A Season of Grace

by Lauraine Snelling

  “This is home now, Mor,” Nilda said with a smile.

  Gunlaug nodded. “Ja, it will become so.”

  I can cook and do these things when I come home. Now that Mor was here, this house did indeed seem more like home—except, of course, for the lack of good cod. Or would she become so spoiled that she didn’t want to do the usual things? Like pouring coffee. She handed the full cups around.

  Later, while everyone else was doing the chores of the day, she heard the jingle of harness above the noise of the washing machine.

  “Sorry to leave in the middle,” she told the others.

  Today George climbed down from the seat of a closed carriage and opened the door for her.

  “I decided it was cold enough to switch to this one,” he added after his greeting. “Cook sent wrapped hot rocks along, so your feet will be warm.”

  Nilda blew kisses to her mor and Signe at the washing machine on the porch. Gerd was already hanging the first of the diapers on the line and waved too.

  “Looks like the men are butchering?” George inquired.

  “Yes, we have hogs for sale, on the hoof or hanging. We smoke hams and bacon and other meat too.”

  “Hmm. We need to mention this to Mrs. S.”

  Nilda shrugged. “Of course, if you think it wise.”

  As he closed the door, she looked around the inside of the carriage. Curtains were tied back from the windows, and the seats were well-cushioned in velvet, with the same fabric upholstered on the roof and walls. A window in the back gave even more light. She settled back for the ride, since this way she could not talk much with George. But when her mind switched to Dreng, she clamped her eyes shut in frustration. This could not be tolerated! Instead she leaned over and pulled the lists of English words out of her satchel. She repeated them all softly, including the Norwegian definitions, making sure she enunciated carefully to help correct her accent. After pages of word lists, she began on the phrases and finally moved on to reading the paragraphs. Amazing that the coach was so well sprung that she could read in spite of bumps in the road.

  The ride passed so swiftly that she was surprised when George slowed the team to drive the streets of Blackduck. She tucked her pages back into her bag and heaved a sigh. She’d not spent as much time on the pages as she’d hoped to at home, but the words were sticking in her mind, so she wouldn’t be embarrassed when Miss Walstead began her coaching.

  When they reached the house, she thanked George and hurried inside.

  “Just in time for tea.” Mrs. Schoenleber put down her pen and closed the ink bottle. “Pull the cord, please.” After gathering the papers scattered across her desk, she turned and held out her hands. “I am so glad to see you looking so fresh and—and just lovely. Are you ready for more?” At Nilda’s nod, Mrs. Schoenleber’s smile widened, and she stood. “Let’s have tea in front of the fire. I always hate to waste a fire.” She glanced at the carved wooden clock on the mantel. “Miss Walstead should be here any minute. She can join us.”

  “George says I should mention that the men are butchering hogs at home.”

  “I see. Hmm. Let me think about this. Do they smoke the hams and bacon too?”

  “You can order that.” Nilda waited until her employer sat down before taking the other chair.

  Just as Charles entered with the tea tray, the knocker on the front door announced company. He set the tray on the low table and headed for the front door.

  “So tell me the news. Has Mr. Kielund proposed yet?” Mrs. Schoenleber tsked when Nilda shook her head. “Men can be so slow. You tell Selma that I know of a family here in town who are looking for household help, and they have no problem with having her son come too.”

  Miss Walstead was unwrapping her scarf as she came into the room. “Thank you, Charles.” She let him help her with her coat and handed him her scarf and gloves. “It’s brisk out there.”

  “I told you George would pick you up.”

  “I know, but I needed the walk.” Miss Walstead held her hands out to the fire. “The better to appreciate the fire and the company.”

  “Milk with your tea?”

  “Please.” She turned so her back could be warmed. “And how has your week gone, Nilda? By the way, I met a friend of yours the other day. A Mr. Dreng Nygaard. He said the two of you come from the same town in Norway.”

  Nilda’s jaw clamped before she could stop it. Her teacup rattled in the saucer. Setting it down very carefully gave her time to school her face. She inhaled and smiled.

  “Oh, did I say something wrong?” Miss Walstead asked.

  “Not at all.” Liar. Her interior voice reprimanded her rather succinctly. “Yes, but he’s more my older brother’s age, so I would not say we were ever friends.” Not that he ever had friends that I know of. She could feel both women studying her.

  “I think there is more to this story, but we will let it go for now.” Mrs. Schoenleber passed the plate of sugar-dusted scones. “One of Cook’s favorite recipes. She grates orange peel into the batter. And, yes, one of my favorites too.”

  Nilda forced herself to take a bite, quickly followed by a swallow of tea to keep it from sticking in her throat. How could that—that vermin claim to be her friend? He was doing what he did best, ingratiating himself with the women of the town.

  Why could no one see beyond his slimy smile? But she knew the answer to that. Dreng could be charm personified when he desired. Or when he wanted something.

  “Nilda, come back.”

  She swallowed and reminded herself to drink tea, nibble her scone, and take part in the conversation. “I’m sorry, my mind wandered.” She looked up from the scone that was now a pile of crumbles in the napkin on her lap.

  “We can talk of this now, if you would prefer.” Mrs. Schoenleber’s voice fell gently on the silence Nilda had not realized existed. The fire snapped and popped, sparking against the screen.

  “Dreng Nygaard’s name is on the guest list for the next social,” Mrs. Schoenleber continued. “He replied that he is looking forward to attending, as he and Petter might be out in the lumber camp before the next event.”

  Can someone drop a tree on him? Nilda’s hand jerked, and the scone crumbs scattered over her lap and the beautiful Persian rug at her feet. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I mean, I . . .” She tried to gather the crumbs as heat raced up her neck and to her face. Do not cry! The words echoed around and around her head.

  “I see. We will discuss this later. In the meantime, the maid will take care of the crumbs. The two of you adjourn to the library for your morning work, and Mrs. Jones will be here for a fitting right after dinner. And Miss Walstead, I do hope you are planning to spend the rest of the day and the evening here. We have much to accomplish.” Settling her teacup on the tray, Mrs. Schoenleber rose. “Any questions?”

  Nilda shook her head. How could she make such a fool of herself? Surely she needn’t dread seeing Dreng again that much? After all . . .

  She couldn’t come up with an end to that thought.

  By the time Charles announced that dinner was served, Nilda felt like running out of the library and around the house. She chose to step outside just long enough for the crisp air to clear her head and make her shiver.

  “Feel better?” Mrs. Schoenleber asked when Nilda entered the dining room, her smile warm and caring.

  “Yes. The cobwebs were taking over my head.” Nilda inhaled and sat down as Charles held her chair.

  “I think I worked her into quite a tizzy.” Miss Walstead took the chair on the other side of the table, with Mrs. Schoenleber at the end. “Now.” She laid her napkin in her lap. “Let’s have a discussion about the meal and how Cook prepared it. Perhaps compare it to another meal you have had.”

  “After grace,” Mrs. Schoenleber interjected.

  “Of course, after grace.”

  “We will have three courses today,” Charles announced. “First we will have fish chowder.” He set a flat bowl of soup on a plate in front of each of
them, with grated cheese and dried parsley sprinkled on top.

  “What kind of fish, if you please?” Miss Walstead asked.

  “Walleye, fresh from Duluth.”

  Nilda dipped her first spoonful and savored the flavor. “Fish, potatoes, and cream or milk.”

  “Good. Besides salt and pepper, there is another flavor.”

  “Dill?” Nilda closed her eyes, the better to concentrate on the food in her mouth.

  “Butter, I am sure.”

  “Cook always has a secret ingredient that sets her dishes apart.” Mrs. Schoenleber looked up at Charles.

  “I am wiser than to give away her secrets, so I will never do so.” He raised his hands palm out and backed out of the room.

  Nilda sat back. “Delicious. I like that word. It even sounds good.”

  “You are doing well with your English. You have come a long way.” Mrs. Schoenleber nodded.

  “I thank both of you.”

  “I was talking with Fritz, and he said he missed you in his class,” her employer said. “I told him we are working you to death here, and he laughed. I do hope he can come to one of our socials. I told him I would move it to Friday just for him.”

  “When he plays the organ, I think he gets lost in the music.” Nilda spoke slowly so she could think ahead to the right words.

  They had just finished the meal, with the promise of apple formkake with tea later, when Charles announced the dressmaker and her helper were waiting in the drawing room.

  “No rest for the wicked,” Miss Walstead said as she pushed her chair back.

  Nilda gave her a puzzled look. “We are bad?”

  “No, no, that is a saying that means, uh . . . we are keeping very busy.” She shook her head. “That’s the problem with sayings like that, they are hard to translate. I’ll be careful not to throw something like that at you.”

  “I should catch what you throw?”

  “Sorry, Nilda. You go on for your fitting. We can talk about those things later.”

  As Nilda left the room, she heard Mrs. Schoenleber laughing and making a comment. Again, something that did not quite make sense. Perhaps with time she would understand.

  Standing for the fitting of a black silk jacket made Nilda restless. Mrs. Jones could not speak with pins in her mouth, and her assistant spoke German so softly that Nilda couldn’t really pick up the words that sounded much like Norwegian. She had spoken with emigrants from Germany on the ship, and they managed to understand one another, so she knew it was possible.

  “I will return with the two serge skirts and the off-white waist tomorrow. The day gown is almost ready for a fitting, as is the watered silk skirt to match the jacket with the jet beads.” Mrs. Jones folded the bodice of the jacket and tucked it back in her bag. “I think I found a hat and purse to go with the black jacket.” She glanced down at Nilda’s shoes. “You will need new shoes too. I will tell Mrs. Schoenleber.” She paused and nodded. “Yes, and underthings. You really should wear a corset with that outfit. And the gown.”

  Nilda rolled her eyes. Not if she could help it. Corsets made breathing difficult.

  That afternoon, she and Miss Walstead made their way through the house room by room, with Miss Walstead identifying the furniture, the paintings, the decorations, and each item’s purpose. At the end of the tour, she gave Nilda more sheets of paper with columns of words and phrases to study. “We will do the upper floors next week,” she promised.

  Shaking her head, Nilda made sure she greeted the announcement with at least a half smile.

  At supper, Mrs. Schoenleber asked Miss Walstead, “Do you think she will be ready to assist with the tea on Saturday?”

  “Oh, yes. Probably not to take part in the conversation a great deal, but Nilda will do fine.”

  “I will do what fine?” Nilda asked.

  “I’m having two ladies in for tea on Saturday afternoon because I want you to meet them. They are my closest friends here in Blackduck, and they have been wanting to meet you.”

  Nilda bit back her “why.” Why would anyone want to meet her?

  Saturday she dressed in her new waist and navy serge skirt on instructions from Mrs. Schoenleber and pinned the brooch lying on her dressing table at the center of the standup collar trimmed in lace. Narrow lace was stitched into the pin tucks down the front and along the wide cuffs of the leg of mutton sleeves. Nilda stared into the mirror. Never had she had so fine a waist. She looked over her shoulder at the three kick pleats in the back of the skirt.

  Mrs. Schoenleber nodded when Nilda came downstairs, her smile crinkling her faded blue eyes. “Very nice. As soon as we’ve eaten, we’ll set up the tea table in the parlor so you learn where linens and things are stored. Charles will set up the table for us.” She dished up her usual breakfast at the sideboard: two poached eggs, two strips of bacon, and a sweet roll.

  Nilda tried something new each day. Today she chose the eggs scrambled with bacon and cheese on top, one of Cook’s sweet rolls because they were irresistible, and fresh applesauce. As they sat down, Nilda asked, “What will be served at the tea?”

  “Finger sandwiches, deviled eggs, and tea cakes. I wanted more of the fish chowder, but the fishermen didn’t have any fresh walleye this morning, I guess. Cook is rather particular. By the way, I have called an order in to Mrs. Benson that she is passing along to your brother—Rune, is it?” At Nilda’s nod, she continued. “George will bring back half a hog fresh, and then the other half will be smoked, but for the chops, and picked up when finished.”

  “Why, that is good of you. Takk—er, thank you.”

  “And before I forget, I would like you here four days a week, but if you can only do three, I will have to be content. Next Saturday is the social.” She checked off her list. “Oh, and Petter would like to call on you this evening, if that is acceptable?”

  “I, uh, of course.”

  What in the world will we do? The thought of Petter visiting pleased her more than she expected. And a thousand questions popped into her head. Would they sit in the ornate parlor? Would they sit back in the kitchen, where Nilda felt so much more at home? Would refreshments be served? Should Nilda make up the refreshments beforehand, since this would be a personal event and not one of Mrs. Schoenleber’s invitational events? Should she arrange the refreshments or just see what came? And the heaviest question of all:

  “Will we have to speak all English?”

  Chapter

  19

  That afternoon, when they had finished setting up for the tea, Nilda admired the round table draped in a white brocade tablecloth embroidered with gold ivy leaves. Matching brocade cushions on the five chairs and napkins with gold rings made Nilda’s jaw drop when she stepped back to view it. At home, if they put on a tablecloth, they were being really fancy.

  “Is this usual,” she stuttered, trying to remember the correct English word, “for a tea?”

  Mrs. Schoenleber and Miss Walstead both nodded. “If the group were larger, we would probably serve in the dining room. But this is more intimate, and these ladies are good friends of ours.”

  Miss Walstead stroked her chin. “We are missing something. What is it?”

  Mrs. Schoenleber smiled. “Of course. Some flowers in a bud vase. Nilda, have you been out to the hothouse yet?”

  Nilda shook her head. “Hothouse?” She must have looked bewildered, since the other two exchanged smiles. What in the world was a hothouse? It was plenty warm in here already.

  “I will take her out there and do another lesson at the same time.” Miss Walstead smiled at Nilda. “Come. Oh, are there cutters out there?”

  “They should be hanging in the bag to the right of the door.”

  “Grab a shawl,” Miss Walstead instructed as they went out the back door.

  A glass building took up part of the kitchen garden space to the right, at the end of the brick walk. How did I not notice this? Nilda wondered, but then she realized she’d not had a tour of any of the buildings oth
er than the house itself, and she had not even seen all of that.

  Using a key, Miss Walstead unlocked and pushed open the door. A gust of warm, floral-scented air made Nilda automatically inhale.

  “Oh, I remember reading about a place like this in a book, but the name for it was different.”

  “Do you like working in the garden at home?” Miss Walstead asked.

  “I love to watch things grow, but I’ve never seen this many flowers in one place. And in the winter?”

  “It is not winter in other parts of the world, and within a building like this, we can duplicate other climates.”

  “Duplicate?”

  “Copy.” Miss Walstead pointed with the clippers. “See those golden flowers over there? We’ll take a few for the tea table. Gertrude loves to have fresh flowers on the table by the front door. Learning to arrange flowers is another skill you might learn.”

  “Does the snow make it too cold for this in real winter?”

  “If the heat goes out, yes, but George takes care of that, along with the horses. He does have a helper, a groom, out in the stable.” While she talked, Miss Walstead clipped gold- and rust-colored flowers from a row of plants, keeping the stems as long as possible.

  How will I ever remember all this? Such thoughts stormed rampant through Nilda’s mind as she tried to repeat what Miss Walstead was telling and showing her. Choosing the appropriate vase made her shake her head. Life on the farm might seem complicated, but it was far more simple than all this.

  On their walk back to the house, Nilda thought about her reaction to Dreng’s name. That was terribly embarrassing. She must control her reactions and treat him like any other person, at least when his name was mentioned.

  The two guests arrived promptly at two that afternoon. Charles took their hats and wraps and showed them into the parlor, where a fire welcomed them. Once Nilda was introduced, they turned their backs to the fire and sighed at the warmth.

  “It looked so nice outside, I thought the walk would be pleasant,” Mrs. Grant, the taller of the two and dressed in navy, said. “What is your excuse, Annabelle?”