More Than a Dream

by Lauraine Snelling

  Lord, if only she feels the same way. Lord God, all I ask for is a miracle.

  He returned to his letter and, after sending special greetings to each in his family, signed his name and addressed the envelope. Before folding the paper, he added a P .S.

  The cheese arrived yesterday, and you should have seen the delight on the faces of those who ordered from the school. ‘‘Better than candy’’ is what Mr. Ytterboe said.

  Again, my love to you all.

  T.

  After dropping the letter in the outgoing mail pouch, he sighed. Was it relief at having finally done something he knew he should have done a week ago, or was it sadness and truly missing the family he had left behind?

  He mentally squared his shoulders and headed for the pressroom. Time to start the run. And this edition carried this year’s winners of the annual Christmas writing contest, which meant running double or perhaps even triple the normal run.

  The holidays passed like an out-of-control freight train, leaving Thorliff feeling as though he’d been caught and carried on the cow catcher far beyond his station. Looking back he wished he’d pushed for some kind of an answer from Elizabeth, but then he comforted himself with the times they’d stared deep into each other’s souls and enjoyed holding hands while skating on the pond. Watching her play the piano made the music even more glorious, and bringing her Christmas punch and spiced cider gave him a glimmer of the joy of service to someone he loved.

  The pounding of the press that now ran a full eight to ten hours a day, sometimes five and six days a week, thundered a drumbeat for the words pouring from his pencil. He’d used the holidays to catch up on his novel, and now he could hardly leave it alone. He resented going to school, using any spare minute to finish his assignments so he could devote as much time in the evenings to writing as possible. He’d even taken to bringing supper to the office to avoid wasting a minute.

  ‘‘Good night, then, Thorliff. You’ll remember to bank the furnace?’’ Phillip leaned against the doorjamb in the office they’d created for Thorliff by partitioning off part of the new addition. Early in the fall, Phillip had bought out the business next door and had expanded the newspaper office, so they now had a folding room, a shipping room, more storage, and Thorliff’s office. Phillip was also talking about purchasing more machinery.

  Thorliff looked up from his papers. ‘‘I won’t forget. I just want to finish this chapter.’’

  ‘‘I know, and get started on the next. Good thing you are young and strong to get by on the little sleep that you do.’’

  ‘‘When I do go to bed, I sleep hard and fast.’’

  ‘‘Amazing that the paper is all printed and it is not even nine o’clock yet.’’

  Thorliff struggled with being polite, as he was anxious to get back to his story.

  ‘‘Good night, then.’’

  ‘‘Good night.’’ He bent his head and was immediately engrossed in his story.

  December 26, 1896

  Dearest Thorliff,

  How we would have loved to have you surprise us for Christmas. Astrid kept hoping you would do that, but then, she didn’t realize you had sent your Christmas box on ahead, just in case. First of all, let me thank you for the lovely coat you sent me. I have not had a new wool coat in years, and the rich burgundy color makes me feel like royalty when I wear it. I tried to say it is much too fine for an old farm woman like me, but your far took me to task for such hogwash, as he called it. Astrid and Andrew will be sending their own letters, but I wish you could have seen the look of total awe on Astrid’s face when she opened your box. She fingered the doll’s garments and caressed her curly hair gently, as if touched too indelicately, the doll might disintegrate. ‘‘Do you think I might ever look like that?’’ she asked me, and what could I say? She is far more lovely already, and I am certain I am not a bit prejudiced.

  Your far and I look downright stylish when we dress up for church, him with his new coat and me with mine.

  There was such an empty corner where Metiz used to always sit. Her little stool is still there, but no one else took it over. I miss her every day but comfort myself with pictures in my mind of her and Agnes telling tall tales and entertaining others around them with stories of all of us in Blessing. So we have one more angel watching over us, which we surely need.

  Before Christmas we had a big party, the first in a long time. Knute outbid everyone for Dorothy’s decorated box. I thought we might be preparing for a wedding, but Anji tells me Dorothy is still mourning the loss of Swen. Little Swen is a happy baby. I got to hold him in church last Sunday, and when I rubbed his little back, he fell asleep right in my arms. Such a precious little one.

  We had no baby for the manger this year. Swen is the youngest in Blessing, and he’s too busy to lie still in a manger.

  Anji thought her baby might be here for that, but she is still ‘‘waddling around,’’ as she calls it. Her two little girls are doing well in school; they had started learning English before they came. Astrid and Ellie took them under their wings and made sure no one harassed them. As if you don’t know who the only one to act like that would be!

  Not much other news around here but for the change in Hildegunn Valders. She finally gave in and spoke to me after all this time. God does answer prayer, and I am only more convinced again that He has a wonderful sense of humor. I think by the end of her silence some of the more irreverent men were laying bets on who was stronger, me with my smiles and cheerful greetings or her with her sullen face and terrible unhappiness. Now we wait to see what God will do next. Perhaps He’ll turn the Valderses’ home into one of love and not judgment. Lest you laugh, remember, our God is always about the business of miracles.

  I do hope your Christmas was both enjoyable and blessed. It is hard for me to believe that you will be graduating in June. The years have flown by so fast. Will we even recognize you? I am rejoicing that God has given you such amazing gifts in writing and blessing you with friends at school and in North-field.

  Thank you for sending us your newspaper all the time like you do. I feel I have a peek into your life from the articles you write and, as always, your stories. Each gets better and better. Pastor Solberg sends his greetings. He so often says he always knew you had a fertile brain, but these days you surprise even him.

  I must finish and get to bed. The wolves have been howling of late, but we never see any signs of Wolf’s tracks now that Metiz is gone. Tell Elizabeth thank-you for the receipt for cough syrup. It is most effective. I will write her myself but thought you might also thank her for me.

  All my love,

  Your mother

  April 1, 1897

  Dear Elizabeth,

  I think spring might be on its way. Although we have had plenty of snow, you can smell a change on the breeze. I am glad to hear of your new techniques for surgery and that the weeks you spent in Baltimore were worthy of your time and effort. I wish you’d take long train rides more often so I can get epistles like that last one to read. If you weren’t a doctor, you would make a good writer too. Your descriptions are superb.

  My family has said they will come for graduation whether all the spring fieldwork gets done or not. I know Onkel Lars and some of the other neighbors will help out if need be. On one hand I wish I could go back with them to help out again, but on the other, I know that I am needed here.

  I had the strangest dream last night. I dreamed that I had moved back to Blessing and started a newspaper. I talked of that years ago but had given up the idea.

  I know that Dr. Morganstein dreams of sending her trained doctors out to areas that have no medical care. Have you ever thought of the plains of North Dakota as a possibility?

  Your dreamer,

  Thorliff

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Blessing, North Dakota

  April 1897

  ‘‘I think it might rain forever.’’ Ingeborg sighed.

  ‘‘Only seems that way.’’ Haakan looked up from
reading the Northfield News that Thorliff sent them every week. ‘‘If the river doesn’t open up, we are going to have heavier flooding this year.’’

  ‘‘Ja, that is one advantage of a dry year—the river doesn’t flood.’’

  Winter had locked the land longer than usual, and now with all this warm rain, the snow was melting too quickly, compounding the problem since the Red River flowed north to ice-blocked Lake Winnipeg.

  ‘‘I’m glad we moved the dry cows and young stock over to Solbergs’ today. Hopefully he’s high enough. He said he had enough hay for a few days, but we should take some of ours over tomorrow.’’

  ‘‘You took the horses too, right?’’ At his nod, she did the same. ‘‘Good thing the cheese house is so close to empty, though I hate cleaning out all that mud again.’’

  ‘‘We could move to Montana.’’

  ‘‘Haakan Bjorklund, get that thought right out of your head. I’m not starting over again at this time of my life.’’

  ‘‘I sure know how to rile you, don’t I?’’ His eyes twinkled through the wisps of pipe smoke that circled his head. He beckoned to her. ‘‘Come on over and read with me.’’ He patted his knee. ‘‘You can sit right here.’’

  Ingeborg did as he suggested and leaned her head on his shoulder. ‘‘I wish we had driven the milk cows up in the haymow tonight.’’

  ‘‘We’ll have time for that in the morning if the river keeps rising.’’

  The dog barking woke them while blackness still covered the land. When Barney didn’t stop, Haakan threw back the covers. ‘‘Wonder what it could be this time?’’ He stepped into icy water. ‘‘Ingeborg! We are being flooded! Get as much food and household things upstairs as you can.’’

  ‘‘Where are you going?’’ They could hear the cows bawling.

  ‘‘Out to the barn to let the cows loose, no time for the haymow. Oh, why didn’t I do that last night?’’

  ‘‘If the flood is high enough to have water in the house, you cannot make it to the barn.’’ While she spoke she grabbed clothing off the hooks and bedding and headed for the stairs.

  ‘‘Andrew, Astrid, come help!’’

  The two came thudding down the stairs.

  ‘‘Get all the food you can and take the lamps. Put the dog and cat up there too.’’

  ‘‘I’ll go help Pa.’’ Andrew sat down to pull on his boots.

  ‘‘No, I don’t think he can get to the barn, and he is taller than you.’’ The water already had moved up toward her ankles.

  ‘‘But my chickens!’’ Astrid started for the door.

  ‘‘No! They are already gone.’’ Ingeborg handed her the armloads she carried. ‘‘You stay there and run things up and down the stairs.’’

  Andrew snatched the cat off the back of the horsehair sofa and yelped when the terrified animal dug its claws in his arm. He handed the cat to Astrid. ‘‘Be careful,’’ he warned and rubbed the claw marks to take out the sting.

  ‘‘Here, let’s get the trunk upstairs. That’s the only thing we can’t replace.’’ Ingeborg and Andrew each took a handle.

  Haakan, dripping muddy water, pushed open the back door. ‘‘God forgive me, I couldn’t get the doors open.’’ He scrubbed his hands over his face, shaking his head all the while. For a moment he leaned against the wall, then took down all the coats and, without another word, handed them to Ingeborg and took up the handle of the trunk in her place.

  ‘‘I’ll cook what I can,’’ she said, handing off the coats to Astrid, who’d come back down for more. Then throwing dry wood from the top of the box into the stove, she retrieved the ham and eggs from the pantry and, with water creeping up her legs, went about cooking what they had, her prayers for their safety and those around them a litany running through her mind. While she did that, the others carried the bed upstairs, the spinning wheel, and the Singer sewing machine. Please, God, she prayed as she went on cooking, boiling the remaining eggs and the potatoes, save the livestock we moved yesterday. Protect all the people of Blessing and up and down the river. Thank you that Haakan built us a sturdy house. Though we’ve ridden out other floods, this is the worst so far. Andrew and Haakan picked up the rocking chairs and kitchen chairs, pots and pans and dishes. When the water reached the firebox and doused the fire, Ingeborg carried what she could up the stairs along with the others. While there wasn’t much room to move around, at least they had saved what they could.

  ‘‘Let’s eat while the food is hot. This might be our last warm meal for some time.’’

  ‘‘Another of those things I planned on doing—putting a small stove up here. So many things . . .’’

  Ingeborg covered Haakan’s hand with hers. ‘‘But all that really matters is right here. Please say grace.’’ She waited so long that she began to doubt he could pray right now, but just as she opened her mouth, he began.

  ‘‘Father God, please forgive me for not taking better care of all that thou hast given us. Had I listened to your prompting, more of our livestock might have been spared. Now I beg of you, protect us all from the ravages of this flood—our friends, our families, and all those who are fighting the torrents. I thank thee for this food and the loving hands that prepared it. And most of all, I thank thee for thy great mercies. In Jesus’ name we pray, amen.’’

  Day lightened the sky, but the rain continued, no longer in sheets but heavier than a drizzle. Ingeborg moved her sewing machine to under the window in Astrid’s room and took out the dress she’d been sewing for her daughter. Lowering the presser foot, she rocked the treadle into motion with her foot and sewed the seam.

  Astrid, with the cat draped over her shoulders, leaned against her mother.

  ‘‘Did God need my chickens and our cows in heaven, Mor?’’ She sniffed and wiped under her tear-swollen eyes.

  ‘‘I . . . ah . . .’’ Lord, why does she have to ask such hard questions?

  ‘‘Astrid, could you please find that last paper that came from Thorliff?’’ Haakan looked underneath a stack of bedding. ‘‘We brought up all the stuff from the kitchen, so it must be here somewhere.’’

  Andrew sat cross-legged on the floor, carefully using one of the gouges on his latest carving. ‘‘I saw it in with the dishes.’’

  Astrid found the paper and handed it to her father. ‘‘You could read aloud to all of us. Please?’’

  ‘‘Good idea.’’ So Haakan read, starting with the articles that carried Thorliff’s byline.

  ‘‘Far, do you think it is flooding in Northfield too?’’ Astrid sat at her father’s feet, the cat curled asleep in her lap.

  ‘‘It could be. But the Red River is different from the others. Northfield might not be getting all the rain we are either.’’

  ‘‘I know. But when you look out the window, it seems all the whole world must be under water.’’

  ‘‘Like in Noah’s flood?’’ Andrew looked up from polishing his camel with a piece of deer antler.

  ‘‘God promised not to flood the whole earth again, so I think we can be safely assured that is not what is happening.’’ Haakan snapped the paper and folded it to make easier reading. He chose an article about the upcoming Easter concert to be put on by the orchestra and choir of St. Olaf and continued reading.

  ‘‘Pa, do you think our house will stay where it belongs?’’ Astrid stared up at her father, fear pinching her mouth.

  ‘‘It has before, and I believe it will again. That is why we must all continue to pray that God will keep it and us secure.’’ He laid a hand on Astrid’s head and drew her closer to his knee. ‘‘God has always been faithful, and He always will be.’’

  Ingeborg hoped the children didn’t hear the slight tremor in her husband’s voice. Or was she only hearing her own?

  The river continued to rise at a much slower pace through that day and the next. Through the windows they watched trees and dead cattle drift by, pieces of buildings, furniture, and wooden boxes. The water came halfway up the stairwell and no f
arther. Haakan and Ingeborg exchanged glances of relief when the same step remained visible.

  ‘‘I was figuring the best way to get us all out on the roof,’’ Haakan whispered when the children were both standing at the window looking out.

  ‘‘Me too.’’ Ingeborg shuddered. Please, Lord, keep our house on the foundation. That morning when they’d awakened, they realized that sometime during the night, Metiz’ little house had floated away. They’d just been able to see the roof line before.

  ‘‘Easter is tomorrow.’’

  ‘‘I know.’’ Ingeborg finished hemming the dress. ‘‘And this is what you would have been wearing to church.’’ She held it up and gave it a shake to remove the loose threads.

  ‘‘I sure could use a cup of hot coffee.’’ Haakan stared out the window, a place he’d taken over.

  ‘‘At least we have food. Others might not even have that.’’ Ingeborg went to the north window and waved a dish towel out it to let those at the deaf school know they were all right. Kaaren waved back.

  During the night the wind picked up, and by morning, the waves were breaking over the house. With each wave the house shuddered as if it might be rent asunder from its foundation. Water leaked through the shingles in myriad places, and they used all the bowls and pots and pans to catch the dripping water.

  ‘‘Come, let us pray together.’’ Haakan gathered them on top of the mattress from his and Ingeborg’s bed. Another wave crashed against the roof, and Astrid let out a shriek, muffling it in the bedding.

  Ingeborg gathered her into her arms and sat rocking. ‘‘Heavenly Father, you are our refuge in the storm,’’ she began.

  ‘‘Protect us, keep our house solid on the foundation you helped us lay. Calm us, comfort us. We know we are your children,’’ Haakan continued. He flinched as another wave broke on the roof. ‘‘Guess this just shows how tightly we shingled this, although I never thought it would be keeping out waves, eh, Andrew?’’