A Song of Joy

by Lauraine Snelling

  “Or was invented for him.” Mrs. Schoenleber nodded.

  Nilda asked, “Isn’t there anything we can do?”

  “Unfortunately, no.”

  Nilda’s heart sank into her shoes. Dreng’s evil had made her life very unpleasant in Norway. She came to America, and Dreng made her life very unpleasant here. His attack on her and his death were making her life horribly unpleasant yet, plaguing her mind and heart. He had tried to kill her, and then, when she managed to injure him and escape, he had frozen to death in the snow. And now, here was this big-city detective adding to a woe she was trying so hard to put behind her.

  One of her reading assignments had been a soliloquy from a play by William Shakespeare. “The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones.”

  Dreng’s evil was still alive.

  Chapter

  3

  Rune’s groan brought Signe out to stand beside him on the front porch. “What is it?” She leaned her cheek against his shoulder.

  “I cannot see the trees at the west end of the field.”

  “Not even a blur?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “And the pain?”

  Rune hadn’t answered her, but she didn’t ask again. She could always tell. He’d first noticed the glaucoma some fifteen years ago. No surprise, since the disease had plagued his father and uncle too. It seemed to run in the Strand family.

  “Call the boys, will you please? I’ll go get the milk pails out. Got a lot to do today.” When he stepped off the porch, Rufus leaped ahead of him, then sat down a few yards ahead, as if to wait. “I’m coming. You want to go open the barn door for me?” The cheery mutt danced beside him. “You can go make sure everyone is up in the barn.” Rune waved an arm, and Rufus took off, fluffy tail waving like a flag.

  Signe watched them go, her heart heavy. Signe caught her breath as she saw Rune stumble and catch himself before he hit the ground. She’d have one of the boys check to see if a rock had protruded and dig it out. Anything to help make life easier. Rune’s shoulders were growing more rounded and his stride not so sure. Perhaps a cane could help him. The hat that shaded his eyes also protected the top of his head that had succumbed to baldness.

  “He looks older than his years.” Gerd, moving silently as always, stood at Signe’s elbow.

  “Ja, that he does.”

  “I’ll get breakfast started.”

  “Takk, you always do so much.”

  Together they entered the house. Signe climbed the stairs, woke her three sons, and returned to her room to dress swiftly. Glancing out the east window, she could see the sun was already above the treetops. She’d chosen this bedroom because of that window, for the joy of seeing the sun bring light to the world again. She heard the boys going down the stairs, although bare feet did not make as much noise on the treads as boots. If they were going out into the woods today, they’d put boots on after breakfast. Leif was especially thrilled by swishing his bare feet through the wet grass on the way to the outhouse.

  Back in the kitchen, she slipped an apron over her head and inhaled. The sun was up and coffee boiling, two portents of a fine day. She told Gerd, “I’ll go get the buttermilk and cream from the well house. Anything else?”

  “Milk too, and sausage patties. You better take a basket.”

  Signe smiled, snatching a basket off the hooks on the wall. The rooster crowing announced that Leif had opened the chicken house door. The rooster sounded so much closer when not locked in the coop, not that being inside stopped him from welcoming the sun.

  “Good morning to you too,” she called from the well house door. He flapped his wings and crowed again.

  The dim interior felt almost chilly as she stepped down to the packed dirt floor. Water from the windmill flowed into the trough made of fieldstones, cooled the containers of food in it, and flowed on out the other end, this time to empty into a water tank for the cows. What they didn’t drink watered a good crop of grass around it, along with pigweed and sow thistle that sprouted and grew with impunity.

  The milk pans needed skimming and cream would need to be churned later in the day. She’d have one of the boys bring the churn and cream up to the back porch. Now that the cows were in full production, they were churning almost every other day.

  With her supplies loaded in the basket, Signe shut the door behind her and returned to the house.

  “Hungry.” Kirstin met her at the door, rubbing her eyes. She lifted her arms and waited until Signe set her basket on the table. Once in her mother’s arms, legs encircling her waist, Kirstin laid her cheek against her shoulder and popped her thumb in her mouth.

  Signe squeezed her little girl, making her giggle. “Toast?” she asked. Kirstin nodded.

  “You said the magic word.” Gerd held a piece of bread over the open fire. “Jam?”

  Another vigorous nod. Signe lifted the tray on the high chair that Rune had seen in a magazine and built during the winter, and let Kirstin slide down to stand on the seat. As soon as she sat down and her mor settled the tray in place, the little girl slapped her hand on the wood.

  “What do you say?” Signe asked.

  “Takk.”

  Both Signe and Gerd nodded, Signe smiling and Gerd close to it.

  They set bowls of oatmeal around the table, and Gerd slid the plate of pancakes back in the warming oven after adding more. Milk-filled glasses sat at the boys’ places, and coffee waited to be poured. Signe checked the syrup, the jar warming in a pan of hot water. Mrs. Benson had brought them a quart of maple syrup the last time she visited, made from their own trees. She had offered them seedlings, which they would transplant in the fall. It was too early in the season to transplant trees. The best time was fall before the ground froze. The thought of a maple grove of their own always brought a smile to Signe’s face.

  So many things had been started this past year. While Rune’s ski business grew, so did their number of hogs, requiring a larger barn. Now that all the spring fieldwork was finished, beginning to build the barn went much faster with two teams and help from the Kielunds. They had already dug the trenches for the foundation for the hog barn and would start building it in the next day or so.

  “Another sow is farrowing,” Leif called as his feet hit the porch. “I need to be there.”

  Gerd drew out the platter of pancakes. “Oatmeal is there, and I’ll roll these up with sugar so you can take them along.”

  At his mother’s look, Leif washed his hands and slid into his chair. “Knute is staying with her until I get back.” Between bites, he grinned at Kirstin banging her spoon on the tray and chanting “Ef, Ef” at the same time. While she was learning to talk remarkably early, “Ef” definitely meant Leif. “Go, Ef.”

  “Later, Baby.” He shoveled a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth.

  “Where’s your far?” Signe asked.

  “Applying another coat of wax to that last pair of skis. He said he’d be done in a few minutes. He wants to mail them today.”

  “I’ll write down a list and get the butter packed.”

  Steps on the porch, and Gunlaug pulled open the screen door. “Sorry I am late. I wanted to finish the fringe on that rug so it can go to Mrs. Benson. Will anyone be going soon?”

  “As soon as we can get everything ready.” Signe handed her a cup of coffee. She could hear other voices outside.

  Gerd handed Leif several rolled pancakes. “I put bacon in some. You go take care of your sow.”

  “Thank you.” And out the door he charged.

  “I think a whirlwind just went by,” Rune said with a chuckle.

  They took their places at the table. Knute blew into the room, plopped into his seat, and reached for the pancakes.

  “Let’s say grace.” Rune bowed his head and waited for Knute to pay attention. “Thank you, Lord, for this morning, this food before us, and for each one here. Bless our work today. We thank you and praise your name. Amen.”

  Kirstin
got the “men” part, sending chuckles around the table.

  “She sure takes part, doesn’t she?” Ivar, Gunlaug’s youngest son, said.

  While they ate, Rune delegated the work for the day.

  “When can we go back in the woods?” Bjorn asked.

  “When the barn is built. The lumber should be delivered today. You, Knute, and Ivar help them unload, I’ll get the skis packed to ship, and one of the women will deliver them to Benson’s Corner.”

  “Along with the rug I have ready,” Gunlaug said.

  “And the butter,” Signe added. “Knute, please bring the full churn up to the porch before they come, and we need to skim the milk pans.”

  “Are you ready to start the cheese?” Rune asked.

  “As soon as the new shelves are finished to hold the pans.”

  “That’s right. I’ll get on that as soon as the skis are ready to go. Knute can help me.”

  “Maybe one day soon we can go fishing?” Knute finished his milk. “Mor, can I have coffee now?”

  Bjorn elbowed him. “Coffee is for adults, don’t you know?” He drained his and raised his cup for a refill.

  Knute shot him a dirty look. “Mo-o-r.”

  She rolled her eyes at Bjorn. “Enough.”

  When she started to rise to get the coffeepot, Knute jumped in. “I can get it.”

  “I’ll have more coffee too, please,” Rune said quietly. “I think I hear a wagon coming.”

  At that moment, Rufus leaped off the porch, started barking, and ran down the lane.

  “Guess we’ll all get out there and unload.” Rune pushed back his chair. “Let’s go, boys. Grab your gloves.” He patted his wife’s shoulder when he walked by.

  Signe always loved his gentle reminders that he thought about her, and leaned her cheek against his hand. “Takk.”

  Gunlaug slid three pancakes onto Signe’s plate once the men were outside. “I’ll take Kirstin out to the garden with me. We’ll make the trip to Benson’s this afternoon.” She scooped up the giggling Kirstin and went out the door.

  Signe finished her breakfast alone, enjoying the peace. This was such a warm and comforting kitchen. Usually it bubbled with activity, but she loved this quiet too.

  She knew where Gerd was; she could hear the churn thumping. As soon as she finished cleaning up the breakfast dishes, she walked out onto the porch.

  “What are we having for dinner?” she asked.

  “Canned chicken with the noodles we made yesterday,” Gerd replied. “Good thing we still have canned corn and beans to add. The dried onions are all gone, but Gunlaug brought in green onions from the garden. The radishes are ready too. I’m thinking the watercress might be ready in the cow pond. And I think we can find enough dandelion greens for supper.”

  “Has Knute been setting snares? Some fried rabbit would be good. I could make biscuits.”

  Gerd nodded and stopped churning. “There, you hear that? Finally turned to butter. This batch took a while. We should have brought it in last night to warm up.”

  “Are you driving the cart this afternoon or is Gunlaug?”

  Gerd shrugged. “Makes no difference to me.” She poured the contents of the churn through the strainer and into a big pot. Once drained, the butter went into their biggest crockery bowl to be washed until the water ran clear. They kept the first drain of buttermilk for the house, and the rest went into a milk can to be fed to the pigs and chickens.

  Drives to Benson’s Corner had grown more frequent as the family created additional things to sell. Besides the butter and eggs they’d been selling for the last year or so, and sides of pork in the fall, this year they had added skis and rugs. Since the ewes had produced only two ewe lambs this year, they would butcher the wethers and add to their flock with the ewe lambs. Soon they would have a couple of bales of wool to sell too. Not to mention their main source of money, the giant pine trees they sold every spring. This year they had as many logs as they’d ever had, partly thanks to Oskar Kielund and his team. Since he had become a member of the family by marrying a cousin of Rune’s, he was often at the farm to help out.

  That afternoon, after dinner and the dishes were done, with the cart loaded and Gunlaug guiding Rosie at a trot down the driveway, Gerd and Signe sat out on the porch. Gerd swished the dandelion greens in a pan of water while Signe rinsed the watercress. She raised her chin to catch an errant breeze on her face and neck. “I love this time of year. Warm but not unbearably hot, plenty to do but almost within a window of time.”

  With all of them working, they were not only accomplishing a lot more but able to start and work on some dreams. Like the orchard and the maple grove. She and Gunlaug had loaded the cart with chicken manure and straw manure from the barn and had spread it in circles where each of the fruit and maple trees would be planted. By building up the soil in advance, their trees might grow far more sturdy, as well as quickly. Oskar had plowed more space for the garden and extended the fencing in case any animals got out.

  Rune and the boys had blown out more stumps and turned another acre into oats for cattle feed. The cornfield had been expanded also. With their growing number of livestock, they needed more feed. The men had just closed off the pasture that would become the hayfield. With extra fertilizer from the added animals, they had more manure to spread for the future orchard.

  As Rune often said, “The wheel goes around, so now we pray for rain and sun in the right proportions.”

  Gerd stood and threw the wash water on the rosebushes on either side of the steps.

  Signe announced, “I’m going out to pick more onions, perhaps pull a few weeds.”

  Gerd nodded and went inside. Thank God she had the strength to take part in not only the household chores, but working in the garden and attending church. Such a miraculous change from the woman who screamed complaints from her bed when Signe and Rune first arrived. Even now Signe shuddered when she thought about how Gerd used to be.

  As she stepped off the porch, she heard the screen door open and shut. Gra, the cat, chirped a welcome and, she knew, twined around Gerd’s legs. Gerd, who for so many years had not been permitted a cat in the house, would be bending over and stroking the silver-striped back.

  Life was so different now without Onkel Einar. The only thing that would make it perfect was if Nilda were here. Perhaps tonight Signe would write her a letter. Strange how Blackduck seemed so far away when it really wasn’t.

  Chapter

  4

  Three nights. Three nights in a row.

  Nilda stared into the mirror while Gilda finished her hair. Putting it up herself had seemed insurmountable. She looked ghastly. Purple shadows lurked under her eyes, which seemed to have lost their blue. Even her hair did not want to behave, which was why she had called for help.

  That horrible dream about what really happened. Actually it was more like reliving things than a dream. Each time she woke up screaming, and her throat felt like raw beef.

  Gilda laid her hands on Nilda’s shoulders. She had been the one to answer the screams this time. Hopefully Mrs. Schoenleber had slept through the ruckus. That Nilda woke others made her feel even worse. “Miss, please take a nap today before the supper.”

  “I-I’m afraid to go to sleep.” She stared down at her fingers knitted together in her lap. Which is why I look so exhausted. As if I’ve been fighting off some horrible disease. Actually, that was a good description of Dreng. He not only was a horrible sickness, he’d been sick in his head. She was not the only young woman back home in Norway who had fought off his advances or was afraid to and, in at least one case, paid a horrible price. After all, Dreng’s mother thought her son could do no wrong, so it had to be the young women’s fault.

  Nilda had left the Nygaards’ employment before she could be fired.

  When Dreng showed up in Blackduck, he charmed all the women he met, no matter their age. Even Mrs. Schoenleber—well, almost. But while Nilda had tried to do her Christian duty and forgive him when
he pleaded that he was a changed man, something inside warned her. To this day, she was not sure what that had been. But it no longer mattered. Even dead, he made her life miserable.

  She’d never told anyone all of the story. When he attended the socials, he was the epitome of a fine young man, impeccable manners, funny. The other women in attendance competed for his attention. Nilda had wanted to warn them.

  A headache pounded behind her eyes. Even though she rubbed her temples with her fingertips, it persisted.

  “Let me bring you a cup of tea and one of the powders the doctor prescribed for Cook. She says it helps her a lot.”

  “Thank you, but no. I’ll go downstairs. Perhaps breakfast will help me feel better. If it doesn’t, then I’ll try one.” Nilda pushed herself to her feet. “Thank you. As always, you did a fine job.” Now, if only food and coffee were the answer.

  When she walked into the empty dining room, she started to turn back to the morning room, but the thought of facing Mrs. Schoenleber without first having coffee encouraged her to sit down at the table set with one place setting. Of course, by this late hour, what did she expect? After all, her employer always rose early, contrary to most wealthy women, who liked to lie abed and have breakfast brought to them on a tray.

  “Good morning, Miss Nilda.” Charles set a steaming cup of coffee in front of her. How could he always sound so cheerful? “What can I get you for breakfast today? Cook took a pan of cinnamon rolls out of the oven just a few minutes ago. While she plans to serve them for midmorning coffee, I’m sure I could abscond with one for you.” Cook’s cinnamon rolls put any others to shame. He frowned and added, “But then, you don’t look like you feel so good. Might just toast be a good starter?”

  Nilda added cream to her coffee before taking a welcome sip. “A cinnamon roll sounds wonderful.” At least she hoped it did.

  Gently tipping her head from side to side, she stared out the tall window, its sheer drapes pulled back to let the sun in, and held her cup with both hands. Perhaps if she took her coffee and roll outside . . .