‘‘You’re welcome.’’ She closed the door behind them as they stepped out on the porch.
‘‘Look at that dog carrying that box.’’ Doc pointed to a shepherd-type dog hightailing it out of the yard with a box in his mouth.
Thorliff glanced over to the now empty rocking chair, his book satchel dumped on the floor. ‘‘That’s my meal box. Hey, drop that.’’ He leaped off the steps and chased after the dog, which after a glance over his shoulder at the shouting chaser, picked up the pace and left Thorliff behind shaking his fist.
‘‘I’ll fix you another.’’ Cook could hardly talk from laughing. Between her and the doctor, the food nabber might have been the funniest thing to happen in Northfield in a month.
Thorliff stomped up the walk. ‘‘Stupid dog.’’
‘‘Smart dog, far as I can tell. Everyone in town knows Cook here is one of the best, even the local canine portion of our fair city.’’
‘‘Fair city, my foot.’’ Thorliff sank down on the top step, panting to catch his breath. ‘‘People ought to keep their pets at home.’’ He glared up at the two chortling in glee. ‘‘I don’t see this is so funny.’’ But he had to fight to keep his grin from showing. The dog had looked like a cartoon character carrying off his dinner. The box was bigger than his head. ‘‘Hope he enjoys it.’’ Actually he hoped the dog would get a stomachache. And here he’d spent his time taking care of Mr. Stromme. He shook his head. ‘‘There’s just no justice.’’ He slanted a look out of the corner of his eye to make sure the two above him were still enjoying themselves at his expense. Neither one of them had occasions to laugh like this often.
‘‘I better get on over there and check on my patient. I’m sure Nurse Browne and Miss Haugen have cleaned him up and gotten him as comfortable as he can be by now. Hopefully after he sleeps awhile, he won’t wake up worse. That happens sometimes, you know.’’
‘‘Poor old dear.’’ Cook patted Thorliff’s shoulder as she passed him on the steps. ‘‘I’ll send Old Tom over with another packet for you; just you be careful this time to not go laying it around for someone or something to snitch it.’’
‘‘Mange takk.’’
‘‘Velbekomme.’’ She fluttered a hand at him when she reached the sidewalk.
‘‘Now there goes one fine woman.’’
Thorliff stood and walked to the buggy, the horse sound asleep between the shafts, the breeze causing the sun and shade to polka all over its dark back. ‘‘And to think Elizabeth slept through this whole thing. She’ll be some bothered that no one woke her.’’
‘‘I’m not telling her, that’s for certain, and if Cook has a lick of sense, she won’t either.’’ Dr. Gaskin chuckled again as he stepped into the buggy. ‘‘You want a ride?’’
‘‘No thanks. That’s out of your way.’’ He swung off toward the newspaper office, this time hoping no one tried to catch his attention. By now, thanks to Ina Odegaard, the town operator, everyone in Northfield knew there had been an emergency at the Stromme house. And those without phones would hear about it over the back fence grapevine nearly as fast.
‘‘So, I hear that you’re the hero of the hour.’’ Phillip Rogers looked up from the editorial he was writing.
‘‘How long did it take for you to find out?’’
Phillip held up a sheaf of papers several thick. ‘‘Long enough to write this about how the people of Northfield are so quick to help others in distress. I included those who helped put out the grass fire south of town, several other incidents, and you, of course, as the man of the hour.’’
Thorliff groaned.
‘‘What made you go check on him?’’
‘‘I tried to ignore that little voice inside, but it yelled so loud I turned and went back. It looked like he’d been out working in his garden and must not have felt well so went up to lie down. He never made it to the bed—almost but not quite.’’
‘‘Well, thank the good Lord you listened. He might have died there without help.’’
‘‘If it’s as bad as it looks, he might wish I hadn’t shown up.’’
Phillip shook his head. ‘‘Well, God must have a reason for keeping him around awhile longer. Listening to that still small voice takes practice.’’
‘‘Still, small, my foot. It was yelling fit to be heard clear across town.’’
‘‘I hear you had a bit of a mishap after.’’
Thorliff blinked and took a step back. ‘‘You heard about the dog taking my dinner? Already?’’
‘‘Mrs. Norlie was down the street and saw the whole thing. She was laughing fit to bust her corset when she came in here.’’ Phillip leaned back in his oak chair until it sent up a shrieking. ‘‘Moral of the story—don’t ever try to hide anything in this town. You’ll be found out for sure.’’ He sat forward, and his chair squeaked in relief. ‘‘You want to go back and get another box or just go home with me for dinner?’’
‘‘Old Tom is bringing it by. I want to get the first chapter started today if there is any way.’’ And if I can keep my eyes open.
Phillip nodded, his pen racing across the paper. ‘‘Good, good.’’
Thorliff took his satchel back to his room and tucked it under the bed. He wouldn’t need it until fall now. What a way to start the summer. He thought of the letter he would write home. They’d laugh for certain sure. What other crazy things would he have to write home about? And what did pure in heart really mean?
CHAPTER FIVE
Blessing, North Dakota
‘‘Sophie, what happened?’’ Ingeborg threw open the door as she spoke.
‘‘It-it’s Trygve.’’ Sophie Knutson, Ingeborg’s niece, leaned over to suck in another breath, then straightened. ‘‘He fell out of a tree.’’ Brushing hair that held small sticks and bits of grass in its wavy strands off her face, she looked toward home. ‘‘Mor thinks his arm is broken. I thought sure you heard Sammy screaming.’’
‘‘I’ll get my basket.’’ Ingeborg spun back into the house and snatched up the basket she kept packed with emergency supplies, including several wood splints that Andrew had sanded smooth so they would cause no slivers. This wouldn’t be the first broken bone she had set through the years.
‘‘I’m coming too, Mor.’’ Astrid came running from the garden.
Sophie, worry crinkling her amber eyes, took her aunt’s hand and pulled. ‘‘Come, he’s hurting mighty bad.’’
‘‘So how come Sammy was screaming?’’ Ingeborg strode swiftly across the small pasture.
‘‘He was in the tree too. Trygve had gone up to help him down.’’
‘‘I see. They’re at the house?’’
‘‘Ja.’’
‘‘All right then, Astrid, you go get Andrew to bring over some ice. That will help a lot. Needn’t be a big piece.’’ Andrew would chop off a chunk of ice they’d cut from the river during the winter and stored in the icehouse, well insulated by thick layers of sawdust.
‘‘I will.’’ Astrid set off at a dead run.
Ingeborg and Sophie hurried up the steps to the two-story house that had been added on to so that now it housed all the students of the deaf school along with the Knutson family. With most of the students gone home for the summer, the house seemed huge.
‘‘In here, Ingeborg.’’ Kaaren beckoned from the downstairs bedroom. ‘‘I didn’t dare try to set it alone.’’
Trygve lay on the bed, his face white with a green tinge, one arm, already swollen, propped on a pillow. Sammy sat on a stool beside the bed, sniffling every time he looked at his brother. ‘‘My fault. It’s my fault.’’
Grace, Sophie’s twin who was born deaf, took the cloth off his forehead, dipped it in cool water, wrung it out, and lovingly laid it back in place.
‘‘Well, Trygve, this is sure going to put a bump in your summer.’’ Ingeborg smiled at her nephew as she gently probed his arm. When he yelped, she nodded. ‘‘Broken all right.’’
‘‘What are you going to do
?’’ Trygve’s voice quivered.
‘‘I am going to hold your shoulder, and your mother is going to pull until we hear that old bone snap right back in place.’’
‘‘Do you have to?’’
‘‘Ja, if you want to be able to use your arm right ever again.’’
‘‘Oh. It’s going to hurt bad, huh?’’
‘‘I’m sure, but you’re a big boy. You want a stick to bite down on?
He shook his head.
Ingeborg took a brown bottle out of her basket and pulled the cork out with her teeth. ‘‘Sophie, go get a cup of water to mix with this. That will make setting it easier on him.’’ The girl scuttled out of the room while Kaaren and Ingeborg both studied the arm. ‘‘Good thing it’s not at the elbow. A forearm like this will heal real quick.’’
‘‘Will I be able to go swimming?’’
‘‘No, nor milk cows.’’
‘‘But don’t worry, you can hoe with one arm and still pull weeds.’’ Kaaren took the cup of water from Sophie, mixed several drops of the brown liquid in the water, and held the cup to her son’s mouth with one hand while she propped his head with the other.
‘‘Ugh.’’
‘‘I could have put some honey in that.’’ Ingeborg pushed the cork back in the bottle.
‘‘Anyone who falls out of a tree is strong enough to take his medicine straight.’’
‘‘But, Mor, I went up to help Sammy down.’’ Trygve started to raise up to state his defense but yelped instead. He eased back down, glaring at his painful arm.
Kaaren turned to her younger son. ‘‘And what is your excuse?’’
Sammy tried to become part of the stool on which he sat. ‘‘I-I saw a bird’s nest, and I wanted to see the babies,’’ he muttered into his knees.
‘‘And you were going to go way out on the limb to see them?’’
He shook his head. ‘‘I thought if I got higher, I could look down. And then I saw how high I was and got scared.’’
‘‘And how come Trygve fell?’’
Sammy shrugged, the suspender on his skinny shoulder sliding down his arm. With an unconscious gesture, he thumbed it back in place. Growing into his brother’s outgrown clothing sometimes took a bit of time.
Kaaren turned back to her son in the bed. ‘‘How come?’’
‘‘I got up to him, and he kicked at me. He wouldn’t let me help him, so I was hurrying back down to get Andrew or Pa and a ladder.’’
Sammy flung himself off the stool and into his mother’s aproned skirt. ‘‘I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for Trygve to get hurt. I was so scared.’’
Kaaren patted his head. ‘‘And how did you get down?’’
‘‘I-I—he screamed and c-crashed through the b-branches, and he was hurt, so I had to help him. I went down as fast as I could, and his arm and . . .’’ Hiccupping sobs punctuated his slurry of words. ‘‘I-I am s-so sorry.’’ Tears soaked her apron.
‘‘I know you are, but sometimes being sorry after a bad thing happens isn’t enough. You need to think ahead and not make foolish choices.’’ Kaaren nudged him back toward the stool. ‘‘You sit there now and see what we have to do to help Trygve. Let this be a lesson the next time you do something without thinking. I think you will have to take over the chores he cannot do with only one hand.’’
‘‘Even feeding the pigs?’’
‘‘I expect so.’’
‘‘I think he’s drowsy enough now that we can set it,’’ Ingeborg said.
The screen door banged and Andrew charged into the room, a chunk of ice in a gunnysack over his shoulder. ‘‘Where do you want this?’’
‘‘In the pan in the dry sink. Chip off enough to pack around his arm. Sophie, you go hold the dish towel for him. We’ll lay his arm in that when we get it set.’’
Ingeborg and Kaaren exchanged glances and each took her place. ‘‘Now this is going to hurt, but we’ll do it as quickly as we can. You can help us most by lying still.’’ Ingeborg laid her hands on the boy’s shoulder and elbow while Kaaren took his wrist in both hands.
‘‘Now.’’ Kaaren leaned back, and in one smooth pull they heard the bone click back together.
Trygve clamped his teeth on a scream and lay back, sweat popping up on his forehead.
They could hear Andrew chipping ice and Sophie saying something that made him laugh. Grace took the cloth and, dipping it again, wiped Trygve’s brow and patted his cheek. ‘‘You be better.’’ She spoke slowly, carefully forming the sounds she could not hear. While her hands were fluent in speaking, her mouth was still learning.
‘‘Here you go.’’ Andrew brought the towel and ice and handed it to his mother, who folded it into a square and slid half under the boy’s arm, laying the rest on top.
Trygve nodded. ‘‘Thank you,’’ he said in the slurred way of a drug-induced almost sleep.
‘‘You must not move your arm. We’ll bind the splints in place in a little bit. Do you understand?’’ Ingeborg touched his cheek and received a brief nod.
‘‘I’ll stay.’’ Grace glanced from her brother to her mother. Her fingers flew as she continued. ‘‘I won’t let him move.’’
‘‘All right.’’ Kaaren stroked the hair back off her son’s forehead and turned to Sammy. ‘‘You stay and watch too. Tante Ingeborg and I are going to have a cup of coffee, and then we’ll come and splint this.’’
‘‘Where’s Astrid?’’ Ingeborg asked Andrew after sitting down at the table.
‘‘She took over the team for me so I could run fast. I need to get back out there. She was so worried about Trygve.’’ Andrew snagged two cookies off the plate on the counter and with a wave headed back out the door, leaping from the top step of the porch to the ground. ‘‘Mange takk.’’
They heard the words fly back as if carried by the breeze his speed created.
‘‘He has grown so much this year, I can’t find my little Andrew anymore.’’ Kaaren poured two cups of coffee and set them on the table. ‘‘Sophie, you need to get the table set. They’ll be up for dinner soon.’’
‘‘Where’s Ilse?’’ Ingeborg took a ginger cookie and dunked it in her coffee.
‘‘Gone to help Penny for the day. They had a shipment come in for the store, and Penny needed someone to watch the babies.’’
‘‘I could have sent Astrid.’’
‘‘And I could have sent Sophie, but neither of them want to be nearer to George McBride.’’
Her comment made them both smile. Ilse, orphaned by her parents dying on the ship, had come to them when Bridget Bjorklund, the mother of their first husbands, emigrated from Norway.
Now Ilse was Kaaren’s right-hand woman, both helper and teacher at the School for the Deaf, which Kaaren had founded several years after the birth of the twins. Kaaren had determined that Grace, never having been able to hear, would somehow learn to communicate with the hearing world in which she lived. David Jonathan Gould, a friend from New York, had sent Kaaren a book on a newly developed sign language, and many of the residents of Blessing learned to use it because Pastor Solberg taught signing at school.
The two women caught up on whatever news each had heard and in a few minutes returned to the sick room, where Trygve snored with little puffs of breath. They eased the ice away, laid the padded splints on either side of the tanned arm, and bound them in place with strips of old sheets.
‘‘I’ll put a sling on him when he wakes.’’ Kaaren turned to see Sammy sound asleep on the floor by his brother’s bed. She nodded and Ingeborg came around the bed to see him too.
‘‘Some of us seem always to need to learn our lessons the hard way.’’
‘‘Ja, that is so. But thank you, Lord, this lesson was no harder than it is. When I think what could have happened . . .’’ Kaaren closed her eyes. ‘‘Thank you, Jesus, for watching over my boys.’’
Several days later Ingeborg called to Astrid, ‘‘I am going over to visit Metiz. Please take the cake out when it is
finished.’’
‘‘I will.’’ Astrid looked up from the dress she was hemming. ‘‘How long?’’
‘‘Check it in fifteen minutes or so. I just put more wood in the fire.’’ Ingeborg untied her apron and hung it on the hook.
‘‘You want me to frost it?’’
‘‘No. I think we’ll put applesauce on it. Applesauce always goes good with gingerbread.’’
‘‘If I know Andrew, he’ll smell that gingerbread clear across the field and come in for a piece.’’
‘‘Tell him it is for dessert. Dinner will be ready at twelve-thirty. He can wait that long.’’ Ingeborg picked up the basket that she’d packed with cheese, strawberry jam, and two slices off the ham now in the oven and headed out the door. Something inside her had said she should go check on Metiz. Metiz had been living on the land when they homesteaded it. She was of Lakota Indian and French Canadian ancestry. As a healer, she had shared knowledge with Ingeborg, and they had become fast friends. Ingeborg strode the trail to the river, thinking back to when they’d driven the cattle down to water and hauled water for the house. Ah, what a time-saver the well had been, and still was, for that matter. Water was something never to be taken for granted.
Metiz’ house sat under one of the few remaining big oak trees, not far from the bank of the river. She had rabbit hides tacked to the outside walls, drying so she could tan them to make mittens, vests, and even a hat or two, all to sell in Penny’s store or to give as gifts. Vests of the softened skins, with the fur side either in or out, were prized among the children of Blessing. Deer antlers hung on pegs on a post so she could turn the horn into knife handles. Either Hjelmer Bjorklund or Sam Lincoln would make the blades for her at the blacksmith shop. Penny ordered special steel for the knife blades, tempered so it would hold a fine edge. The knives were of such caliber that Penny could sell all that Metiz made and had customers waiting for more.
‘‘We need another dog,’’ Ingeborg said to the crow that announced her coming. ‘‘Days like this I miss Paws as much as Andrew does.’’ Paws, the dog given to Thorliff when the Bjorklunds first moved to Dakota Territory, had died more than a year ago, leaving a hole in all their lives. The crow flew off, screaming ‘‘intruder’’ as he flapped his wings.
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