Books by Lauraine Snelling
UNDER NORTHERN SKIES
The Promise of Dawn
A Breath of Hope
A Season of Grace
A Song of Joy
SONG OF BLESSING
To Everything a Season
A Harvest of Hope
Streams of Mercy
From This Day Forward
An Untamed Heart
RED RIVER OF THE NORTH
An Untamed Land
A New Day Rising
A Land to Call Home
The Reapers’ Song
Tender Mercies
Blessing in Disguise
RETURN TO RED RIVER
A Dream to Follow
Believing the Dream
More Than a Dream
DAUGHTERS OF BLESSING
A Promise for Ellie
Sophie’s Dilemma
A Touch of Grace
Rebecca’s Reward
HOME TO BLESSING
A Measure of Mercy
No Distance Too Far
A Heart for Home
WILD WEST WIND
Valley of Dreams
Whispers in the Wind
A Place to Belong
DAKOTAH TREASURES
Ruby • Pearl
Opal • Amethyst
SECRET REFUGE
Daughter of Twin Oaks
Sisters of the Confederacy
The Long Way Home
A Secret Refuge 3-in-1
© 2019 by Lauraine Snelling
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
Ebook edition created 2019
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4934-1870-1
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by Dan Thornberg, Design Source Creative Services
Author is represented by the Books & Such Literary Agency.
Contents
Cover
Half Title Page
Books by Lauraine Snelling
Title Page
Copyright Page
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
Epilogue
About the Author
Back Ads
Back Cover
Prologue
Heinrik Schmitz stared at his three brothers around the table. “Our discussion today will go no further.”
Jacob, in charge of the lumbering arm of the family business, asked, “Is someone going to record this meeting?”
“Yes, Jeffrey will.” Heinrik nodded to his son, who leaned slightly forward and spoke.
“It might help if I had some idea of what is going on. I have another class in two hours. What could possibly be causing—?”
Heinrik barely raised his hand. “I am getting to that.”
Jeffrey reached for paper and a pen, sending his father a slight frown at the same time.
The brothers were gathered around a small table in a private room off Heinrik’s office. The door was locked. Usually they met in the boardroom with their elder sister, Gertrude Schoenleber, sitting at the head of the table. Lately Miss Carlson, her assistant, was always at her side.
“What is bothering you?” Jonathon, who was in charge of the railroad branch, scraped a match and lit his cigar. After an initial puff, he narrowed his eyes and studied his brother.
“I had a horrible nightmare two nights ago.” Heinrik stared at each brother as his voice deepened. “I know this might be hard to believe, but I am convinced it was not a dream but a portent of things to come.”
Jeffrey looked up from his notes. “Fa—”
Heinrik’s hand came up again, just off the edge of the table. “Let me finish.”
Everyone stared at him.
“In my dream, our elder sister died and left all her property to Nilda Carlson, including her seat on this board.”
The scratching of the pen stopped, along with every other sound.
“I have made lists of ideas.” He motioned to a notebook on the table in front of him. “And the only feasible thing—actually the easiest and most brilliant—is to neutralize Miss Carlson by having her married into the family.”
He nodded to Jeffrey.
Chapter
1
JUNE 1911
Life in America certainly wasn’t like Nilda had dreamed.
She closed her eyes for a moment, letting memories of home float through her. The house with the big kitchen, the farm, the seter where she had helped take the cows, goats, and sheep to summer pasture.
Making cheese. School, friends, the church. But mostly her family, the laughter in their house, all the parts of home.
Now, looking out the window again, she could see that farming here and farming in Norway were similar, but here it was so flat in comparison and so much larger. Cattle, horses, and farm animals dotted the pastures, while wheat and corn and other crops stretched for miles. This land used to be covered with gigantic pine trees, but loggers had cleared this land and moved north. Her onkel Einar’s farm in Blackduck, Minnesota, grew white pine or red pine trees like the thousands of acres left to be logged. Like many other immigrants, he paid for the tickets for other family members to come help him clear the land so they could farm it. First, her brother Rune and his family immigrated, then she and their younger brother, Ivar. While helping on Rune’s farm, she had hoped that one day she would meet a young man, and they would have a farm of their own.
Little did she know what God had in mind for her.
Indeed, who could have dreamed such a life as she was living now? A verse her mor had often quoted tickled her mind. “God would provide far beyond anything she could dream or imagine.” True, she had scrambled the words a bit, but still, her life now fit that verse.
She stared out the window of the train as it rocked from side to side. Two fishermen in a boat on one of the sky-blue lakes caught her attention. How her nephews loved to fish. And hunt. The bounty of the trees extended to the land and the water too.
Not once since arriving in this country had she gone to bed hungry. Nor had any of the others. Porridge was no longer their staple food.
And look where simple, country-bred Nilda was riding now. Mrs. Schoenleber’s private railroad car was as lavish as her home, with flocked wallpaper, a lovely little writing desk and other fine furniture, a separate sleeping compartment, and a small private room with porcelain fixt
ures in which to answer nature’s call.
The towns, roads, and farms grew closer together as they drew nearer to St. Paul and the quarterly meeting of Schmitz Enterprises. Accompanying her employer, Mrs. Gertrude Schoenleber—mentor, employer, and friend, and a driving force in her town—to these meetings had become a part of Nilda’s life.
“Are you concerned about the meeting?” Mrs. Schoenleber, slim and slight, smiled from the seat across from Nilda.
Nilda thought for a moment. “Not so much concerned as . . .” She paused, the movement of her seat setting the feather on her navy hat to nodding. She had lifted the veil to be more comfortable. If she had her way . . . But she didn’t.
Mrs. Schoenleber waited. She was good at that. Even with her back straight, not touching the seat, she still looked comfortable and patient.
“I think I am a bit apprehensive, but then, these meetings often cause that.” Not that she’d been to the Twin Cities more than three times. “I just want to do my best. I believe they want to intimidate me to the point of being ineffective.”
“Of course they do. That is their way of doing business, especially with a woman, and a young woman at that. My brothers will do anything to succeed, and right now they are worried about the timber running out, where to get more, and how to compensate for its loss with other branches of the company. I often wonder how none of them inherited the kindness of our father. After all, he accomplished all he did without destroying other people.”
“I wish I could have met him.”
“He would have loved you.”
Nilda stared at her. She felt her mouth drop. Never had Mrs. Schoenleber said anything like that to her. While she was generous with approbations, this . . . Nilda closed her eyes and swallowed. The clickety-clack of the train wheels nearly drowned out her words. “Thank you.”
“Fifteen minutes until arrival in St. Paul,” the conductor called as he passed by.
“Excuse me while I visit the necessary,” Mrs. Schoenleber murmured as she stood.
Nilda nodded. “Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you.”
When the door closed, Nilda stood in front of the mirror on the inside of the door.
Never had she dreamed she would be wearing a dark navy traveling suit of heavy silk with a gored skirt that swished her ankles, a fitted jacket decorated in jet beads, and fitted long sleeves banded at the wrists with the same beads. A hat with veil and feather finished the ensemble. She tucked a light brown strand back into a chignon at the base of her head and smoothed her eyebrows. Satisfied, she picked up her navy leather gloves from her seat and slid her hands into them. Ready. She knew she looked every inch the formal traveler of 1911. Mrs. Jones, the dressmaker, made sure of that. But getting used to this fashionable look—in fact, this entire new life—took exquisite and dedicated training. Training that continued every day.
Speaking, reading, and writing in English; proper etiquette, dress, and manners; how to assist with correspondence; business principles, history, and politics; music; and overall confidence. Between Mrs. Schoenleber, her friend Miss Walstead, and those serving them, Nilda had time to visit her family near Benson’s Corner only one weekend a month. While Nilda ached to see her mor, who had immigrated to America after her husband passed away, and the others more often, whole seasons seemed to fly by.
Mrs. Schoenleber returned to the small room. “I think we will have supper at the hotel tonight. I believe we need to go over our ideas one more time at least. Something is niggling at me.”
Breathing a sigh of relief, Nilda set their bags up on the seat, including the leather briefcase that was a recent gift from Mrs. Schoenleber.
“St. Paul, next stop, St. Paul,” the train conductor announced from the door to their compartment. “Is there anything I can get for you before we arrive?”
“Thank you for asking.” Mrs. Schoenleber smiled at him. “You help make the trip more comfortable.”
“You are welcome, ma’am.” He touched the bill of his hat. “And thank you for . . . for . . .” He swallowed and exited the room.
Nilda sent a questioning look at her employer across the narrow space between the two seats.
“His son is attending college.”
“I see.” Nilda raised her eyebrows. “A little bird told you and you decided to help?”
“Something like that. Treating employees well makes sure they want to continue to work for your company. My brothers and I have had a few discussions on matters of this sort. My father tried to instill this in all of our heads, but . . .”
“Women learn more easily than men?”
“Possibly.” They shared a look of agreement. This was one of the principles the older woman had dwelled on often. “I think we women learn to care more about people. Perhaps we are born that way. My father lived by the principle ‘do unto others as you would have them do to you.’” She glanced out the window. “He was a kind man. I’m not sure what happened to my brothers. I think success has gone to their heads.”
Nilda’s mind skipped back to her onkel Einar, who had died of his obsession with cutting down the big trees, all at the cost of the people around him. He was not missed much. Like Dreng.
She shuddered and forced her mind back to preparing to leave their compartment.
The conductor assisted them down the train steps. “I believe your driver is coming now.”
“Thank you, and please congratulate your son for me on the hard work he is accomplishing. He hopes to go to medical school, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Doctors are much needed.”
“The carriage is outside,” their usual driver said in greeting. “Good to have you back.” He took their handbags and led the way, their shoes tapping against the black and white tiles in the cavernous station. The cacophony of arriving passengers surrounding them made conversation impossible.
Nilda knew the conductor’s son was in his fourth year of college and dreamed of going to medical school after graduating. Since she now took care of the accounts, she knew of most of the contributions Mrs. Schoenleber sent out behind the scenes.
Good thing the driver had brought the carriage today, as when they reached the portico, the rain was coming down in sheets.
“It appears we will not be doing any shopping,” Mrs. Schoenleber commented as they settled into their seats.
“We weren’t planning on it, were we?”
“I had thought of a couple of things, but they are not worth the effort. It is not that long to supper anyway.”
Nilda breathed a sigh of relief. Shopping had yet to become a pleasing pastime.
After greeting them, the clerk at the front desk handed Mrs. Schoenleber an envelope. “This came for you. And thank you for coming to stay with us again. Your rooms are ready.” He motioned to a bellman who was waiting.
“This way, Mrs. Schoenleber,” the bellman said. “Welcome back.”
“Thank you. Could you please have a maid come to our rooms when she is able?”
“I believe one is already there.”
“Thank you.”
As soon as they entered their rooms, Mrs. Schoenleber removed her hat and handed it to the smiling maid.
“Very well, madam, would you like your bath drawn immediately or . . .”
“I think I will lie down for a few minutes. That train was wearisome today. Nilda, bring your notebook into my room as soon as you’ve changed into something more comfortable. I have some ideas. Oh, I almost forgot.” She picked up the envelope from a small table by the door and handed it to Nilda. “You read it.”
Nilda did as asked. “We are invited to the symphony. Hmm, Jeffrey is included. Isn’t he still in college?” He’d not attended most of their social events in St. Paul.
“Yes, but here in the Cities. That is unusual. I am sure Fritz would enjoy attending. It’s a shame he can’t.”
Nilda felt herself smile inside. Fritz Larsson, nephew to Mrs. Schoenleber, tau
ght Nilda’s nephews at school in Benson’s Corner, where he also played the organ at the Lutheran church. He and another young man, Petter Thorvaldson, whom she had met on the ship to Duluth, had become friends. They both attended the monthly socials held at Mrs. Schoenleber’s home. Fritz loved music and taught piano lessons also, including a few to Nilda.
“Should I decline?” Nilda asked.
“No, tell Heinrik thank you. At least we brought appropriate clothing. There will most likely be a late supper afterward.” The older woman sat down on her bed and swung her legs up. “Ah, this feels heavenly. Feel free to lie down a bit if you would like. We can talk later.”
Nilda adjourned to her own room and divested herself of her outfit, allowed the maid to hold up a wrapper for her, and then sighed her way to lying down. Heavenly was indeed a good description.
At least she was no longer in awe of the boardroom and the men standing around talking the following morning. The four brothers each had at least one assistant, sometimes two, and the other department heads came, along with the male secretary, who also had an assistant. Cigar smoke already dulled the crown moldings decorating the high ceiling, making her think the meeting had begun well before the official starting time.
And what was this? The recording secretary set up a heavy black machine in front of himself. Nilda had seen pictures of such things. A typewriter, it was called. Mr. Jurgenson cranked a sheet of paper into it on a roller, adjusted it, and placed both hands over the bank of keys. CLICK CLACK-CLACK-CLACK CLICK CLICK CLACK-CLACK-CLACK. Good heavens, what noise!
Someone had just wheeled in a cart with coffee, hot water for tea, and all the accoutrements, including a lovely tray of pastries. As the servers filled the orders, Heinrik showed Mrs. Schoenleber and Nilda to their seats at the head of the table.
Mrs. Schoenleber smiled and nodded, greeting the others in attendance as they made their way to the table. Once everyone had assumed their places, with Heinrik on her left, she began. “Heinrik, will you please open our meeting with prayer? Remember, Father always used to do that, and today it seems most appropriate.” She glanced around the table. “If I remember rightly, we used to take turns. I think we shall return to that practice.”
A Song of Joy Page 1