A Song of Joy

by Lauraine Snelling

  “No female friends your age? You know, intimate friends, confidantes.”

  “No. Not in Blackduck. My sister-in-law—”

  “I find that quite odd, don’t you?” He sounded almost accusing.

  “No, not really, Mr. Galt. I am busy almost all day, handling correspondence, researching and planning as Mrs. Schoenleber requests, studying to perfect my English. I am taking music lessons and practice each day. My hours are eaten up by all this.”

  “Of course.” He didn’t sound like he believed her.

  Was that fear or anger rising up inside her? “May I ask where this is going, Mr. Galt?”

  His voice took on a knife-edge sharpness, and he had a smug look on his face. “Miss Carlson, a normal young woman your age has friends. Girlfriends who share secrets and titter and gossip. If the young woman does not, she is almost always of an unsavory character.”

  “I’m sorry. Unsavory?” The savory that Nilda knew referred to food.

  “There are women who are pursued by men, and there are women who prey upon men. That is unsavory.”

  Nilda gasped.

  “Miss Carlson, I believe you are one such woman. There is no way you would have met Mr. Nygaard by chance the day he was killed. There must have been an assignation, a—”

  “Mr. Galt, he was stalking me! For days!”

  “Or you were stalking him. I have talked to all the young women I mentioned and more besides. They all agree that he was a perfect gentleman and very desirable. That he never made untoward advances to them. I questioned them carefully on that. I believe that Sheriff Gruber’s investigation was either flawed, tainted, or deliberately inaccurate. Miss Carlson, I am confident that you are directly responsible for Dreng Nygaard’s death.”

  “The guests should arrive about five o’clock, so we will serve supper at six,” Mrs. Schoenleber said to Cook when she served dinner on Friday.

  “I thought as much. And the hors d’oeuvres for the party are all prepared, along with the cake that Mr. Fritz likes so much.”

  “He will be pleased. Nilda, the shirts for your young men are all pressed and hanging in the bedrooms. I know how much Ivar appreciated using the bathtub. I’m thinking Bjorn might too.”

  “He will try one, I am sure. Speaking of which, do you mind if I go up and get ready early so I can be here to greet them?”

  “Of course not. You go right ahead.”

  “Is Miss Walstead coming?”

  “Yes, for supper. I know she is looking forward to listening to Fritz play the piano. I suppose I should go up and change also.”

  As Nilda tripped up the stairs, she thought back to other evenings and the pleasure of listening to the piano. Surely she would have a lesson in the morning. Surely it wasn’t climbing the stairs that made her heart dance just a tiny bit. Surely it was the memory of the music. Surely. The music floated through her mind as she sank into the froth-covered tub.

  But then her joy came to an abrupt halt. Mr. Galt. Dreng’s evil had transferred directly to Mr. Galt. Would Dreng Nygaard destroy her happiness forever? She tried to shake the troubling thoughts from her mind as she climbed out of the tub and dried off. She needed to focus on the social tonight.

  She finished dressing and went back downstairs just in time.

  “Aunt Gertrude, we’re here,” Fritz called as he, Ivar, and Bjorn entered the house.

  “I’ll show you in,” Charles told him, but Fritz laughed.

  “In the sun-room? I’ll tell her you tried to be proper.”

  “I will take your bags up.”

  “Fine. Come on.”

  Nilda and Mrs. Schoenleber both rolled their eyes.

  Fritz led the other two young men into the room and heaved a sigh. “It feels so good to be here.”

  “Then you should come more often.” Mrs. Schoenleber’s smile belied the slight tinge of sternness in her voice.

  Fritz smiled at Nilda before kissing his aunt’s cheek. “I brought your brother and nephew.” He gestured to the two men standing in the middle of the room. “We would have been here sooner if we had another riding horse, but we had to drive the buggy.”

  Ivar nodded to Mrs. Schoenleber. “Good to see you again, ma’am.” He gestured around the room. “Your house is so welcoming. Thank you for inviting us.”

  “Keep in mind, the invitation always stands, even if you are in Blackduck for supplies. Nilda and I would both appreciate family visits.”

  “Thank you. You remember Bjorn?” Ivar said.

  “I do, but I remember a boy. Where did this young man come from?” She extended her hand to Bjorn. “I hear you have developed a love for the trees and lumbering. Also that you are a fine marksman.”

  Nilda watched a red tinge climb up Bjorn’s neck. It was definitely time to help him become more social.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I do like to hunt. Knute is good too, especially with snares.”

  “He’s provided meat for the family more than once,” Nilda offered.

  “A deer?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Several of them. Ducks and geese also.” He nearly bent his hat out of shape, he squeezed it so hard.

  Nilda explained, “The feather mattresses on some of the beds at the farm are thanks to the ducks and geese. I know Tante Gerd, for one, is very grateful. We use both wool and down. As we harvest more wool, we’ll do the rest.” Including mine, Nilda thought.

  Mrs. Schoenleber looked amused. “I’ve heard that people pluck the down off domestic geese, like shearing wool.”

  Bjorn shrugged. “I wouldn’t know about that, but this year we will be shearing our flock of sheep.” He looked at Nilda. “I was hoping you could come and show me how.”

  “Your mor is an excellent sheepshearer, you know.”

  “I know, but this way you might come home more often.” His grin peeked out.

  Mrs. Schoenleber chuckled. “Ah, I see. Very good, young man. We will have to make sure that happens.”

  “You could come too.” Bjorn stumbled over his English. “I mean, you are invited to come. If you want to, I mean . . .”

  Mrs. Schoenleber smiled and nodded. “We will keep that in mind. You must let us know when you will be shearing.”

  “It will be soon. Mor said we should have done it early.”

  “Do we have time to get cleaned up before supper?” Fritz asked.

  “Yes, if you hurry a bit. Charles has the tubs running now.”

  “Your shirts are hanging in your room,” Nilda added. “If you like, Charles will clean your boots.”

  Bjorn looked down at his feet. “Oh.” He beat the other two men out the door.

  “I’ve never heard him talk so much,” Mrs. Schoenleber said. “Of course, I was only out there one time. I would like to get to know that young man better.”

  Nilda nodded. “He caught me by surprise, that’s for sure. I’ve always thought he was just a quiet sort, but to quote my mor, ‘Will wonders never cease.’ I hope he has a good time so he will come back.”

  “I think Fritz and Ivar will help with that. Do you have games chosen?”

  “We’ll do charades again. Everyone has such fun with it.” Dreng helped make it fun. The thought knocked her against the seat back. Horrible, lying Dreng. Which, of course, also brought to mind that terrible Crawford Galt, the detective.

  She sucked in a deep breath and, on releasing it, caught another passing thought. Warmth chased the cold away from her toes to her face, where a smile broke out. She could feel her smile both inside and out. She’d not had a nightmare since the night with her mor. Her mother’s healing hands. Her love that had filled the bedroom and poured into Nilda’s heart.

  “What is it?” Mrs. Schoenleber’s voice came gently, pushing aside her thoughts.

  “I’ve not had a nightmare since the night I woke my mother with my screaming and she prayed for me—and held me like when I was a little girl.”

  “Thank you, God. I so hoped and prayed that would happen. What wonderful news
!”

  They heard Charles answering the front door, greeting Miss Walstead.

  “Thank you. All ready for the festivities tonight?” she asked him.

  “Oh, I’m sure we are. The young men from Benson’s Corner have arrived and are upstairs. Madam and Miss are in their favorite room.”

  “You needn’t show me in. I know the way.”

  “I know. It is good to see you. Did you have a good trip?’

  “I did indeed, but home always feels best.” She strode into the sun-room, removing her hat as she came. “Good to see you. Your flowers are lovely. But then, George is as good a gardener as a driver. You are so blessed.”

  “Indeed I am. And your sister is back on her feet?”

  “Yes, and it’s a good thing. She is getting a bit crotchety in her advancing years. Reminds me that I need to be careful. But then, she was always more like our father. I take after my mother.”

  “Well, we missed you. Welcome home.”

  “So what is the news?”

  “I ordered a typewriter for Nilda. Do you know anyone who could teach her the best way to use it?”

  “I know there is a specific way to hold your hands and strike the keys, for both speed and accuracy. I will look into this. What made you decide to take the plunge? I seem to recall suggesting this a few years ago.”

  “Yes, yes, I remember. But I did not want to learn. I still don’t, but I believe Nilda will excel at it.”

  “And it will make her more efficient.” Miss Walstead leaned over and patted Nilda’s knee. “How are you coming with your reading list?”

  “Not as well as you would like.” Nilda was hoping she would not bring that up.

  Miss Walstead looked over the top of her spectacles. “And the reason?”

  “We had a trip to the home office that lasted longer than usual.”

  “The surprise was Jeffrey,” Mrs. Schoenleber chimed in. “Heinrik had tickets to the symphony, and Jeffrey accompanied Nilda and me.”

  Miss Walstead’s eyebrows rose. “Really? Now, that is a surprise. I wonder . . .”

  Mrs. Schoenleber nodded, her lips tight. “Me too, but we shall see.”

  “Supper is nearly ready,” Charles announced from the doorway. “I’ll go tell the young men.” He looked over his shoulder at the sound of male voices. “Here they are.”

  Nilda smiled and nodded at Ivar and Bjorn. “Don’t you look ready for a party?”

  “Thank you.” Bjorn looked down at the front of his white shirt and stroked the fabric.

  “I ordered it a bit large, but I figured you still have growing to do.” She glanced at his feet and saw Charles had indeed been at work there. Their boots shone.

  “Supper is served.”

  Fritz held out his arm for his aunt, and Ivar smiled at Miss Walstead, leaving Bjorn to imitate them and do the same for Nilda.

  She patted his arm and whispered, “Just copy what Fritz does, and you’ll be fine.”

  He leaned closer. “This is all so not like home.”

  “I know. Takes a lot of getting used to. If you like, I’ll even teach you to dance when Fritz plays the piano.”

  “Ah . . .” His eyes widened. “I don’t dance.”

  “Yet.” She patted his arm. Nephew, you have a lot of things ahead of you, and I want to make sure you experience them.

  Chapter

  8

  I hope you don’t mind my bringing my younger sister along. This is Cora.” The young woman, nattily attired in a fur cape and lovely trimmed hat, stood smiling in the doorway.

  Nilda ushered them inside. “Not in the least. The more the merrier. Come along, and I will introduce you around.”

  As usual there were two clusters, not mixing in the slightest—the young men on one side of the room, and the young women together on the other. Did they not realize what these socials were all about?

  Nilda took the two guests to the women’s circle. “Remember June? This is her sister, Cora. Please introduce yourselves.”

  As the others smiled and said their names, greeting June and Cora, one of the women pulled Nilda aside. “I thought Mr. Thorvaldson was planning on coming tonight.”

  “He sent a message that he is. Something must have held him up.” The knocker sounded on the front door. “Perhaps that is him. I mean, he.” Strange, she thought on her way to the door. He usually came early for supper. She opened the door and stared. “What happened to you?”

  Petter lifted one crutch. “Some lumber fell today, and when I leaped out of the way, I fell over something else, and here I am.”

  “Is your leg broken?”

  “Doctor said a greenstick fracture. That means the bones are still in alignment, but I have to stay off it for a while.”

  She grinned. “But you came anyway.”

  “I said I would.”

  “I’m glad. Come in, come in. At least this is not a dance tonight.”

  He stumped beside her on his crutches to join the others. Questions came from both groups.

  Nilda returned to the door because someone was knocking. She opened it and gasped.

  Fancy city hat in hand, Crawford Galt stood on the porch. “I understand one of your socials is taking place.”

  “That is correct.”

  “I wish to speak with the young men here.”

  “I, uh . . .” What to do? He would spoil the whole happy atmosphere. And he’d as much as called her a murderer. On the other hand . . . “Which young men, please?”

  “Any who were acquainted with Dreng Nygaard. I would assume that is all of them.”

  A thought flashed through her head. She could not convince him of Dreng’s true nature, but possibly Petter . . . “Petter Thorvaldson and Dreng Nygaard went to the logging camps together last winter. Mr. Thorvaldson is here tonight. He might be able to answer your questions.”

  “Excellent. May I speak with him?”

  “Certainly. He is having a difficult time due to an injury. I will introduce you.”

  Petter had given an abbreviated report to the group on how he’d broken his leg and, at the urging of two of the ladies, had sat down in a wingback chair with a footstool to rest his leg on. He shook hands with the guys and smiled at all the girls.

  Nilda stepped in front of him. “Petter Thorvaldson, this is Mr. Crawford Galt.” She knew that to be proper, you must present the younger person to the older, more respected one. She did the introduction backwards on purpose; she respected the younger man much more. “Mr. Galt, I trust you will be brief.”

  She turned and clapped her hands. “Let’s all congregate out in the sun-room to set up teams for charades, our first game.” She led the way out of the room, leaving the Pinkerton man with Petter.

  Amid a certain amount of confusion, at least part of it caused by the intrusion of Mr. Galt, the party poured into the sun-room, and two teams divided themselves out.

  “Please count off by twos,” Nilda instructed, “since we don’t have an even number to set guys and gals against each other.”

  But everyone’s interest seemed centered on whatever was going on in the other room. Nilda heard some of the whispers.

  “He came to my home and asked me about Dreng Nygaard.”

  “Me too.”

  “Petter and Dreng knew each other. I bet that’s it.”

  What a disaster Mr. Galt was!

  Finally, Charles showed Mr. Galt to the door, and they returned to the parlor and to Petter with his poor leg still propped up. Nilda was so tempted to ask him what was said, but she did not.

  Somehow Petter and Ivar ended up on a team of all girls, which made Nilda smile and helped distract her from the detective’s appearance at the social. Bjorn was on the same team as she and Fritz. That too was good; he’d get some coaching as they went.

  “Team captains?” she asked.

  Petter raised his hand. “They said I have to earn my keep tonight.” Titters danced around the groups.

  Nilda stared at Fritz until he
grudgingly raised his hand. “Good.” She picked up an envelope from the table. “Our two chaperones compiled these so that I could play too.” She held the envelopes out, and each of the leaders took one. “Our topic this evening is famous people. Fritz, will you please start?”

  He pantomimed chopping something with an ax, and someone guessed George Washington. He shook his head and raised his hands above his head. Words bandied back and forth until someone shouted, “Abraham Lincoln!” Cheers from that team and groans from the other.

  The teams each had four chances, and since Petter’s team did not guess their last round in the required time, Fritz’s team cheered.

  Nilda smiled. “I had no idea we had so many actors in this group. Let’s break for drinks and refreshments, and then we have a new game called twenty questions.”

  The only question in her mind was what Mr. Galt had wanted. She thought she knew, and she dreaded it. Feared it.

  Charles and Stella opened the great dining room doors. Everyone but Petter strolled into the room where Cook had set out trays of delicate sandwiches and a huge punch bowl.

  “Did you enjoy that?” Nilda asked Bjorn as they approached the table.

  “I really liked winning.”

  She laughed. “That’s good of you. Help yourself, there’s plenty of food.” She watched him turn to June’s younger sister, who was holding a plateful of food, and stop beside her. Nilda smiled at June. “Looks like your sister and my nephew are getting to know each other.”

  June nodded. “Good. It’s a shame he chose not to go to school when they moved here. He’d have more opportunities to make friends.”

  “True. But apparently he never did like school.”

  “I didn’t either, but my mother was adamant. Pa was more concerned about my brothers going to school than us girls. You know: ‘You’ll get this expensive, fancy education, and then you’ll just get married and have children. Waste of money.’” June wagged her head. “Nilda? Can I tell you a secret?”

  “Of course.”

  June leaned in closer. “Well, since you and Petter have been friends for quite some time, I . . .” She blushed. The rest came out in a rush. “He asked if he may escort me to the next social, and I said yes.”