A Season of Grace

by Lauraine Snelling

  She looked up and was startled by the look she caught in Petter’s eye. “Is everyone ready to continue?”

  “Yes,” Miss Walstead said. “I believe it is my turn first.”

  When they finished, Nilda excused herself to the necessary, and when she returned, she had the feeling she’d missed out on something.

  “Why don’t you see Petter to the door?” Mrs. Schoenleber suggested. “Jane, I want to show you something in my office.”

  Petter already had his coat on and stood twisting his hat in both hands. “I, uh, I talked with Mrs. Schoenleber, and she said to mention this to you.”

  “All right.” Nilda waited. But when his hat was starting to look rather misshapen, she asked softly, “Petter, what is it?”

  “I—I asked if when I return from the woods, I might, uh, court you.”

  “Oh.” She blinked at him. “I . . .”

  “Is that a possibility, even?”

  “I-I never thought about it, but I, well, yes. Of course.” Why not?

  Relief stopped the destruction of the hat. “Good. Oh, if, or rather when I write to you, will you write back?”

  “Yes, I will do that.”

  “Good. Good.” He nodded, his grin growing. “See you soon.” He opened the door. “Good. Takk.” He held out his hand, so she shook it.

  “Good night.” Closing the door behind him, she thought she heard a whoop from outside. Had she really agreed to a possible courtship? Wait until she told Signe.

  “Nilda, dear, oh my.” Mrs. Schoenleber and Miss Walstead returned to the parlor. “He asked you?”

  “Ja, he did.” Nilda looked over her shoulder with a slightly puzzled look.

  “I told you he was sweet on you,” Mrs. Schoenleber said.

  “I don’t know. Somehow I feel he is more like my brother.” Nilda shrugged. “But perhaps that will change.”

  “Who knows?” Miss Walstead smiled. “Well, I will see you again tomorrow. Her Highness awaits my return.”

  Nilda smiled. A royal cat. Of course.

  Mrs. Schoenleber said, “George will have the carriage around in a minute.”

  Miss Walstead frowned. “I hate to have him go to all that trouble.”

  “You are not walking home this late at night, so don’t bother fussing. You know you are always welcome to stay here.”

  “And pay the penalty at home. Surely you jest.” But Miss Walstead looked a bit relieved. A harness jingled outside, and she went out the door. A blast of cold blew in.

  After Miss Walstead left, Mrs. Schoenleber laid a hand on Nilda’s arm. “I know you are tired, but I think we need to have a talk.”

  Good or bad? Can’t it wait until another time? Nilda blew out a puff of air. Perhaps a later time when my English is better.

  “Come, let’s go back in the parlor in front of the fire. I will have Charles bring in tea.”

  Tea. Oh dear. I will need fortifying? Nilda chewed the inside of her bottom lip as she followed Mrs. Schoenleber back into the parlor, where two of the wingback chairs were now closer to the restoked blaze.

  “I ordered tea,” Mrs. Schoenleber said as they sat down, “but would you prefer something else?”

  “No, tea is fine.” Nilda stared into the flames, which dipped and danced, sending shadow patterns out onto the rug.

  “I know you would rather go up to bed, but I think this needs to be dealt with, and the sooner the better.”

  Nilda took the offered tea and held the saucer with one hand while she held the china cup in the other. Blowing on the steaming surface, she waited.

  “I believe there is more to the Dreng story than you have let on. Every time his name is mentioned, you go rigid.”

  “I really do not want to talk about this.”

  “I know.”

  Nilda sipped her tea, still hot enough to make her lips tingle. “He has—that is, he had a bad reputation in Norway.”

  “I see. Was this a personal experience or . . . ?”

  “Yes, personal. My experience and that of other young women too.”

  “He is a very good-looking young man.”

  “Yes, and he believes—believed—that he could . . . have his way with any young woman, especially those who worked for his very wealthy family. Do what he wished with them.” Was she explaining clearly enough in English? “And his mother believed her baby boy could do no wrong.”

  “You said his mother. Did his father not agree with that?”

  “No, he knew his youngest son was, uh—” Ah! That’s the word. “Spoiled. Spoiled beyond measure.”

  “But he did nothing about it?”

  “He did when Dreng’s actions were finally brought into the light. Uh, to his attention.”

  “And did Dreng attack you?”

  “Attack. I think I remember what that word means. He would not stop his advances when I told him to. So I spilled water out of the scrub bucket and soaked his clothes. The next time he tried to drag me in his room. His mother came upon us and I ran away. My . . .” She searched her mind for the English word and found nothing. “My friend Addy warned me not to work there, but I needed the money for my ticket to America.”

  “I see.”

  The tea was much cooler. “I heard rumors about him. I mean, I had heard rumors about him. And we all heard of one young woman who suddenly went to live with an aunt somewhere else. But I thought that . . . that . . .” Her English totally betrayed her. She started over. “I thought that saying ‘no’ would stop him from doing anything bad.” She snorted. “It did not.” Can we stop talking about him now? Please?

  Mrs. Schoenleber nodded slowly. “What happened when his mother found out?”

  She yearned to speak Norwegian, but she could not. “His mother did not know why the girls she hired always quit suddenly. She fired me when I ran away, of course, as if I would continue working there. When she saw me later, she called me names. Dreng had told her it was my fault. I told my older brother and his fiancée what had happened, and the boys, my brothers and some others, took care of him. They would not tell me what they did, but Mr. Nygaard found out and sent his son to America. I hear that he told his wife she could not have contact with him. Dreng believes I ruined his good life by telling the truth.”

  “But you think his mother does have contact with him?”

  “Yes, ma’am. A young man with no money or job, and he dresses in fine clothes and walks about being so nice to everyone.”

  Mrs. Schoenleber nodded. “This explains much. I too hear rumors. I know angry brothers, and I am fairly sure they would have killed him if they didn’t thoroughly respect the reprise.”

  Nilda tried to sort out that sentence. The meaning came clear. “I see what you are saying. And I am not the only girl he, uh, he tried to . . .”

  “Take liberties with?”

  “Yes. . . . There were many. Perhaps that is why his father banished him to America, to keep him alive.” Not that that was a great gift to the world.

  The snapping of the fire broke the silence.

  “I heard from someone I respect that Dreng admitted he’d been banished and that he has learned his lesson. He wants to start a new life in America and leave that former Dreng behind. He sincerely regrets his actions and hopes that anyone who learns his story or knows him from before will be willing to forgive him and start anew.”

  “I have a hard time believing that.” Nilda knew impossible was a more appropriate word but left it where she’d laid it. “He wrote me a letter that said, ‘I will get you for this.’”

  “I see. And you say he held you responsible.”

  “Yes. Ivar said that perhaps he has changed. After all, most people learn from punishment, and he knew what kind of punishment Dreng had been dealt.”

  “Does Ivar believe Dreng has changed?”

  “I don’t know. He knows I don’t ever want to see him and that when I did, it . . .” What word? “It distressed me very much.”

  “I can let him know he is n
ot welcome here.”

  “You would do that for me?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Nilda tried to read this woman. “But you are not sure that is the best way, right?”

  Mrs. Schoenleber smiled. “Right. I believe there is evil in this world, but I also believe God’s Word that says to forgive. Especially those who ask to be forgiven.”

  “‘Forgive as you have been forgiven.’ It sounds so simple. I only wish it were.” There. She had just used the subjunctive. Her English was indeed getting better.

  “I agree, Nilda. What about this? We believe his change of heart until proven otherwise. Can you live with that?”

  Can I pray for God to drop a tree on him? Nilda kept that to herself and nodded. “I will try.” But if he attacks someone else, I swear I will kill him myself.

  Chapter

  23

  Aunt Gertrude! What a nice surprise!” Fritz Larsson wrapped Mrs. Schoenleber in a bear hug as Nilda watched from beside her.

  “My dear Nilda here suggested I come to hear you play on a Sunday like this.”

  Nilda smiled and nodded. Why would a comment like that make the heat come up her neck and face? This felt too much like when he paid attention to her in class.

  “And she was right,” Mrs. Schoenleber continued. “Hearing you on the organ in church like this is far different from playing on the piano at my house. Which, by the way, I hope you will do soon.”

  “I hope so.” Fritz turned to Nilda. “Thank you for bringing her out here. You’d think it was fifty miles instead of five.”

  “If it were fifty, I would take the train,” Mrs. Schoenleber countered. “But you are right, I have not come out here very often.”

  “Once or twice?” His eyebrows arched into the hair drooping over his forehead.

  Pastor Skarstead stepped in beside Mr. Larsson. “Good to see you, Mrs. Schoenleber. Welcome to our congregation. Thank you for joining us for this wedding.” He glanced at his pocket watch. “Which we need to start right now. Fritz will play for Mrs. Strand as she walks down the aisle, if she would like.” He looked to Selma, who shook her head after a glance at Mr. Kielund.

  “We can just come up together, can’t we?” Mr. Kielund asked.

  “Of course. Now, if the guests will take their seats in the front pews, Fritz will play music to make us feel joyful at the union of these two fine people. And yes, children, you can stand here by your respective parents.” The reverend nodded and smiled at the children, actually bringing shy grins to their faces.

  The organ burst into “Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee,” with Mr. Larsson smiling and nodding as the small group took their places.

  Nilda fought the tears that always came when she heard that hymn. Joyful, joyful was right. Lord, make this marriage joyful. These two have been through so much, and their children too. She stood by Selma with one hand on Eric’s shoulder.

  When Mr. Larsson had played the closing notes, Reverend Skarstead held up his Bible. “We are gathered today in the presence of God and this company to bring this man and this woman into union as one. These will all become a family. Let us pray. Father God who ordained the sacrament of marriage, we thank thee for all thou hast done to make this day happen for these people. Give us pure hearts to hear thy word and live by what thou hast taught us. Let us hear what the scriptures have to say concerning marriage.”

  He read a few marked places in his Bible, then looked from Mr. Kielund to Selma. “You, Oskar, take her hands in yours. . . .”

  Nilda chuckled along with him and the others. She rejoiced with her friends as they repeated the ancient vows, promising to remain together until death parted them, to love, honor, and care for each other. Someday, Lord, I pray I will stand up in a church and declare these same vows with a man who will love me as I will love him. She wished she had tucked a handkerchief in her sleeve. She glanced down when Eric leaned against her and returned his angelic smile.

  “I now declare you husband and wife. Oskar, you may kiss your bride.”

  When he did, all three of the children giggled. They tickled Nilda so much, she had to fight to keep the giggles down herself. It was such a happy occasion. Thank you, Lord, that I could come.

  Amid all the hugging and chuckles, Reverend Skarstead got the right people to sign the papers on the right lines. He folded the marriage certificate and handed one copy to his wife and the other to Oskar Kielund.

  “I hate to do this, but I have to leave right now. This was such a privilege. Blessings on you all.” The reverend waved as he turned to leave.

  “Don’t forget to remove your stole,” his wife called after him.

  “Thanks for the reminder.”

  Nilda hugged Selma again. “You make a beautiful bride,” she whispered. “I am so happy for you.”

  Oskar shook hands with everyone and then thanked Fritz for his playing. “That was an added gift, thank you.”

  “My privilege. I have not gotten to play for many weddings, so thank you for allowing me to.”

  Mr. Kielund turned to Rune. “Thank you, my friend, for making me and my children part of your family before this began.” He leaned closer to whisper, “And thank you for even thinking of this preposterous plan that has now been accomplished.”

  “I would like to meet these dear people,” Mrs. Schoenleber whispered in Nilda’s ear, distracting her from eavesdropping.

  “Oh my. I am so sorry.” Nilda turned to Selma and Oskar. “I am honored to introduce Mrs. Schoenleber, Mr. Larsson’s aunt and my employer in Blackduck.”

  Mrs. Schoenleber smiled elegantly. “I’ve not crashed a wedding before, so thank you for the privilege.”

  Rune stepped forward. “We would all be happy if you could come out to the farm for dinner.”

  “I wish, but those dark clouds on the horizon make George, my driver, very concerned about another storm coming in.” She nodded to the back of the church where George stood waiting.

  “Ja, we better be heading out too. Mr. Larsson?” Rune asked.

  “I think the same thing, so I will come another time. Thank you.” He reached out and actually took Nilda’s hand, saying in English, “Thank you so very much for bringing my aunt. Or at least being the cause of her coming.”

  Now Nilda’s neck really did get hot. “You’re welcome.”

  Signe wrapped her arms around Nilda. “I miss you so and thought we could have some time today, but the weather is the dictator here.” She nodded to Mrs. Schoenleber. “I’m so glad to meet you after hearing wonderful things. Thank you for taking in my family when they needed help.”

  “You must come sometime too and spend a few days. We will give you a vacation.”

  Signe nodded to the sleepy girl on her hip. “Someday, perhaps.”

  “How I would love to have a little one in my house again. It’s been too many years. You come and bring her, please.”

  “Why, thank you.” Signe reached for Mrs. Schoenleber’s hand. “How we would love for you to come visit us one day too, perhaps in the spring or summer.”

  “Yes, yes, George, I am coming.” Mrs. Schoenleber squeezed Signe’s hand. “Yes, I will do that.”

  Reluctantly, even a little bit sadly, Nilda joined her employer in the carriage, and they rattled away toward Blackduck. Halfway there, the snowflakes caught up with them.

  “Good thing I listened to George instead of my heart,” Mrs. Schoenleber said with a sigh.

  “You really wanted to go out to the farm for the party?”

  “Oh yes, I really did. I lived on a farm until I was ten, when my father decided he could make more money with the trees than farming. He sold our place and bought timberland north of Minneapolis. He never looked back, and then he became interested in the railroads and met my husband-to-be.”

  “I figured you grew up in a wealthy family.”

  “Oh, we were wealthy, but our wealth was not based on money, but on hard work and my father’s willingness to follow his dreams. He taught his sons
and daughters the same. When he died fifteen years ago, he finally put my brothers in charge of all his businesses. I have three brothers and one sister. I am the eldest.”

  “Do they ever come to Blackduck to visit you?”

  “Not often. They say it is too far and keep suggesting I move back to Minneapolis. I tell them the distance is the same for me as for them, and the train runs both ways.”

  Nilda chuckled. “Why do you stay here? Since you have a choice, I mean.”

  “Simple. This is my home. I have work to do here.”

  Nilda stared out the window at the snow that, while heavier than when they had left the church, was still not obscuring the view. Had it been snowing harder, George might have insisted they close the drapes on the windows. She felt sorry for him up there in the driver’s box.

  “Does George have a quilt or any protection?” she asked.

  “He has a heavy wool greatcoat with a wide collar out over the shoulders, and good gloves. If I suggested he needed more, he would be offended. He is more concerned about us in here. Besides, we’re almost home. When you pass that farmhouse, you know you are in the outskirts of Blackduck.” She pointed off to the right, where they could see lights in the windows of a two-story house.

  Mrs. Schoenleber looked thoughtful. Suddenly she said, “You know, I’ve been thinking about our talk regarding Dreng Nygaard.”

  “I wish he never existed.”

  “Not surprising, but God does provide help for those who ask, and perhaps he really has had a major change in his life. I am sure that would please his father no end.”

  “I don’t think he has ever worked a day in his life. Mrs. Nygaard was afraid he might get hurt. I remember Mor and others in the family talking about that. I know, gossip is not a good thing, but . . .” Again English failed her. “But the gossip said that she spoiled him so much that he thought he owned the world. And he did nothing to earn it. Do you really think something like that can be turned around?”