hope I can meet her expectations. Nilda thought so loud, she was afraid she’d spoken. “Thank you, George.” She let him help her down to the walk.

  “I’ll put your satchel in your room.”

  Charles opened the front door for her. “Welcome, Miss Carlson. Mrs. Schoenleber said for me to hang up your things and for you to meet her in her sitting room, which is also her office.”

  “Thank you.” Nilda handed him her coat and scarf and unpinned her hat. “I can put them up. After all, I work here now. I’m not a guest.”

  “You take that up with Mrs. Schoenleber. I just do as I’m told.” His smile removed any stiffness from his words. “You go through there.” He pointed to the door of the sitting room.

  Nilda tapped on the door before opening it. “Just me.”

  “Oh, my dear, it is so good to see you. And how is your mor? We’ll have to make sure she comes with you sometime so I can meet her.” She sat at the desk in front of the window. Laying down her pen, she straightened the paper she had been writing on.

  Nilda nodded. “She would enjoy that very much, I think.”

  “I see you’ve been practicing your English.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Signe and I take classes with Mr. Larsson in Benson’s Corner.”

  “Is he a good teacher?”

  “Very good. Ah, excellent.”

  “I heard that you are an excellent student.” Mrs. Schoenleber leaned back in her chair.

  “I think he loves to teach.”

  “He lives to teach, but because he plays the organ on Sundays and teaches five days a week, I do not see him very often. I’m hoping he will come and play for our socials at times. I had thought to keep them on Saturday nights, but if I want him to attend, some will need to be on Fridays.” She propped her chin on her index finger. “We have plenty to do to prepare for the next social. I hope your brother Ivar will come too.” She stood and laid her palms on her desk. “I suspect you are curious as to what you will be doing here.”

  Nilda nodded. “Yes, indeed I am.”

  A bell rang.

  “Ah, the dinner bell. We will talk over our meal, so bring a pad and pencil with you. You’ll find an ample supply in that closet.” She pointed to a closed door. “I believe keeping that stocked will be one of your responsibilities. Have you ever used a typewriter?”

  “N-no, but I’ve heard of them.”

  “I’m thinking of purchasing one, so we will learn together.” Mrs. Schoenleber moved toward the door. “I hope you are hungry. Cook appreciates folks with a good appetite.” When they were seated at the table, she bowed her head. “How would you like to say the grace today? I would love to hear the Norwegian one.” After the amen, in which Mrs. Schoenleber joined in, she laid her hand on top of Nilda’s. “Thank you, my dear. Someday you must translate that for me.”

  Charles set a flat bowl of soup in front of each of them. “Cream of carrot soup. Cook said to tell you she is trying a new recipe, so you must tell her if you think it needs something else.”

  Nilda looked at her hostess. “Mrs. Solvang wants my opinion?”

  “Yes, Verna loves to experiment with spices and foods. By the way, she goes by Cook or Verna, not Mrs. Solvang. She has been a widow since before she started working for me, which must have been over ten years ago.” Mrs. Schoenleber thought a moment. “Hmm, eleven years by now. I found her in Minneapolis and convinced her that Blackduck was not the end of civilization.” She dipped her spoon into the soup and savored her first taste, nodding.

  Nilda copied her by picking up the round spoon, now knowing what that one was for. With all the utensils at the place setting, it was easy to be confused. She nodded too. “It is very good.”

  “You must tell her that.”

  By the time they finished the main dish of lamb stew and the dessert of custard with whipped cream, Nilda wondered if they would always eat like this. One could get spoiled quickly.

  Back in the sitting room, Mrs. Schoenleber introduced Nilda to the leather-bound book she called her brain, as it contained her calendar and pages for notes. Another similar book held all the addresses of family, friends, and business associates.

  “I still hold the position of head of the board of Schmitz Enterprises, our family business. Schmitz was my maiden name, you see. My brother Heinrik is the chief manager. He lives in Minneapolis, so I frequently take the train to the cities for meetings and such. As your English improves, I will expect you to help me with correspondence. I have Miss Walstead coming to help you with reading and writing in English also. She will be here for two hours each afternoon.” She glanced at the walnut clock on her desk. “Then my dressmaker will be here at four. Don’t be offended, but you need gowns for the social and business events we will attend. We’ll start with several waists, skirts, a more formal outfit, and one for travel. Here in Blackduck, we will wear mostly skirts and waists. Oh, and a good wool coat for winter.”

  Nilda felt her mouth drop open. “I—ah—”

  Mrs. Schoenleber patted her hand. “I consider this all business expenses. You will be representing me, and in spite of what some people say, clothes do make the woman as well as the man. Those who dress more stylishly are respected more.”

  “But—but . . .”

  “I know it’s a lot to take in. Miss Walstead has taught high school, and now she substitute teaches and assists me when I need her. The two of you will work in the library—which, by the way, is another area in which I want your assistance. Not long ago I received a shipment of books, and I have not had time to catalogue them and organize them on the shelves.” She looked up at the sound of the knocker on the front door. “That must be her. Come along, and we’ll get you started. Mrs. Jones is the seamstress. Oh, and one other thing—have you ever used a telephone?”

  Nilda shook her head. “No. Mrs. Benson has one at the store.”

  “I’m sure it won’t be long until everyone here has a telephone and electricity instead of gaslights.”

  Out in the hall, Mrs. Schoenleber greeted Miss Walstead, who was half as round as she was tall. Her silver-streaked hair was in a tidy bun, and pince nez glasses were perched on her straight nose. She carried a very pretty brocade satchel.

  Nilda had a feeling this woman could be formidable, but right now her smile was gracious, and she and Mrs. Schoenleber acted like old friends, which perhaps they were. Oh, there was so much to learn.

  Mrs. Schoenleber led them to the library and closed the door behind her on her way out. What
an amazing room. One whole wall was nothing except shelves full of books, from the floor up to the high ceiling. So many books! About six or seven feet above the floor, a metal track ran horizontally along the front of a shelf. It was, Nilda realized, the track for the ladder leaning against it. Little wheels at the top of the ladder ran along the track. Larger wheels were attached to the bottom of the ladder. You could push the ladder from one end to the other so that you could reach the highest shelves easily. Nilda realized she was staring and quickly closed her mouth.

  Charles had made a fire that snapped and crackled in the fireplace, warming the room and making it more welcoming than formal. Miss Walstead beckoned Nilda over to the leather chairs in front of the fire. Nilda waited until the lady had seated herself, then took the chair opposite her.

  “Gertrude has told me much about you and how pleased she is that you will be helping her. So, since I am to teach you as quickly as possible, here is what we will do. We will speak only English. You will read aloud from grade school textbooks at first and move on to newspapers. Have you done any writing in English?”

  “No, ma’am.” Nilda shook her head.

  Miss Walstead smiled. “I know this must be overwhelming at first, but you will learn quickly. By the way, Mr. Larsson was one of my students before he went on to college. I believe that the more capable one is, the more a teacher should expect from them. You can rest assured that I drilled him hard. Music was always his reward for hard work. He was and is an amazing young man. When he plays the organ or the piano, those instruments become extensions of him. He loses himself in the music.”

  Nilda swallowed. “My onkel played the fiddle, a Hardanger, like that.”

  “Now, let us begin.” Miss Walstead reached into her satchel, opened a small book, and handed it to Nilda. “Start at the beginning here and read to me.”

  Nilda sucked in a deep breath. “‘What shall we dough—’”

  “That is pronounced ‘do.’”

  “‘What shall we do?’ sayed—said—Fanny to . . .’” Nilda struggled.

  “John.”

  “‘To John. I do’”—she knew that word now!—“‘not like to sit . . . still. Shall we . . . hoo—hoont for eggs in the barn?’”