A Song of Joy

by Lauraine Snelling

  “That is wonderful.”

  “And you don’t mind or anything? I mean . . .”

  “Mercy, June. You have my every joy and blessing. Petter and I are friends; he feels more like my brother than anything else.” Nilda laid her hand on the other woman’s arm. “You two make a lovely couple, and he is a charming and hardworking young man. I hope your parents realize his value, if anything comes of this friendship.”

  “Thank you.”

  Nilda glanced down at the table, where a plateful of food looked lonely. Picking it up, she took it into the other room and gave it to Petter. “Here, you might want this.”

  He grinned. “Thank you. I was about to get up and join you all, but my body got lazy.”

  She laughed. “And here I was just telling someone how industrious you are.” She returned to the dining room as Petter tackled his food.

  Fritz turned from the table. “That was kind of you.”

  “Taking the plate in there?”

  “No. The way you treated her.” He nodded toward June, and his smile warmed his eyes. “You look lovely tonight.”

  “I—ah—thank you.” She tried to look away from his eyes—and failed.

  “You haven’t eaten anything yet.” He set a tiny open-faced sandwich on a napkin and handed it to her. “Try this one. Cook, as always, has done an exemplary job.”

  What was happening? She blinked and forced herself to look down, raise her hand, and take a bite. Now chew. Nodding and smiling, she ate the rest. “You are so right.”

  “Of course I am. The teacher is always right, didn’t you know?”

  “Oh really. I didn’t know that.” She made herself take a step backward. And bumped into the table. “I-I better get the party back on track.”

  He looked around the room. “Everyone seems to be having a good time, no one hiding in the corners.” He ate another finger sandwich. “You’ve done a wonderful job.”

  “Th-thank you.” Nilda Carlson, don’t be a ninny. You know you despise ninnies. What had happened to those calm sensibilities Mrs. Schoenleber said she possessed?

  Nilda cleared her throat and addressed the group. “Shall we return to another game? A new one this time. Twenty questions.” Ninny indeed! You already said that.

  As the participants assembled, Nilda said, “Let us keep the same teams, since that worked so well. The team with the fewest questions needed to guess the word will be the winners. One person on each team will keep account of how many questions were needed, up to twenty. And the leader can only answer yes or no. Say, for example, the word is Paris. The only hints the leader can give are whether the word is a person, place, or thing. Since Paris is a place, what questions might be asked? Remember, the speaker can only answer yes or no. Any questions?”

  “Is this place in the United States or in Europe?” a young woman ventured.

  “That’s two questions,” someone else pointed out.

  “Oh, right. So I would ask if it is in the United States?”

  “Correct.”

  The noise level rose appreciably as the two teams leaped into the game.

  “Seventeen questions,” reported Petter for his team after the first round.

  “Didn’t get the answer,” announced the other team after theirs.

  “That gives you a total of twenty, then.”

  The game continued until all ten words had been guessed.

  “We are tied up, even. Look at that.” Nilda pointed to the score sheet. “Call it a draw?”

  “No, one more word.”

  What to do? “I’ll go ask Miss Walstead for one. Be right back.” Nilda slipped into the sun-room where the two women were playing dominos. “I need one more word for twenty questions. To break a tie.”

  Jane picked up a pen, wrote the same word on two pieces of paper, folded them, and handed them to Nilda. “Sounds like a great time in there.”

  “It is.”

  The last round began.

  “Eleven,” called Fritz.

  “No, not already!” someone from Petter’s team protested.

  “And the answer is . . . St. Petersburg, Russia.”

  “I was just going to say that,” groaned Ivar.

  Fritz stood and made his way to the piano. As soon as he played a few chords and a lovely arpeggio, the others joined him.

  Miss Walstead beckoned to Nilda from the doorway. “Everyone seems to be having a good time,” she whispered in Nilda’s ear.

  “They are indeed.” Nilda stood at the back of the room, sipping from a cup of punch. The others were gathered around the piano, where Fritz was segueing from one popular song to another so everyone could sing along.

  “Get up, Petter,” commanded Ivar. “We’ll move your chair closer.”

  Fritz took requests, playing most of the songs from memory, with everyone singing and harmonizing, then moved from the songs into several hymns, closing with “Blest Be the Tie That Binds.” When they finished singing that song, they returned to the dining room for cake.

  “Lemon cake, my favorite.” Fritz nodded as he picked up his plate. “I’m guessing Cook had a hand in this.”

  Later, Nilda stood at the front door, responding to compliments and promising there would be another gathering next month. “We’re considering outdoors with a croquet match. What do you think? Any other suggestions?”

  “You ever played badminton?” someone asked.

  “No, never heard of it.”

  “You have a net, rackets like tennis rackets, and a feathered shuttlecock that you bat over the net. It looks easier than it is.”

  “I’ll look into it. Good night. Thanks for coming.” When the last guests had left, Nilda closed the door and leaned against it. How could entertaining be so tiring? Did Mr. Galt have anything to do with her weariness?

  She joined the others in the sun-room. Fritz, Ivar, and Bjorn were all eating more cake while the two older women laughed at them. Nilda paused in the doorway. What a delight to see.

  “You can always have the rest for breakfast,” Mrs. Schoenleber said to her nephew.

  “Why leave any for breakfast?”

  “Why indeed?” Mrs. Schoenleber snickered.

  “I think everyone had more fun tonight than at any of the others, or rather, all of the others combined,” Miss Walstead said, nodding. “I think even this house had a fine time tonight. It needs music and laughter too.”

  “That’s rather poetic.”

  “Good. We all need more music and laughter in our lives.” She studied Fritz. “Would you mind playing some Chopin for me?”

  “Not at all. If Nilda will turn pages for me.”

  “As if you need sheet music. I’ve heard you play for hours from the music stored in your head.” Mrs. Schoenleber caught Bjorn in a yawn. “You are welcome to go to bed anytime you feel like it. I’m sure your morning started far earlier than ours did.”

  “Come on, Bjorn,” Ivar said. “We can hear the music from upstairs just fine.”

  Nilda smiled at her brother. “Thank you. Good night to you both.”

  “There go two fine young men,” Miss Walstead said softly. She reached over and patted Nilda’s hand. “You can be proud of them. Tell their mothers too, will you, please?”

  Sitting next to Fritz in the dimness of the parlor, Nilda felt like she was floating, with the music carrying her higher and higher. “I thought you wanted me to turn the pages.”

  “Aunt Gertrude is right. But I enjoy playing even more when you are sitting here with me. I thought I needed a good excuse.”

  “Hmm, I think that was a rather flirtatious comment.”

  “Really? I never would have guessed.”

  When he played the last notes and closed the lid on the keyboard, she hated to disturb the peace in the room.

  “Lessons at nine in the morning?” he asked.

  “Fine. Then a game of croquet?”

  “Do you know how?” he asked.

  “No, but knocking a wooden ball through t
hose hoops surely can’t be too difficult.”

  “We shall see.” He smiled wickedly.

  The feeling of peace stayed with her as she allowed Gilda to help her undress and get into her nightgown. She even allowed the maid to brush out the upswept hairstyle and finish the requisite one hundred strokes. Scenes from the evening slipped through her mind as Nilda drifted into sleep in a safe and hazy way.

  The next morning, she entered the dining room to find all the others at breakfast already.

  “Sleepyhead, lie abed, waste away the day,” Ivar teased her.

  “What can I get for you, Miss Nilda?” Charles asked with a smile for her and a stern glance at her brother.

  “I’ll have whatever Cook is serving this morning.” She sniffed. “Cinnamon rolls? What, has she been baking all night?”

  “These are my favorite.” Fritz used the side of his fork to pick up every bit of sweet goo from his plate.

  “You can always have more, you know.” Mrs. Schoenleber tried to look stern. And failed. “What time must you leave for Benson’s Corner?”

  “Do you need to be home for anything in particular?” Fritz looked to Ivar.

  “Rune said we need not hurry. I would like to show Bjorn the rest of the town that is not on the road to the lumberyard or the mercantile, if that is all right with you?”

  Mrs. Schoenleber laid aside her napkin. “You do whatever you like. Nilda has a piano lesson, and Jane and I will be going over our lesson plans for Nilda and enjoying coffee or tea out on the verandah. It seems I heard a certain young woman challenge a certain young man to a croquet match this afternoon as well.” She smiled at Nilda with arched eyebrows.

  “You mean I have the day off?” Nilda realized the heat coming up her neck had nothing to do with the summer day.

  Charles set a plate before her and another platter of cinnamon rolls on the table. “Can I get you anything else?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “If we may be excused?” Ivar looked to their hostess.

  “Of course.”

  “I’d like more coffee, please.” Fritz eyed the rolls.

  “Coming right up.” Fritz finished eating and went into the parlor.

  When Nilda was finished eating, she slid her napkin back in the ring and stood. “Thank you, Charles. Please tell Cook the same.”

  Piano music floated into the room, enticing her to listen. And enjoy.

  Mrs. Schoenleber raised a hand. “Don’t try to compare yourself to what you hear. Remember, he has been playing since he was three or four. Even then, we could tell that he was gifted, as he would hear a song, then go try to play it. We decided lessons were in order to encourage him. His father was not pleased, thinking that music was not a profitable occupation, so we made sure he had the lessons and could practice at our house.” Mrs. Schoenleber closed her eyes, the better to enjoy the music.

  Nilda smiled at Miss Walstead. “Will you be staying tonight too?”

  “I believe so. I need to go home and feed Matilda sometime.”

  “I would gladly do that for you.”

  “Why, thank you, my dear. Are you up for a few hands of whist tonight?”

  “Anytime.” Now that she finally understood the game, she enjoyed the challenge.

  When she went to stand by the piano, Fritz smiled at her, finished his song, and rested his hands on the keys.

  “Ready?” His fingers moved as if of their own volition.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.” She sat on the bench beside him.

  “Have you been practicing?”

  She licked her lips. “Most days.”

  He scooted over to give her more room. “Play for me.”

  She warmed up on the scales as he had taught her, then moved into chords and finally “Goodnight, Irene,” the song he had started her on. The scales and chords came easily now. She played the song from memory.

  “Good, good.” He pointed to a section of the music. “Play that section again, concentrating on each key, then pick up speed.”

  She did as he asked, finally focused on the notes and keys, forgetting about the man beside her.

  “Good, go on to the next.”

  By the end of the hour, her shoulders felt glued to her earlobes, and her fingers ignored her wishes once in a while.

  “Relax. This should be pleasure, not pain,” Fritz said.

  She dropped her head forward and groaned.

  “You were relaxed on the scales and chords. Can you feel the difference?”

  “Of course. But knowing and doing are two different things.”

  “Yes, they are, but repetition is the foundation.” He touched the back of her hand. “You have pianist’s hands, long fingers. I have seen these hands make knitting needles fly. You will have the same dexterity on the keyboard if you remember to relax.” Even his voice wore a smile. “Now, let’s do the second piece again, and this time remember to breathe.”

  Nilda blew out a breath and did as he said. Every time she felt her shoulders tighten, she sucked in a breath and, releasing it, felt them drop. “That was better.”

  “It was. Good. Now the third piece. Breathe.”

  She played the music as he asked. And when she struck the final note, she dropped her hands to her lap.

  “Well done.”

  “Thank you.”

  He flipped the pages to the next piece. “Ready for three more?”

  “Yes.” Why am I doing this? Because I was silly enough to want to. Did I really want to learn to play the piano, or did I want the time with him? She could feel her stomach thud in surprise. Where had that idea come from? But why would I have spent all the hours practicing, if that were the case?

  She heard Ivar and Bjorn come in the front door, laughing about something.

  Fritz closed the keyboard cover. “Let’s go play croquet.”

  She smiled and nodded. “Yes, let’s.”

  Mrs. Schoenleber and Miss Walstead waved from the round table on the verandah. “Cook is sending out lemonade, and George has the croquet court all set up.”

  Miss Walstead waved a paper. “I’ll read the instructions while Fritz demonstrates.”

  Nilda sank down on one of the wrought-iron chairs. I sure hope this goes better than the piano lesson.

  Chapter

  9

  How are you coming on your research for a way to assist Blackduck?” Mrs. Schoenleber sat down beside Nilda’s desk in the library.

  Nilda looked up from her papers, which were spread across the surface, filling it. “I’ve spoken with three of the local ministers, Dr. Andrews and his nurses, the midwife, and the owners of the mercantile and the pharmacy. They all seem to agree that housing for the immigrants is a primary problem. Reverend Holtschmidt took me out to see the tar-paper shacks. They aren’t so bad now but will be when winter comes and the husbands go out to the logging camps. The loggers have to leave their families here with no support until they get paid at the end of the season.”

  Mrs. Schoenleber nodded. “This is a problem.”

  “I suggest that of all the proposals we’ve considered, this one would reap the best rewards, both in terms of benefitting the community and providing a return to investors. As Heinrik himself said, the universe revolves around money.”

  Mrs. Schoenleber laughed out loud. “I did not expect to see this day so soon: that you would directly quote my brother. It is indeed all about the money.”

  “These men want to work and provide for their families. They are certainly not indigents.” Nilda glanced down at her papers. “I went by the lumberyard and got estimates on the cost to build a small house and a larger building to divide in two. And one into four, an apartment house. Once we get one finished, we could begin another.”

  “Would the immigrants purchase their place or rent it?”

  “I suggest they would rent. They do not have the money to buy one. The rent money could then go toward building the next.”

  “I see.” Mrs. Schoenleber looke
d thoughtful. “How will the investors recoup their money?”

  Recoup was not a word Nilda had heard, but she could easily guess its meaning. She was learning a lot of words that way. “From the rent paid when the building is completed. There would not be an immediate return. The best solution would be to look at the original amount as benevolent community service.”

  “Ah, but when you look at the other proposals, aren’t most of them long-term investments that will not have a quick return? And for several, the risk is extremely high. I consider this enterprise a low-risk prospect.”

  “But they will have the greatest return—possibly.” Nilda stared down at her totals. “What I am learning is that the real problem is the size of this. While it looks like a lot of money to me, it might be easier to get investment money for a new hotel or a chain of hotels or a new manufacturing plant. I’ve looked through the business’s other investments. Your family company is like a centipede with a hundred legs.”

  “So true, and not all their investments have paid off. They are good at selling off at the right time—pure luck. Sometimes they’ve just cut their losses and pulled out.”

  Nilda watched her mull this over.

  “How many houses are needed?”

  Their discussion continued until Charles announced that dinner was ready to be served. And picked up again once they were seated and being served.

  “What about land on which to build?” Mrs. Schoenleber asked.

  “Ideally someone who has land would donate a few acres.” Nilda spooned up her soup.

  “In reality?”

  “You have a piece of property northwest of town by the lake.”

  “Arvid bought that fifty acres in the hopes of eventually building another house out there on the water. Someday it might be worth something, but right now it is too far away to be useful for our purposes.”

  “Perhaps someone else has a piece closer to town.”

  “You present your formal proposal at the next board meeting, but I would not hold out much hope. My brothers don’t see a great deal of value in Blackduck, especially now that northern Minnesota is running out of pine trees. Some companies are already moving on.”