A Promise for Ellie

by Lauraine Snelling

  “Or Thorliff.”

  “All right.”

  Ingeborg knitted until her eyes grew weary. She fixed Ellie’s pillows and forced her to take spoonfuls of water. She laid her hands on Ellie’s chest and prayed again for the loosening of the sickness in her lungs. She changed the warm dry cloths for cool wet ones every hour or so. Each time picking up her knitting again, she hummed along with the ticking needles.

  “Ma?”

  “No, dear Ellie. It is Ingeborg. Please don’t try to talk.”

  Ellie nodded.

  “Is there something you need?”

  Another nod. “A-a-and . . .” she croaked.

  “Drink this, and then I’ll tell you all I can.”

  Ellie took several spoonfuls, her swallowing painful and slow.

  “Good girl. Now, Andrew is sleeping. He has been coughing too, but he is well. Just worried about you.”

  Another half smile.

  “This will make you laugh, I hope, but please don’t. The rooster and four hens survived the fire. You saved them.”

  Ellie’s eyes opened, not much, but she blinked her pleasure and squeezed Ingeborg’s hand before falling back to sleep.

  Andrew stumbled in sometime later, rubbing his eyes and scratching his head. He sank to the floor by the bed and took Ellie’s hand while his mother told him what had happened. Laying his cheek against their clasped hands, he sighed. “I wish she’d be awake when I’m here.”

  “She will be.” Ingeborg reminded him to change the cooling cloths and force Ellie to drink more water if she stirred. “And, Andrew, you must pray for her to be well. The Bible says the prayer of a good man availeth much. You are that good man, and you must continue to pray for her.”

  Andrew nodded, but she could feel something. His anger or resistance? What is it, Lord? She laid her hand on his shoulder, then made her way to the other room to lie down on the bed Andrew had left.

  “Lord, she is either on the mend or . . .” She refused to consider the “or” and let her body and mind both drift into peaceful slumber, her prayers for Andrew floating heavenward.

  Andrew kept his vigil just as his mother had told him, but every time he tried to pray, the words stuck in his throat. And in his mind.

  Lord, I can’t even pray! He felt like running outside and shouting at the heavens. Why can’t I pray? I want Ellie to live. I want to pray.

  When Elizabeth relieved him, he went outside and sat on the front porch, his head in his hands. I can’t even pray for the woman I love. What kind of man am I? When the sun lightened the horizon, he checked on Ellie one more time and headed home. At least he could milk cows.

  OH, ANDREW, if only I could talk with you.

  Through half-opened eyes Ellie watched him as he sat by the bed. Where had her Andrew gone, and who was this stranger—this man who was gnawing on his knuckles, watching her for any sign, his shoulders so tight, his voice still raspy? When he took her hand, she squeezed back and tried to smile. She started to say something, but Elizabeth’s orders still rang in her ears.

  “No talking.” The slightest effort brought on paroxysms of coughing that ripped her throat and fired her lungs. She gagged and spit and spit and gagged. But she knew she was on the mend.

  “Ellie?”

  She nodded. How could a nod feel like such an effort? As did a smile. But she smiled anyway—sort of.

  He held her hand against his cheek, his eyes bright with tears. “You aren’t going to die.”

  I know that, but do you? What is it, Andrew? Elizabeth told you the crisis has passed. I am doing all I can to get better. Yes, I did a dumb thing, but . . . but I think more than that is troubling you. All the thinking and trying to understand made her fall asleep again. Everything was such an effort, and sleep was the only way out.

  When she woke again, dusk had painted the outside dim, like looking through fine cheesecloth. The fragrance of roses drifted in on the breeze through the window. She wanted to inhale the perfume but sniffed gently instead, letting the rich scent linger in her nose. Elizabeth had told her repeatedly to breathe deeply, to get as much air as possible down into her ravaged lungs, but when she did she choked and coughed.

  For a change she was alone. Usually she woke to find someone sitting in the chair by her bed, reading, knitting, even sleeping. A small schoolmarm bell sat on the table, and she was to ring it if she needed anything.

  What I need are some answers. What do I know? I know that the barn is gone, four hens and a rooster are still live, and they saved the house. Thank you, God, for our house. No one else was injured, other than the crack on the jaw that Haakan delivered to Andrew. While I could have died in the blaze, all I lost was my hair. That will grow back. She touched the soft hat that Ingeborg had knit for her. Rubbing her hand over her scalp, she could already feel the peach fuzz. Her hair was growing back.

  She let her mind float back to that night. Hammering. She’d thought someone was hammering. She’d heard someone yell “Fire.” It wasn’t one of the girls. She’d run outside. She saw smoke from the barn. I saw someone come around the corner of the barn. But who?

  “I see you are awake.” Thorliff stopped in the doorway. “May I come in?”

  “Of course. I was just lying here trying to figure out what happened that night.” She sounded worse than a frog with the croup.

  “I brought you some honey water.”

  “Thank you. You don’t have to force liquids down me any longer.”

  “Good. I’m not much for forcing.” He handed her the glass. “Do you need to be sitting straighter to drink that?”

  “No, I’m fine.” She drank it slowly, sipping more than drinking so the honey would get a chance to do its job. Holding the glass with both hands, she asked, “Do you know what’s wrong with Andrew?” Might as well leap right in.

  “Other than losing the barn, you mean, and almost losing you?”

  “Right.”

  “You think there’s more?”

  “I do.” She sipped again, watching him over the rim of the glass.

  “Hmm.” Thorliff leaned back in the chair and crossed one ankle over his other knee. “Let’s see. He’s grumpy, testy, and driving himself harder than ever to finish the house and clear out the remains of the barn. Seems to be a family trait. When we have too much on our minds or things happen over which we have no control, we Bjorklunds seem to work ourselves into a frenzy and hope it will all go away.”

  “You do that?”

  He nodded. “And Mor. I always thought Andrew was the easygoing one of the lot, but now I have to change my thinking. That’s another thing that is hard for us.”

  “Changing your thinking?”

  “Ja, and as a newspaper reporter, one is supposed to keep an open mind.”

  Ellie turned the glass in her hands, struggling with her next question. Ask him.

  Don’t be silly.

  The voices argued back and forth.

  “If I ask you something else, do you promise not to tell anyone?”

  “If possible.”

  “Is that a yes or a no?”

  “Sort of. It’s keeping a track open in case I need to get you help of some kind and you don’t want it.”

  “It’s not that—it’s more a silly question.” She paused, watching her fingers clamp and unclamp. “Do you think Andrew does not love me any longer because my hair burned off?” She kept her gaze on the turning glass, trying to ignore the heat flaming up her face.

  “Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “I heard him crying about my hair one night, and now he hardly comes to see me.” She tried to clear her throat but coughed instead, which led to wheezing, which drained her like she was a bucket kicked over by a cow. She handed Thorliff the glass and let her hands flop beside her, resting her now too heavy head against the pillows.

  “You all right?”

  “I will be. So?”

  “So I know Andrew is sad about your hair, but he knows that it will grow back.
He feels guilty because he wasn’t there to protect you.”

  “That’s dumb. I told him to leave us alone.We all did. Girls only.”

  “Ah, but Andrew has always felt it was his responsibility to take care of you.”

  She inhaled carefully. “I know. And usually I am so grateful for that, but this was a party, a girls’ party.” She waited, feeling her chest relaxing again.

  “Someone said they thought they saw someone at the barn. Do you know who it was?”

  She shook her head. “I close my eyes and try to see it again, but it’s not clear. Someone did go ring the church bell, though. Surely it was the same person.”

  “I think you’ve talked enough for a week.” Elizabeth swirled into the room. “Time to thump on your back again. Thorliff, perhaps I can teach you how to do this too, in case you ever have to do it for someone else. You cup your hand just so, then thump on her back, not hard, but hard enough to loosen up the congestion pockets inside so that she can cough them out.”

  “So coughing is a good thing?”

  “Yes, it clears the lungs of unwanted fluid.”

  Ellie shuddered. More coughing, this time on demand. Three or four thumps, and she could feel it coming. Afterward she fell asleep, worn out by all the work. She’d never thought of coughing as hard work before, but it most assuredly was.

  Day flowed into day. Heat blanketed the land, broken only by a storm or two. The heat lightning promised others but failed to deliver. The threshing crew worked the local area, and the vegetable gardens kept all the women canning and drying, preparing for the winter. On the outside Ellie tried to keep a placid smile in place, but inside she fumed at the restrictions Elizabeth laid out. Take it easy. No lifting. No walking up the stairs or across town. Walking around the house was permissible, but carrying baby Inga was not allowed. So she wrote her mother a long letter, not like the note she’d written as soon as she could.

  Andrew took her for a buggy ride, but she couldn’t sit up long enough to attend church. A buggy ride with Andrew should have been enjoyable, but it wasn’t. He seemed to have nothing to say, and keeping up a conversation was beyond her. Besides, she didn’t like her voice. Perhaps he didn’t either. It sounded like mice scratching in the walls. When she’d mentioned that to Ingeborg, the woman burst out laughing.

  “Now that is some picture, but I don’t agree. Your voice is improving.”

  “Right. I say over ten words, and I run out of air.” Ellie paused to grab a deeper breath and started coughing. When she could speak again, she whispered, “Forgive me for whining.”

  Ingeborg hugged her and kissed her cheek. “You have been so brave and gallant. Don’t worry, Andrew will come around. I have something for you.” She handed Ellie an envelope. “This came with mine. Goodie is much improved, praise God for that, but still frustrated she couldn’t come.”

  “I told her I was getting better every day.”

  “I know, but mothers are like that.”

  One night Ellie dreamed of the fire again, of running out of the house, seeing the smoke from the barn, seeing the man come around the corner. She woke with a start! Toby. The man was Toby Valders. She could tell by the way he wore his hat, slightly off to one side, cocky, like him. And he was rather short and slender compared to the other men around. Both he and Gerald were short, dark haired, and good-looking in their own way, but totally the opposite of the tall, broad-shouldered Norwegians.

  What had he been doing at the barn? Was he the one hammering? Who should she tell? Was the dream even real?

  Of the last she was certain. It was a memory more than a dream.

  She lay awake for what seemed hours, going over the entire thing in her mind again and again. She remembered it all—running into the barn, crawling to free the chickens, opening the trapdoor and throwing the chickens out, Rebecca coming for her and dragging her away from the barn, the heat, the smoke. Thank you, Father. I have not thanked you enough for my life, for protecting all the others. All I’ve been doing is fighting to breathe. Forgive me and heal my disease. Lord, I want to breathe with your breath, and I thank you for every breath I draw.

  She watched the sun come up, in awe that she lived through the barn burning and could greet the morning. She rubbed a hand across her scalp, feeling the new growth, rejoicing in the stubble that was new hair coming. Like my hair is coming back, so will my strength. She whispered the words aloud, “Like my hair is coming back, so will my strength. My strength is in God, my Father, creator of all things.”

  Elizabeth walked past the room and peeped in. “My, if you don’t look chipper. All dressed and everything.”

  “I want to help you in the kitchen today.”

  “Ah, all right. But you must promise me to take it easy. Sit down if you get short of breath.”

  “I will.” And for the first time since the accident, she held the baby, rocking her gently, talking with her, making Inga smile.

  When Astrid came in with a basket of green beans, Ellie snapped the beans and filled the canning jars.

  “I can’t wait to tell Andrew how much better you are today.”

  “Maybe he should come see for himself.”

  “He’s out on the binder, but I’ll tell him.”

  “Who’s been helping Penny?”

  “Grace and Sophie and I have been taking turns. Rebecca is helping Mor in the cheese house. Mor is going to advertise for some more help. Everyone here is so busy trying to keep up with the gardens, feed the thresher crew—Oh, Hjelmer says he thinks he may have backers for the flour mill.”

  “Backers?”

  “People with money who want to invest it here. Hjelmer is really excited. You should have heard him talking. I doubt anything else will happen now that harvest has started, but you watch—we just might get a flour mill in Blessing.”

  “But we don’t have enough people to do the work here now.”

  “We have enough men, just not enough women. I think Mor will hire men to help in the cheese house. She’s talking to Gerald today. He tried working in the wheat fields, but it made him too sick.”

  The mention of Gerald brought Toby back to her mind. All the while she and Astrid talked, their fingers kept snapping the beans. She could hear Elizabeth talking to a patient but could not understand the words. Could I possibly do some bookwork for her to help out?

  Suddenly Ellie was so tired she could hardly hold the pan of snapped beans in her lap. She dumped the bean ends into the hollow of her apron and put one last bean in the pan. “I think I better go lie down. And here I was doing so well.”

  “Compared to last week, you’re like a different person. Even your voice is better today.” Astrid took the pan and set it in the kitchen on the table. “Do you need help?”

  “No thanks, but I would like a glass of water, please.” She drank the water slowly, as she’d learned, and reveled in the coolness flowing down her still sore throat. A light breeze lifted the back of the scarf she had tied over her head. If the chair wasn’t so hard, she’d fall asleep right there. But she pushed herself upright instead and, after tossing the bean ends into the flower bed, walked down the hall to her room to lie down on the bed she’d made for the first time that morning. And without being terribly out of breath.

  “Lord, what is the difference?” she whispered. “I don’t understand it, but I sure thank you. Now if you could let me know one other thing. Who do I tell about Toby at the barn, or do I just keep that to myself? I’m afraid of what Andrew might do if he finds out.”

  HOT AND DRY. Perfect for harvest but hard on the garden.

  Ingeborg carried another bucket of manure tea to her tomatoes. She’d watered the corn the day before. Potatoes would be tomorrow. She had been using this method all summer, adding extra water to the tea so it wouldn’t be too strong and giving each plant both a meal and a drink at the same time. Haakan had teased her about her tea, but so be it.

  She hurried so she could join the women—those who weren’t cooking for t
he harvest crews—at the church to finish the weddingring quilt for Ellie and Andrew. Although why they tried to keep it a secret, she’d never know. The tradition had begun years before. Everyone who got married got a quilt. The quilters had gotten so they kept making one ahead in case someone decided to get married without giving them time to sew one. Then they embroidered the couple’s names, the date, and Women of Blessing Lutheran Church down in the right-hand corner. The plan had been to have Ellie’s finished earlier, but with the fires and all, things kind of got behind.

  While Ingeborg rinsed out her bucket and tipped it upside down under the scrub bench, her thoughts turned to Andrew. He was driving himself far too hard. She understood trying to work off one’s anger. She’d done it herself those long years before. As always, she found herself praying for her stubborn son. “Lord, you know him far better than I, and you love him far better than I. What can I do?”

  Nothing.

  Was it the wind or had she heard right? She nodded. “I don’t think that was the answer I wanted.” She returned to the kitchen to check on the bread baking in the oven. She’d leave for church when it came out, taking a loaf with her to share during afternoon coffee with the other ladies. She should take one over to Elizabeth too. She could never join the quilters because her medical practice now reached from Pembina to Warsaw.

  Relishing the few minutes of quiet, Ingeborg took her Bible out to the front-porch rocking chair, where the shade already felt cooler than inside the house. Lord, what is it you want me to hear right this moment? Her Bible fell open to Ephesians, where the verse about Jesus already being victorious caught her eye. And because He triumphed over death and Satan, we can have the victory too. “Put on the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil. . . .”

  The shield of faith. Can I hold the shield for Andrew right now? The sword of the Word. I don’t think he wants to hear your Word. Like when Kaaren would come to me with a verse and all I wanted to do was to scream at her, “Go away and leave me alone. Can’t you see I’m fighting to save this land for you too?” Thank you, Lord. You helped her persevere. For surely the pit that yawned always before me was of the devil, not of you. I know that now, but how can I help Andrew?