More Than a Dream

by Lauraine Snelling

  ‘‘The best things never are.’’ She patted Anji on the shoulder. ‘‘You tell your Mr. Moen that I have something special for him the next time he comes to visit. I always enjoy talking with him.’’

  ‘‘He’s a good man.’’

  ‘‘And he’s fortunate to have you.’’

  ‘‘Sometimes I wonder.’’

  Ingeborg studied the young woman, who looked off across the prairie as if wishing she could say something else.

  ‘‘What is it, Anji?’’ The children laughing and calling in the distance made the silence even more intense. Might as well ask away; all she can do is think me a meddling nosy neighbor. ‘‘Do you love him—Mr. Moen?’’

  ‘‘I-I care for him.’’ Anji turned to face Ingeborg, tears pooling, sparkling like the dewdrops fired by the sun.

  ‘‘But do you love him?’’

  ‘‘Is there a difference between love and in love? I-I’m not in love like I was with Thorliff.’’ Her hands crept together and strangled each other. ‘‘It is like a whole lifetime has passed since so . . . so much has happened.’’ She used her apron to dry her eyes. A sigh that wept of heartbreak and sorrow hollowed her chest and curved her shoulders, drawing her inward where the soul mourned alone.

  Ingeborg wrapped her arms around the young woman whom she loved and held her, wishing for Agnes and her heavenly wisdom. Lord God, our Father, help us here right now. Please, what do I say?

  ‘‘I gave up loving Thorliff. He was not mine to love.’’

  ‘‘But—’’

  ‘‘No. I knew if I let him come home, he would never go back, and he is where he needs to be. And I was where I needed to be. And now God brought Mr. Moen into my life, and he needs me. I care for him a great deal, and I know he loves me.’’ She looked into Ingeborg’s eyes. ‘‘And that is enough, isn’t it? We both loved someone else, and now we will be married and build a home together.’’

  ‘‘Anji, you have such a heart of love that he is a man most blessed.’’

  ‘‘Thank you.’’

  ‘‘And will you come back to Blessing?’’

  ‘‘God willing, that is our plan. Ivar says he likes the spirit here. It’s not old like it is in Norway. But what do I know? I—’’

  ‘‘You know how to make a home and teach your children and live on the prairie. You know how to love and to laugh, and there is no one else other than Astrid who could take my place helping babies being born and bandaging wounds. Metiz taught me so much, and all that knowledge needs to be passed on to someone younger.’’

  ‘‘You are still young.’’ Anji stepped back and looked at Ingeborg as if she’d sprouted a horn in the middle of her forehead.

  ‘‘Not so young anymore, and that’s God’s truth.’’

  Anji shook her head. ‘‘I remember when you and Mor used to have coffee and what she called a good sit-down, and I wonder if I shall ever have a friend like you. Perhaps I should just stay and—’’

  ‘‘Anji Baard, you look at me.’’ Ingeborg used a gentle finger to turn the lovely young face back to her. ‘‘Don’t go looking back. The Bible says to look forward to the prize He has set before us. Now, I tell you, look ahead with joy to this marriage, knowing that you are leaving your family here in very capable hands. Between Swen and Dorothy, they will make a home for Becky and Gus, a good home, and you are not to worry.’’

  Anji smiled and slipped her arms around Ingeborg’s waist. ‘‘Thank you. I didn’t know you were a mind reader too, but I am not surprised. I will look forward and not back. I will.’’

  The next day the Bjorklunds had just sat down for dinner when pounding hooves set Ingeborg’s heart to racing. What has happened now?

  ‘‘Ingeborg!’’ Knute Baard screamed her name before his horse came to a halt. ‘‘Oh, Ingeborg! Swen was gored by the bull. Come! Please hurry.’’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Chicago, Illinois

  Elizabeth shivered.

  ‘‘What’s the matter? You can’t be cold in this heat.’’ Nurse Korsheski shook her head and patted Elizabeth’s shoulder. ‘‘Now tell me, dear, what is it?’’

  ‘‘I don’t know, makes me wonder if I am losing my mind, but I feel like someone is watching me.’’

  ‘‘Here in the hospital?’’

  ‘‘Sometimes, and when I go outside. Not that I’ve gone outside much.’’ As if I had time or could stand the heat. Elizabeth sometimes wondered if she would ever be free of the soaking-dishrag feeling again. While her mind knew that winter would come again, right now it seemed as if sticky summer would last for eternity.

  But at the same time the days fled past like children on the run from the local bully. The dichotomy of the two made no sense, if she ever had the time to dwell on it anyway. And here with only a week before her mother was to come. Keeping one foot in front of the other eroded her dwindling amounts of energy that never had the time to replenish. And she had dropped a tray of medication the night before. Thankfully it had held the dosages for only three patients. Worry about the strange way her hand had been acting, along with the feeling of being spied upon, gnawed like rabid rats at the edges of her mind.

  She held her head still, moving only her eyes, certain that if she looked far enough sideways, she would catch her watcher in the act.

  Don’t be so silly, she told herself. There is no one watching you. But if that was the case, why did the hair stand up on the back of her neck at strange intervals? She was trying to figure out if there was a pattern when Patrick discovered her leaning against the wall, only because the plaster felt cooler than the air surrounding her.

  ‘‘They need you, miss.’’

  ‘‘Surgery?’’

  He nodded and motioned with one hand for her to precede him.

  Shall I ask him? He’ll think I am losing my mind. But he’d be the one to know. If he knew, he’d say something. The thoughts reeled back and forth as if caught in a perpetual tug of war.

  Elizabeth Marie Rogers, she scolded herself. You have let your imagination run away with you. Now just stop that and concentrate on whatever lies ahead.

  She stepped to the sink to scrub, listening to the staccato commands from the room next door. Tension emanated from the room at Dr. Fossden’s sharp cry.

  ‘‘We’re losing him. Sponges stat!’’

  Elizabeth ducked into the clean apron the nurse dropped over her raised hands and strode to the operating table, where the head nurse stepped back to make room for Elizabeth. The smell of fresh blood permeated the air and reddened the drapes over the body.

  ‘‘Gunshot to the abdomen. Thought we got it, and the ligatures slipped.’’ Dr. Fossden nodded to the field. ‘‘See if you can grab the other end. It retracted.’’

  Elizabeth could do nothing but go searching for the vein in a sea of blood, like swimming in the dark.

  ‘‘He’s gone.’’ The announcement brought an immediate cessation of action.

  Dr. Fossden swore and turned from the table. ‘‘I thought we’d pull this one off.’’ He glanced at Elizabeth. ‘‘What took you so long to get here? I called for you when we admitted him.’’

  ‘‘I-I came as soon as I heard.’’

  ‘‘Well, had you been here sooner, we might have saved him.’’

  Elizabeth stopped as if she’d been struck. ‘‘But I . . .’’

  He strode past her without another word, his look withering any resistance she could muster.

  She stripped off her apron and dropped it in the dirty clothes bin before stepping up to wash again. Why did he attack me like that? What did I do wrong? It wasn’t my fault I was late. What am I supposed to do? Read his mind? As the clock ticked off the minutes, her mind ticked into higher gear, fury fueling the flames.

  When she was cleaned up again, new apron tied securely, she marched out of the surgery and down the hall, her heels Morse coding her resentment. Patrick waited for her at the corner of the hall.

  ‘‘He dinna mean nothing by
that, miss. Doctor, ’e was upset. That’s all.’’

  ‘‘Thank you, Patrick, but I am fine, just fine.’’ She marched down to the floor where she was supposed to be dispensing medications. Lining up the bottles on a tray, she added spoons for measuring and a pitcher of water to refill the glasses she provided as chasers. Some of the medicine tasted so vile that only by offering the children a glass of water could she induce them to take the unpleasant stuff. She glared at her hand. You just better not fail me now.

  She stopped at the first bed and set her tray down on the small table. ‘‘Okay, Johnny, as soon as you swallow this, you can have either sugar or water.’’

  ‘‘Or both?’’ The face he made sent the boy in the next bed into a fit of giggles that sent him into a coughing frenzy that had Elizabeth rubbing his back and crooning comfort into his ears as he lay gasping for breath.

  ‘‘Sorry.’’

  ‘‘You didn’t mean it.’’ She laid the child back down on his pillows and stroked locks of carrot-colored hair back from his blueveined forehead. ‘‘Better?’’

  He nodded. ‘‘Don’t want no medicine.’’

  ‘‘Me neither.’’ Johnny crossed his arms over his chest.

  Elizabeth stuck her hand down in the pocket of her apron. ‘‘Guess I’ll just have to give these peppermint drops to boys who take their medicine like men. What do you think?’’ She opened her hand to show a red-and-white peppermint drop on her palm, then glanced up to see two pairs of eyes staring at the treat.

  ‘‘I’ll go first. I’m biggest.’’ Johnny opened his mouth like a baby bird begging for a worm.

  Elizabeth poured the caramel-colored medicine into a spoon and tipped it down his throat, handing him a candy at the same time.

  ‘‘Eeuuw.’’ Johnny shuddered, his face twisted in a grimace that didn’t smooth out until the candy washed some of the awful taste away. ‘‘Thankee, Miss Doctor.’’

  ‘‘You are most welcome.’’ Elizabeth continued her way down the ward, bribing those who needed medication and using the peppermint drops to comfort those who needed dressings changed. If only there were more she could do to make their lives a bit easier. She knew that when they were well enough to return home, they would lack sufficient food, decent housing, and in many cases, a bed to sleep in. She’d rubbed kerosene in so many heads to free them of lice, she’d lost count.

  Once finished with her rounds on the children’s ward, she put the medications away and made her way down to the dining room, where dinner would be long done but the cook always kept a plate warm for her.

  ‘‘Thank you.’’ Elizabeth smiled up to the woman, who wore her abundant hair in a bun and revealed few expressions on her square-jawed face.

  A nod was her answer, but as the cook turned to leave, Elizabeth reached out a hand to stop her. ‘‘Have you seen any strangers around here lately?’’

  The woman stopped, thought a moment, and shook her head. ‘‘Nein. No one new.’’

  ‘‘Thanks.’’ Elizabeth took a bite of buttered bread and smiled her appreciation. While she spoke German well enough to converse with the cook, the one time she’d made the effort, the woman shook her head and asked for English. Finishing the stew in front of her, Elizabeth picked up her plate to return to the kitchen and refill her coffee cup. She would carry it with her and sip while she studied during her designated hour. Ever since she’d announced her intention to open the medical school, Dr. Morganstein insisted that Elizabeth do lessons just as if the school were already in session.

  ‘‘As far ahead as you are, I am thinking I will start you as a second-year student if you can pass some tests that I will write for you.’’ Dr. Morganstein had peered over her glasses to assess Elizabeth’s reaction.

  ‘‘You mean that?’’

  ‘‘Yes, but we have to think this through. I will hope and pray that you will continue on here after graduation, at least for your two-year commitment and forever as far as I’m concerned.’’

  Elizabeth felt tears spring to her eyes. ‘‘I . . . I cannot thank you enough. I mean, that you . . .’’ She removed a handkerchief from her apron pocket and dabbed at her eyes and nose.

  ‘‘Elizabeth, you are the daughter I never had.’’ Dr. Morganstein leaned forward. ‘‘And beyond that, you are becoming an excellent doctor. A bit hotheaded at times, but all from the goodness of your heart. I am grateful for the privilege of training you, no matter where you decide to practice.’’

  Elizabeth brought her wandering mind back to the present. She opened her medical book to the page where she’d stopped and leaned against the wall to read. She knew if she sat down, her chin would be on the print instead of her eyes reading it. She had the second of three tests tomorrow. And one week before her mother came for their Chicago shopping trip. How could the summer have gone so fast, while some days seemed to last a whole week?

  Days later, when she finished her final exam and handed it to her mentor, Elizabeth heaved a sigh of relief. How often she’d taken her excellent memory for granted, the way she’d memorized music since she was small and up through college. Now it had helped her pass these exams with very little preparation. Not only pass but have excellent scores on the first two. This one, however, might be a different situation, since it was mostly essay.

  ‘‘Are you worried?’’ Dr. Morganstein indicated the sheaf of papers covered with Elizabeth’s fine script.

  ‘‘No—yes.’’ She shrugged. ‘‘A lot hangs on this. An entire year of my life.’’

  ‘‘Ah, my dear, don’t you realize you already have more training and knowledge than most beginning doctors? You have a college education, three months of hospital experience, plus all the training your doctor at home gave you. You could go anywhere in the country and open a practice right now.’’

  Elizabeth stared at the woman across the desk. ‘‘But . . .’’

  ‘‘But you want to be the best, and I want to help you achieve that goal. So you will return in October and begin with the cadaver. You will do more surgeries and see more patients. You will learn more about mixing medications and the latest medical advances I can find for us to implement. And if I have my way, you will teach some of the basic classes such as anatomy and physiology.’’

  Elizabeth felt her eyes widen. ‘‘Me? Teach?’’ Her voice squeaked on the last word. Oh dear, has she lost her mind? Surely she cannot mean what I just heard.

  ‘‘The one who teaches always learns the most. You know that to be true.’’

  ‘‘B-but I’ve never been a teacher.’’ Elizabeth swallowed hard to get past the lump forming in her chest.

  ‘‘Not to worry. You won’t be called on for that until after Christmas.’’ Dr. Morganstein stood and came around the desk. ‘‘What time is your mother arriving?’’

  ‘‘Her train comes in about one o’clock, I think, and she will go to the hotel to freshen up before coming here. That’s tomorrow.’’

  ‘‘Good. I will send an invitation for her to join us in my apartment for supper. I want to explain our new program personally so she will not worry about you.’’

  Elizabeth stood and let out a breath. ‘‘You haven’t read my exam yet. How can you be so sure I will pass?’’

  ‘‘You would have had to turn in a blank sheet of paper to fail, and when I see how many pages you covered, I know failing is not a possibility.’’ She took Elizabeth’s arm. ‘‘Now, have you read that latest American Medical Association publication? And I have a letter from a doctor friend in Europe. Ah, the things they are discovering. I’ve read there’s a man in Germany by the name of Wilhelm Roentgen who is experimenting with some new kind of photography that may some day allow us to see bones right through skin and flesh. Is that not amazing?’’

  The next evening after a delicious supper of fresh vegetables and baked chicken with an orange mustard sauce, Elizabeth fought to keep her eyes open while Dr. Morganstein explained to Annabelle Rogers more about her new medical school and the part she expe
cted Elizabeth to play.

  ‘‘So you see, your daughter will be the first to graduate from my school, and I will have the honor of bestowing the title of doctor upon her.’’

  Annabelle nodded, her smile still a bit stiff but gracious in spite of her lifelong wish that her daughter would marry well and become a concert pianist, not necessarily in that order.

  ‘‘I appreciate all that you are doing for Elizabeth, but one thing I would like to say. We can pay for our daughter to attend your medical school so that she can choose where she will set up her practice. Our Dr. Gaskin is hoping she will take over his practice in Northfield as soon as she is trained. In fact, he would turn it over to her now and train her himself.’’

  ‘‘I am aware of his wishes.’’ Dr. Morganstein smiled at Elizabeth. ‘‘And I’m grateful for all the training he has already given her.’’ She turned her attention back to Annabelle. ‘‘We will talk about fees another time when our girl is not so weary. Thank you so much for coming but even more for trusting your only daughter into my care.’’

  ‘‘You are most welcome, but I really had nothing to do with it. What Elizabeth wants to do, she generally finds a way.’’ Annabelle looked from the doctor to Elizabeth. ‘‘Now, we must be going.’’

  ‘‘I will call for a hack.’’ Dr. Morganstein rose and moved into her office.

  ‘‘You look weary beyond measure. Are you feeling all right?’’

  ‘‘Yes, Mother. A good night’s sleep will do wonders.’’ Especially if I am not half listening for an emergency call. Although Elizabeth knew she sometimes slept so hard that Patrick or someone had to shake her to wake up. And I haven’t dropped anything lately, so perhaps that problem with my hand has disappeared.

  After they said their good-byes, Elizabeth stood waiting for a moment while the driver assisted her mother into the fringetopped conveyance. Again the hair on the back of her neck felt like it stood at attention, and she glanced around to see if someone was indeed watching her. Open windows in the tenement across the street framed faces of children and adults. Three men lounged on the landing of a fire escape, their voices raised in what surely sounded like liquor laughter. Children down the street shouted for Bobby to run hard after he hit the ball with the stick. A baby cried; a mother called her children. But no one seemed to be paying her any attention. She climbed in after her mother and settled into the seat, waving good-bye to the doctor, who waved from the top step at the front door of the Alfred Morganstein Hospital, the red brick darkening in the coming gloom.