Benjamin bumped his arm. ‘‘Here she comes.’’
Thorliff looked up in time to see a young lady enter the dining room. A transfer student, Miss Anne Boranson had caught Benjamin’s eye from the first day, and now he declared himself madly in love with her even though they’d spoken to each other no more than two or three times.
‘‘So go ask if you can sit with her.’’ Thorliff nudged Benjamin with his elbow.
‘‘I’m better at adoring from afar.’’
‘‘You’re chicken, that’s what. Surely you could sit by her at one of the sing-alongs.’’ Thorliff finished his beef sandwich as he reread the last sentences he’d just written.
‘‘I know. Why don’t you go and invite her to join us over here?’’ one of the others asked.
‘‘She’s sitting down with her friends.’’
‘‘Like she does every day.’’ Benjamin sighed, and the others laughed.
‘‘Good grief.’’ Thorliff reached for an apple from the bowl on the table. ‘‘See you later. I’ve got more studying to do.’’
‘‘Hey, Bjorklund, are you going to take part in the debate? The new topic is Should Our Government Support Public Work Projects?’’
Thorliff stopped to answer the question.
‘‘I’d like to. What about you?’’
‘‘We could do the pro side this round. We made a good team last time.’’
‘‘Let me give it some thought. My schedule is pretty full right now.’’
‘‘When is it not?’’ The editor of the Manitou Messenger tipped his head back to see Thorliff better. ‘‘You finished with that article?’’
Thorliff handed the papers to him. ‘‘I’d thought to get another quote from Professor Ytterboe, but he’s out of town again, so that’s impossible.’’
‘‘Good, good. I want this first edition for this year to be exemplary. You have any other suggestions, you let me know.’’
‘‘I will. Excuse me, please.’’ Thorliff backed off as he spoke. How easy it would be to sit down and while away the remainder of the dinner hour like the others were doing, but he had type to set in the evening and other chores around the newspaper. Besides, he wanted to stop by and see Henry Stromme. He was no longer living there, because a new student had taken his place, but he missed the old man and his cackling laughter.
Reverend Mohn had said that morning in chapel that life was meant to be lived to the fullest in the service of God. Sometimes Thorliff wondered if all he did was in service to God. Like trying to live up to the Beatitudes. One could never do enough, let alone too much.
Leaves had donned their fall dancing gowns and crackled merrily beneath his boots on the way down the hill. At times like this he really missed Elizabeth and their walks to and from school together.
Perhaps today there would be a letter. He broke into a trot, inhaling the rich, fecund flavor of fall.
‘‘Thorliff,’’ Phillip said as soon as Thorliff entered the office, ‘‘you need to go over to Mrs. Kingsley’s house. She has a story she has written for us and was unable to bring it by. I promised her you’d be there as soon as you got down from the hill.’’
Thorliff groaned inside but struggled to keep his thoughts from his face. Mrs. Karlotta Kingsley could ruin all his vows of purity of mind faster than he could make them. And how could he confess this to his employer when Phillip had pretty much figured out that Thorliff and Elizabeth were thinking of each other as more than friends. At least he knew he was, and he was fairly certain she was too. At least he hoped so.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
September 15, 1895
Dear big brother Thorliff,
I decided to write that to remind you who you are and that we miss you every day. As you know, school started again, and I think Toby Valders is only getting meaner and sneakier than ever. Do you think some people are born mean and maybe they can’t help it? I wonder because if I had to chop all that wood, I would certainly change my ways.
Mor and I wanted to come visit you so bad, but with all the terrible things happening here, harvest was on us before we could take time to even breathe. But Pa says we had good harvests for a change, and while they had grasshoppers out towards Devil’s Lake, they never made it here.
Anji and Mr. Moen were married after all. Mrs. Valders said they were unseemly in not waiting for the year of mourning after Anji’s brother died, but Mor said, ‘‘Uff da, some people have no spirit of compassion.’’ Anyway, they are traveling in Norway, Anji and Mr. Moen, I mean, not Mrs. Valders, and I hope they are happy. Anji is now a mother, as he has two daughters who will come back to America with them.
Baptiste wrote a letter to Metiz. Can you believe it? Anyway, Mor read the letter to us, and the news is that Manda is in the family way. When they brought the horses from Montana two weeks ago, I could see she has gotten fat around the middle. I sure hope they bring the baby next year when they come. I’m big enough to care for it. I have grown two inches since last spring and Pa says I am growing like pigweed.
Thank you for sending us copies of your articles and stories. I read some of them at school. Pastor says I am a good reader, but I already knew that. I think sometimes that I would like to be a teacher when I grow up. I help with the little kids, and it is so exciting to see them learn to read and know that I had a part in that. I make them learn all the sounds of the letters and then show them how to turn the sounds into words. Some words are such wonderful fun like anthropomorphic and analgesic, though I don’t use those for the little kids. I try to do as you say and learn a new word every day. I try to work something like misanthropic into a sentence in everyday conversation. It’s a predicament all right. Isn’t that a good word? I like to say it over and over.
Mor is calling me to set the table, so I will write again sometime. Please think of coming home for Christmas. I want to make sure you are not a figment of my imagination. I read that in a book.
Love from your sister,
Astrid
October 12, 1895
Dear Thorliff,
I didn’t realize what a fine poet you are, but I shouldn’t be surprised, as you do everything well. At least in the writing department. Thank you for sending what you call your little drivels to me.
I hadn’t been back two minutes when there was an emergency, and without even unpacking I changed into my scrub apron and assisted Dr. Fossden in the surgery. He has aged in the few weeks I have been gone. Perhaps it was going on all the time, but sometimes one needs distance to see what is right in front of one’s face. He is only supposed to be operating here on a part-time basis, but we seem to be busier than ever. Accidents, like time, wait for no man. I start teaching tomorrow. Today, or this evening rather, Dr. Morganstein had a reception in her quarters for all of the students. As each of us introduced ourselves and told about our medical schooling and experience up to now, I realize how indeed blessed I am. I must send Dr. Gaskin an unending stream of gratitude for all he has taught me and thank my parents again for sending me to college to learn all that I have.
Thorliff, my dear friend, I am so blessed. Sometimes it takes a tragedy, or in my case an almost tragedy, to make us realize all or even part of the innumerable blessings our Lord showers upon us.
One of the children who’d been here this summer came to see me and brought me a fistful of daisies he had picked in a vacant lot. I cannot begin to describe how I felt at seeing him walking with barely a limp. I helped operate on his leg, and it healed so straight and true. If you had seen the break, you would have thought him to be lame for life or that he would lose the leg altogether. I thank our God for privileges like that.
And I thank you for making my time at home such a joy to look back on, in spite of my abduction. But that too is giving blessings beyond measure. I will tell you more about that in another letter. I must get some sleep in preparation for the morrow.
Yours faithfully,
Elizabeth
October 22, 1895
Dear Elizabeth,
You have piqued my curiosity, that is for sure. What other good than what we have already discussed could come of your frightening experience? I know and believe that God’s promise of working everything for good for those who love him and are called according to his purpose is true now and forever, but other than increased faith and trust, what could be added? I know you are doing a superb job teaching the beginners. I shall never forget what you said of Dr. Morganstein’s principle for the school: ‘‘See one, do one, teach one.’’ That is an adage that applies to all of life. I am using it in training the young man your father has hired to help us here. Curtis Jessop has taken over my job of cleaning up after printing. He learns quickly and is willing. What more can you ask?
Life on the hill is lonely without my favorite walking partner to argue with on my trek up and down. Fall is my most favorite time of the year, but I know you will tease me and remind me that I say that in the spring too. Like you, winter is my least favorite, but there is much to be said for the brilliance of sun on new snow and the exuberance of a snowball fight.
There is not much other news from Northfield. I dislike bragging, but Edward and I trounced the opposition in the debate on state’s rights last week. We received a hearty round of applause and have now challenged the debating team from Carleton to a match. I will let you know how that goes.
In the meantime, remember that you are held up in all our prayers, mine especially.
Your friend,
Thorliff
November 1, 1895
Dear Thorliff,
When the wind blows off Lake Michigan, it goes right through you, freezing cold and damp to the core. And winter has yet to roar in, which according to my sources will be fierce. One of the boys brought in a woolly caterpillar, and his stripes are wide and really woolly, so that is supposed to indicate a hard winter. This is a city of extremes. Hot and so humid in the summer, cold with a wind that wants to rip one apart in the winter. We had heavy rains this fall and already we are seeing the effects of lack of warmth in our patients. Some of the tenement owners do not heat their buildings anywhere near enough, and the minimum upkeep of replacing windows and walls is ignored. I do not know how they can in good conscience get a decent night’s sleep. I would hope guilt plagues them and gives them nightmares. Dr. Morganstein says I have not begun to see the suffering, but I am already wishing there were more that I could do. You want to write editorials? I can give you real-life stories that would make your hair stand on end.
Remember when you asked me if something was wrong and I said no? Well, there was something wrong, but I felt I shouldn’t tell anyone for fear of worse things happening. I know that might not make sense to you, but now the story has come full circle and I feel I can share. Perhaps this will work into one of your stories someday. Goodness knows, it will read like a novel. I did finally realize who the man was who abducted me. He is the husband of the woman I told you about who died when we did a Cesarian section to try to save the baby. Her husband had pushed her down the stairs, which precipitated the whole thing. Anyway, he’d been shadowing me in Chicago, thus the feeling of someone watching me. When I came home he followed me to Northfield and shadowed me until he got the opportunity to grab me. He wanted to kill me but was already realizing that he couldn’t do that, and then when he heard you calling my name that first evening, he took off into the woods, figuring I would be found or would escape or something. How do I know all this now? He came into the hospital. When I saw him here, I nearly collapsed, thinking he was after me again, but he asked to speak to Dr. Morganstein and me. He confessed the whole thing, begged my forgiveness, and said he has sworn never to drink again. He had gone to confession with his local priest, and the priest said he must give his terrible mixed-up life over to the Lord, and his penance is to never drink again and to confess to us and ask for a way to make restitution. He also had to go to the police and confess, and they kept him in jail for a time, but since I was not hurt and refused to press charges, he is hard at work. I know my father would want him imprisoned forever, so I have yet to tell my parents the whole story.
And yes, I forgave him. I already had in my heart, for as Reverend Johnson said, I cannot let a root of bitterness grow, and I add fear to that, for fear is nearly as choking as bitterness. So Dr. Morganstein has made him into an orderly, and he is such a help with heavy things.
Can you believe what a gracious and amazing God we have who could work all of this out for good?
I am sorry to go on for pages and pages like this, but I had to tell you what had happened. If you would, please show this to my mother and father; first ask my father to not threaten dire destruction when he reads it. I want them to know what happened, but I have no time to write this twice. Please prepare them, as I know you can, and I thank you in advance.
Blessings, my dearest friend.
Elizabeth
November 10, 1895
Dear Elizabeth,
Dare I write Dearest Elizabeth? For that is what I am feeling. I know that there was a deep change in my feelings during and after the horror of that night. And you were right. I had to take a long, hard, fast walk to keep from getting on that train and coming to Chicago to first of all, beat that man senseless, and second, to haul him off to the police. But with the walk and your wise words and reading and rereading God’s Word where He says that He will repay, that vengeance is His, I finally calmed down. I took those verses printed out with me when I gave the letter to your father and mother. I think forgiveness comes easier for women, but both your parents are calmed down again and talking rationally. Evening was probably the best time for them to read the letter because there was no train leaving before the next day.
I stand in awe and amazement at your forgiving attitude. Even remembering how you looked when I found you makes my blood boil, and I have to listen to Paul’s instruction on taking every thought captive. Reverend Mohn spoke on that very thing at chapel, telling how our minds can tear off in all kinds of directions and we can believe things that aren’t true and be frightened with fears that never come about. I think forgiveness fits into this, for if I allow myself to dwell on what that man did, I shall soon be in jail for murder, but if I rely on God’s promise to be my avenger and believe what He says about living a life of forgiveness, I am then the man He desires me to be. I cry out with the man who said, ‘‘Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief.’’
Please do not laugh now, but I had to go out to Mrs. Kings-ley’s to pick up her story for the paper. I believe your father delights in teasing me about this bodacious woman, but I think she has a new conquest, for I met a young man from Carleton exiting her home as I arrived. He wore the same shocked, red-eared look that I’m sure I wore when she first accosted me. I still believe that at times there is safety in running. And this has given me another chance to learn about taking every thought captive in order to maintain purity of heart.
Old Tom is predicting early snow this year, and it was cold enough this morning that it could soon be on the way. At least you don’t have to trudge the hill any longer, but I miss your sweet presence by my side.
Yours,
Thorliff
November 30, 1895
Forgive me, Thorliff, for not writing sooner. We had a tenement go up in flames due to a faulty furnace, and since we are the closest hospital, we received most of the victims. Caring for the badly burned patients has taken every moment of the day and night. Please pray for us, as we are weary beyond measure. I ask special prayers because my hand slipped in surgery, and it could so easily have caused terrible repercussions. I have tried to determine the cause of this sudden weakness but so far to no avail. It is hard to remember to praise God in the midst of all this.
Yours,
Elizabeth
December 1, 1895
Dear Mor and Far, Astrid and Andrew,
Thank you for your letters and the package of cheese. I have taken orders and will need three wheels shipped
before Christmas. I could go into the cheese distribution business without much effort. You must tell me what price I am to charge, as I have lost contact with the prices of goods since all my meals are provided by someone else. I am sorry to say that I will not be able to come home for Christmas because Mr. and Mrs. Rogers are planning a trip to Chicago to have Christmas with Elizabeth. She cannot get away from the hospital long enough to come home. I have mailed a box to you, and I hope it arrives in good condition.
School is going well, as is the latest novel I am working on. I get so little time to write on it that it might take me ten years to finish. I cannot believe I managed to churn out a chapter a week for all those months. However, perhaps that is the kind of deadline that I need. I am more involved at school, serving on the monthly paper, which is almost like a magazine, and I really enjoy the debate team. We have a match with Carleton coming up, and my partner and I will be arguing on the pro side of whether or not our government should sponsor public works projects. I guess arguing comes naturally to college students. Debates are going on all the time.
My coursework is heavy this year, so I spend a lot of time studying. The Beatitudes and the Sermon on the Mount continue to cause discussions as to what Jesus actually meant and how His words apply to us. I am always grateful Pastor Solberg taught us that the easiest way to understand the Bible is to just read what it says and not try to second-guess the meaning. Although there certainly are passages that manage to be in conflict with each other. Thus all the arguments, or rather discussions.
Elizabeth is back in Chicago at the hospital where she worked for the last two summers, only now she is in medical school there.
How are Knute and the others doing? It was so hard to believe such an accident could happen and just when Swen was so happy. And Mor, what about you? You have been very silent on the subject, but I know this must be so hard for you to bear.
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