More Than a Dream

by Lauraine Snelling

  But Thorliff knew that was wishful thinking. There weren’t woods with that density close enough that Elizabeth would have gone walking to. She didn’t take the bicycle, and he’d ridden the horse.

  ‘‘Oh.’’ Elizabeth sucked in a deep lungful of air. What had happened? She blinked, but unless her eyes weren’t working properly, full darkness had fallen. She wiggled her fingers and feet and relaxed her cheek against the cool ground. She was back to lying on her side, but he hadn’t suffocated her, much as she had thought he did. Something teased the outside of her mind. Had she heard someone calling her name? Was someone looking for her?

  ‘‘Sir, could you help me sit back up please?’’ When there was no answer, she waited without breathing herself. She could no longer hear him breathing either.

  ‘‘Are you there?’’ Was he waiting for her to scream, and then she’d feel the knife like he promised? She waited awhile longer, her heart thudding, fear eating like acid in her stomach. If he wasn’t there any longer, had he run away? Where was she? What dangerous wild animals lived in these woods? She’d heard tales of bears and bobcats and once in a great while a wolf or two.

  ‘‘Well, I’m certainly not going to lie here and wait for something to attack me.’’ Speaking aloud offered only slight comfort, but slight was a far cry better than nothing. And trying to get loose would at least give her something to keep her mind busy.

  Pushing her heels into the ground, she scooted on her back, rubbing the ropes down her arms. She banged her head into a tree trunk and grunted at the pain.

  ‘‘Time to go the other way.’’ Turning around took more rolling in the dirt and duff. She froze as something or someone crashed through the woods. Was he coming back? She waited, calming her breathing so she could hear better. Nothing. After what seemed like hours of more rolling and pushing and wriggling, Elizabeth had one hand free. With a muffled squeal of joy, she ripped the filthy sack off her head and shook out her hair. Ah, clean air. Stopping to listen frequently for any sound of her returning attacker, she released her other hand and clasped her hands around her bent knees. ‘‘Thank you, Father. Thank you. I know more than I ever have that you live up to your promises to be with us no matter what. I don’t know what made him run off, but I sure am grateful.’’ She loosened the rope, untied it from around her ankles, and finally, using a tree for support, stood on her own two feet. Now, which way was home?

  ‘‘Would that tonight was a full moon instead of no moon. And here in the woods, dark is even darker.’’ She held her breath to listen for the river, but the singing crickets and whining mosquitoes, along with other chirping, fluttering, crying, and squeaking noises that seemed to thunder through the leaves and branches, thoroughly buried the sound of the summer river that meandered rather than roared like the spring torrents. ‘‘If you are ever lost in the woods, stay in one place, and I will find you.’’ Her father might as well have been standing behind her, she heard his voice so clearly. After banging into one tree after another, falling flat after tripping over a stump on the ground, and nearly losing an eye to a broken branch, she heeded her father’s long-ago advice.

  Hoping she had gotten far enough away from the place her abductor had left her, she sat down to lean her back against a tree trunk. But as soon as she was still, a horde of needle-nosed scavengers attacked all her exposed skin. Elizabeth leaned over, separated her skirt from her petticoat and, wrapping her petticoats tight around her feet, threw the skirt up over her head, effectively covering every square inch of her tender skin. ‘‘So there.’’ She leaned back to wait for morning and willed herself to keep watch should her abductor return. But soon exhaustion took over, and she fell into a fitful sleep.

  ‘‘Thorliff, you join that group and go out on the river trail again to search the woods. Phillip, you go with the group up the hill, and Reverend Johnson, you take that group west. Ask at every farm. Check the barns too, in case someone is hiding her.’’ Sheriff Meeker finished giving the instructions, then turned to Annabelle. ‘‘If you hear anything, you let Ina know, and she’ll find us somehow.’’ He tipped his hat. ‘‘We’ll do our best, ma’am, to bring her back to you safe and sound.’’

  ‘‘Let us pray first.’’ Reverend Johnson took off his hat, and the others followed suit. ‘‘Lord God, you who can see through the darkest night, we beg you to help us find Elizabeth. Please keep her safe from harm and free from fear. Lord God, we beg you for your loving care to extend to all of us as we search for this young woman who is so dear to us all. In Jesus’ name, amen.’’

  ‘‘Okay, let’s go.’’

  Dawn had yet to paint the silver skies pink when they all rode out of the Rogerses’ yard.

  ‘‘That woods is too thick to ride these horses through,’’ the man riding beside Thorliff muttered.

  ‘‘Well, we can ride out that far and then tie up the horses so we can beat through the underbrush,’’ one man suggested. ‘‘Sure wish we had Jefferson’s old hound. She could find about anybody.’’

  ‘‘Yeah, but she can’t see good enough anymore to keep from running into trees herself.’’

  Thorliff only half listened to the men’s discussion as they trotted down the streets and turned left on the trail. Elizabeth could be lying out there wounded, or . . . He refused to allow his mind to explore the or.

  They stopped and dismounted, tying the horses to tree branches before entering the woods. Their cries of ‘‘Elizabeth’’ echoed and reechoed as they beat through the brush.

  Elizabeth woke with the twittering of the birds. Remembering her harrowing ordeal of the night before, she cautiously looked around. No sign of her abductor. Thank you, God. You delivered me. Just thankful he was gone, she unwrapped herself and stretched, then stood and turned in a circle. Which way was the river? Remembering an old saying she’d heard that moss grows on the north sides of the trees, she inspected the trunk of the elm she’d used for a bedroom. Sure enough, one side did sport green lichen. She followed the north sides of the trees a hundred feet or so. When she paused and listened with every sense, she could hear the water and continued toward it. As she finally stepped out on the dirt trail, she heard someone calling her name.

  ‘‘I’m here!’’ But her throat was so dry that the shout came out as nothing more than a croak. Not quite thirsty enough to drink from the muddy river, she headed toward the rising sun. Surely she would be home soon.

  ‘‘Let’s go back to the trail and ride further west,’’ Thorliff suggested as they turned back from the south side of the woods that bordered a field with grain already standing in shocks, ready for the threshing machine. Again, they shouted her name as they beat their way back toward the river.

  ‘‘I’m here’’ came a barely audible answer.

  Thorliff stopped in midstride. ‘‘Did you hear that?’’ The man next to him shook his head, but they both stopped to listen. ‘‘Elizabeth!’’

  ‘‘Here.’’ The voice came faintly from the northwest.

  ‘‘Let the others know,’’ Thorliff said and left his partner to call to the others. He tore through the brush, leaping fallen logs and pushing aside branches that reached with tenacious fingers to stop him.

  ‘‘Elizabeth!’’

  ‘‘I’m here by the horses,’’ she called.

  ‘‘I’m coming.’’ He burst out of the woods and charged down the trail, arms pumping, mouth stretched open, sucking in the air that his screaming lungs so desperately needed. When he saw her standing by one of the horses, he slowed to a trot and then to a stumbling walk as she broke into a run and flung herself into his arms.

  ‘‘Oh, Elizabeth, dear Elizabeth. I thank God you are all right.’’ Thorliff stroked her grimy hair back from her even grimier face, its translucent skin showing through the tear tracks. ‘‘What happened to you?’’

  ‘‘Some man crammed a bag over my head and threw me over his shoulder. He carried me for forever it seemed, until he could go no further. I was all trussed up like a turk
ey for roasting, but for some reason, he ran off and left me—’’

  ‘‘All bound up?’’

  She nodded.

  His hands cupped her face and his thumbs stroked the tears away.

  ‘‘I . . . I . . .’’ She threw her arms around his neck and burrowed her face into his collarbone. ‘‘I was so scared. He . . . he said he was going to kill me. That he would cut my . . . my throat if I screamed.’’ A shudder shook her so hard, he trembled.

  With his arms around her slender waist, Thorliff thought he’d reached heaven for sure.

  Until his Beatitude reminded him. Was he thinking impure thoughts? He hesitated. And almost shook his head. No, his thoughts were pure. Could fear make one realize how much one cared for another? This wasn’t friendship, this was . . . He hesitated to use the word. Remember, you thought you loved Anji, and you had to get over that. Now be careful so you aren’t hurt again. He listened to his voice and took a step backward. Or at least part of a step. He dug in his back pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, extending it to her with a shaky hand.

  ‘‘Here, wipe your tears. You can ride the horse back.’’

  ‘‘You really found her!’’ The men broke from the woods and came trotting to where the two stood, now separated by a proper distance.

  Elizabeth retold the story of her abduction, but when the men persisted in trying to figure out who the culprit was, she just shook her head. ‘‘I don’t know. I never saw his face. I had a bag over my head.’’

  Once back home and reunited with her parents, Elizabeth told the sheriff her story. He nodded. ‘‘Good thing you didn’t see his face, or he would have been forced to kill you. You could incriminate him.’’

  ‘‘Oh.’’ Elizabeth sank back in the chair, regardless of her filthy garments. But I think I know his voice. The reminder stayed where it was in her head. Until she knew for sure, she promised herself to say nothing.

  Annabelle sat beside her daughter, never letting go of her hand.

  ‘‘Do you think he’ll be back?’’ She asked the question they’d all been thinking.

  ‘‘I doubt it.’’ Sheriff Meeker ran his tongue around the inside of his right cheek. ‘‘But if you get any inkling of who it might have been, you got to tell me, Miss Rogers. Promise?’’

  Elizabeth studied her filthy hands. What could she say?

  ‘‘If I ever find out who it is, I swear to God, I’ll tear him limb from limb.’’ Phillip spoke with a deadly certainty that sent chills up Elizabeth’s back. She looked up to see a matching frozen look in Thorliff’s eyes. Elizabeth closed her eyes and tried to take a breath around the knot in her chest. Would another sin make the first sin right?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Blessing, North Dakota

  Late August

  ‘‘Do you think I could go with you?’’

  Haakan stared at the young man standing before him. Gerald Valders wore the look of a boy trying to be a man and not yet able to leave the bonds of sharp elbow and bony knees, of an Adam’s apple that stuck out of a skinny neck as if he really had an apple in his craw.

  ‘‘I promise to work real hard.’’ The boy’s voice cracked on the real. ‘‘I know I ain’t worked with big machinery much, but I learn fast.’’

  ‘‘I’m sure you do. Let me think on it.’’

  Gerald turned away, his shoulders slumping like he’d borne too many defeats for his young age.

  ‘‘Don’t you have to start school in a couple weeks?’’

  ‘‘Ja, but I asked Pastor Solberg if I could take time off. He said since I get straight A’s, he didn’t see a problem with that. I promised I would make up all the lessons I missed.’’

  ‘‘I see. How about if you help on the farms around here, and if you work out okay, you can go along. But I got to warn you, harvesting is hard work.’’

  ‘‘I know I don’t look very strong, but I don’t mind hard work. Thank you, Mr. Bjorklund. You won’t be sorry.’’

  ‘‘You’ll need a bedroll and an extra change of clothing. Oh, and we don’t pay until the end of harvest, so if you want spending money, not that there is anyplace to buy anything, you need to bring it along.’’

  ‘‘Okay, thank you.’’ Gerald took off his hat and clutched it to his chest, then clapped the tattered hat back on his head with one hand, waved with the other, and took off down the land as if swarming hornets were after him. A war whoop floated back and brought a smile to Haakan’s face. That war whoop echoed of pure boy joy.

  ‘‘Sure hope I did the right thing.’’ Haakan slapped the reins on the rumps of the patiently waiting team and walked them back out to the field to hitch up to the binder and continue cutting wheat. He watched over his shoulder as the wheat fell before the sickle bar, laid back on the bed, and when enough reached the binder it was tied into a bundle and kicked out the rear of the machine. Someone would come along later and stand three up together to make a shock so the grain could continue to dry for threshing.

  When Astrid came running across the field, her braids bouncing as she leaped a bundle and Barney barking at her heels, Haakan called the team to a stop and stepped off to take the jar of buttermilk she offered.

  ‘‘What did Gerald want?’’ she asked, digging in her pocket for the packet of cookies she’d brought along. After handing the cookies to her father, she dug out two carrots from the other pocket and walked around to give the horses their treat and to stroke their noses and ears.

  ‘‘Pa working you too hard? Poor things, out here in the heat. Bet you’ll be glad to be turned out tonight.’’ She gave them one more pat and ambled back to her father.

  ‘‘So?’’

  ‘‘So what?’’ His twinkling eyes gave away his innocent expression.

  ‘‘You know. What did Gerald want? I thought he’d come up to the house, say howdy at least.’’

  ‘‘He asked if he could work harvest for us this year.’’

  ‘‘What did you tell him?’’

  ‘‘That if he wanted to help with the locals and he worked out all right, he could go along.’’

  ‘‘Andrew won’t be too happy to hear that, being as he has to stay home.’’

  ‘‘I know.’’ Haakan took another swig from the jar and handed the now empty container back to his daughter. ‘‘But someone has to stay home and take charge of the milking. Your ma is so busy making cheese, she don’t have time to milk twenty head or more.’’

  ‘‘Mr. McBride is a good milker now.’’

  ‘‘I know. Sure wish Abe Mendohlson would have stayed around. I could’ve used him this fall.’’ Haakan checked the fittings on the binder as he spoke, then climbed back up on the seat. ‘‘Call your dog.’’

  He waited to hup the horses until Astrid had a good hold on the pup, and with a clickety-clack of the binder bed, the rig moved forward again.

  ‘‘Mange takk,’’ Haakan called, and Astrid took off back across the field, her ‘‘You’re welcome’’ floating back like birdsong.

  ‘‘You gave Gerald Valders a job on the threshing crew?’’ Andrew’s fork paused halfway to his mouth as he looked toward his father.

  ‘‘Not exactly. I told him to help out here with our local farmers first, and then we’d see.’’

  ‘‘But why?’’

  ‘‘Because he asked, and because I think being away from his younger brother would be good for him.’’

  ‘‘Being away from Toby would be good for anyone,’’ Andrew muttered around a mouthful of baked chicken. ‘‘Far away would be best.’’

  ‘‘Andrew.’’ Ingeborg laid a hand on his shoulder as she set a refilled platter of sliced tomatoes on the table.

  ‘‘I suppose you’re going to let Toby go too.’’

  ‘‘Not at all.’’ The corner of Haakan’s mouth quivered slightly upward.

  ‘‘Good. Please pass the potatoes.’’

  Supper continued with talk of harvesting both field and garden.

  ‘‘I went over to see
Dorothy today,’’ Ingeborg said. ‘‘Joyce has broken off with Knute. She wanted to get married, and he said he wasn’t ready. So she went to visit her aunt in Grand Forks.’’

  ‘‘They been seeing each other for near on two years, haven’t they?’’ Haakan leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach. ‘‘That was mighty good. Nothing better than corn on the cob and fresh tomatoes. Your garden is doing you proud this year.’’

  ‘‘Enough rain makes a mighty big difference. We got Thorliff’s newspaper today. Astrid, you want to go get it and read some to us?’’

  Astrid took her plate and Andrew’s and slid them into the soapy water waiting in the pan on the stove. When she brought the paper back, she took her chair over to the window to make full use of the sun.

  Andrew fetched his carving knife and began turning a block of wood into a hump-backed creature that he’d only seen in pictures, a camel for the Nativity set.

  Haakan scraped his pipe bowl clean and tamped in fresh tobacco, the fragrance of it both acid and sweet. He lit it with a flaming spill brought to him by his wife, who also brought him a cup of coffee.

  Astrid read of an ice cream social held at Carleton College, a lecture by a visiting professor, predictions for harvests, a haystack that was struck by lightning. She read an editorial by Phillip Rogers on the pros and cons of Darwinism, and when she looked up to her mother, Ingeborg raised her hands shield fashion.

  ‘‘Don’t ask.’’

  ‘‘But Mor—’’

  ‘‘All I know is what the Bible says, and I don’t care how long the days were. God created, and he goes on creating today.’’