More Than a Dream

by Lauraine Snelling

  Andrew, is that new dog anywhere near as smart as Paws? If so, I’m sure you have him trained to bring up the cows by now.

  My love to all of you. I remain your dutiful son and brother,

  Thorliff

  December 27, 1895

  Dear Thorliff,

  Christmas without being at home seemed stilted, even though Father and Mother tried their best to make the holidays here in Chicago a celebration. I missed playing the piano for all of our friends, and though Cook sent nearly a trunk of good things, it certainly wasn’t the same. Is this part of growing up? Learning to make the best of holidays away from home? Now I know how you must have felt last year, and this year you didn’t even have our house to celebrate at. What did you do?

  We have snow and that horrendous wind that tries to blow you over when you go out or at least freeze your blood in your veins. The adjoining passageway between the school and the hospital was finished just before this big storm hit.

  I should have sent you a note with Mother and Father, but the hospital is full, and we are running our legs off. We need more nurses, let alone doctors and other staff. Dr. Morganstein says this is a chronic problem, so she is now thinking of starting a school for nurses like we have for doctors. She’s going to need another building soon at the rate she is dreaming up new ideas.

  I like teaching. Are you surprised? Two of the students really keep me on my toes; they memorize so quickly while the others struggle along. You can hear them muttering tarsal, metatarsal as they pass in the hallway. One of the more clever ones has come up with a way to memorize all the bones of the hand.

  We sent the last of our burn victims home just before Christmas. The woman is so terribly disfigured that I am afraid children will run screaming when they see her. I wonder if someday there will be more we can do to help people like her.

  I so enjoy your letters, and you are a dear to send your stories. I read them sometimes to patients in the wee hours of the morning when they cannot sleep. Your stories make me very popular.

  I must get to bed, but I do love to spend this time with you. I picture you sitting at your desk or huddled under a quilt in your room, books spread around you while you cram in the final bit of knowledge that will give you an A on an exam. Thank you for being so much more than just an employee to my mother and father. They think the world of you.

  From the cold and dreary land of Chicago, I remain,

  Yours,

  Elizabeth

  January 5, 1896

  Dear Thorliff,

  I am sorry I have not written more often, but between school and chores I sometimes fall asleep at the table. I think of you writing after we all went to bed, and I do not know how you did it.

  Everyone was here for Christmas as usual, and Tante Kaaren read your Christmas story aloud to all of us. Mor had tears in her eyes, and Pa had to blow his nose. He said he must be catching a cold, but he wasn’t. Metiz came too, but she would have stayed home if we didn’t go get her with the sleigh. Mor tried to talk her into moving into the soddy for the winter, but you know Metiz. She would have none of that.

  One reason chores take up so much of my time is that Hamre left soon after harvest. He said he wanted to see the ocean again, so he headed west where there is a fishing fleet out of Seattle. As you know, he never has much liked the prairie. I would like to see the ocean too, but I think there is nothing more beautiful than our flat land. Not that I have a lot to compare it with, but as you know, we can see forever here. I climbed up on the barn roof to check some shingles, and I thought sure I’d be able to see the mountains. When I asked Pastor Solberg why not, he explained the curvature of the earth. You must be able to see a far distance from the mountains in Montana. Manda and Baptiste said there is nothing like it.

  We go back to school in two days. I want to thank you for the book on farming. I’ve read a lot of it already.

  I sure wish Toby Valders would behave himself so that I wouldn’t have to chop so much wood.

  Your brother,

  Andrew

  PS: Mor has been sad for a long time. I think more letters from you would help cheer her up.

  January 15, 1896

  Dear Elizabeth,

  We had a skating party last night at the pond on the hill. As you know, I don’t usually attend those things, but Benjamin coerced me into it. I think he needed a bit of moral support in his pursuit of Miss Anne Boranson. But he didn’t need my help at all. He asked her to skate with him, and they never skated with anyone else all night. I thought of asking her to skate with me just to rile him up, but I stayed the good friend and didn’t tease him.

  Have you been reading the newspaper articles about the grave robbers? They sell the cadavers to medical schools and laboratories. Perhaps you should ask Dr. Morganstein where she purchased the cadavers you are studying. While your description of the nerves and muscles was interesting, I’m sure most people would rather not know quite so much about the human body. Since I grew up on a farm, I am not so squeamish.

  Have you heard from Thornton? Reverend Johnson mentioned him in his sermon on Sunday, saying that he needed prayer for a health problem. You know me, I immediately wanted to know all the details.

  Enclosed you will find my newest contribution to Harper’s Magazine. I do hope they take it.

  I need to get back to my books. How I dream of a piano concert by a certain pianist that I long to see.

  Yours,

  Thorliff

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Blessing, North Dakota

  February 1896

  ‘‘What is it, my Inge?’’ Haakan rolled on his side toward her.

  Ingeborg stared toward the ceiling now hidden in the darkness. The wind and snow howling around the house almost drowned out the song of the wolves.

  ‘‘I just feel so sad, and the pit yawns ever before me. Life is so heavy that I just want to lie down and let it roll on by. Instead, I am being squashed more each day.’’ She clenched the flannel sheet in her hands, the quilts along with the featherbed keeping them warm in spite of the dropping temperatures.

  ‘‘I read my Bible, and all that I read sounds like God is scolding me, and He certainly has justification.’’

  ‘‘I don’t think He is scolding you. Like the part I read tonight at the supper table. He said, ‘Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.’ ’’

  ‘‘Ja, that is good.’’ Her sigh spoke more than words were able.

  ‘‘I just feel that perhaps God no longer wants me to take care of the sick and the birthings and such. So much death, Haakan. So many have died.’’

  ‘‘Ja, I know, but death is a part of life, and only God knows the hour or day. Those people wouldn’t have died did he not ordain so.’’ He took her hands in his and raised one to kiss the palm. ‘‘God has given you these hands, and he has used them to heal people, to comfort, and to bring forth new life. Whyever would He take away the gift He has given you?’’

  ‘‘Perhaps I misused it.’’

  ‘‘Ingeborg.’’ His tone chided her gently.

  ‘‘Or maybe I have grown proud.’’

  Haakan moved closer and pulled her spoon fashion against his chest. ‘‘Lord God, free your Ingeborg from this weight of sadness and bring her back into your joy. Let her know how much the things she does please you.’’

  She could hear his voice fading just before the amen.

  ‘‘Thank you.’’

  His first snore, a little like a hiccup, made her want to turn and kiss him, but she didn’t want to wake him again. Thank you, Lord, for giving me this man. I will try harder tomorrow to spend time praising you instead of fearing the pit. Thank you for my children, and please keep Thorliff safe, and his Elizabeth. She shivered at the sound of the wolf’s howl. Barney barked in the kitchen by the back door where he slept. He must think the wolves are right outside. Thank you, God, for this sturdy house that protects us from the storms. And now, please calm the sto
rm that rages inside me. Like Haakan, she drifted off before the amen.

  They woke in the morning to a stillness that screamed for attention after the rage of the storm. Haakan left her in bed and went to put wood in both stoves before returning to the warmth of the quilts and his sleepy wife’s arms.

  ‘‘Warm me up.’’ He shivered as he snuggled her close.

  ‘‘Did you hear the wolves last night?’’

  ‘‘Who didn’t?’’

  ‘‘One sounded like it was right outside the back door.’’

  ‘‘Hmm, they must be hungry to be so brave.’’

  ‘‘I think I better go check on Metiz this morning. Since the storm is past, I’ll just ski on over. I think being out in the sun, if it doesn’t cloud over again, will be good for me.’’

  ‘‘I wish she had come to the soddy.’’

  ‘‘I know. Me too. But we Norwegians aren’t the only ones who are stubborn.’’

  ‘‘Well, ja, and if I don’t get my stubborn body out of bed, the cows will think something has happened to the feed man.’’ He grabbed his wool pants and shirt, along with hand-knitted stockings, and charged out to dress by the now blazing fire. Ingeborg followed him, her quilted petticoats and long wool stockings over her arm. When dressed, she brushed and braided her hair and wrapped the braid around her head like a crown. She tied a clean apron around her waist and set to making the coffee. Pouring the beans into the coffee grinder, she inhaled the pungent fragrance of the dark beans. Nothing smelled as good on a cold winter morning, or any morning for that matter, as a steaming cup of rich, near-black coffee.

  After adding flour and eggs and lard to the potato water yeast bubbling on the shelf behind the stove where it always stayed warm, she kneaded the bread, knowing that the more she beat her frustrations into the dough, the lighter and finer the bread would be. Bread needed lots of air worked into it to make it rise. Setting the crockery bowl back on the shelf, she poured herself a cup of the now ready coffee and inhaled the fragrance again.

  Astrid wandered into the room, rubbing sleep from her eyes. ‘‘How long have Pa and Andrew been out at the barn?’’

  Ingeborg glanced at the clock. ‘‘Better than an hour.’’

  ‘‘How come you let me sleep?’’ Astrid leaned her head against her mother’s shoulder and yawned again, causing Ingeborg to do the same.

  ‘‘Oh, I don’t know, but you better hurry now and get washed and dressed so you won’t be late for school.’’

  ‘‘You say that every morning.’’

  ‘‘Not in the summer.’’

  Astrid left the room, a giggle drifting back over her shoulder.

  ‘‘Thank you, God, that I can at least make someone else laugh.’’ The cat went to the door and asked to go out. ‘‘And I can take care of those close to me. You are going to freeze your toes if you don’t come right back in.’’ The big orange-and-white cat slit his eyes at her and slipped through the door like a shadow.

  She had the ham sliced and frying before Astrid returned. Like her mother, she was wearing long woolen stockings, quilted petticoats, and a woolen vest under her dress. She handed Ingeborg the hairbrush.

  ‘‘Can I have one braid today instead of two?’’

  ‘‘I guess, but it won’t stay as well. Why?’’

  ‘‘ ’Cause Toby tied the two together yesterday when he sat behind me. It hurt.’’

  Ingeborg shook her head as she separated the thick fall into three strands. ‘‘That boy. Uff da.’’ She stopped what she was doing. ‘‘How about if I braid from both sides as usual and then join them and finish as one?’’

  ‘‘That sounds nice. Thank you.’’ Astrid sat on the stool, humming a song as her mother looped the strands over one another. ‘‘Soon I will be old enough to wear my hair up.’’

  ‘‘Don’t be in too big a hurry. Time is flying by as it is.’’

  ‘‘It is? Not when I do my arithmetic. How come I have to do arithmetic?’’

  ‘‘How else would you be able to help with the bookkeeping in the cheese house if you didn’t know your numbers?’’

  ‘‘You do all that.’’

  ‘‘Ja, but you are getting old enough that you can learn.’’

  ‘‘Tante Penny lets me help in the store. She says I make change really good, er, really well.’’

  ‘‘I’m sure you do.’’ Ingeborg dropped a kiss on the straight part in her daughter’s hair. ‘‘There you go. Let the cat back in before he has a fit.’’

  ‘‘I need to go feed my chickens.’’

  ‘‘The door needs to be dug out first. Far will do it later.’’

  Astrid took out the silverware and set the table while they talked. ‘‘Are we having porridge?’’

  ‘‘No. Ham and eggs and fried bread.’’

  ‘‘Yum. With syrup?’’

  ‘‘If you like.’’ Ingeborg dug a hunk of rising dough out of the bowl and smoothed the rest back into a smooth mound. Laying the dough on a floured board, she cut it into roll-sized pieces and flattened each one to then be dropped in the sizzling lard in an iron skillet on the back of the stove. They puffed up as they fried, and when browned, she turned them over, standing them on their sides in a warming pan on the shelf of the stove.

  She’d just finished when they heard the men knocking snow off their boots at the door.

  ‘‘You pour the coffee, and I’ll fry the eggs. Oh, and open a jar of applesauce too. Andrew likes dipping his bread in that.’’

  By the time the men were washed up and seated, Ingeborg set the serving platters in front of them. They all bowed their head for grace and at the amen reached for the platters to pass around the table.

  ‘‘Mor, you make the best breakfasts.’’

  ‘‘Why, thank you, son. We haven’t had fried bread for a long time.’’

  ‘‘Nor fried cornmeal mush either. I like that.’’ Astrid dipped her bread in the puddle of syrup on her plate.

  ‘‘You have a drop of syrup on your dress.’’ Ingeborg pointed to a place on her own front to show where and nodded when Astrid used her napkin to dab it away. Many was the time her daughter just pulled her dress up enough to suck off the syrup or jam.

  ‘‘You might want to use soap and water on that too. Sticky syrup will attract more dirt.’’

  When the children were out the door to jump in the wagon bed set on skids that Lars drove up, and Haakan returned to clean out the barn, Ingeborg wrapped some cheese, bread, and a jar of jam for Metiz. She stuck them in a backpack, and after getting into her heavy coat, scarf, and mittens, she slung the pack over her shoulders and took down the skis from the pegs on the wall in the porch.

  Ingeborg blinked against the brilliance of the sun on the new snow. She raised her face to feel any warmth, shutting her eyes against the glare. With the loops of the poles over her wrists, she set off, reveling in the pull of the muscles in her legs. Her breath clouded in front of her face, and flying down a long, high drift made her laugh. The silence of a land shrouded in new snow struck her ears, her breathing and the hiss of the skis the only sounds.

  She took in a deep breath and exhaled, the plume of steam dampening her cheeks as she surged ahead. Free, I’m free! The thought brought a laugh that came out part choke. Thank you, God, the weight is gone! Thank you for bringing me back to life! Thank you, thank you. If she could have twirled in place on skis she would have.

  As she drew nearer to Metiz’ little house, she slowed. No smoke rose from the chimney. The front porch had not been swept off. She glided up to the buried step and unbuckled her skis.

  ‘‘Metiz!’’ Her voice rattled in the cottonwoods around the house. ‘‘Oh, God, please, not Metiz.’’ She pushed open the front door and stepped inside where the temperature seemed the same as outside.

  ‘‘Oh, Metiz!’’ She stood in the light from the doorway and stared at the small body barely evident under the covers. No movement, only an intense sense of no one being there.

  Ingebo
rg crossed to the bed and tried to see through the tears already raining down her cheeks. ‘‘When, oh Lord? How long has she been gone?’’

  She touched the leathered cheek, the lips curved in a slight smile. Her dark eyes that spoke so much of life were closed. ‘‘You went the way you wanted, in your sleep. But oh, my dear friend, how I am going to miss you. Lord, please . . .’’ But she wasn’t even sure what she was asking for. Pulling over a chair, she sat by the bedside, her breath rising in steam clouds like outside. Had the fire gone out in the night and she froze? ‘‘Oh, Lord, I hope not.’’ The peaceful look on her friend’s face brought more tears.

  The wolf howled last night. The thought brought her halfway to her feet, but she sat down again. ‘‘It couldn’t have been.’’ She stood and walked to the front door, almost afraid to look out. She stepped outside and studied the area where snow had not drifted. Big dog tracks? She looked closer. No. Wolf’s track, his deformed foot a signature like none other. She found more tracks at the back door and circling the house.

  ‘‘She saved your life all those years ago, and now you returned to announce and mourn her passing. How fitting.’’ Ingeborg blinked back the renewed onslaught of tears. ‘‘She died last night, didn’t she? We saw smoke yesterday morning. And he came.’’ But her only answer was a deeper sense of peace.

  ‘‘I’ll be back, my friend.’’ She strapped her skis on again and headed home. She had to see if Wolf’s tracks were at their door too.

  She skied up to the barn and, leaning the skis against the barn wall, stepped inside the warm and cow-scented interior.

  ‘‘Haakan?’’ When there was no answer, she raised her voice. ‘‘Haakan?’’

  ‘‘Back here,’’ he called from the horses’ stalls.

  Ingeborg found him brushing the horses. ‘‘She’s gone.’’

  ‘‘Metiz?’’