Sunday morning, Signe observed that getting out of the house to get to church on time was easier now that the sun came up earlier. Bjorn had the horse hitched and the wagon by the door in plenty of time.
“You could leave the baby here with me,” Gerd offered.
“Takk, but this way you get some time off.”
Gerd rolled her eyes. “I will start dinner, and then I was thinking about a dress for her. I have not done any smocking for years, and that pink gingham will do nicely.”
“Mor, we’re going to be late.” The call came from the smaller wagon that Rosie could pull. Einar had the team hitched to the plow and was already out in the field.
When they were finally under way, Signe drew in a deep breath of spring morning. Gerd should have come with them. Perhaps by next Sunday, Signe would be able to talk her into it.
At church, Mrs. Benson met them at the door. “Oh, I am so glad to see you.” After talking with Kirstin, she locked her arm through Signe’s. “You come sit with us.” She looked at Rune. “How are things going?”
“Trying to get the cellar dug so we can start the house in June.”
“Won’t a house of your own be wonderful?” She patted Kirstin’s cheek and this time received a smile. “She is growing so fast.”
“My brother and sister will be here in a couple of weeks,” Rune added.
“Oh, folks from home. I can’t wait to meet them.” The organ invited the last of the stragglers to the sanctuary. “Come, Mr. Benson has saved the row for you.”
Signe sat down with a sigh and let the music wash over her. Mr. Larsson, from the school, had a way with the organ. Such a talented man, both a teacher and a musician. Shame that none of her boys, nor she or Rune, played an instrument. Her far had played the fiddle. She should have asked him to teach one of the boys.
Reverend Skarstead took his place at the front and raised his hands. “Come, let us worship our Lord with our opening hymn, ‘Holy, Holy, Holy.’” The organist pumped his feet, and the familiar song filled the room.
Signe closed her eyes, the better to hear the words and tamp them into her mind to come back to when she needed them. “Lord God almighty.” Help me remember you are indeed the mighty God. “Ever more shall be.” Not just today, but every day and every moment of every day. “Though the darkness hide thee.” Lord, help me to always look for thee and thy face. “Though the eye of sinful man, thy glory may not see.”
Kirstin wiggled in her arms. Signe shifted her daughter and swayed in time to the music. The harmony on the “amen” must be what heaven would sound like when she got there.
If you get there. That little voice that always sought to bring her discontent and fear. It even followed her through the church doors.
When they were seated again, Signe snuggled Kirstin close and swayed just enough to calm her. At least she would not be demanding to be fed during the service.
“Today we read Luke 13:10–17, concerning the travels of Jesus and the miracles He performed everywhere He went.
“Jesus was teaching in the synagogue—in church, like we are here—and a woman came in who was so bent over that she could not straighten herself to look anyone in the face, let alone see Jesus. She was always looking down, had been for many years. And yet she came to worship, because that is what a good Jew does on the Sabbath. The men worshiped on one side, and the women and the children on the other.” He paused and looked around at his congregation. “We are privileged in that we get to worship as families. I see all ages here, and that is as it should be. When I think of that poor suffering woman and the terrible pain she must have endured, I marvel that she came anyway.” He paused and looked around. “She came anyway. So often situations happen to keep us from worship. You are ready to leave, and the cows get out. One of the children comes in bleeding from a slight accident, or someone starts throwing up. All these parts of life that seem to occur especially on Sunday morning to keep us from worship. During the winter, the weather is a factor, making it impossible for us to get here. During the spring, it is planting, summer and fall, harvest. All things that need to be done, have to be done.” He nodded. “Life is just that way.
“Yet God ordained that on the seventh day, we should rest, like He did. And if God needed to rest, what about us? Is showing up for worship a form of rest? Is doing something different on Sunday afternoon a form of rest? I know, I am full of questions today, and none of them have easy answers. But . . .” He held up his index finger and waited. “But learning to listen for His answers, His guidance, can help us develop the wisdom to choose wisely the things we will do. As farmers and loggers, we live by the seasons. And while the land rests under snow, we are out cutting trees. Hard, hard work. But when we show up, God blesses us. Just as Jesus did with that woman. Jesus healed her so she could stand straight, and she went out rejoicing and singing praises. So when we put God first, and that is a lifelong lesson, He blesses us for showing up. He gives us rest and healing, and we find joy in His will. Amen.”
Signe felt Leif leaning against her and Kirstin asleep in her arms, so she stayed seated when the others stood. Lord God, help me to show up. Here, especially, even when it isn’t easy.
After the benediction, Signe gathered up her things, careful not to wake the baby in her arms.
Mr. Benson shook Rune’s hand. “Good to see you. How are things going out there?”
“I’ve learned how to dynamite stumps. Good thing, since there is only a forest more of them to deal with.”
“Ah, so true. Wrestling with the big trees and turning the land into farmland is not a dream for the faint of heart.” Mr. Benson smiled at Leif and Knute. “You boys are nearly out of school, aren’t you?”
“Ja, then we can help dig out our cellar even more.”
“Good, so you’ve started on your house?”
Rune nodded. “We have. There’s never enough time to do everything, though.”
“Ja, that is true. Could you use a hand with the cellar digging?”
Rune stared at him, and Signe could almost see the visions of a rampaging Einar stomping through his mind. “Well, of course.”
“Your place is beyond the home farm, right?”
“Right. We have a path now across the field behind the barn.”
Mr. Benson smiled. “I’ll see what I can do. Maybe if we get you some help, you’ll have more time to be part of our church family. Won’t have to run off so fast.”
Rune nodded. “Takk. I’m sure you’ll hear us back there. Signe can point out the path.”
Reverend Skarstead stood by the door, greeting folks as they filed out. “Good to see you, Mr. and Mrs. Carlson.” He looked at Bjorn. “Now you are . . . ?”
“Bjorn Carlson, sir. I work with Onkel Einar out in the woods during the week and at our place on Sunday.”
Her middle son piped up. “I’m Knute, and this is my little brother, Leif.”
“Seems to me, I heard you like to go fishing,” the reverend said.
Knute grinned. “Yes, sir. Hunting too.”
“A man after my own heart. You know my son, Olaf, from school.”
“Oh, ja, Olaf. He is very good at Red Rover.”
“He says exactly the same of you. Next time we go fishing, we’ll see if you can’t come too.”
“Takk, sir.”
In the wagon on the way home, Knute said, “That Reverend Skarstead, he’s pretty nice, huh?”
“Ja, he is.” Rune clucked the horse into a trot. “Let’s get on home, Rosie. We’ve got work to do.”
Later, Signe and Leif worked out in the garden, digging around the raspberry bushes that had sent up lot of shoots. “Soon as your far plows and discs this, we can start planting,” she told him.
She shaded her eyes with her hand at the sound of horses coming up the lane. Mr. Benson really is coming to help. And he brought three other men with him! When she had mentioned to Gerd that some men might come to help dig the cellar, the older woman had snorted and shaken
her head, as always, doubting everyone’s intentions.
“Leif, you go with them to show the way,” Signe said, and he dashed out of the garden.
Mr. Benson waved to her. “My wife said she would try to come out one day this week.”
“Takk. And takk for coming too. Just follow Leif.”
“Come on, son, you can ride with me.”
The four men rode on out to the hole in the ground, and Signe turned back to the raspberry bushes, her heart lightened by the act of friendship.
Rune stopped shoveling when he heard horses approaching. “They really did come to help.” He took off his hat to wipe his forehead with the back of his arm. “Good to see you,” he called to Mr. Benson.
“Not sure if you’ve met all these men, but it’s about time.” Mr. Benson waited for Leif to slide off his horse, then dismounted. “Looks like we got our work cut out for us.”
He introduced the others and, shovels in hand, they all jumped down into the hole, not deep enough yet that they couldn’t throw the dirt out. They spaced themselves out so as not to get in each other’s way and fell to digging. Dirt flew up and over the growing piles. When someone hit a rock, they dug around it, and several men got together to hoist it over the edge. Less than two feet down, they hit dense clay and gravel. Rune sent Bjorn and Knute to the shop for fence post diggers, a mattock, and a pickaxe. One of the men had brought a pickaxe too. They took turns loosening the gravel so it could be shoveled out.
“You’re going to need the wheelbarrow and a ramp for the middle section,” Mr. Benson said to Rune.
“Sooner than I thought, thanks to all of you.” Rune wiped the sweat from his face.
“Mor sent coffee and water,” Leif said, toting two jugs to the edge of the cellar hole. He set them on one of the mounds of earth. “What are we going to do with all this dirt?” he asked.
Good question. Rune would have to think about that.
After the brief break, the men returned to digging, slower now but still making progress, until one of the men announced he had to go home to do chores. Another said the same, and with Rune’s heartfelt thanks ringing in their ears, the two men rode out. Leif and Knute headed up to the barn to do the same; the other four kept on.
Rune kept watch on Einar, who was plowing the cornfield. Dread made him dig harder. If Einar came over here and ordered these men away—wait. He could not. This was Rune’s land, not Einar’s. Still, he could raise a nasty fuss. Just the thought of that . . . Lord, please keep him out there.
Sometime later, Mr. Benson checked his pocket watch. “I think we need to hang it up for today. I know you’ve got a lot to go, but there’s progress.” He stretched his arms and shoulders. “Reminds me that digging uses different muscles. Hope you got a good bottle of liniment, but then, you’ve been working in the woods.” He stared across the field at Einar. “Planting corn?”
Rune nodded. “I cannot begin to thank you for your help.”
“Will try to get back again.” Mr. Benson mounted his horse. “Your Bjorn is a good worker.”
“Ja, he is. Smart, too.”
Rune and Bjorn dug until they saw Einar heading for the barn and the setting sun painting clouds in the west. Gathering up their tools, they trudged up to the shop and put them away. Rune clapped a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Hopefully we can get some more done tomorrow night.”
Rune and Bjorn both loaded up with wood for the kitchen stove and dumped it in the woodbox in the kitchen.
“Einar, you know where any more downed or dead trees are?” Rune asked. “About done with that last one.”
“The boys can start sawing up the bigger branches from those earlier stacks. Can’t burn again until next winter.”
“Will that be dry enough for stove wood?”
He nodded. “And there’s a birch west of your property.”
“Saw those limbs by the stacks?” Bjorn asked.
Einar nodded. “Bow saw will work. No sense loading ’em on a wagon.”
“Supper’s on.” Gerd set chicken and dumplings on the table and waited while the men and boys took their places.
Rune breathed a sigh of relief that Einar seemed normal, not about to blow like he’d expected. “Let’s have grace.” Together they repeated the grace in Norwegian, and at the amen, Einar reached for the bowl of biscuits. He dished up his plate and ate without a word.
Rune gave Signe a raised-eyebrows look. Her return smile made all the hard work worthwhile.
Bjorn asked, “Far, what if we used dynamite to help dig the cellar? That should make a hole.”
“Ja, blow it up!” Knute said. The boys looked at each other and chuckled.
Einar slammed his palm down on the table. “That dynamite is no joke!” His voice exploded, sending the laughter into hiding.
Kirstin answered with a piercing shriek.
Gerd glared at her husband. “Now see what you’ve done! Scared the baby!”
Einar glared but said nothing. Apparently he was no more interested in babies than he was in children or kittens or life.
Chapter
16
We’re almost there.” Nilda turned to Ivar, who stood beside her at the deck rail.
He shook his head. “I have to pinch myself to be sure this is real.”
The ship on which they were crossing the Great Lakes to Duluth, Minnesota, had bucked winds, but nothing like those on their Atlantic crossing. Nilda had gained a new appreciation for the power of wind and water that could toss a huge ship around like a toy.
A man on the other side of Ivar pointed to a lighthouse on the southern shore. The light was not shining, as it was daytime, but the stubby white tower and its red roof still showed prominently, guiding ships away from the rocks. They had seen such beauty when they sailed close to the lake shores, but mostly they steamed out far enough to feel like they might still be on the ocean.
Almost there. Such magical words. The announcement that they were two hours from Duluth had come a bit earlier, bringing her to the rail where Ivar had spent most of the voyage.
“I think I could be happy working on a ship like this.” He smiled at her over his shoulder.
“Doing what?”
“There are a lot of men working to keep this ship moving. Not like it used to be with sails, but still.”
Nilda sniffed. “Well, it’s a good thing you have a job to go to. You always said you wanted to be a lumberjack.”
“But I’d never been on a big ship before. A fishing boat is far different. And I really enjoyed that work as an orderly on the ocean steamer. Something else I’d love to do.” Ivar had spent one summer aboard a relative’s boat, fishing off the northern Norwegian coast. Their onkel had asked him to come back again this year because he was a hard worker, but Ivar said he was going to Amerika instead. “I heard there are fishing boats out of Duluth,” he said to the man next to him.
“Ja, good fishing in the Great Lakes,” the man replied, “but from what I heard, the storms can be killers of both boats and men in these waters. Even big cargo ships like those hauling timber or iron ore sometimes end up on the bottom of the lake.”
“Hard to believe on a day like today,” Ivar said. The sun winked on the swells, and a breeze brought smells of land and sea and coal smoke.
Nilda asked the man, “You came on the same ship we did, right?”
“Ja, that was a nightmare to end all nightmares. I don’t ever want to make that voyage again. I come to Amerika to stay.” Since they were all speaking Norwegian, the conversation was easy.
“What are you going to do when you land?” Ivar asked.
“Work for a relative in his lumberyard.”
“Oh, where?”
“Place called Blackduck.”
“That’s where we’re going.” Nilda smiled at him. “I know we’ve not been formally introduced, but this is my brother Ivar Carlson, and I am Miss Nilda Carlson. We’re joining our brother and his family, who work for an onkel somewhere near Blackd
uck.”
The man took off his hat, the breeze immediately lifting his hair and dropping a hank down his forehead. “I am Petter Thorvaldson, from near Bergen.” He put out his hand. “I am glad to meet you both.”
Nilda noticed his crinkly blue eyes, square chin, and mouth rimmed by smile-made creases. Taller than Ivar by only an inch or so, he had broader shoulders and hands calloused by hard work. She bit back her first question and tried to rephrase it. “You are the first of your family to emigrate?”
“I am. In Norway, I worked on a fishing boat and helped my far on our mountain farm.”
Ivar grinned. “Me, too. Did you like fishing?”
“Not particularly, but it was work. Mor always said to be grateful for any honest work. But when I saw a man washed overboard, I decided I would rather work on land if I can.”
He did not mention a wife and children. Nilda tucked that knowledge away for future reference.
Sea gulls and huge, low-flying white birds caught her attention. When one of the white birds dove straight down into the water, she pointed for Ivar to look. The bird popped back up to the surface with a fish in his bill, which he swallowed with one gulp. Broad wings spread and flapped him back up to skim the waves again.
“What kind of bird is that?”
“A pelican,” Petter answered. “You saw that big pouch under his beak? He can hold a whole lot of fish before he needs to swallow.”
“I’ve never seen anything like that.” Ivar was openmouthed.
They watched as several more pelicans dove, gulped, and flapped aloft again. Sea gulls screeched overhead and floated on the surface of the water.
“Must be a bait ball,” Petter said as the pelicans wheeled and skimmed back. “A huge cluster of small fish will gather in one spot, swimming in a tight knot. Even when sea birds pick off some of them, most of them are safe.” He pointed to the stern of the ship, where seagulls circled and screamed, fighting each other for the scraps dumped from the galley. “That is always fun to watch. Sea gulls are such scavengers.”
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