A Season of Grace

by Lauraine Snelling

  “‘I so often wished when we sent pleas for workers that some would come from your family. Really I wished that you and Thor would come, but it never happened. Now that so many of our generation are gone, we do not get much family news from Norway. I do hope you will write back.

  “‘With love from your cousin,

  “‘Ingeborg Bjorklund’”

  Gunlaug could no more stop the tears than she could stop a snowstorm.

  Rune pushed back his chair. “We better get out of here before we are all weeping.” He motioned to Bjorn and Ivar. “Tell Knute to hurry out there. I want him to load up the sledge with firewood for the houses and the shop. We sure do burn a lot of wood.” He patted his mor’s shoulder. “Such good news. I am grateful too. Somehow we will manage to get you to see Ingeborg.”

  When that made her cry even harder, Signe caught his look of confusion and nodded. “All will be well,” she whispered as he passed her on his way out the door with his two helpers.

  The next morning after the men had left, Nilda rubbed her forehead while she sipped her coffee.

  “Are you all right?” Signe asked as she poured more coffee. Nilda looked like she’d been to a battle.

  “She will be,” Gunlaug answered.

  “I had a horrible dream—again. Same dream. Well, a nightmare is what it is.”

  “How about a piece of toast? Eating something might help.” Signe gave the scrambled eggs another stir. “This will be ready in a minute. You want to talk about it?”

  “I’m always being chased by a man wearing a black hat and brandishing a hatchet or a cleaver, something horrible. And he is laughing and swinging his weapon. At least I wake up before he strikes. I never recognize the face, just the black hat. And the other night after the social—I told you Dreng was there.”

  Signe nodded. Yesterday afternoon they’d heard the entire story, including Dreng’s plea for forgiveness, which Signe did not believe was even a minute possibility. She’d not said that, but after all, there was no need to add fuel to the fire. Yes, she believed miracles still happened. God said He did not change, so she believed Him. But this question—could a man as self-centered and evil as Dreng Nygaard really leave off that kind of behavior and become a changed man? Did he really believe in forgiveness? She doubted it.

  Nilda had said Mrs. Schoenleber was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, so she was too. She had told him she forgave him but admitted she did not trust him. He would have to prove himself.

  “I was being the hostess and saying good night to everyone, when Charles, the butler, handed Dreng his hat and coat. A black hat, the same style as the one in my dream.” Nilda wagged her head slowly, as if it were far too heavy to lift. “Surely it isn’t a coincidence.”

  “She was crying and thrashing around and woke me, panting like she’d been running for a long way, running for her life.” Gunlaug leaned over and gathered her daughter into her arms, shushing her like she would a baby. “Nilda, it was only a dream. A horrible dream, but still a dream. And dreams are not real.”

  “Sure feels like it is. Why does it keep coming back, the same dream?”

  “Perhaps . . . in the Bible, dreams are a form of sending a message, aren’t they? You know where it says an angel came to Joseph in a dream to warn him to take Jesus out of Bethlehem, and the wise men too.” Signe finished dishing up the eggs and sank down in her chair. “I mean . . . well, I don’t know what I mean.”

  Gerd’s face hardened. “I’d say it means stay away from Dreng Nygaard. Do not trust him one bit.”

  “He already left for the lumber camp with the others, so I needn’t give him any thought until spring. At the social, he asked for letters for the two novice lumberjacks, meaning him and Petter. I told Petter earlier I would write him back if he sent letters, but Petter is a real friend of both mine and Ivar’s.” Nilda gave them a small smile. “I think he would like to become more than a friend, but time will tell.”

  “Oh, really? I like him a lot. He sure worked hard on our new house, he and Mr. Larsson, along with all the others.” Signe smiled at the memories. “I think he was sweet on you even then, but Mrs. Benson said Mr. Larsson was too. The women were all chuckling about it.” She took a bite of egg and toast. “Now look, you’re getting very pink there, my friend. Just like you did at the house-raising.”

  “Petter’s been over for supper and whist several times,” Nilda admitted. “Mrs. Schoenleber invites him.”

  “And you don’t say no?”

  “Of course not, that’s not my place.” Nilda huffed a sigh. “Thank you, I do feel better. Maybe this will be the end of the dream. I sure hope so.”

  The next afternoon, which was much more pleasant with no wind, Knute and Leif skied home, and Mr. Larsson, also on skis, was with them.

  “I’m getting something to eat and then going out to the woods. Would you like to come with me?” Knute asked Mr. Larsson as they entered the kitchen.

  “Thank you for the offer, but I better not.” He greeted the others.

  “If you want to, I’ll come along, and you can see the barn on your way back.” Leif smiled up at his teacher.

  Nilda added, “And since we are nearing a full moon, you could stay for supper and then ski home. I know Ivar would go with you partway, if you want.”

  Both boys nodded as their teacher thought about it. “We could come too,” Knute added.

  “So you are saying we’re going to have a ski party?” Mr. Larsson asked.

  “You could call it that. It sure will be beautiful when the moon rises.” Knute grinned at his mor, encouraging her to agree.

  “How many pairs of skis are ready in the shop?” Signe asked.

  “Two more waxed, plus the ones we use.”

  Signe nodded. “Then Ivar and Nilda can accompany you for a ways, at least.”

  “Why do I feel like I’m being ganged up on?” the teacher asked, laughing.

  “Only because you are.” Leif handed him two cookies. “Okay?”

  “Okay.” Mr. Larsson grinned at his students. “You talked me into it.” He looked at Signe. “You realize this is actually my regular teacher’s home visit.”

  “Of course.” She smiled and motioned to Nilda. “Please join us. I want to use English, but I may need some help.”

  “Certainly.” Nilda sat down at Mr. Larsson’s elbow.

  He smiled at Nilda, and her cheeks turned pink. “My aunt thinks you are going to be a perfect aide. She praises your mastery of English highly. So do I.”

  Her cheeks turned rosier. “Thank you. I am learning about a whole different world. Culturally, I mean. A different culture. I am doing some simple writing tasks for her, and I learned the words ‘diacritical marks.’ English doesn’t have any.”

  He laughed out loud, obviously delighted. Signe wondered if something serious was brewing there.

  “I am even taking piano lessons now,” Nilda continued.

  “That’s wonderful! Who is your instructor?”

  “A Mrs. Potts. She is elderly, but she is very patient. She makes it easy to learn.”

  His voice softened. “Oh my. Mrs. Potts was my first music teacher, and she is still the best I’ve ever had. And I studied music in university too. I’m so glad for you.” He cleared his throat and turned to Signe. “Now, about the boys.”

  Some hours later, when Nilda and Ivar returned from accompanying Mr. Larsson a good way to Benson’s Corner, they clambered in the back door, grinning and exhilarated. Signe and Rune met them in the kitchen with hot tea and bread.

  Ivar exclaimed, “Rune, these skis are excellent. Enough camber to flow smoothly, and the length is good. Great job.”

  “Takk. I mean, thank you.”

  “The beauty of the moonlight and shadows on the snow-covered land! I can’t get over how glorious it is out there.” Nilda spread her arms to encompass the land she had seen. “Sure it was cold, but no wind, so we kept warm enough just by moving. Rune, your skis glide like any others
I’ve had. Now I can truly tell Mrs. Schoenleber that she will not go wrong buying from you. It will be interesting to see how they do on a steep downhill.”

  “I have no idea where you will find that around here.” Rune folded his newspaper. “I guess we better get on home. Knute, you want to bring Rosie and the sleigh up here?” They had just finished building runners for the cart that Rosie pulled several days earlier.

  “Come on, I’ll help you and then bring Rosie back to the barn.” Ivar clapped Knute on the shoulder. “At least I won’t feel like a third wheel this way.”

  “What does that mean?” Knute asked.

  “Someday you’ll understand.”

  Chapter

  26

  We will be attending a board meeting also.”

  Nilda looked across the white linen tablecloth in the dining car to see Mrs. Schoenleber smiling and nodding at the same time. She knew there had been a possibility of this, but the thought of meeting Mrs. Schoenleber’s brothers at supper one night had already made her stomach knot. “B-but why do you want me to attend a board meeting?” Nilda had put off asking this question ever since it was first mentioned. Going shopping in St. Paul was bad enough.

  “Nilda, as Jane has reminded me, I need to explain my motives more completely.” She smiled at the waiter who set cups and a teapot on the table. The sun glinted off the silver rims of the saucers.

  “Your order will be here in a short while,” he said.

  “Thank you, Mr. Alders. Your service is always impeccable.”

  Impeccable. Another word to add to her vocabulary. Nilda wished she had a pad of paper and a pencil with her. She had a feeling there would be a lot more to write down. A board meeting. Do not shake your head nor mutter. Giving herself instructions did not make her feel any more secure.

  “As I have said, I am training you to be my assistant. Perhaps we need to define that more fully,” Mrs. Schoenleber said.

  Miss Walstead nodded. “That’s a good place to start.”

  “Ever since I first met you, that night you spent at my house, I have had strong feelings that God has sent you to me, an answer to prayers of some time ago. Years, in fact. You have a fine brain that learns quickly, your curiosity knows no bounds, you like adventure, and most importantly, you are dependable and committed to doing your best.”

  Nilda stared at her. Where was all this coming from, and where was it going?

  Miss Walstead reached over and patted Nilda’s hands, which were clenched together on the table.

  “How—I mean, where . . .” Nilda shook her head. “How can you know all that?”

  “Because I recognized myself in you. Not the me of now, but the me of former years.” Mrs. Schoenleber poured the tea as if she’d just remarked on the weather. “I am getting older—I refuse to say old—but I want someone who can act in my place as needed. You had to learn the language first to be able to understand business and society and whatever else we need to do. I really want you to help me spend and invest my money wisely. I don’t mean invest in railroads and banking. I mean invest in people, in my community, to help make a difference in other people’s lives.” She smiled. “I know this all sounds overwhelming, but we won’t be doing it all at once and not immediately. This trip is a first step.”

  “But . . . but I dreamed of meeting a good man and getting married here in America, probably living on a farm and raising a family.” Her words tripped over each other. Her teacup rattled when she set it back in the saucer without taking the sip she intended.

  “Preferably not a lumberjack, I hope,” Mrs. Schoenleber said.

  Nilda cocked her head. “That thought had entered my mind before I came here.”

  “And now?”

  Thoughts of Dreng and Petter zipped through her mind. “I think probably not.”

  The waiter stopped at their table with a smile and set plates before them. “Our chef said this fish could only be fresher if he had gone out and caught it himself. He is known for serving excellent food in general but fish in particular, depending on the season.”

  “I have to agree with you. Eating on this train is always a good experience.”

  He bowed slightly. “Thank you, Mrs. Schoenleber. I will tell him.”

  Could all this be real? Nilda replayed her employer’s words in her head. What if she really did not want to do this? Was this fear or excitement she felt? Did she need to make any decisions right now? How could she turn down an opportunity like this? Why would she want to? But what about her family? What would they say? She could hear Rune and Ivar first of all in awe, just like she was, and second accusing her of having lost her mind to hesitate. Signe would be ecstatic for her, and Mor? Mor might think she was making it all up, but once she’d thought on it, she’d smile and nod. And remind them all to thank God for whatever it was He was doing.

  She would not see them as often. But think of the people they would be helping—whoever they were. And whatever plans were yet to come.

  “You can ask me any questions you want,” Mrs. Schoenleber said.

  Nodding, Nilda wiped her mouth with her napkin and laid it back in her lap. “Could we have a new pot of tea, please?”

  “Of course, miss. Right away.” The waiter beckoned to someone else to pick up the plates. “And would you care for dessert, any of you? I’ll bring the tray when I return with the tea.”

  “Thank you, Nilda.” Miss Walstead’s smile added to the approbation. “Well done.”

  Back in their compartment in the parlor car, Mrs. Schoenleber laid her leather journal on the table. “We need to make shopping lists, and I have here the minutes for the board meeting I would like you to read through. Then perhaps I will read while you and Jane continue your lessons.”

  “Is everything ready for the social next Friday?” Miss Walstead asked.

  When no one answered, Nilda looked up from the pages she was reading. “Are you asking me?”

  “Yes.” Both women answered at the same time, making them smile at each other.

  “Oh. Not everyone has responded to the invitations, but we’ll have enough to have a good time again. Since everyone had such fun with charades, I thought we would start with that again. Cook and I talked about the menu, and she said she would order what was needed. Mr. Larsson said he would be glad to play for singing after supper, and he is choosing the music. I’m afraid I do not know many of the songs people sing.”

  “Ah, we should have thought of that earlier. Put that on your education list.”

  “At least now I know more about the keyboard. Good thing reading music in Norwegian and English is the same.”

  By the time the train pulled into the station in St. Paul, the sun was sliding near the horizon. As the conductor assisted them down the stairs, a man in a greatcoat and top hat met them.

  “Good to see you, David.” Mrs. Schoenleber pointed at their luggage. “Oh, and by the way, this is my new assistant, Miss Nilda Carlson. David is my brother Heinrik’s driver.”

  “Pleased to meet you, miss.” His slight bow included Miss Walstead. “And good to see you again. Welcome to St. Paul.” He snapped his fingers, and a redcap brought over a barrow of luggage. “The carriage is in front of the main doors.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  David guided them through the crowds, leaving Nilda with the distinct feeling that without him, they would have been lost, or at least she would have been. Mrs. Schoenleber never appeared to be confused or overwhelmed. Or did people automatically make way for her? While they walked, she was asking David about the family news and other questions. Nilda gave up trying to see everything.

  Once they were in the carriage, Mrs. Schoenleber pointed out various buildings on one side of the carriage, and Miss Walstead the other. They seemed to know St. Paul as intimately as they knew Blackduck.

  “I hope you do not expect me to remember all this,” Nilda said.

  “Not really.”

  When they were helped down from the carriage at the stately
hotel, David motioned to a young man in a uniform to take their bags while he escorted them to the front desk.

  “I will be here at nine to take you to the board meeting,” he said.

  “Yes, I know. Heinrik insists on the meeting starting at ten. We will be waiting here in the lobby. Thank you.” Mrs. Schoenleber turned to the man behind the desk. “Good evening, Mr. Blaine.”

  “How good to see you again, madam. It’s been some time since you were here. Your suite is ready. Would you prefer supper in your room or in the restaurant?”

  “Our rooms, I think.” She looked to Nilda and Miss Walstead, who nodded.

  Nilda kept smiling and doing what the others did, all the while trying not to look shocked at anything. Not the elevator with a man pushing the buttons that made the cage go up, nor that the suite was bigger than most houses, with an office, a living room, and four bedrooms that each had a private bath. All that was lacking was a kitchen. Women were in each room, unpacking and hanging up garments. Those that needed pressing disappeared out the door with them, and they promised to have them back before bedtime.

  Supper arrived some time later on tables with wheels and floor-length white cloths. The waiters set the platters of food on the dining room table, and one stayed to serve them, a folded towel over his arm.

  Signe will never believe all this, Nilda thought when she climbed up into the canopied bed that had been turned back for her. She had planned to read for a while, but sleep claimed her immediately in spite of herself.

  Persistent knocking at the door woke her the next morning. “Come in.”

  “Sorry to have to wake you, but you don’t want to be late for your meeting.” Dressed in a black uniform with white apron and hat, the maid smiled. “My name is Sonja, and I will be your maid while you are here.” She crossed to the armoire and pulled out the black jacket and skirt with a white waist. “Mrs. Schoenleber said this is what you will wear today. I started a bath for you. It should be ready by now.”