A Season of Grace

by Lauraine Snelling

  “I thought the same, but when we met at the corner where that wind blew through like a tunnel, I wished I had told my driver to bring around the hansom. But it seemed a waste for such a short distance, harnessing two horses for a quarter-mile trip.” She took a lace handkerchief from her burgundy reticule and wiped her nose. “Goodness me.”

  “Nilda, call for the tea, please. That will help warm them up.” Mrs. Schoenleber rolled her eyes just a bit.

  “Of course. Shall I throw another log on the fire also?” Nilda asked.

  “George will do that while you take care of the tea.”

  Nilda returned from the kitchen in time to overhear Mrs. Grant’s comment about a young man who was such a fine addition to the society of Blackduck. “Have you met Dreng Nygaard yet? He has the most charming accent and, well, if I had a daughter, I would make sure she met him.”

  Nilda grabbed the back of the nearest chair.

  “How did you happen to meet him?” Miss Walstead asked.

  “Hmm, it was at church last Sunday. Reverend Holtschmidt introduced him to several of us at the same time. He said he’d received a letter of introduction from a friend in Minneapolis that the son of a relative of his had immigrated to America and was looking for work and to establish a home here.”

  “How did the reverend get the letter?” Nilda asked.

  “Why, I believe Mr. Nygaard gave it to him.”

  He probably wrote it himself. What person who actually knew Dreng would ever give him a letter like that? “If you ladies would like to be seated, Charles is bringing in the tea.”

  “Oh, that will be perfect.” Annabelle Parsons rubbed her hands together. “Thanks to such a fine fire, I feel much warmer. Thank you, Gertrude, for seeing to our comfort so perfectly.”

  “George will take you home so you will not get so cold again. I know it is easy to think it’s warm outside when the sun shines like this, but remember, you are in northern Minnesota, and fall has finally arrived in full force.”

  Following one conversation was hard for Nilda, but keeping track of four women talking seemed next to impossible. She refrained from rubbing her forehead by pure determination. The discussion moved from the weather, to the socials Mrs. Schoenleber was hosting, to someone in town who needed help that two of them could provide, to the fundraiser for the library. Mrs. Schoenleber was in charge of that. Miss Walstead announced she would be teaching an English class at the church on the street behind the saddlery.

  “The Catholics and Lutherans are gathering food and warm bedding to give away at Thanksgiving,” Miss Walstead said, “but we need all the churches to be involved in this. Yes, the preparations should have begun earlier. However, since we all go to different churches, we can mention this to our pastors and the women’s groups.”

  They all nodded in agreement.

  “Where are people to bring their donations, then?”

  Miss Walstead took a sip of tea. “They said directly to the Catholic church the weekend before. The Lutherans will bring their donations there also. Warm coats, especially for children, are greatly needed too, as we have had more immigrants than we expected. While the men go work in the camps, the families need help.”

  Nilda made sure the teapot was refilled and the ladies’ cups could be too. When they stood to leave, she smiled and nodded at their comments and fetched their coats and hats.

  After the good-byes were said and reminders given, and Charles had closed the door behind their guests, all Nilda could think of was the quiet of her room and the bed that would welcome her.

  “And now you have been through your first tea and introduction to how most of the social events happen in Blackduck.” Mrs. Schoenleber sank into one of the wingback chairs in front of the fire that Charles had just stoked again. “This is the kind of thing I want you to accompany me to. You will find it much easier as you understand English better.”

  “You did well,” Miss Walstead said with a smile. “There is something that concerns me, however. I think I saw you flinch during the discussion of that new young man, Mr. Nygaard. It’s not the first time you’ve reacted to mention of him. Do you know him?”

  “It is a long story.” Nilda swallowed. “Can we talk about this another time?”

  “Is he from a good family?” Mrs. Schoenleber asked.

  “The wealthiest in Valders. His far—I mean, his father is highly respected as a businessman.” Nilda took a sip of cold tea to moisten her dry throat. “Everyone seems to hold Dreng in high esteem.”

  Yes, he threatened me, but perhaps he can change. Is it my place to tarnish his reputation? After all, everyone deserves a second chance, don’t they?

  “I can see you are reluctant to say anything. Either it is very bad or only errors that can be ignored.” Mrs. Schoenleber nodded slowly. “If I see or hear of slight problems, I will not be dissuaded. I know he and Petter are good friends, and Petter has proven himself to be a young man with integrity. He will be here later. I will think and pray on this before I say anything, and I want you to do the same.” She paused. “Do you have anything more to say?”

  Maybe Ivar can tell them what went on. But no, she had been the one accosted; he had been on the disciplinary end. Was there any chance that Dreng had changed or ever planned to change?

  After supper, the doorknocker announced a guest. When Nilda put her knitting aside and started to stand, Mrs. Schoenleber shook her head. “Charles will show him in.” They were sitting in the parlor while the fire provided entertainment as they discussed the upcoming social.

  “Mr. Petter Thorvaldson.” Charles had hung Petter’s coat and hat on the hall tree and showed him into the room.

  Mrs. Schoenleber rose to greet him. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Thorvaldson.”

  He took the hand she extended and kissed her knuckles. “Thank you for having me, Mrs. Schoenleber. And thank you again for hosting that delightful get-together.”

  “You are welcome.” Mrs. Schoenleber sat down. “Please be seated.”

  Petter sat in the chair indicated. “I’m glad we have this chance to visit. We have a lot to catch up with since I saw you last. At the social, wasn’t it?”

  Nilda nodded. “Ivar said to greet you if I saw you. He wonders if you are still planning on going out to one of the logging camps.”

  “It’s getting colder out there. I asked when logging will start, and the boss said most likely in December. The ground has to be frozen first and the camps set up.”

  “And your uncle does not mind your leaving?”

  “Not as long as I promise to return in the spring.” He smiled at her. “How are things out on the farm?”

  “Our big news is our mor, er, mother—I am supposed to speak only English.” She shot Mrs. Schoenleber a partial smile. “Anyway, my father passed away suddenly, and so Mother and a cousin came with her little boy a couple of weeks ago.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about your far, but I’m glad you’ve been reunited with your mor.” He settled back in his chair. “I suppose that means there’s even less of a chance that Ivar will come with me to a logging camp?”

  Nilda nodded. “We have too much to do at home. Rune, Ivar, and Bjorn will be back out in the woods as soon as the butchering is done.”

  “I tried to talk my brother into coming over and logging, but he said if he comes, he’d rather farm. But Dreng is ready to go out with me. He said to greet you for him.”

  Nilda could feel Mrs. Schoenleber’s gaze on her, and Nilda’s head was saying, Be polite, at all costs, be polite.

  “Tell him you did. Would you like some coffee? Dessert?” A glance at her employer earned her a nod. “Cook makes the best pies. Tonight we had chocolate pie with something else in it. She always has a secret ingredient.” She walked over to pull the cord. “What have you heard from home?” She felt sure she had passed the test, even though she could feel herself shaking.

  Petter described his job and temporary living arrangement in a boardinghouse. “Only unti
l I get enough money saved to build a small house. Lumber here is much less expensive than it is in Norway.”

  Verna, the cook herself, entered with a tray of dishes, each with a generous wedge of chocolate pie with a mountain of whipped cream on top.

  “How do you like living in Blackduck?” Mrs. Schoenleber asked after the pie was passed around and the coffee poured. “Mr. Goddard says you learn very quickly, and he’s pleased to have you working at the lumberyard.”

  “I like it here. I still miss my family and hope some of them will immigrate too, but I have a good job and the people here . . .” He nodded. “It would be different if I were living in a house or someplace by myself.”

  She asked, “So why are you going out in the woods?”

  “Two reasons, ma’am. I want to learn all I can about the lumber industry. Mr. Goddard knows so much, and he is a good teacher.” He smiled and shrugged. “But there’s something about those giant trees.”

  Nilda nodded. “I know. When I walk out in our woods and look up, it is quiet until you hear the wind in the tops of the trees, like they are singing. Like being in a huge church. I visited the Stavanger Cathedral one time, and going out in the woods feels much the same.” She shrugged and shook her head just a bit at the same time. “It’s hard to explain. But I went out in the summer, not the winter. I’m looking forward to going out with my brothers after the snow falls.”

  Petter smiled at her. “Ja, I—I think you described it very well. Mr. Goddard said when one of those trees goes down, there is a hush as if . . .” He stopped. “I guess I will find out.”

  Nilda smiled back. What a pleasant friend Petter was becoming. She thought of his helping at Rune’s house-raising. And he wasn’t afraid of work—not like someone else she knew.

  Why did that miserable Dreng have to keep showing up in her mind, let alone in her town?

  Chapter

  20

  If we can fell three trees today—get them on the ground, that is, not limbed—I will be pleased.” Rune rubbed his left eye.

  Signe frowned slightly. His eyes seemed to be bothering him more lately.

  “Three down and one limbed.” Bjorn elbowed his far. “That’s a better goal.”

  Rune looked at their two youngest. “Come out and load the wagon as soon as you get home. We need more wood up here.”

  Knute heaved a sigh. “I could stay home and help.”

  “You will go to school first.” Signe laid a hand on his shoulder. “Your dinner pails are ready, and Rosie is impatient to get under shelter. Oh, and on your way home, stop and see if there are any messages at Benson’s.”

  “When is Nilda coming home?”

  “We’ll meet her in church on Sunday like we did last week.” Signe turned to Selma. “Mr. Kielund is hauling the hog sides into Benson’s Corner today, right?”

  “That’s what he said.” Selma reached for the breakfast plates and bowls on either side of her. “I invited him to dinner like you said.”

  “That’s right, I forgot he was coming. That means we have to come in early to help load his wagon.” Rune puffed out his cheeks. “So many things to be done.”

  “So much for three trees.” Bjorn huffed a breath. “Ivar and I can stay out there and keep working.”

  “There is always tomorrow.”

  “If Onkel Einar heard you say that, he—”

  “He would have been so furious, he’d have broken the glass in the door going out,” Gerd finished for him. “But he didn’t butcher and sell fifteen pigs either, nor dress and hang a spike deer.”

  “Or keep the smokehouse going twenty-four hours a day for weeks,” Signe added.

  “Dinner will be ready for you—a hot meal, not cold food out in the woods.” Gerd leaned over and helped Kirstin climb up onto her lap. “Won’t it, baby girl?”

  Kirstin wiggled around until she was facing the table and slapped her hands on the surface. Looking straight at Bjorn, she said, “B-Born,” clear as could be.

  The boys all laughed, and Knute and Leif grabbed their coats and hats along with their dinner pails.

  “Now, Rufus, you stay here,” Leif ordered, but Knute laughed.

  “You know he will go with us to the road and stand there watching us ride away, so why confuse him?”

  Signe shook her head. Rufus would indeed do what Rufus decided to do. While Rune had built him a shelter on the back porch at the new house, he still slept on a rug by the stove, unless he climbed the stairs to sleep with Leif.

  “We have a good dog in that one.” Gerd patted the backs of Kirstin’s hands on the table. “Kirstin thinks so too.”

  “M-m-mo.” She grinned up at Signe. “M-m-mo.”

  Selma filled the boiler and set it on the stove. “I will wash the baby things.”

  “I’ll crank the wringer.” Signe grinned back at her little daughter. “We should be teaching her English.”

  “She will mimic whatever she hears the most.” Gunlaug took over at the dishpan on the stove. “She learns faster than I do, that’s for certain.”

  “Learning a new language is easier when you are young.” Rune pulled his hat down on his head and tucked a scarf around his neck. The three of them waved goodbye to Kirstin as they left. She waved and jabbered something at them, “B-Born” again being the clearest word in her speech.

  Gerd kissed the top of her downy hair, only one shade darker than white. “Come on, you and Tante Gerd will go finish your new dress. Now that you are a year old, you can help more.”

  Signe smiled as she watched them go into the workroom, a baby fist clasped around Gerd’s index finger, the little one chattering away. “That little girl is going to be some talker. You can go in there too, Eric, if you want. Perhaps Tante Gerd will tell more of the story I heard the other day.”

  “Come on, Eric,” Gerd called. “We can work on your numbers and the alphabet again. Signe, remind me to ask Rune to make a slate for the little ones. There’s no reason Eric can’t learn to recognize the basics now.”

  “Can you tell ‘Three Billy Goats Gruff’ again?” he asked.

  “We’ll see. Numbers first. Hold up two fingers. No, no, use one hand.”

  Signe heard the jangle of harness just as she was slicing the bread. She looked out the window and saw that Rune and the boys had a load of pine in the wagon. They tossed the lengths into a pile, and Bjorn took the team back to the barn just as another team trotted up the lane.

  “We’ll eat before you load,” she called out the door.

  With the kettle of venison stew on the hot pad at the table, she set the bread in the middle and the plates next to the kettle.

  “Mr. Kielund is here,” Selma said as she came in from hanging the last load of wash on the clothesline. She rubbed her hands in the heat of the stove. “He’s blanketing his horse.”

  Selma held the door as the gentleman entered with his children. Signe caught the smile he and Selma exchanged and chuckled inside. Things were indeed progressing.

  When they were nearly done with the meal, Mr. Kielund looked to Signe. “Do you mind if the children stay here while we deliver the hogs?”

  “Not at all.” Gerd answered before Signe could. “I have a favor to ask. Would you please ask Mrs. Benson if she has a couple of slates, like they have at school? And chalk. The children and I are practicing.”

  His eyes widened. “Of course.”

  “We need to get you loaded.” Rune pushed back his chair. “I hate to hurry things along. . . .”

  “But dark is coming too fast these days.” Ivar and Bjorn swapped looks.

  “I will help.” Selma snatched up her heavy coat.

  “Did you bag that deer?” Mr. Kielund asked Bjorn as they filed out the door.

  “Yes, sir. A spike, so the meat is tender.” Bjorn smiled. “You just ate some of it.”

  “When do you plan to butcher the steer?”

  Selma answered him, but Signe could not hear what she said.

  Eric and Olaf stood befo
re her. “Can we go get one of the kittens?”

  “I’ll go with you and bring up the churn.” Signe smiled down at the two little boys. “Perhaps you can catch two of them, but be careful—the mama might scratch you.”

  Eric shook his head. “She likes me.”

  Hours later, Signe was just taking a gingerbread cake out of the oven when she heard trotting hooves coming up the lane. Sounds carried farther in the cold air. She’d discovered that when she waited without breathing outside the house, she could hear the ax blades on the trees out in the woods. She set the cake to cool on the table and fetched a pitcher of cream from the pantry, making sure she kicked the rolled-up rug back at the bottom of the door.

  “Pa is here.” The two Kielund children leaped to their feet and ran to the door, leaving the kittens for Eric.

  Selma entered first, her face aglow. She sent Signe a slight nod as she removed her coat with Mr. Kielund’s assistance.

  Signe kept a knowing grin from her face, but she wanted to throw her arms around Selma and dance her around the room.

  “Oh, it smells so good in here.” Mr. Kielund hung Selma’s coat and his own on the clothes rack by the door.

  “Ja—yes, it just came out of the oven. The coffee is hot too,” Signe said in English as she beckoned them to the table.

  Mr. Kielund handed her a paper-wrapped package. “This is from Mrs. Benson. She was delighted to send those here with us.”

  Signe cut the pan of gingerbread into good-sized pieces. Perhaps she’d better bake another one for after supper.

  “What smells so good?” Leif burst through the door. “We got to hurry.”

  “Surely you have time for . . .” Signe slid one of the pieces onto a plate.

  “Mor, that’s not fair.” Leif set the dinner pails on the counter. “Knute is harnessing Rosie to the cart.”

  Signe tied two pieces of gingerbread in a napkin. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks!” He spun out the door and leaped down the steps.

  “They take their work seriously.” Mr. Kielund shook his head. “What fine sons you have.”