A Season of Grace

by Lauraine Snelling

  “That’s polite.”

  Nilda put the paper back in the envelope and heaved a sigh as she laid it on the table. “He said he is looking forward to the social.”

  “I can still uninvite him.”

  “Thank you, but you need not. He will be out in the woods next week.” A good place for him.

  Miss Walstead mused, “It will be interesting to see how long he lasts out there. Logging is a hard life. And yes, they pay well, so I hear, but those men earn their money.”

  Nilda ate her soup, dipping the spoon into the far edge of the bowl as she’d been shown. Not that it made much sense, but she was learning that many of the polite or proper ways of doing things did not always make sense.

  Presently Mrs. Schoenleber announced, “Petter is coming for supper tonight and looking forward to another evening of whist.”

  “By himself?” Nilda asked.

  “Of course. I really don’t think he would like to share the little time he has left with a male friend.”

  Miss Walstead snickered. “She means time with you.”

  “Oh.” Nilda picked up the basket of crackers.

  That evening Petter arrived with two packages, one for Nilda and one for Mrs. Schoenleber. “It’s no wonder Mr. Goddard is the manager of the lumberyard. He knows so much about wood and woodworking. He has taught me how to make several things with wood. I started with spoons for cooking.”

  “One can never have too many good wooden spoons,” Mrs. Schoenleber said, “or so Cook tells me.”

  “Good, I will bring her several different sizes. I thought to send some out to the farm with you, Nilda, next time you go.”

  Nilda nodded and smiled. “That will please the cooks there.” But her package was too small for wooden spoons.

  “Go ahead, open them.”

  Nilda watched as Mrs. Schoenleber opened her package. “Ah, a box within a box.” From the wrappings she lifted a square wooden box made out of several kinds of wood and finished to a high shine. Its corners were joined with perfect dovetails. “This is beautiful work, Petter. What a lovely thing to do.” She set the box on the wooden mantle and stepped back to admire it. “Thank you, Petter.”

  “And what a lovely skill to have,” Miss Walstead added. “I know Mr. Goddard is good with wood, for I’ve used his services, but I have a feeling you might surpass your teacher.”

  Nilda opened hers to find a pin of tiny fitted wooden pieces that formed a delicate cross in the middle. “Oh. Petter, this is beautiful.” She held it in the palm of one hand and traced the design with a tentative finger. Oh, Petter, I hope this does not mean more than a gift. How can I accept something like this, and yet how can I not?

  “Mr. Goddard said he thinks I could sell things like this to one of the stores here in Blackduck,” Petter said.

  “Young man, you are an artist, not just a wood-carver.” Miss Walstead looked closely at the pin. “From the utilitarian to the sublime.”

  Nilda grinned at Petter. “I think she just gave you a compliment.”

  “Could you say it in Norwegian so I know what she is talking about?” he asked.

  “Uh, I-I . . . give me a minute to figure it out.” She nodded and rephrased it.

  Petter stared at Miss Walstead. “Tusen takk—er, thank you very much.”

  “You are welcome, and your English is improving too.”

  “Not as much as Nilda’s.”

  “She has two teachers who apply pressure.” Mrs. Schoenleber nodded to Charles, who announced that supper was being served. “Thank you. Oh, and Petter, I’ve heard that loggers at the camps speak several different languages. The more you speak English, the better off you will be.”

  “Thank you for the advice. Mr. Nicholson said the same thing. I know plenty of wood and lumber terms, what I need at work.”

  After supper, when they adjourned to the parlor where the card table was set up in front of the fire, the competition grew in intensity as both Petter and Nilda gained more skill at the game.

  “I wonder if they play whist at the logging camp?” Petter leaned back in his chair. “You know, I really would rather win than lose like this.”

  Mrs. Schoenleber smiled. “But you almost won, and remember, Jane and I have been playing this game for years. You both played well tonight. When you come back in the spring, we’ll play again.”

  “Thank you. And we’ll be playing this at the social?”

  “Yes, I thought a table of whist and one of backgammon. Perhaps we could play charades for a while first.”

  “In English?”

  “Yes, Petter, in English.”

  The night of Mrs. Schoenleber’s social arrived. Nilda greeted it with an odd mix of extreme enthusiasm and dread—both Petter and Dreng would be there.

  Along with her studies, she was starting to perform some tasks. From Mrs. Schoenleber’s notes, she wrote out the report of a library committee meeting. In English. She addressed and stamped a dozen envelopes. She cut and numbered fifty squares of paper, twice; one copy would be given to each person who came to the social, and the other placed in a jar. At the end of the evening, a number would be drawn from the jar, and that person would receive a frosted chocolate cake. Originally, the prize was going to be stollen, but Cook insisted that was too ordinary. A stollen? Ordinary? Because she worked in the household, Nilda would not be taking a number.

  As young people arrived, they soon had enough for two teams for charades, numbering off so that hopefully the teams would be about even, rather than the ladies against the men, as someone suggested.

  Nilda tried to make sure she was not on the same team as Dreng, but he changed places with someone else at the last minute. She turned away to give herself a moment to regain a pleasant demeanor so the other team members would not see her reaction. According to Miss Walstead, real ladies never revealed their feelings in a situation like this or any others. Not that Nilda ever believed she wanted to be a real lady.

  She turned at a touch on her shoulder. Dreng. She knew it before she turned; she could feel his presence. She paused to give herself enough time to become that lady.

  He smiled at her. “I hope I did not upset you. I just wanted to be on the same team as you. We’d have a good chance of winning then.”

  “And you always like to be on the winning team.” At least she did not sound as sarcastic as she felt. At least, she hoped not.

  “Yes, I do like to win.”

  “What a surprise.” She wished she had a fan to flutter before her face. I am a lady, a gracious lady. A very gracious lady.

  “And I know that you do too, so we’ll all have a good time.”

  Why did what he said make her feel so uncomfortable? Instead of backing up like she wanted to, she held her ground and smiled back. If he had really changed, this would be a good night to prove it. It wasn’t as if he were doing anything wrong. In fact, he was being the perfect guest, making several of the other young women giddy.

  If only I dared warn them that they are flirting with danger. But he says he is changed, remember? And so far it looks like he has. If I didn’t know better . . . but that is not fair. Shouldn’t I give him a chance to prove himself?

  The argument in her head almost drowned out the laughter at his antics to get their team to guess the right answers. She had to admit, Dreng was very good, so good that their team was ahead by quite a margin, in spite of the language barrier, which he turned into more to laugh about.

  They never got around to playing cards. After the food was served and enjoyed, the guests gathered to thank their hostess and commiserate that Dreng and Petter would not be at the next social.

  “Now, you be careful out in those woods. I’ve heard logging is a dangerous way to make a living,” one of the girls said to Dreng. “We want you back in one piece.”

  He bowed with a flourish. “I promise to do my best. Petter too.” He raised his voice. “If anyone happens to send letters to encourage two novice lumberjacks, I can guarantee they
will be much appreciated.” He deepened his Norwegian accent to bring on even more laughter.

  Nilda did not roll her eyes but almost laughed with the others. She had agreed to answer Petter’s letters, but Dreng was on his own.

  As the guests were leaving, Charles—amazing Charles—knew exactly which coat and hat belonged to which guest. He handed each the appropriate wrap. When he handed Dreng his coat and hat, Nilda’s blood ran cold.

  A black hat.

  Dreng’s hat was exactly like the hat in her nightmare. Exactly! She had built a slight level of comfort in his presence over the course of the evening. That comfort was shattered now.

  How could she ever learn to accept him, or should she even try?

  Chapter

  25

  Nilda’s here!” Signe threw open the kitchen door and called from the porch. “Come in, come in. We’re putting the coffeepot on, Mr. George, so you can get warmed up too.”

  “Thank you, I will do that.” He helped Nilda out from the blankets in the sleigh.

  “Tie your horses up here, or they could go to the barn.” Signe reached back through the door and grabbed a shawl off the rack.

  “I’ll throw blankets over them here. I can’t stay long.”

  Signe reached for Nilda’s bag. “Get yourself in here. That wind—uff da.” She held the door for the driver. “Come in, come in.”

  He stamped the snow off his boots and smiled at Signe. “If that coffee tastes anywhere near as good as it smells . . .” Once in the door, he swung his greatcoat off and started to hang it up on the peg by the door, but Signe took it from him before he could blink.

  “I’ll hang it nearer the stove so it will be warm when you go out,” she said. “Thank you for bringing Nilda out here in spite of the wind and blowing snow.”

  George smiled and nodded in spite of her mixed English and Norwegian.

  Nilda stood beside him. “I want you to meet my family; the men are all out in the woods.” She pointed and gave names, and they all greeted one another.

  Signe nodded as she poured a cup of coffee for him. “Cream? Sugar?”

  “No, thanks. Black is best.”

  “Good to see you again,” she said, handing him the cup.

  Gerd pulled out a chair. “Surely you can take a minute to sit down and have some cookies.”

  “If you insist.” His smile brought out one of her rare ones. “Now, you are Tante Gerd to the others, but to me you are Mrs. Carlson?”

  “Actually, Mrs. Strand.” She made sure she spoke English.

  “And this is the little girl Miss Nilda brags about all the time? Kirstin?”

  “Yes. Have another cookie. These are especially good for dunking in coffee.”

  He waved back at Kirstin, who was talking to him as if she’d known him forever. “I wish I knew what she is saying.”

  “So do we all. Oh, Mor, I forgot your letter.” Nilda fetched her coat off the rack and dug in the pocket. “Here. We stopped to see if Mrs. Benson had something to deliver.”

  “A letter from Norway. It must be Johann. Tusen takk.”

  George drained his coffee and held up his hand to say no more. “I need to be on my way. Is there anything you need to send to Mrs. Schoenleber?”

  “Yes, the ham I promised is ready.” Signe grabbed her coat and scarf. “I’ll be right back.”

  Once the ham was tucked in the sleigh, they waved George off and hurried back into the kitchen.

  “I’m surprised you are here,” Signe said.

  “When an agreement is made, it will be honored unless it’s utterly impossible. That’s just the way Mrs. Schoenleber operates.” Nilda reached for Kirstin. “Come to Tante Nilda, you sweet baby. You certainly charmed that nice gentleman who was here.” Kirstin grinned at her and jabbered back. “When she learns to talk, we all better watch out. She’ll just take over.”

  “She knows how, just not our language.” Gerd finished pouring them all coffee and refilled the cookie plate. “This deserves a celebration.”

  Signe smiled as she sat down. “You think everything deserves a celebration nowadays.”

  “I know. I have to make up for all those years of no celebrating, not even smiling.” Gerd put a cookie into a reaching baby hand. “What do you say?”

  “Ta-ta.” Kirstin’s head bobbed. “Ta-ta.”

  Nilda raised an eyebrow. “You’re supposed to teach her English, remember?”

  “Takk is far easier than thank you.”

  Nilda asked Gunlaug, “So are you going to read the letter or, I know, wait until the men come in?”

  “We’ll wait like always.”

  “How are the newlyweds doing?”

  “Sometimes Selma and the children come with him on the days Oskar is out in the woods here,” Gunlaug said. “They both seem happy, and the children know how to play together. Kirstin is so excited when they come.”

  “Olaf has decided we are all Grandma here, or Aunty and Uncle. That way he doesn’t have to worry about names.” Signe got up to refill the coffee cups. “This is such a treat. Oh, and Rune has something to show you down in the shop.”

  “I hope it is another pair of skis,” Nilda said. “I’ve been using the skis at the house in Blackduck. Mrs. Schoenleber said she would like to buy several pairs as soon as he has them ready. I think she wants to give them as Christmas gifts.”

  “You’ll have to talk with your brother about that. I know he spends every minute he can in the shop.”

  “I told him to let the boys do the trees, especially when Oskar is here, but he won’t listen to me.” Gerd shook her head. “Men.”

  Nilda sniffed. “What smells so good?”

  “We’re baking the two rabbits Knute brought in. You should see their lovely white pelts. He said he wants to make a vest out of them. They’re tanning hides in the shop now too; he learned from Mr. Edmonds.”

  “So many changes going on.” Nilda lifted dishes out of the cupboard and started setting the table.

  “Tell us what is happening with you in Blackduck.” Gunlaug picked up her knitting, as did Gerd. “It’s easier to hear in here. It’s noisy in there when we get the machines all running.”

  Nilda entertained them until they heard boots on the porch, and then she and Signe set the food on the table.

  “I see you made it back,” Ivar greeted her. “I was beginning to think you forgot us.”

  “Hardly, but they keep me really busy there, insisting I learn English without an accent, history, grammar, manners, and social games. The latest is piano lessons. I started the other day, and I feel like I have all thumbs.” She flexed her fingers.

  “That is what you call work?” Rune hugged her as he moved around the table to sit down. “Welcome home, where we can give you real work to keep you in shape.”

  Nilda snorted.

  “When do you go back?” Signe asked, hoping the stay would be more than a day or two.

  “Sunday after church. George will pick me up there. Remember, Ivar, you are coming to the social next Friday. That’s so Mr. Larsson can come. I figured you could ride back and forth with him. I believe he has a horse and sleigh.”

  “We could probably ski just as fast.”

  Signe looked at her family gathered around the table, laughing and teasing each other, enjoying the food. This was the way she’d dreamed her family would be, but that first year had almost made her give up hope. She didn’t think a harsh word had been spoken since Einar died.

  “Don’t forget your letter,” she reminded Gunlaug. “We’ve hardly had news from home since you came here.”

  “Hurry, Mor, we’ve got to get back out there.” Ivar looked at the clock. “It’s going to be dark before we know it.”

  “You’re as bad as Onkel Einar was,” Bjorn jabbed at him.

  “That’s not even a bad joke, let alone a good one.”

  Gunlaug was staring at the open envelope. She pulled out both another envelope and a folded piece of paper. Her eyes widened and
then filled with tears faster than she could sniff.

  “Mor, what is it?” Rune leaned forward to reach toward her.

  “The envelope is a letter from Blessing. From Ingeborg, I am sure.” Her hands shook so badly that she could hardly hold the letter. She unfolded the piece of paper.

  “From Solveig.” She mopped her face on her apron.

  “‘Dear Gunlaug,

  “‘This came the other day, so I hurried to get it back to you. To think the letter traveled both ways over the ocean when Blessing and Blackduck are only a couple of days apart by train. All is well here—well, as well as it can be without you and Thor. We lost you both at almost the same time. Nilda, Johann apologizes for not writing you back any sooner. He said he has not heard a thing about that Dreng. But then, we rarely see the Nygaards. I think she spends most of her time now at their house in Oslo, since her baby is no longer home.’”

  Gunlaug rolled her eyes at that, as did the others.

  “‘Our big news is that I am expecting! We are so glad to be living here at home rather than in that house we had rented. Johann would rather be farming for us than working for someone else, as you well know. Good-bye for now. We all send you our love.

  “‘Solveig.’”

  Gunlaug folded it and carefully slid it back into the envelope, all the while eyeing the one on the table.

  “Open it,” Rune said.

  “I’m almost afraid to. What if it is bad news? I mean, if someone wrote to say Ingeborg has died? My hope will be all gone.”

  Signe reached over to pat Gunlaug’s hand. “Do you want me to open it for you?”

  “If you will.”

  Signe used her table knife to open the envelope, her heart thumping as Gunlaug’s must be. She swallowed and pulled out the thin paper. When she unfolded it, she blew out a sigh. “It is Ingeborg’s signature.” She smiled as she handed it back to Gunlaug. “Here, you read it.”

  Gunlaug blew her nose and blew out a breath.

  “‘My dear Gunlaug,

  “‘We are all well here. I do not remember if I told you that Haakan passed away over a year ago. His heart gave out when he tried to chase the cows back through a hole they tore in the fence. I still feel so alone, even though all my family is nearby. I hope you have grandchildren too, and that your family is all well.