A Season of Grace

by Lauraine Snelling

  “I know that people can change if the pain of staying the same is greater than that of change. I also believe that God still works miracles. I have seen them happen.”

  The carriage turned to the left, so they had only two more blocks to go.

  Nilda watched the familiar buildings pass. “Thank you for having George take me to church for the wedding today and for coming along. Mr. Larsson was certainly surprised and pleased to have you there.”

  “True. He has always called me his favorite aunt. I’m the one who encouraged him in his music dreams, as well as teaching. His mother and father were not happy with me, but I am a strong believer in the value of dreams.”

  George pulled up at the front door and hopped down to open the carriage door for them. “Here you go. Be careful on that walk. Charles swept it, I see, but it could still be slippery. You hang on to her, Miss Nilda.” He helped them both down and waited until they were at the door, which opened before they got there. Charles ushered them inside, tsking at their being out in the snow.

  “What could we do? After all, the snow wasn’t terribly bad.” Mrs. Schoenleber dusted the snowflakes off Nilda’s shoulders. “Shake your hat and scarf. Charles, I do hope you have the fire going in the day room.”

  “Of course, I expected you about now. Cook has hot mulled cider to warm you. A young man who was here at the first social dropped off an envelope for you. I put it on your desk.”

  They both stood in front of the fire for a bit and turned to warm their backs also. When Charles brought in the tray of cider, they sat down in the chairs and accepted the mugs from him.

  “Cook said you probably did not eat out there, so she fixed you a light repast to hold you until supper.”

  “Cook was right. We headed back immediately since it looked like snow was on the way. I expect Mrs. Benson called too, didn’t she?”

  “Someone did. That is how we knew for sure you were on your way. The telephone is a rather remarkable improvement.”

  After sipping the cider and doing away with one of the fancy sandwiches, Mrs. Schoenleber slit the envelope open and removed the page, nodding as she read it. “As I suspected, this is from Dreng Nygaard.”

  As if there were any other Drengs that they knew of. Nilda stared at the fire as she swallowed and sipped, enjoying the heat both inside and out. Was it really possible for him to change into a decent man? Everything within her screamed, No, no, never.

  “He is asking for a meeting with you.” She focused back on the letter. “To try to make things right, is what he says.”

  Nilda closed her eyes and rested her head against the chair back. The silence grew. “Do I have to?”

  “No, you do not have to.” She emphasized the have.

  “But?”

  Mrs. Schoenleber humphed. “But I think that if he has left the old man behind and become a new man, you will be free of the hate you carry. I believe he is asking for forgiveness, and if you hang on to the bitterness, it will destroy you. Not him. You.”

  “And if this is all a lie?”

  “Forgiveness is freedom for the one who forgives, whether the other has changed at all. If he asks, or if he doesn’t, you need to forgive for your own sake.”

  Nilda swallowed the tears for as long as she could, but when they brimmed over, she let them run. Her sigh when the well dried up was one of either freedom or defeat, but she finally said, “I will see him. I will forgive him. Only because I trust you will be right outside the door.”

  “Yes, both Jane and I will be waiting.” Mrs. Schoenleber paused and grinned mischievously. “With raised cleavers.”

  The picture in her mind made Nilda shake her head and snort.

  Later, Mrs. Schoenleber wrote a response for Charles to deliver the next morning, as it was already getting dark; the address had been on the envelope. “I told him tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Fine. Better to get it over with. And no matter what, he will be heading to the logging camp next Monday.” Nilda didn’t say good riddance to bad rubbish, but she thought it.

  That night she dreamed she was being chased by someone in a black hat with a hatchet raised to strike. When she woke, she was panting like she’d been running all night.

  The gray of dawn was lighting the snow-covered world. Tree branches hung low, and the iron spikes of the fence wore white toppers. But the snow had stopped, and someone had already been outside and shoveled and swept off the walkways.

  Grateful for the furnace that heated the entire house, Nilda dressed in a wool skirt and knitted wool vest over a waist. With her hair brushed and bundled in a snood, she made her way downstairs to breakfast. Out at the farm, chores would be nearly done, and the boys would soon be on their way to school on their new skis.

  “I sure hope my brother is making me some skis out in that shop of his,” she said as she entered the breakfast room.

  “We have skis in the carriage house.” Mrs. Schoenleber looked up from reading the paper. “I haven’t skied in years, but you are welcome to use them if you like.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course. How easy it is to please you, my dear.” She reached for the bell to the kitchen. “Cook has outdone herself with cheese blintzes this morning.” Pausing, she asked, “Have you ever had them?”

  “For special times, but not often. Mor—I mean, Mother used the soft cheese when it was fresh.”

  “She made cheese?”

  “Most farm families make cheese when the milk is plentiful because that is the best way to keep it. We did up at the seter. Seter is when we’d take the cows, goats, and sheep up to the mountain summer farm. We used the milk there for cured cheese.”

  The day passed swiftly as always, and soon the clock was announcing two and her stomach was announcing upsets. When the knocker clanged, she stood beside the chair in the office while the two older women went into the kitchen.

  “Thank you for seeing me,” Dreng said as Charles showed him into the room after taking his coat.

  “You are welcome. Please, be seated.” She made sure her English was impeccable as she motioned him to a chair. She knew she looked her best, as she had very carefully seen to that.

  “I would like to tell you how lovely you look, but I will get directly to why I asked to see you,” Dreng started.

  Smooth talker, as always. No change there. She nodded.

  “I-I have come to beg your forgiveness for the way I acted toward you at home in Norway. My behavior was unconscionable.” He was speaking Norwegian, not English. She stared right at him without moving. “I deserved everything that has happened. And more. But, Nilda, I beg you, please say you forgive my behavior.”

  His behavior? It was his attitude, his way of living that was wrong. “Your behavior?”

  “Why, yes, the way I treated you. Surely you remember?” He blinked and turned his head slightly to the side.

  “Oh yes, I remember.”

  “I-I need you to forgive me so that I can start over and have a new life.” He sounded like he’d memorized his speech. “Can you find it in your heart?” He paused. “Please?” He dropped his gaze to his hands. “I don’t know what else to say, other than I’m sorry. So very sorry.” He started to rise. “I guess I’d best go and let you think about this. I know it must be a shock.”

  She forced her words out in a rush. “Only because of what the Bible says will I forgive you, not to make you feel better. As I remember, there are others you treated the same way. Are you going to ask their forgiveness also?”

  “I would if I could talk with them.” His gaze left hers and shifted to his clasped hands. “Thank you.”

  “For your sake, I hope you mean this.”

  “You can count on it.” He stood. “I will see you at the social. Thank you again.”

  “I hear you are going to become a logger.”

  “Ja, my onkel said that would make a man out of me if anything can.”

  “Well, I hope he is right.” Nilda stood. She did not take the
hand he offered her. “I will see you out.”

  But when she opened the door to the hall, Charles was waiting there. He bowed slightly. “I will see him out for you, miss.”

  “Thank you. Good-bye, Dreng.”

  “I will see you soon.” He left.

  She realized she was shaking when the two older women came through the door.

  “Are you all right?” Miss Walstead came to her and clasped her upper arms.

  “I don’t think so.” Nilda collapsed into the chair, melting into a puddle of tears.

  Mrs. Schoenleber knelt beside her. “Dear Nilda, you did what God told you to do, and now you can cry all you need. Let the tears wash you into freedom.”

  “I said ‘I forgive you.’ I hope I meant it.” Because I am pretty sure he did not.

  Chapter

  24

  The nightmare woke her up again.

  Nilda sat up in bed, trying to calm her breathing. Who was the man in the black hat, and why was he chasing her? She never saw his face, but light glinted off his raised weapon, be it cleaver or ax. Whatever it was, the whole thing screamed danger.

  She reached for the glass of water she kept on the nightstand, almost knocking it over in the darkness. The cold water made her shiver. She knew if she pulled the bell, someone would come, would bring tea if she asked. Somehow, just the thought was comforting. In all her life, she’d never had a room or a bed to herself. There had always been someone right by to comfort her. Or, as was more often the case, she had comforted someone else.

  She’d heard someone say once that dreams could tell a story. They did in the Bible. Jacob saw a ladder with people or angels going up and down on it. But did nightmares especially carry a message? One thing was for sure, the dream felt evil.

  The only evil she could think of in her entire life was Dreng Nygaard.

  And yesterday, he had asked for her forgiveness for his behavior. Why did that bother her? Lord, I told him I forgave him. Wasn’t that enough? Is there more? You said when you forgive, the sin is gone, as far as the east is from the west. Mrs. Schoenleber said I did what was required of me and now I am free. I want it all to be gone, especially the memories. Can you clean those out too?

  Are you going to trust me? The words seemed all around and through her, but gentle. A question. She felt like lighting the candle to see if someone else was indeed in the room, but she knew where the voice came from.

  Trust. Forgiveness. She blew out a breath and laid back against her pillow, pulling the quilt up around her neck, tucking it under her chin. Easy words to say, but what did they really mean? She heard the curtain rustle in the warm air rising from the furnace that lived in the cellar. She couldn’t see the air, but she could feel the warmth. Surely if she could trust the furnace would bring warmth, she could trust that God would live up to His word and teach her, protect her from the man in the black hat.

  He said, I am the light. He said it over and over. She fell asleep again, trust and light filling her mind.

  In the morning, she reached for the Bible in English that Mrs. Schoenleber insisted she keep in her room. She’d never had a Bible of her own before either. Her wise employer had said this one was hers. Propped against the pillows, Nilda held the Bible against her knees and turned to the New Testament where Jesus had said, “I am the light of the world.” Surely it was in Matthew.

  A knock at the door, and Gilda, the upstairs maid, peeked around. “I brought you some tea if you would like.”

  “Thank you, but you didn’t need to do that.”

  “Cook thought you needed something warm this morning.” She set the tray on the foot of the bed and poured a cup. “She says breakfast will be ready when you come down. Would you like help with dressing or with your hair?”

  Nilda held the cup in both hands and inhaled the fragrance. “This is such a kind thing for you to do.” And especially this morning, for that horrible dream was lingering.

  “Miss Walstead will be here in about an hour.”

  “Is it that late already?” Nilda drank the tea, set the cup back on the tray, and flipped back the covers.

  “What waist will you be wearing today?” Gilda stood at the door of the chiffarobe, holding up the light blue one. “With the navy skirt?”

  “Yes, that will be fine.”

  “We could braid a dark ribbon in your hair.”

  “Gilda, you realize you are spoiling me.”

  “Oh no, miss, I am just doing my job.” But her smile helped Nilda let go of the night and rejoice in the new day. “See, the sun is back out.”

  “I see, and if I can fit it in today, I would like to go skiing.” Nilda let Gilda help her dress, then sat on the bench in front of the dressing table. “There is nothing like skiing on new snow, even though it is not deep enough yet for real drifts, and the land here is pretty flat.”

  “I will ask Charles to get the skis out and make sure they are well waxed.”

  “Do you ski?”

  “I used to.”

  “Perhaps you could ski with me sometime.”

  “Perhaps.” Gilda finished off the braid and pinned it in a coil on the back of Nilda’s head. Handing Nilda the small mirror, she nodded. “This is all right?”

  “Better than all right. Thank you.”

  “You might want a sweater along, just in case.”

  Down in the breakfast room, the sun slanted through the tall windows, giving the whole room a golden glow.

  Mrs. Schoenleber looked up from reading one of the newspapers. “I was getting concerned about you.”

  “And so you and Cook sent Gilda up to make sure I had not run away?”

  “Was that a thought?”

  “No, but . . .” Nilda looked up at Charles. “Please tell Cook that whatever she has ready is perfect.”

  He nodded. “I hear you would like to go skiing.”

  “Do the very walls have ears here?”

  He smiled and shook his head. “No, but Madam asked that I get down the skis and wax them.”

  “I told him.” Mrs. Schoenleber rattled the paper as she folded it closed again. “We have several pairs of skis. I would much prefer you did not go alone, at least not this first time.”

  “But—” Nilda swallowed the words, but Mrs. Schoenleber obviously interpreted the look Nilda gave her and chuckled.

  “I know, I have a tendency to be overly careful, but bear with me and my active imagination. Charles will go with you this first time.”

  “But I hate to impose . . .”

  Charles rolled his eyes. “You would deprive me of a chance to go skiing on a day like today? I surely hope not.”

  “If you put it that way . . .” Nilda shook her head. “I’m surprised Miss Walstead isn’t going too so she can quiz me as we ski.”

  “That too could be arranged.” Mrs. Schoenleber was smiling broadly now.

  After three hours of language, grammar, history, and social graces, Nilda was more than ready to ski, possibly even to throw herself into a snowbank, if they had any big enough yet.

  “I’d like you to explain to Charles how to ski,” Miss Walstead announced just after she closed her book and dismissed Nilda from the library.

  “He said he knows how to ski.” Nilda knew she looked confused, but how could she not?

  “I know you could give good instructions in Norwegian, but . . .”

  Nilda huffed a sigh and rolled her eyes. “Yes, ma’am.” The first thing she had to do was learn the English terms for the equipment and the skiing terminology. “I think Charles better teach this first time.”

  Miss Walstead nodded, her shiny apple cheeks stretching with her knowing smile.

  Nilda donned another woolen petticoat and wool socks that reached above her knees. Outside, she allowed Charles to buckle the bindings over her boots, repeating after him the terms. When they both stood, skis sliding properly and poles placed, he pushed off first, and she followed.

  They skied on powder snow without a track, other tha
n those left by rabbits and birds. She raised her face to the sun and sucked in the frigid air. Cold but not too cold. At least the snow would not melt right away.

  Charles suggested, “We’ll go out to the river and follow it south for a while, then come back around Blackduck. This will give you a good idea of the terrain.”

  “Terrain?”

  “The land. How the land lies. The way of the land.”

  “Ah.”

  She realized the Schoenleber house was near the northern outskirts of the town, so they were quickly into farmland and young trees in wooded areas. The loggers had left some of the younger white pines to grow. Charles told her who the places belonged to, since this was an area of many larger homes.

  They stopped at the riverbank. Ice extended out about a third of the width of the river on either side.

  Charles waved an arm. “Before long it will be frozen solid, plenty thick enough to use as a road to haul goods up and down from Bemidji and farther south. People will drill holes for ice fishing and set tip-ups to tell them when a fish is on the line. Some make shacks they drag out here to protect them from the weather. They build fires in metal barrels.”

  “Would you please repeat all that?”

  The second repetition helped, and she got it all. Ski poles, bindings, camber, and now shack, barrel, tip-up, drill . . . so many new words. At least she knew the word fishing and therefore ice fishing.

  “Mr. Garborg, who lives on a lake near our farm, mentioned ice fishing. Knute was all excited; he loves to fish. Hunt too.”

  “My family does too. I never was one to like working out in the winter weather, let alone fishing or hunting.”

  “But you like to ski?”

  “Of course, on a day like today. We better hurry back.” He grinned at Nilda.

  “So we ski faster.” That suited her just fine. They arrived back at the house just in time for dinner.

  “This came for you.” Mrs. Schoenleber handed Nilda an envelope when she sat down at the table. “You look like you had a good time.”

  “We did, thank you.” She looked at the envelope. “Should I leave this until later?”

  When both of the older women shrugged, Nilda slit the missive open and read the few written words. “Dreng is thanking me for yesterday.”